It was supposed to be one reckless nightβan escape from the stress of the season, a way to forget an ex who could never make you come, a little tension relief from both your jobsβnot a forever consequence. Especially not with your best friend, who surely only saw you as that and nothing more.
But Alex Albonβs fucking swimmers had other plans.
Now the question is: can you survive the fallout when desire, friendship, and a very unexpected surprise collide?
βΆ TRACKLIST
1: Positive
1.5: Typing...
2: Handle with Care
3: Seatbelt Secured
4: 'Straya Baby
5: Under Pressure
6: The KeepersΒ ofΒ theΒ Secret
7: BetweenΒ BitesΒ and Secrets
8: Friday
9: Unprofessional
10: Just Friends
11: Unable to Hide
12: Monaco Baby
13: Safe Here
14: Domestic, Actually
15: Seen
16: Bored
17: Q&A with Y/N
18: The GodparentΒ Titleβ’
19: Golden Hour at Silverstone
20: Loading...
20.5: Reactions
21: Mango Sticky Rice
22: IKEA versus Galex
23: A Breaking Point
24: Holding the Line
25: Edits, Cravings, and Hormones
26: Baby Shower
27: Babymoon
28: Homebound
29: Italian Happiness
30: PaparazzisΒ and Podiums
31: Stubborn
32: Little Albon
33: Diapers and Devotion
34: Voice Notes
35: Traditions
36: Seventy-Two Hours
37: Home, Finally
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
β Live Streamingβ Interactive Chatβ Private Showsβ HD Qualityβ Free Actions
Free to watch β’ No registration required β’ HD streaming
π€ Sunny radio!Β This one's for the EEAAO girlies. The ones who get that love isn't about grand gestures β it's about choosing someone in the small, boring, beautiful moments. Each driver, one moment where they realise forever doesn't have to be loud. It just has to be with you.
π€ note: Gang, I tried my best not to repeat the scenarios or wording, but if I failed, pls don't kill me it was hard to come up with a new context for 11 drivers πAny love would be appreciated.
π€ listen to: "Something About You" when reading this.
CHARLES LECLERC β The Grocery Run
The supermarket is almost empty at 11 PM.
Charles should be home. Should be sleeping. Should be reviewing data for tomorrow's sim session. Instead, he's following you through the produce aisle, watching you squeeze avocados like you're defusing a bomb.
"Not this one," you mutter, tossing it back. "Too soft."
"We've been here for twenty minutes."
"We've been here for twenty minutes because you keep putting back the good ones."
Charles laughs β a real one, the kind that used to come so rarely. You don't look up from the avocados, but your mouth twitches. You know what you do to him.
He leans against the shopping cart. Watches you debate the structural integrity of a tomato. Your hair is messy. You're wearing his hoodie β the old one, the one he almost threw away, the one you stole and never gave back. There's a smudge of something on your cheek. Flour, maybe. Or chocolate. He doesn't ask. He doesn't want to stop looking at you long enough to find out.
You're squeezing tomatoes like your life depends on it. Like this matters. Like getting the right one is the most important decision you'll make all week.
And Charles realises, standing in the fluorescent glare of a half-empty supermarket, that he wants every grocery run with you. Every wrong avocado. Every 11 PM debate about produce. Every single boring, beautiful minute of it.
"Charles."
"Hm?"
"You're staring again."
"Can you blame me?"
You finally look up. Your eyes are soft, tired in a way that has nothing to do with sleep and everything to do with the kind of day that follows you home. You'd told him about it earlier β the bad meeting, the rude email, the way everything felt a little too heavy. He'd listened. He'd made tea. He'd suggested grocery shopping at 11 PM like it was a reasonable solution.
It was. Somehow, it always is with you.
"I love you," he says.
You blink. "I know?"
"No, I mean β" He stops. Shakes his head. Tries again. "I'd do this forever," he says quietly. "The grocery shopping. The bad avocados. All of it."
The words hang in the air between the avocados and the tomatoes. Your expression shifts β something soft, something surprised, something that looks like the first time you realised this was real.
"That's a weird thing to say in a produce aisle," you say.
"I know."
"You're so weird."
"I know."
You step closer. Wrap your arms around his waist. Press your face into his chest. The shopping cart bumps against his legs.
"I'd do grocery shopping with you in this life too," you mumble against his hoodie.
Charles holds you tighter.
"Good," he says. "Because I'm not letting you go."
The avocados are forgotten.
They'll remember tomorrow. Right now, nothing matters except your heartbeat against his and the quiet hum of the fluorescent lights and the way you fit in his arms like you were always supposed to be there.
LEWIS HAMILTON β The Kitchen at 2 AM
Lewis can't sleep.
This isn't unusual. He's spent most of his life learning to function on less rest than most people need. But tonight is different. Tonight, the silence is too loud. The city outside is too still. His mind is too full of things he doesn't want to think about.
He finds you in the kitchen.
You're standing at the counter, barefoot, wearing one of his old t-shirts. There's flour everywhere β on your hands, on your face, on the floor. You're trying to make bread. Or something that was supposed to be bread. It's not going well.
"What are you doing?" he asks.
You don't look up. "Baking."
"It's 2 AM."
"I know."
"You're covered in flour."
"I know that too."
He walks closer. Peers at the lumpy dough on the counter. You're completely unbothered by the disaster in front of you. Just kneading away, humming something under your breath, flour dusted across your cheek like war paint. "Is that supposed to look like that?"
"No," you admit. "But I know you haven't been able to sleep recently. And I figured β" You shrug, finally looking at him. Your eyes are tired, but there's something else there. Something warm. Something that makes the silence in his head go quiet. "I figured if you were going to be awake, I might as well be awake with you."
And Lewis realises β standing in his kitchen at 2 AM, watching you fail at baking with the same determination you'd bring to anything else β that this is it. This is the rest of his life. Not the races. Not the podiums. Not the cameras.
This. You. Flour on the floor. Bread that won't rise. 2 AM and nowhere else to be.
Lewis doesn't say anything. He just steps behind you, wraps his arms around your waist, and rests his chin on your shoulder. You smell like flour and vanilla and something that's just you.
"I can feel you staring," you say, your attention going back to the failed masterpiece in front of you.
"I'm admiring."
"I'm a mess."
"You're perfect."
"I don't know how to make bread," you warn him.
"I don't care."
"We're going to have to eat this. Even if it's terrible."
"I don't care."
"We could order takeout."
"Y/N."
You stop. Wait.
"In every lifetime," he says, quietly, "I would choose this. "
You go still in his arms.
"Even if I am failing at making bread?" you say with a small pout.
"Especially then." He presses a kiss to your shoulder. "It's better."
You turn in his arms. Your flour-dusted hands cup his face. Your eyes search his.
"You're a weird man, Lewis Hamilton."
"I know."
"I love you anyway."
He kisses you β slow, soft, unhurried. The bread is forgotten. The silence is no longer too loud. And for the first time all night, Lewis thinks he might actually sleep.
LANDO NORRIS β The Takeout on the Floor
Lando's apartment is a mess.
Not the chaotic kind β the lived-in kind. Clothes draped over chairs. Dishes in the sink. A blanket fort in the living room that you'd built three days ago and neither of you had bothered to take down.
You're sitting on the floor, backs against the couch, eating takeout from containers balanced on your knees. Some reality show is playing on the TV β neither of you is watching. You're too busy arguing about whether pineapple belongs on pizza.
"It does not belong," Lando insists, pointing a spring roll at you.
"It absolutely belongs. You have no taste."
"I have excellent taste. I'm dating you, aren't I?"
You pause. "That's... actually smooth. I'm mad about it."
He grins β the grin, the one that makes you want to throw something at him and kiss him in the same breath. You're wearing his hoodie. Your hair is in a messy bun. You love him so much it makes your chest ache.
And Lando realizes β sitting on the floor of his apartment, takeout containers balanced on his knees, arguing about pineapple on pizza β that he doesn't need anything else. Not the wins. Not the attention. Not any of it.
Just this. Just you. Just the sound of your laugh and the way you steal his spring rolls when you think he's not looking.
"Lando."
"Mm?"
He doesn't say anything for a moment. Just watches you. The way you're completely comfortable. Completely yourself. Completely his.
"I want this forever," he says. "The takeout. The floor. The stupid arguments."
You stop chewing. Look at him. "That's a very intense thing to say while you have sauce on your chin."
"I have sauce on my chin?"
"Right there." You point. He wipes the wrong side of his face. You laugh β that laugh, the one that makes his chest feel too full.
"I love you," he says. Because it's true. Because it's the only thing that matters.
You set down your container. Shuffle closer until your knee bumps his.
"I know," you say. "I love you too. Now eat your spring rolls before they get cold."
"Yes ma'am."
You grin. He grins.
The reality show plays on. Neither of you notices.
OSCAR PIASTRI β The Quiet Sunday
Oscar doesn't talk much.
You'd learned this early. He's not cold β just careful. He thinks before he speaks. He measures his words like they have weight. It used to unnerve you. Now it's one of your favorite things about him.
Today is Sunday. The apartment is quiet. You're reading on the couch. He's at the kitchen table, reviewing data on his laptop. The only sounds are the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional click of his mouse.
This is what your life has become. Quiet Sundays. Shared silences. A love that doesn't need to be loud to be real.
Oscar looks up from his laptop. Watches you read. You're curled up on the couch, your feet tucked under you, your bottom lip caught between your teeth the way it always is when you're concentrating. You haven't noticed him watching. You never do.
He thinks about all the Sundays he spent alone. Before you. The quiet used to be heavy. Now it's just... comfortable. Because you're in it.
He doesn't say anything. He just watches. Commits it to memory. The way the afternoon light hits your hair. The way you mouth the words sometimes, barely moving your lips. The way you look up, catch him staring, and smile like you know exactly what he's thinking.
"What?" you ask.
"Nothing."
"You're lying."
"I'm not." He pauses. "I'm just happy."
You set down your book. "That's it? You're just happy?"
"That's it."
You look at him for a long moment. Then you pat the couch beside you. He stands. Walks over. Sits down. You lean your head on his shoulder. He wraps his arm around you.
"This is nice," you say.
"Yeah," he agrees. "It is."
He doesn't tell you that he wants this every Sunday. Every quiet, boring, perfect Sunday. He doesn't have to. You already know.
GEORGE RUSSELL β The Folded Laundry
George is folding laundry.
This should not be a romantic moment. He is wearing an old t-shirt that has a hole in the collar. His hair is sticking up in the back. There is a suspicious stain on his shorts that he refuses to explain.
But he's folding your clothes. Carefully. Methodically. The way he does everything.
You're watching from the doorway. He hasn't noticed you yet. He's too focused on getting the creases right β on your shirts, your socks, the sweater you'd left draped over the chair three days ago.
He folds everything. Even the things you wouldn't bother with. Even the things you'd given up on.
George doesn't know why he's so focused on the laundry. Maybe because it's yours. Maybe because taking care of you β even in small ways β feels like the most important thing he could be doing.
He holds up one of your shirts. It's old. Faded. The one you wear when you're sick or tired or just don't want to try. He folds it slowly. Presses the crease with his palm.
"George."
He looks up. You're in the doorway, leaning against the frame, watching him with an expression he can't quite read.
"You're folding my laundry," you say.
"It needed to be done."
"At 11 PM?"
"The timing felt right."
You cross the room. Sit on the bed beside the pile of folded clothes. Pick up a shirt β one of yours, one he'd folded so perfectly it looks store-bought.
"You're staring at that shirt like it's precious," you say.
"It's yours."
"That doesn't make it precious."
"To me it does."
You're quiet for a moment. Then you set down the shirt and take his hand.
"You're strange, Russel"
"I know."
"I love you anyway."
He squeezes your hand. He doesn't say anything else. He doesn't need to. The laundry is forgotten. The late hour doesn't matter. He's exactly where he wants to be.
KIMI ANTONELLI β The First Rain of Autumn
Kimi doesn't believe in fate.
He believes in hard work. In data. In the things he can see and touch and prove. He's never been one for grand romantic gestures or sweeping declarations.
Now you're both soaked. Your hair is plastered to your face. You're laughing β not at him, not at the situation, just... laughing. Like getting caught in the rain is the best thing that's happened all week.
"You're insane," he says, but he's smiling. He can't help it.
"You're boring," you fire back. "Live a little, Antonelli."
You grab his hand and pull him into a puddle. Water splashes up his jeans. He should be annoyed. He's not.
He watches you spin in the rain. Arms out. Head back. Rain dripping down your face. You look ridiculous. You look perfect.
And Kimi realizes β standing in the middle of the street, soaked to the bone, watching you dance in a puddle β that he wants every rainy day with you. Every unexpected storm. Every moment that makes no sense.
"Kimi."
"What?"
"You're staring again."
"I'm allowed to stare. You're the one dancing in the rain."
You stop spinning. Walk toward him. Your shoes squelch. Your mascara is running. You've never looked better.
"Come here," you say, tugging his arm.
"I'm already here."
"Closer."
He steps closer. You wrap your arms around his neck. Your wet clothes press against his.
"I love you," you say. Like it's obvious. Like it's the easiest thing in the world.
He doesn't say it back. He just pulls you closer. Kisses you. Right there. In the rain. In the middle of the street.
When he pulls back, you're both dripping. You're smiling.
"That was romantic," you say.
"Don't tell anyone."
"Wouldn't dream of it."
He takes your hand. Leads you home. The rain keeps falling.
He doesn't let go.
MAX VERSTAPPEN β The Simulator Break
Max is supposed to be in the simulator.
That's where his trainer thinks he is. Where his engineer thinks he is. Where everyone who needs him thinks he is.
Instead, he's in the break room, sitting across from you, watching you struggle with a vending machine.
"It's not working," you say, pressing the button for the third time.
"Hit it."
"I'm not hitting it."
"Then it won't work."
You glare at him. He shrugs. You hit the vending machine. The candy bar drops. You look triumphant. He looks smug.
"I hate you," you say, picking up the candy bar.
"You love me."
"Debatable."
He watches you unwrap the candy bar, break it in half, and hand him the bigger piece. You don't say anything. You just do it. Like it's instinct. Like taking care of him is as natural as breathing.
Max has won races. Championships. Things people dream about. But none of it feels as good as this. Sitting in a break room. Sharing a candy bar. Watching you wipe chocolate from the corner of your mouth.
He wants this. Not the big moments. The small ones. The ones no one else sees.
"Max."
"Mm?"
"You're doing that thing again."
"What thing?"
"The thing where you stare at me like I'm a puzzle you're trying to solve."
"Maybe you are."
"Am I solved?"
He thinks about it. About the way you make him feel. About how he doesn't have to be anyone other than himself when he's with you.
"Yeah," he says. "You are."
You smile. Break off another piece of candy bar. Hand it to him.
"Good," you say. "Now eat your chocolate. You have a simulator session."
"I'm skipping it."
"You're not skipping it."
"I'm skipping it."
"Max."
He takes the chocolate. He doesn't move.
He stays exactly where he is.
ISACK HADJAR β The Disaster Dinner
Isack is supposed to be impressing you.
That was the plan. He'd cook dinner β something nice, something sophisticated β and you'd see that he was an adult. A functional adult who could do things other than drive fast.
Instead, he's set off the fire alarm.
You're both standing in the kitchen, waving dish towels at the smoke detector, coughing. The windows are open. The fan is on. Whatever was in the oven is now a blackened brick.
"I'm sorry," he says, for the fifth time.
"Stop apologising."
"I ruined dinner."
"You didn't ruin dinner. You just... created a bonding experience."
He looks at you. You're laughing. Actually laughing, like this is funny, like this isn't a disaster, like you're not judging him for being a terrible cook.
"You're not mad?"
"Why would I be mad? I can't cook either. I was going to order takeout the whole time."
"I spent three hours on that recipe."
"I know. It was very sweet. It was also very on fire."
He groans, dropping his head to the counter. You pat his back. Your hand is warm. Comforting.
Isack doesn't know why you're still here. Why you're not running. Why you're laughing instead of leaving.
Then he looks at you. Really looks. At the way your eyes crinkle when you smile. At the way you haven't let go of his arm. At the way you're looking at him like he's not a failure. Like he's just... him.
And he realizes: you're not going anywhere. You never were.
"Isack."
"Yeah?"
"You're very dramatic for someone who set off a fire alarm."
"I'm not dramatic. I'm passionate."
"Whatever"
You order takeout. Eat it on the floor. The smoke detector beeps every few minutes.
He watches you laugh. And he thinks: yeah. This is it.
CARLOS SAINZ β The Packing Night
Carlos is supposed to be packing.
He has a flight tomorrow. Another race. Another city. Another week away from you.
But he's not packing. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, watching you fold his shirts. You're not his assistant. You're not his employee. You're just someone who loves him. Someone who's learned that his shirts wrinkle if you don't fold them a certain way.
"You don't have to do that," he says.
"I know."
"I can do it myself."
"I know."
"Then why β"
"Because I want to." You look up at him. Your expression is soft, patient, unbothered. "Because I'm going to miss you. And this makes me feel useful."
Carlos's chest aches.
He watches you fold. The careful way you smooth out the wrinkles. The way you stack them in his suitcase, like you're building something important. You're humming. Something soft. Something he doesn't recognise.
He thinks about all the times he's packed alone. The empty hotel rooms. The silent airports. The feeling of always leaving something behind. He doesn't feel that anymore. Because you're here. Because you're folding his shirts like it matters. Because you make everywhere feel like somewhere he wants to be.
He crosses the room. Kneels in front of you. Takes your hands β the ones holding his shirt β and presses them to his chest.
"Carlos, your shirt β"
"I don't care about the shirt."
You shake your head, but you're smiling. You fold one more shirt. Set it in the suitcase.
"I'll miss you," you say.
"I'll miss you too," he says quietly. "It's only a week."
"I know."
"It'll go fast."
"I know."
Neither of you moves. Neither of you wants to.
"Come here," he says. You lean forward. He wraps his arms around you. Holds on.
The suitcase stays open. The shirts stay folded.
He doesn't care. He'll pack in the morning. Right now, he's exactly where he wants to be.
ALEXANDER ALBON β The First Snow
It doesn't snow in Monaco.
That's what Alex had told you, when you'd first moved here. "If you want snow, you have to travel." You'd accepted this. Mourned it. Moved on.
So when it snows β actually snows, fat flakes drifting down from a sky that's never done this before β Alex is the one who finds you first.
You're standing on the balcony. Barefoot. In your pyjamas. Just watching.
"Are you crazy?" he asks, stepping outside. "It's freezing."
"Look."
He looks. The city is quiet. The snow is dusting the rooftops, the streets, the harbour. Everything is soft. Everything is still.
"It's snowing," he says.
"It's snowing."
"In Monaco."
"I know."
You're not looking at him. You're looking at the snow. Your cheeks are pink from the cold. Your breath fogs in the air. You're shivering, but you won't come inside.
Alex watches you. The way your eyes are wide. The way you're smiling at something so small, so ordinary. Like it's magic.
He thinks about all the things he wants to give you. Big things. Important things. But right now, all he wants to give you is this. The snow. The balcony. The quiet.
"You're staring," you say, still not looking at him.
"I'm allowed to stare. You're the one standing in the snow in your pyjamas."
"It's romantic."
"It's freezing."
"It is not."
You finally look at him. Your nose is red. Your lips are blue. You're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.
"I want this forever," he says.
"What, me in my pyjamas running in the snow like a fool?" you say with a small smile.
"Yes, and many more stupid snow days to come"
You smile. Step closer. Wrap your arms around him. He holds you tight.
The snow keeps falling. Neither of you goes inside.
OLIVER BEARMAN β The First Apartment
Ollie's first apartment is small.
Too small, probably. The ceiling leaks when it rains. The neighbors are loud. The heating doesn't work half the time.
But it's his. And you're in it. And somehow, that makes everything else irrelevant.
You're on the floor β there's no couch yet, not until next week β eating takeout from containers balanced on a cardboard box. Ollie is telling you about his day. About the engineers, the setup, the small victory he'd felt when something finally clicked.
You're not really listening to the words. You're watching his hands. The way they move when he's excited. The way he pushes his hair back when he's thinking.
Ollie stops mid-sentence. "Are you even listening?"
"Not really."
"Rude."
"I'm listening to the important part."
"What's the important part?"
You set down your container. Crawl across the floor until you're sitting in front of him. Your knees touch.
"The important part," you say, "is that you're happy."
He blinks. His ears go pink.
"I'm always happy when you're here," he says.
"That's cheesy."
"I know."
"I love it."
He looks at you. At the cardboard box. At the takeout containers. At the whole ridiculous, imperfect, wonderful mess of his first apartment.
He thinks about all the things he wants. The races. The wins. The career he's building. But right now, sitting on the floor with you, he can't remember why any of that matters more than this.
"Ollie."
"Yeah?"
"You're doing that thing again."
"What thing?"
"The thing where you look at me like I'm the only thing in the room."
"You are."
"That's very smooth."
"I'm trying."
You lean forward. Kiss him. He's warm. He's here. He's yours.
The ceiling leaks. The neighbors are loud. The heating doesn't work.
summary: you can only see in black and white until you touch your soulmate for the first time, and you're starting to wonder if you've ever actually touched alex before.
contains: soulmate au, race engineer!reader, friends to lovers, cursing, fluff!!!, use of y/n and l/n (sparingly),
word count: 3.3k + social media au.
playlist: take a bite β beabadoobee; disco β surf curse; I can see you β taylor swift
a/n: this is the first installment of my soulmate series to celebrate 1k followers! I've wanted to write for Alex for a bit, and I'm SO excited about this. ALSO this is me manifesting the Albon podium for the 2026 Australia GP. I hope you enjoy!
series masterlist! β¦ masterlist!
liked by alex_albon, yourusername and 216,345 others
f1updates @.williamsf1official has announced Alex Albon's race engineer for the upcoming F1 season will be Williams' Y/N L/N. The engineer has been working for Williams for 4 years, and will already step into the new role for the first GP of 2025.
username1 oh come on
username2 THE WOKE ARE KILLING F1
username3 some of you acting as if they picked a rando off the street and ignoring the fact y/n has been a reliable engineer for the team for years⦠grow up
username4 I'm SO excited to watch her work with Alex!!!
username5 chat are we for real?
username6 YESSSS WOMEN ON F1!!!!!
liked by alex_albon, williamsf1official and 108,948 others
yourusername I'm so beyond honored and excited to start this year as an F1 race engineer! The biggest thanks to @.williamsf1official for this opportunity and to @.alex_albon for trusting me with this very important job. π
alex_albon I'm so excited to work with you! β‘ liked by yourusername
williamsf1official πππ β‘ liked by yourusername
β³ yourusername GO WILLIAMS!!!!
username1 I'M GONNA SAY IT AGAIN: THE WOKE ARE KILLING F1
georgerussell63 Congratulations!!! β‘ liked by yourusername
lauramuller YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS β‘ liked by yourusername
β³ yourusername LET'S FUCKING GO!!!!!!!!!!!!
username2 alrightβ¦
It's not that you've given up on your love life, per se.
It's just that you're preoccupied with other things.
"Bearman is 1.7 seconds behind you, Alex."
Such as doing your goddamn best to help Williams be an upper midfield F1 team.
"Bearman has activated DRS, Alex."
And, most of all, trying to get Alex Albon somewhat closer to a podium.
"And Bearman overtakes Albon after another brilliant lap! Haas' work this season has been truly stellarβ"
Which is proving itself to be a little complicated.
"Sorry."
"Nothing to apologize for, Alex. We'll get him in a few laps."
"The car sucked today."
You sigh deeply at that, hands on your waist as you watch Alex take off his helmet, his brow furrowed with frustration.
"I know," your tone is apologetic, but you know that doesn't change anything. "You did well either way."
His brow furrows further.
"We didn't even finish inside the points."
"You're being too hard on yourself," you try, one of your hands rising up to touch his arm, feeling his race suit's resistant material under your fingertips, "you said it yourself. The car sucked. You can't do miracles when the car sucks, Alex."
"Bearman can," is his annoyed answer, and you can swear you see a few tears accumulate on the corners of his gray eyes. You know the string of bad races are taking a toll on him. "Doesn't matter. We'll do better next weekend."
Your chest feels heavy at the disappointment that lingers in the space between his words, in the furrow of his eyebrows, in his posture. You're not sure how to make him feel better β not when you keep losing the chance to get any points, not when he keeps finishing P12, P14, P17.
It's not his fault, but you don't know what to do either.
You open your mouth to answer, and then Alex is pulled away from you and dragged to interviewers. Your heart clenches at the bad timing of it all, but the social media manager barely spares you a glance, and you resort to going back into the garage to speak to the engineering team about the race, about the car, about ways to erase that look on your driver's eyes.
liked by albonfan1, username2 and 27,897 others
f1updates After a disappointing race, Alex Albon gives Sky Sports an exclusive interview about his struggles with the car:
ποΈ "The team worked really hard, but ultimately I just wasn't comfortable with the car today. It wouldn't be fair to just say the car sucked and that's why we did badly, but I have to admit my issues with it were definitely an important factor in our results. I'm hoping we can fix some of these problems before the next race."
username1 I know he's saying the issue was the car but tbh I feel like his little race engineer was no fucking help as usual
β³ username2 brother that's not the case AT ALL
username3 I meanβ¦ they did say the woke would kill F1 and specially Williamsβ¦
username4 it's really telling that you only see these "engineers" in midfield to objectively bad teams. you'd never see something like this in McLaren lol
β³ username5 wow literally shut the fuck up
username6 Alex explicitly says the team worked hard and he just wasn't comfortable in the car and yet you guys are talking shit about unrelated stuff this is ridiculous
username7 IT'S OKAY HE'LL DO BETTER IN THE NEXT RACE
liked by yourusername, georgerussell63 and 204,731 others
alex_albon We'll do better next time. Special thanks to @.yourusername for leading me so brilliantly through such a complicated race.
username1 you guys don't know how to behave so he had to make a post making it clear y/n isn't the problem πππ embarrassing!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
username2 chin up alex you're the goat
username3 THE CAR SUCKS BUT YOU DON'T!!!!!!!!!
yourusername Proud of you like always β€οΈ β‘ liked by alex_albon and 1,003 others
When Carlos gets his first podium with Williams a few weeks later, Alex is ecstatic.
He celebrates. He hugs his teammate. He parties with his team. He doesn't even look you in the eye the entire night, and you know he's getting into his own head.
You'd been one of Williams' engineers for his side of the garage for years, so he knew you before this season, of course he did. He smiled brightly when he was told you'd be on his radio for the next season right after one of the last races during the prior year, his still gloved hand shaking yours excitedly.
Truly, Alex is your friend. Moreover, Alex feels like he's disappointing you.
"I'm sorry," are the first words out of his mouth when he finally sits down next to you in whatever random club you're at, many hours after the race ended and too many drinks later. "I'm sorry I sucked today. And on many other days."
You immediately shove his shoulder, touch burning under the soft white shirt he's wearing. Feels like cotton.
"Shut up, Albon. It's not your fault." Your words are a little slurred and so are his and neither of you mind. "We'll get there too."
He breathes sharply, throwing his head back to look at the ceiling, back resting against the couch you're sharing.
"I hope so," he turns his neck so he can stare at you. "Maybe we need more team bonding."
You laugh at that, propping up your elbow against the couch as your chin rests on your free hand. Your other hand holds a half empty glass.
"Oh, yeah?" You take a long sip of your drink. "What kind of team bonding are you thinking?"
"I don't know," he admits, "any kind."
You laugh again, and a shadow of a smile takes over his face. He sighs and closes his eyes for a moment. It feels peaceful, to just sit here with you for a second, listening to the noises of the club, feeling like they're far away, a quiet buzz from the alcohol swimming through his veins.
He opens his eyes.
"What color are the lights?"
You blink in surprise at the question.
"What?"
"What color are the lights?" He repeats, and you look around the club to check.
Just like in any other places, your eyes travel around the space to find different hues of black, white, and gray. You can see light flashing brightly closer to the dance floor, but they are as monochrome to you as everything else. You wonder if they're red, or purple, or blue. You wouldn't know if you could see them β wouldn't recognize the colors you've never seen before.
You know the stories. One miraculous touch from your universe-assigned soulmate, and the entire world would explode in color. You only know it to be true because it has happened to too many acquaintances and friends and family members to be false.
Some look for their soulmates their entire life. You're preoccupied with other things.
It's not that you don't care or that you don't want to look for your soulmate. You like to think you're just β not obsessing over it. If it's meant to be, if you're truly meant to find this perfect person who will quite literally bring color to your life, they'll show up. You won't have to look for them.
Yet you've heard F1 cars are different colors, and that must make them easier to differentiate, specially when they're going too fast for you to read the numbers and sponsors. So maybe that'd be helpful.
"I wouldn't know." You finally look back at him just to find him studying you, his dark gray eyes mapping every inch of your monochrome face. "All black and white to me."
"Really?" He sounds somewhat surprised, and you chuckle.
"Really."
Usually, this is the moment when two strangers look at each other awkwardly and touch hands just to see, chuckling even more awkwardly when nothing changes.
You and Alex don't need to, though, so you don't. Because you're pretty sure you've already touched him many times before β you work together, you're his race engineer, you've clapped his back and given him high fives and shaken his hand.
So the two of you keep conversation going for the rest of the night, coming up with team bonding exercises and discussing race strategies until the topic shifts towards childhood memories, his first karting win, your time in university, the way his parents always said his favorite color would probably be blue when he could see it.
Your body is warm from more than just the buzz of your drinks, and, when you finally leave, hand in hand with some girl from the social media department who you always share hotel rooms with, you offer him a grin.
And he grins right back, waving you goodbye, shoulders lighter than before.
It starts to nag at you, day after day.
Have you actually touched Alex before?
You're not sure why the question rises up inside your mind. You have, right? You must have. You've known him for years. you're his race engineer. You must have.
Why can't you remember a single time you actually did, though? Every single touch you can think of happened with gloves, on his race suit, his hand on your shoulder on top of your clothes. Why can't you remember a single time you touched skin to skin?
What if you haven't?
That's a good question, what if. What ifβ¦ what? It's not like he could be your soulmate. There's no spark. There's noβno chemistry.
Well, there is a little chemistry. There has to be because you're his race engineer and you need to work well together, to have some sort of understanding. It's notβit's not like that, though.
You would know if Alex was your soulmate. You'd feel it somehow. You must've touched at least once, a brush of fingers, anything. You would know.
"Alex, Antonelli coming up behind you."
"How far?"
"3 seconds, but he's closing the gap really fast."
Your eyes fly across the many screens in front of you, from Alex's vitals to the state of every single screw and bolt on the car to the live stream of information that shows Mercedes' number 12 inching closer and closer to your number 23.
"Antonelli is 2.1 seconds behind."
"Fuck!"
"Take it easy, Alex. Just focus on defending. You're doing great today. We only have 3 more laps, come on."
You watch the screen attentively. You count down the seconds to Alex on the radio as Antonelli grows closer, but Alex manages. He moves the car deliberately, forcing the Mercedes driver to wear out his tires, avoiding an overtake until you're screaming into the radio microphone, smiling wildly.
"P5, Alex! You're P5! Good fucking job!"
He gives you a high five when he's finally out of the car and you're acutely aware of his gloves, of how his skin doesn't actually touch yours. Even when you take a picture with the team to celebrate his position, his arm resting across your back, it only comes in contact with your dark gray shirt.
It's weird, now. Noticing it.
It's weirder when he reaches out for you in the way he does after almost every race, a bright grin on his face as his hand comes up to touch your clothed shoulder.
Even still, you grin back at him.
"Great job today, Albon." His fingers tighten slightly on your shoulder, and, for some strange reason, it sends a spark of electricity through your body that absolutely terrifies you. "I told you you'd get back into your rhythm, didn't I?"
"Our rhythm." His eyes sparkle with excitement. "You did amazing today, truly. Couldn't have done it without you."
You punch him in the arm playfully, your skin touching his race suit. Your fingers seem to tingle.
"Stop it. You were the one driving the car. I was just yelling in your ear."
He laughs at that, pulling you in for a hug. Your body immediately tenses up, eyes wide open as you wait for it, for something, for anything.
Nothing happens. His arms touch yours, the fabric of his race suit rubbing against your skin. It almost feels unlucky, in a way, and then you're chastising yourself β you've hugged before. Surely, you've touched then. You're just making up a problem that doesn't exist.
You hug him back. Your heart beats wildly inside your chest.
You're going fucking insane.
liked by yourusername, georgerussell and 305,716 others
alex_albon Really good work today!! More points in the bank π€π
username1 y/n looks amazing and then there's alex
username2 am I the only one who thought they were lowkey flirting in the radio todayβ¦
β³ username3 bestie you're insane actually
williamsf1official Great work, Alex!
yourusername ALBOGOAT β‘ liked by alex_albon and 2,518 others
username4 no because why am I sort of obsessed with the dynamic between alex and his race engineerβ¦ do you guys think they could be soulmatesβ¦
β³ username3 BFFR
liked by georgerussell63, albonfan1 and 456,321 others
alex_albon Enjoying the holidays before we head back to work ποΈ
username1 THIS YEAR IS ALEX ALBON'S YEAR
username2 ALEX WDC IDC!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
albonfan1 omg that meat looks so goodβ¦β¦β¦..
username3 man's an eater truly
It's late one night when Alex searches you out in the Williams headquarters, probably already past midnight. He's in for simulator work, discussing his issues with the car with the engineers while you're on endless meetings with the team's strategists, debating pit preferences and quali orders.
It's pre-season. To your relief, the season ended soon after yourβyour silly crisis, and you had quite a bit of time to recenter yourself.
You're not avoiding Alex. That would be really fucking stupid. You're justβgetting into your own head. It's fine. It's fine! You're not that close either way. You're just friends. Coworkers. Acquaintances.
You should not be this stressed out over the hypothetical (and probably inaccurate) possibility of not having touched Alex Albon skin to skin. Of maybe, perhaps, being his soulmate. It's fucking stupid.
You are, though. He's cute, you've noticed. And he's always nice β to you, to the other engineers, to Carlos. He's really funny and sweet. You really enjoy listening to him speak on the radio. It'sβyeah. Yeah.
"Hey." He smiles when he finally gets to you, not even noticing the way your eyes widen in surprised and wrongly-placed panic. "I feel like I haven't seen you in ages."
A soft chuckle leaves your lips, and you smile back, looking down at your notebook. "Yeah, it's been a while." You look back up at him. "Did you have a nice break?"
"I did, yeah." He shoves his hands inside his pockets. "You?"
"Yup." You nod a little too enthusiastically. "Hung out with my family. Saw some friends. It was great."
"I'm glad." His smile is so genuine your heart skips a beat, and you can't even believe how silly you're being. "I hope you rested well, because we'll have a lot of work this season."
"Yes, we will." Your fingers tap against your notebook, and you force yourself to relax a bit. "Give me a podium on Australia, will you?"
Alex laughs, and the sound is really nice. You can't believe you've never noticed how nice his laugh sounds before.
You can't believe you're thinking about any of this. You need to get your shit together and act normal.
"Yes, ma'am. Still counting on that team bonding, though."
A snort escapes you.
The two of you snap your heads towards one of the other engineers as Alex's name is called from the sim room, and he gives you a playful nod before running back. You manage to offer him a small wave, chest clenching as he leaves even while your body relaxes.
You're genuinely losing your mind.
liked by yourusername, carlossainz55 and 603,980 others
alex_albon Pre-season
tagged: yourusername
username1 HUM?
username2 best Williams duo back at it again β‘ liked by alex_albon and 2,603 others
β³ alex_albon Damn right
β³β³ carlossainz55 Excuse me? β‘ liked by alex_albon and 13,518 others
username3 they came back from break attached at the hip omg
username4 i love how literally every single picture we get of alex from testing and every social media thing he shows up in, y/n is right beside him. they're literally best friends they'll kill it this season
yourusername GET BACK TO THE SIM β‘ liked by alex_albon and 1,347 others
β³ alex_albon π«‘π«‘π«‘
β³β³ username5 chat is thisβ¦ flirtingβ¦
liked by alex_albon, williamsf1official and 20,741 others
yourusername Australia here we come!! π
alex_albon YESSSSSSSSSSSS β‘ liked by yourusername
lauramuller Looking so good! Good luck to Williams this season! β‘ liked by yourusername
β³ yourusername Good luck to Haas too!!!!!!!!!!
username1 I LOVE her style I have to say
username2 what a cutie!!!
username3 FACE CARD NEVER DECLINES
username4 I'm obsessed
username5 why no pictures with Alex? we know you have them
liked by yourusername, williamsf1official and 56,714 others
alex_albon Confident in the car, confident in my team. Australia here we come!
yourusername you stole my captionβ¦
β³ alex_albon perhaps
username1 WILLIAMS WCC!!!!!!!!!!!! β‘ liked by alex_albon and 2,603 others
username2 SO EXCITEDDDD CAN'T THE SEASON START ALREADY
username3 confident in the car?????????????????????????? has a williams driver ever said this before??????????? historical
williamsf1official πππ β‘ liked by alex_albon and 5,214 others
"Alex, Piastri has overtaken Antonelli and is 4 seconds behind you."
"4 seconds? That's a lot."
You roll your eyes, a grin taking over your face.
"It's his home race, Alex. Don't be mean."
"What position are we in?"
You look at all the screens in front of you.
"P4. Really good result for the first race of the season, if you can keep it up." There's an edge of teasing to your voice, but he barely notices it.
"There's still a bunch of laps. Who's P3?"
You blink. "Russell. 3.4 seconds ahead."
"I'm coming after his ass."
A surprised laugh escapes your lips. "So 4 seconds is a lot, but 3.4 isn't?"
"I promised someone an Australia podium."
Your cheeks flush at that, and you ignore the side-eye you get from a few of your colleagues, fingers tightening on the notes sprawled on the table in front of you as you watch your screens.
It happens slowly.
The gap decreases lap by lap, until Alex is just 3, 2, 1.7 seconds away. He always puts in a lot of effort, but this time he chases Russell like a hunter, calculated turns saving every millisecond they can until he's so close you can taste the champagne on your tongue. He chases hungrily, and you match his hunger easily in the same way you seem to always match him, counting down the seconds and speaking in sharp, precise bursts of words, making sure not to throw him off.
"You're less than half a second away, Alex." You're aware he knows, you're aware he can see George right in front of him, you're aware the front of his car is already aligned with the back of Russell's, but you can't help but say it out loud, eyes wide with excitement.
"I know," and he knows you know, but he can't help but say it out loud either.
It's glorious. Your heart is out of your chest and reaching out to him and you're sure his ears must hurt when the Williams pit wall explodes in cheers the second Alex concludes the overtake. Your hand comes up to your mouth and your eyes fill with water and you can hear his voice screaming into the radio, and you don't care about anything else in the world.
The checkered flag is waved and it takes Alex mere moments until he runs towards your team by the boxes, jumping up and down by the race track when it's finally over. His gloved hands hold your wrists and your hands hold his helmet, staring into his gray eyes through the glass as the two of you yell at each other, tears streaming down your face and both screaming complete nonsense before he's dragged away to the cool-down room.
Everything happens too fast. Before you know, you're looking up at the podium, and he looks straight down at you before Great Britain's national anthem ends, eyes sparkling with joy and excitement and something else, and then he's spraying you with champagne, and you laugh, and laugh, and laugh, eyes burning from the alcohol, grin hurting your cheeks, so happy you can barely breathe.
Coworkers and engineers from other teams congratulate you as you walk through the crowd to the back of the podium where you know he must be, and you smile widely β you're on a mission. Alex's first podium with Williams. Your first podium ever. You're fucking ecstatic.
He's looking for you, too. You find each other in the middle of a random hallway, both searching, both shaking with excitement, and he's pulling you into his arms before you can react, naked hands coming up warm and tight against your back while yours come around his shoulders.
"I told youβ"
"I can't believeβ"
"Thank you so muchβ"
"You'reβ"
When you pull away enough to look at him, your hands automatically come up to cradle his jaw, holding his face just like you held his helmet minutes after the race, in a way that feels so natural, so instinctive, that you barely notice your own movements.
And the world explodes.
You can't name any of the colors you see. You've never seen them before. It's bright β so bright, overwhelming, makes your retinas hurt. Your breath catches, and Alex's eyes go impossibly wide.
His eyes are dark. Not gray, like before. You immediately want to know the name of this color β still dark, but warmer. Softer. Sweeter. It matches his hair. He looks good in Williams colors, whatever they are.
You can't manage to process anything else other than this β the soft warmth of his eyes, the way it matches his hair, the way every single color in the world seems made just for him, created exclusively to look nice around him.
You laugh. You laugh, and he's laughing too, and you're pulling him into another tight hug, and your head hurts from all the brightness and you can't name a single thing you're seeing, but it's perfect, isn't it? It's perfect.
When you pull away again, his eyes seem to sparkle in an even more beautiful way, lighting up their deep color, and he grins, and it's perfect.
"I hoped it was you," he admits. Your heart seems to burst. You laugh once more, loudly, your entire body burning hot, your eyes burning from the champagne, your heart burning from seeing him in his entirety.
"I'm glad it's you," it comes out choked, and you might be crying again. He lets out something between a sigh and a chuckle, and, before you know it, his lips touch yours softly, as warm as the color of his eyes. You don't care if anyone sees it, you don't care that you're standing in the middle of a hallway in the paddock, you don't care about any consequences or logistics β you can only see his colors.
You've heard stories of soulmates. Of this moment. You've never searched for it, not intentionally, and yet it came to you. Just like you believed it would.
You pull your lips away and his follow. You stare at him again, you commit his colors to memory. It's all so overwhelming you can barely think.
"Congratulations on the podium," you manage, and he grins so big you can feel your face flushing, "really good race."
"You're so stupid," his voice is smothered with affection, and a giggle escapes you before his mouth slants over yours, his hands resting on the back of your neck and sending a pleasant shiver up your spine.
Your eyes close as you sigh into his kiss, turning off the colors that stay engraved into your mind. He sighs too, and it feels bright. Brighter than the world around you, brighter than anything you've ever seen or felt before.
It's stupid, yes. It's perfect, too.
liked by alex_albon, georgerussell63 and 547,364 others
yourusername touched this guy by accident and now everything's too bright
tagged: alex_albon
username1 WAIT DO YOU MEAN
username2 OH MY GODDDDDDD
username3 I KNEWWWWWW THERE WAS SOMETHING GOING ON
username4 first time you post him properly and it's a soulmate reveal oh my god I'm obsessed
alex_albon you're my favorite color
β³ yourusername OH......
β³β³ alex_albon IS THIS A BAD THING? DON'T REACT LIKE THAT β‘ liked by yourusername
liked by yourusername, carlossainz55 and 893,064 others
alex_albon hard launch
tagged: yourusername
georgerussell63 CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!!!! β‘ liked by alex_albon and 13,248 others
carlossainz55 Okay maybe you can be the best Williams duo β‘ liked by alex_albon and 25,147 others
username1 oh they look so good together
username2 finding your soulmate is such a beautiful experience I'm so happy for you guys β€οΈ
yourusername you're MY favorite color β‘ liked by alex_albon and 18,316 others
β³ alex_albon SEE IT'S CUTE WHY DID YOU SAY OH
check out my masterlist!
I HOPE YOU ENJOYEDDDD SORRY FOR DISAPPEARING FOR A LITTLE WHILE, MANY MORE TO COME <3
౨ৠinstead of paying off a bet with your friend from your pockets, you decide to sell yourself for valentineβs day. surprisingly, eight men are willing to help pay off your bet.
from jia, happy (late..) vday sweeties ! this was inspired by this post i made. guys i swear iβm trying to write more stuff, iβm just a lazy chud who sleeps and doomscrolls all day after schoolβ¦
summary: You take a stranger to couples therapy to see how long it takes the therapist to realize that you don't know each other at all.
word count: 4.2k
contains: crack, based on this tweet
It started as a joke.
On a Tuesday night, after too much scrolling and too little dignity, you opened Tinder and changed your bio to read:
Looking for someone to take to couples therapy and see how long it takes the therapist to notice we donβt know each other.
It was one of those chaotic thoughts you werenβt supposed to act on, the kind that belonged in a group chat, not a dating profile. But the wine glass was half empty, and you were feeling reckless, so there it went. You expected maybe a handful of half-hearted reactions. A lazy βlol.β A pity match or two. Definitely not everyone is taking it seriously.
You didnβt expect Alex.
His opening message wasnβt a βheyβ or a smarmy pick-up line. It was:
This is the funniest thing Iβve ever seen on Tinder. Are you serious?
You blinked at the screen. And then, before you could think better of it, you typed back:
One hundred percent serious. Imagine the chaos.
That was the start of the worst and best idea of your life. Because instead of running in the opposite direction like any sane person, Alex dove headfirst into it with you. Within half an hour, you had the skeleton of a fake relationship plotted outβhow youβd met in a coffee shop, how youβd argued over oat milk, how heβd once lent you an umbrella, how your anniversary was in May. By midnight, you were laughing so hard you could barely breathe, trading increasingly ridiculous βissuesβ to fight about. You claimed he chewed like a cow. He claimed you had a debilitating obsession with reality TV.
By the end of the night, you had an actual appointment booked.
It was only when you woke up the next morning, groggy and hungover on adrenaline, that it hit you. You were really about to walk into a licensed professionalβs office with a stranger you met on Tinder less than twenty-four hours ago and pretend to be in a relationship on the rocks.
You should have canceled. You should have deleted Tinder altogether. Instead, you put on your favorite jeans, downed a coffee, and headed out to meet him.
You hadnβt thought this far ahead.
It was one thing to type out chaotic backstories over Tinder with a stranger named Alex, who, judging by his emojis and weirdly specific insults, was probably harmless. It was another thing entirely to stand outside a beige office building with a sign that read βDr. Martin Grey, Licensed Couples Therapistβ and realize you were about to commit a federal-level crime against psychology.
Well. Maybe not federal. But at least unethical.
βY/N?β
You looked up, startled, and immediately regretted it because the man approaching was unfairly tall, unfairly attractive, and unfairly holding two iced coffees like he hadnβt just agreed to become your fake boyfriend in front of a licensed professional.
βAlex?β
He grinned, and you hated how boyish it was. βOne oat milk latte, for my favorite hater.β He held it out, as if this were a normal first meeting and not an audition for who could commit to the bit harder.
You took the cup, squinting at him. βYou actually got oat milk.β
βObviously. Itβs canon now. Thatβs how we met, remember? You called me the human embodiment of oat milk. I had to method act.β
You sipped. Damn him. It was good. βOkay, fine. Points for consistency.β
βThank you. I take this role very seriously.β He straightened up, mock-solemn. βSo, should we rehearse? Weβve got, what, five minutes before weβre due in there?β
You both looked at the sliding glass doors like they might swallow you whole.
βRight,β you said, tugging your phone out to skim the notes app where youβd written your βlore.β βOkay, so. Coffee shop, eight months ago, umbrella in March, anniversary in Mayββ
ββand our main conflict is that you hate how loudly I chew,β Alex finished, pointing at you.
You pointed back. βAnd that you think Iβm addicted to reality TV.β
βWhich is true.β
βShut up.β
βSee? Perfect,β he said, like this wasnβt absolutely deranged. βWeβre already fighting.β
You groaned, covering your face with your hands. βWe are so going to get caught.β
Alex leaned against the wall, casual in ripped jeans and a hoodie, like this wasnβt the weirdest Wednesday of his life. βNah. Think about it. Therapists probably see couples way messier than us every day. Likeββmy boyfriend of twelve years wonβt do the dishesβ messy. Weβre gonna look normal by comparison.β
βI donβt think normal couples plot their relationship lore on Tinder.β
He tilted his head, considering. βNormalβs boring.β
You shouldnβt have laughed. You really shouldnβt have. But you did.
The laugh turned into a nervous little spiral of giggles, and Alex was watching you with that infuriating grin, and suddenly the absurdity of the whole thing cracked something open in your chest. βOh my god,β you wheezed. βWeβre actually insane.β
βYeah,β he agreed, sipping his coffee like this was all routine. βBut at least weβre insane together.β
You looked at him then, really looked. He had a sharp jaw softened by an easy smile, hair that clearly resisted being tamed, and brown eyes that flickered between amusement andβsomething else. Something you werenβt about to acknowledge, not when you were about to fake a relationship in front of a stranger with a psychology degree.
Instead, you forced a grin. βOkay, partner in crime. You ready?β
He exhaled dramatically. βBorn ready.β Then, lowering his voice: βSo, just to clarify, if they ask how we met, I donβt say βon Tinder.ββ
βGod, no. Stick to the coffee shop.β
βAnd if they ask about our first fight?β
βYou chewed too loudly during our second date.β
He nodded, serious. βRight. And if they ask why weβre hereββ
ββbecause weβre working on communication. And because I watch too much Love Island.β
He cracked a smile. βSolid.β
For a moment, you just stood there, staring at each other with matching smirks, two idiots about to gaslight a therapist.
Then Alex pushed the door open and held it for you. βAfter you, fake girlfriend.β
You rolled your eyes, stepping inside. βDonβt make it weird.β
βToo late,β he whispered.
The waiting room smelled faintly of lavender and judgment.
You both sat on opposite ends of the couch at first, awkwardly scrolling your phones like two strangers in a doctorβs officeβwhich, technically, you were. Then Alex leaned over, nudging your knee with his.
βWe should probably sit closer,β he muttered. βCouples donβt sit like this.β
You froze. He was right. Normal couples didnβt sit with a three-foot buffer zone of pure βstranger dangerβ between them. Slowly, carefully, you slid closer until your thighs brushed, and holy hell, when had it gotten so warm in here?
Alex chuckled under his breath. βRelax. Weβre not actually dating.β
βRight,β you said, pretending the heat in your face was from the coffee. βTotally.β
Before you could overthink further, the office door opened and a middle-aged man with kind eyes and a clipboard stepped out.
βAlex and Y/N?β he asked.
Alex shot you a look that screamed, "Showtime."
You both stood, and for a brief, ridiculous second, Alex reached for your hand. His palm was warm, his grip firm, and you knew it was for show, but your heart didnβt get the memo.
βYes,β Alex said smoothly. βThatβs us.β
And just like that, you walked into the lionβs den, hand in hand with your fake boyfriend, trying very hard not to laugh β or maybe scream.
The office looked like it had been decorated by someone who thought IKEA catalogs counted as personality. Neutral beige walls, two armchairs angled just enough to look conversational, and a box of tissues on the coffee table like an ominous warning.
You and Alex sank into the loveseat together, stiff as mannequins. His arm brushed yours, his knee bumped your leg, and every nerve in your body screamed, do not laugh.
The therapist, Dr. Grey, according to the little brass plaque on his desk, sat down across from you, crossing one leg over the other. He had the practiced smile of a man whoβd seen every kind of marital crisis known to humankind.
βSo,β he began, pen poised over his notepad. βTell me what brings you two in today.β
Showtime.
Alex cleared his throat, shooting you a side glance. βUh, wellβ¦ weβve been together for aboutβ¦ eight months now?β
You nodded too eagerly. βYes. Eight months. Exactly.β
Dr. Greyβs eyebrows lifted, already scribbling. βThatβs a very precise answer.β
βAnniversary in May,β Alex added quickly, as if that explained anything.
βMay 13th,β you blurted.
The therapistβs pen paused. βImpressive memory.β
You forced a sweet smile, gripping Alexβs knee under the table like do not blow this, oat milk man. βWeβre veryβ¦ detail-oriented.β
Alex winced slightly at your grip but leaned into the role. βRight. But lately, umβ¦ weβve been having some disagreements.β
βMm-hm.β Dr. Grey tilted his head, waiting.
You jumped in before Alex could waffle. βHe chews like a cow.β
Alex gasped, full betrayal. βI do not!β
βYes, you do! Itβs like sitting next to a lawnmower when you eat cereal.β
βThatβs so specificββ
βBecause itβs true!β
Dr. Grey held up a hand, his voice calm, soothing. βOkay. So one concern isβ¦ eating noises?β
βYes,β you said firmly, while Alex muttered, βShe exaggerates.β
βAnd,β Alex countered, βsheβs addicted to reality TV. Like, sheβll watch four hours of Love Island in one sitting.β
You sat up straighter, indignant. βThatβs called commitment to character arcs!β
βItβs called brain rot!β Alex shot back.
The therapistβs pen scratched furiously. You half-expected him to underline brain rot.
For a moment, silence settled over the room, broken only by the faint hum of the air conditioner. Then Dr. Grey steepled his fingers.
βIt sounds like you two care about each other,β he said. βBut small irritations are becoming amplified.β
βExactly,β Alex said, nodding seriously. βLike, itβs not a dealbreaker that she knows the names of every contestant on Too Hot to Handle, but itβsβ¦ concerning.β
βAnd itβs not a dealbreaker that he slurps noodles like heβs auditioning for a sound effects job,β you added sweetly.
Alex whipped his head toward you. βThatβs a low blow.β
βYou deserve it.β
The therapist cleared his throat. βLetβs talk about how you two met. Often, remembering the foundation of the relationship helps put current issues in perspective.β
Crap. Here it was. The lore test.
You jumped in first. βWe met at a coffee shop.β
Alex nodded rapidly. βYeah. I was in line. She insulted me.β
Dr. Grey blinked. ββ¦She insulted you?β
βShe called meβ uhβ what was it again?β Alex glanced at you desperately.
βThe human embodiment of oat milk,β you supplied.
The therapist blinked again, pen hovering. ββ¦Interesting.β
βYeah,β Alex said, as if this were the most normal meet-cute in history. βRomance blossomed after that.β
βInstantly,β you said, trying not to crack.
βInstantly,β Alex echoed, his lips twitching.
Dr. Grey scribbled something that you were certain was just ?? in all caps.
βOkay,β the therapist said slowly, βand your first date?β
βUmbrella,β Alex said too quickly.
You nodded like a bobblehead. βYes. It rained, and heβ¦ lent me his umbrella.β
βIn March,β Alex added, smugly.
βRight,β you said, glaring at him like donβt get cocky.
βAnd when did you become official?β
βMay,β you chorused in unison.
Silence.
Dr. Greyβs eyes flicked between you, suspicion glinting. You could feel sweat prickling your back.
Alex reached for your hand again, squeezing, and for one absurd second, it steadied you. Like, yeah, maybe you were lying through your teeth, but at least you were lying together.
βWell,β Dr. Grey said finally, βitβs clear you two share a playful dynamic. But letβs dig into what happens when conflicts arise. Can you give me an example of a recent fight?β
Your brain blanked. Your carefully written notes hadnβt covered this.
Alex, bless his chaotic soul, said, βShe got mad because I ate the last cookie.β
Your head whipped around. βThatβs not a fake example, that actually would make me mad.β
βYou didnβt even bake them!β
βCookies are communal!β
βYou canβt claim dibs on the whole pack!β
Dr. Grey pinched the bridge of his nose like he was already reconsidering his career choices.
The silence stretched again, thick with awkwardness. You stared at Alex, and he stared back, and somewhere between your glare and his smirk, you both started to break.
First, it was a twitch of your lips. Then a stifled snort. Then Alexβs shoulders shook, and before you knew it, the two of you were half-laughing, half-choking on the loveseat, desperately trying to hold it together in front of a man who thought he was saving your relationship.
The therapist looked done.
βDo you often laugh during conflict?β he asked dryly.
βYes,β Alex gasped, wiping his eyes. βItβs our coping mechanism.β
βVery unhealthy,β you added, still giggling.
The look Dr. Grey gave you couldβve rivaled the power of God himself.
Dr. Grey tapped his pen against his notepad. βSo. The last cookie fight asideβ¦ when disagreements arise, how do you typically resolve them?β
You and Alex froze.
Because you hadnβt gotten that far in your fake backstory.
βUh,β you started, wringing your hands in your lap. βWeβ¦ talk it out.β
Alex nodded too quickly. βYeah, lots of communication.β
βMm-hm,β Dr. Grey said, unconvinced. βAnd what does that communication look like?β
Alex hesitated for half a beat too long before blurting, βUmβ¦ I usually make her tea.β
You whipped your head toward him. βTea?β
βYes,β he said, leaning into it. βTea calms you down. Chamomile, specifically.β
You narrowed your eyes. βYou donβt even know what chamomile looks like.β
βOf course I do!β
βWhat color is it, then?β
ββ¦greenish?β
βThatβs all tea, Alex!β
Dr. Greyβs eyes flicked between you both like he was watching a tennis match. His pen was working overtime.
βOkay,β the therapist said slowly, βso perhaps the tea ritual isnβt as consistent as it could be. What about physical affection? Do you use touch as a form of reassurance?β
The question hit like a stun gun.
You and Alex glanced at each other, and then away, like two teenagers caught passing notes in class.
Finally, Alex coughed. βUh, yeah. Weβ¦ hug.β
βHugging,β Dr. Grey repeated, deadpan.
βYes. Hugging,β you echoed, your voice an octave too high.
βDo you want to demonstrate?β the therapist asked.
Your soul left your body.
Alexβs eyes went wide. βDemonstrate?β
βSometimes it helps,β Dr. Grey said calmly, βto show how you connect physically in moments of tension.β
You wanted the earth to open up and swallow you whole.
But Alex, ever the method actor, opened his arms in slow motion like he was about to embrace a feral cat.
βCome here, chamomile girl,β he said under his breath.
You glared at him. βIf you call me that again, I will actually leave.β
But you leaned in anyway, because what else could you do? His arms wrapped around you awkwardly at first, one around your shoulders, one hesitating at your waist. You stiffened, then slowly β too slowly β let yourself sink into it.
And god help you, he was warm. Steady. Comfortable in a way that made your brain short-circuit.
βMm,β Alex said loudly, patting your back with exaggerated force. βSee? Hugging fixes everything.β
You elbowed him in the ribs on principle.
Dr. Greyβs face was unreadable.
βThank you for that demonstration,β he said finally. βIt seems like you two do rely on humor and physical touchβ¦ but Iβm sensing there may be some deeper communication issues.β
βOh, definitely,β Alex said solemnly, still holding his side where youβd jabbed him. βShe doesnβt respect cookies as individual entities.β
You rolled your eyes so hard they nearly got stuck. βAnd he doesnβt understand basic tea taxonomy.β
The therapist inhaled deeply, clearly regretting his career path.
βLetβs try something different,β Dr. Grey said, flipping a page on his notepad. βI want you both to list three qualities you appreciate about each other. Start with Y/N.β
Your stomach dropped. Crap. Compliments.
You blinked at Alex. He was watching you expectantly, and you had the distinct impression he was enjoying this.
βUmβ¦β You fidgeted. βHeβ¦ makes good jokes?β
Alex raised his brows. βGood jokes?β
βFine, passable jokes.β
βBetter.β
You exhaled through your nose. βAndβ¦ heβs reliable. He showed up today with coffee, so thatβs something.β
His expression softened for a blink before he smirked again. βThatβs two. One more.β
You hesitated, then muttered, βHeβsβ¦ nice to look at.β
Alexβs grin spread slowly, lazily, and he was far too pleased with himself.
Dr. Grey scribbled something furiously.
βInteresting,β the therapist said. βAlex, your turn.β
Alex didnβt hesitate. βSheβs funny. Like, the kind of funny that sneaks up on you and makes you laugh when you shouldnβt.β
You blinked. That was⦠weirdly specific.
βSheβs also stubborn,β he continued, tilting his head at you, βwhich isβ¦ frustrating, but kind of admirable.β
Your chest did a weird, fluttery thing.
βAndβ¦β He paused, a smirk tugging at his lips. βSheβs got great taste in reality TV. Even if itβs brain rot.β
βWow,β you muttered, looking away before he could see the stupid smile tugging at your own lips. βBackhanded compliment much?β
Dr. Grey set his pen down slowly, watching the two of you like a scientist whoβd just discovered a new species.
βI see,β he said carefully. βSo despite your disagreements, thereβs clearlyβ¦ affection here.β
Both you and Alex opened your mouths to protest at the same timeβ
βAffection?β you squeaked.
βDefinitely not,β Alex said too fast.
But your hands were still suspiciously close on the couch cushion, pinkies nearly brushing, and the way Alexβs knee pressed against yours told a very different story.
Dr. Grey leaned back in his chair, the corners of his mouth twitching just slightly, like he was onto something.
And for the first time all session, you were genuinely terrified.
For the first thirty minutes of the session, you had been proud β no, smug β about how well you and Alex were pulling this off. Sure, there were some hiccups: the cookie debacle, the chamomile lie, the oat milk meet-cute that sounded less romantic and more like a dietary restriction. But overall? You thought you were killing it.
Until Dr. Grey leaned forward, rested his elbows on his knees, and hit you with the calm, measured tone of a man about to end your entire career.
βY/N. Alex.β
You both froze like students caught passing notes.
βYes?β you said, your voice doing that embarrassing crackle thing.
βI want to be honest with you,β Dr. Grey continued. His eyes narrowed slightly, sharp despite the kind smile heβd been wearing all session. βI donβt believe youβve told me the truth about your relationship.β
Silence.
You could hear the faint buzz of the fluorescent lights above you, the way Alex sucked in a sharp breath beside you, the sound of your own soul trying to yeet itself into another dimension.
βExcuse me?β Alex said, finally, a nervous laugh slipping through.
Dr. Grey didnβt flinch. βYouβre not a couple. Are you?β
You and Alex spoke at the exact same time.
βYes, we areββ Says you.
βNo, weβre notββ Says Alex.
Your heads snapped toward each other, eyes wide.
βYou traitor,β you hissed.
βI panicked!β he hissed back.
Dr. Grey sat back, steepling his fingers again like some kind of judgmental Batman. βWell. That clears things up.β
You buried your face in your hands. βOh my god.β
βOkay, okay, hear me out,β Alex said, holding his hands up like he was negotiating a hostage situation. βTechnically, weβre not a couple. But! Weβre auditioning for the role of one.β
You kicked his shin. βDonβt make it sound like community theatre.β
βWhat else do you want me to say? βHi, Dr. Grey, weβre two psychos from Tinder who thought it would be funny to prank a licensed professional?β That sounds worse!β
Dr. Greyβs mouth twitched like he was fighting the urge to laugh. βThatβsβ¦ exactly what youβve just admitted, though.β
You groaned, sliding down in your seat until your head hit the back cushion. βWeβre going to hell.β
βCorrection,β Alex said, pointing a finger at you. βYouβre dragging me to hell. This was your bio idea.β
βLike you didnβt swipe right!β
βBecause it was hilarious!β
The therapist cleared his throat, and both of you snapped back to attention like guilty schoolchildren. βSo let me get this straight,β Dr. Grey said. βYou matched on Tinderβ¦ devised a fake backstoryβ¦ and booked a therapy session. For fun.β
ββ¦Yes,β you muttered.
Alex, apparently deciding to lean into the bit until the bitter end, added, βItβs kind of a social experiment, if you think about it.β
Dr. Grey stared at him for a long, withering moment. βIβm not sure that makes it better.β
The silence that followed was suffocating. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, your whole body buzzing with embarrassment. Beside you, Alex shifted like he couldnβt decide whether to bolt for the door or keep digging his grave.
And then, you laughed.
A small, stupid giggle bubbled out before you could stop it. Alex turned to you, wide-eyed, like youβd just lost your mind. Which, maybe you had.
Because soon the giggle snowballed into full-blown hysterics, your shoulders shaking, tears stinging your eyes.
Alex lasted all of five seconds before he cracked, too. His laugh was loud, unrestrained, contagious. Within moments, you were both doubled over on the loveseat, wheezing like hyenas, while Dr. Grey sat across from you, looking like he was reconsidering every decision that had led him to this profession.
βThis isβ this is the worst idea weβve ever had,β you gasped, clutching your stomach.
βThe best idea,β Alex corrected, wiping at his eyes. βWe actually made it thirty whole minutes before getting caught. Thatβs a record.β
βAre you keeping score of fake couples?β
βI am now!β
Dr. Grey pinched the bridge of his nose. βI have to say, in my twenty years of practice, this is a first.β
βHappy to make history,β Alex said, still grinning.
You were still laughing when you finally sat up, cheeks aching, chest heaving. Alex was watching you with that stupid boyish smile again, eyes crinkled at the corners. And you hated it.
Well, you didnβt hate it. That was the problem.
The session ended mercifully soon after. Dr. Grey, to his credit, didnβt kick you out on the spot. Instead, he sighed, scribbled something in his notebook, and said, βFor future reference, couples therapy works best whenβ¦ You are, in fact, a couple.β
You and Alex nodded solemnly like kids being scolded.
βUnderstood,β Alex said.
βTotally,β you added.
βPlease donβt book another session under false pretenses,β Dr. Grey finished, his voice flat.
βGot it,β you both said in unison.
And with that, you were free.
The second the office door clicked shut behind you, you and Alex collapsed against the hallway wall, laughter exploding out of you again like you couldnβt hold it in.
βOh my god,β you wheezed, doubling over. βWe actually did that. We actually wasted a professionalβs time.β
βWeβre criminals,β Alex agreed, tears in his eyes from laughing. βWeβre going to be blacklisted from every therapist in the city.β
βDo therapists even have a blacklist?β
βThey do now. Weβre probably at the top.β
You leaned your head back against the wall, still catching your breath. Alex was standing close, too close, his shoulder brushing yours. When you turned to look at him, he was already looking at you.
The laughter died down, leaving a charged silence in its wake. His smile lingered, softer now, almost hesitant.
And before you could talk yourself out of it, before your brain could scream bad idea bad idea bad idea, you leaned forward and kissed him.
It wasnβt a long kiss. Just a quick, impulsive press of your lips to his, tasting faintly of oat milk latte and bad decisions. But when you pulled back, his eyes were wide, his mouth curved into a stunned half-smile.
ββ¦What was that?β he asked, voice low.
You shrugged, trying to look casual despite the way your heart was sprinting in your chest. βA thank you. For committing to the bit.β
βA thank you,β he repeated, still grinning.
βYes.β
He tilted his head, studying you, and damn it, why did he have to look at you like that? βYou know,β he said slowly, βwe couldβ¦ actually do this again.β
βWhat, lie to another therapist?β
βNo,β he said, laughing. βI meantβ¦ a second date. Like, a real one. No fake backstory, no chamomile lies.β
You blinked at him, surprised. βA real date?β
βYeah. Dinner, maybe. Orββ he smirkedββwe could go to a coffee shop. Make it canon.β
You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling too. βYouβre ridiculous.β
βAnd yet,β he said, bumping your shoulder lightly, βyou kissed me.β
You shoved him playfully, but your cheeks were still warm. βFine. One real date. But only because I want to prove to you that cookies are communal.β
βDeal.β
βDeal,β you echoed, shaking his hand like you were signing a legally binding contract.
And as you walked out of the building together, still laughing, still buzzing from the chaos of the afternoon, you couldnβt help thinking: maybe the joke had gotten away from you.
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The paddock was alive in that specific way it always was on a Friday morningβengines humming in the distance, radios crackling, people walking fast with purpose while pretending not to panic.
Alex stood just outside the garage, sunglasses perched on his head, coffee in one hand, the other firmly holding onto a very small, very energetic four-year-old.
Yn.
She had curls that refused to behave, big curious eyes, and the unstoppable confidence of someone who had only recently discovered she could run. And run fast.
βOkay,β Alex said, crouching slightly to look her in the eyes. βYou stay right here. Right. Here.β
Yn nodded solemnly.
βI promise,β she said, placing a tiny hand over her heart.
Alex squinted. βThat sounded suspiciously confident.β
She grinned.
Behind them, Charles leaned against a barrier, Lando was mid-rant about something technical, George was half-listening while scrolling through something on his phone, and Carlos was sipping water, relaxed as always.
βThis is the calm before the storm,β Carlos said, nodding toward Yn.
Alex sighed. βYou have no idea.β
Lily had gone to a media thingβjust half an hour, sheβd said. Famous last words. So Alex was on dad duty, which usually wasnβt a problem.
Except for the running phase.
They were mid-conversation when it happened.
A squirrelβbold, fluffy, completely unaware of the chaos it was about to causeβdarted across the edge of the paddock.
Ynβs head snapped up.
βSQUIRREL,β she announced, voice full of awe.
Alex barely had time to process the word before she slipped her hand out of his and bolted.
βOh noβYnβYNββ
She was fast. Alarmingly fast for someone whose shoes still lit up when she walked.
βYN!β Alex shouted, immediately sprinting after her.
Lando burst out laughing. βSheβs gone!β
George looked up, eyes wide. βIs she - oh my god, sheβs fast.β
Charles pointed. βLeft! She went left!β
Yn zigzagged toward the squirrel, arms flailing, giggling like sheβd just unlocked a secret level of life.
βIβM GONNA PET IT,β she yelled.
βYou are NOT PETTING THE SQUIRREL,β Alex called back, heart pounding as he closed the distance.
The squirrel vanished under a barrier.
Yn skidded to a stop, confused for exactly half a secondβlong enough for Alex to scoop her up.
He held her against his chest, breathing hard.
βAbsolutely not,β he said, laughing despite himself. βYou cannot just run after wildlife.β
Yn pouted. βBut it was cute.β
βI know. Thatβs how they get you.β
The others had gathered around them now.
Carlos grinned. βSo this is the running phase.β
Alex nodded grimly. βThis is the running phase.β
Lando crouched in front of Yn. βYou know you gave your dad a heart attack, right?β
She tilted her head. βWhatβs a heart attack?β
Alex immediately said, βWe donβt need to explain that.β
George smiled softly. βSheβs fearless.β
βSheβs four,β Alex said. βShe has no concept of consequences.β
Yn wrapped her arms around Alexβs neck. βI sorry, Daddy.β
That did it. He melted instantly.
βItβs okay,β he sighed. βJustβno more running.β
She nodded again, very seriously.
The group went back to talking, Yn now sitting on Alexβs hip, fiddling with the zipper of his jacket.
And thenβ
A bird.
She pointed. βBIRD.β
Alex tightened his hold preemptively. βNo.β
George laughed. βSheβs like a puppy.β
βI swear,β Alex said, rubbing his face, βI look away for two seconds and sheβs chasing something with a tail.β
George hesitated for a moment, then spoke up. βHey. I can help.β
Alex looked at him. βYouβre serious?β
βYeah,β George said easily. βIβve got time. And I can run faster than a squirrel.β
Yn gasped. βYou can?!β
George smiled at her. βDefinitely.β
Alex thought about it for a second. A Williams meeting was coming up. Lily wasnβt back yet. And George genuinely looked eager.
βYou sure?β Alex asked.
βAbsolutely.β
Alex shifted Yn toward him. βOkay. But rules.β
Yn immediately protested. βI want Daddy.β
βI know,β Alex said gently. βBut Daddy has to go talk about boring grown-up things.β
George took her carefully, settling her on his hip.
βYouβll hang out with George, yeah?β Alex said. βNo running.β
Yn considered this.
βOkay,β she said. βBut only if he doesnβt let me pet squirrels.β
George laughed. βDeal.β
Alex handed over her tiny backpack, crouched to kiss her forehead, and pointed a finger at her. βBe good.β
She saluted him.
As Alex walked away toward the meeting room, he glanced back once.
George was already talking animatedly to Yn, pointing at something in the distance. She was laughing.
βGood luck,β Lando called after Alex. βYouβve just outsourced chaos.β
Two hours later, Alex emerged from the Williams meeting mentally exhausted and emotionally ready for coffee.
He stepped into the paddock again and immediately scanned the area.
No Yn.
His heart jumped.
βGeorge?β he muttered.
And then he saw them.
Walking toward him.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
Yn was holding Georgeβs hand, taking careful little steps like she was crossing a tightrope. On her feet were the prettiest little lilac play heels Alex had ever seenβsparkly, slightly too big, and absolutely impractical.
Alex stopped dead.
βWhat,β he said faintly, βis happening.β
George noticed him and waved. βHey!β
Yn looked up, saw Alex, and beamed.
βDaddy!β she said proudly. βLook!β
Alex walked toward them, eyes fixed on her shoes. βWhy are youβ¦ dressed like youβre going to a gala?β
George shrugged. βShe found them.β
βFound them where.β
βSomeoneβs hospitality unit,β George said. βShe said they were calling to her.β
Yn nodded. βThey sparkly.β
Alex crouched in front of her. βBaby, you canβt run in those.β
George grinned. βThatβs the best part. She canβt run at all.β
Yn took another careful step, arms slightly out for balance.
βIβm walking,β she announced. βLike a princess.β
Alex stared at George.
βYou did this on purpose.β
George held up his hands. βYou said no running. I adapted.β
Alex laughed, shaking his head. βI leave you with my child for two hours and you turn her into royalty.β
Yn stepped forward again, very slowly, very carefully.
βNo running,β George said gently. βRemember our deal.β
She nodded. βRunning is dangerous in heels.β
Alex blinked. βShe said what.β
George leaned closer. βSheβs very wise now.β
Alex picked her up gently, inspecting the shoes. βYou okay?β
She nodded enthusiastically. βGeorge holded my hand the whole time.β
George smiled. βDidnβt let go once.β
Alex stood, heart full in that quiet way that sneaks up on you.
βThank you,β he said sincerely.
βAnytime,β George replied. βSheβsβ¦ kind of amazing.β
Yn wrapped her arms around Alexβs neck. βGeorge says Iβm not allowed to run anymore.β
Alex chuckled. βIs that so?β
βYes. Only walk. And only sparkle.β
Alex kissed her cheek. βI think I can live with that.β
Lily appeared moments later, stopping short when she saw Ynβs shoes.
ββ¦Why does our child look like sheβs about to attend fashion week.β
Alex grinned. βLong story.β
Yn held up one foot proudly. βI didnβt run.β
Lily laughed, shaking her head. βHonestly? Thatβs a win.β
George gave a small bow. βMission accomplished.β
And for the rest of the afternoon, Yn stayed exactly where she was - walking slowly, carefully, hand in hand with anyone who offered - sparkling lilac heels clicking softly against the ground.
No squirrels were harmed.
Alexβs heart rate returned to normal.
And George was officially promoted to trusted anti-running accomplice.
You Text Him βI Had A Dream About Youβ & Refuse To Elaborate
: Max Verstappen, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Franco Colapinto, and Pierre Gasly
: Text Masterlist
: Main Masterlist
: Authorβs note: Iβm back you guysss!!! Hopefully Iβll stay for a long time now. Hereβs a makeup post for being MIA for so longggg
summary: alex moves to monaco and suddenly his cats need vet checkups all the time, or maybe he just wants to hang out with the pretty doc
folkie radio: MY FIRST ALEX FIC!!!! yβall said that albono didnβt very much appreciation so i decided to do something about it, enjoy!
MASTERLIST | MY PATREON
liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 48,936 others
yourinstagram Monday mood: When your favorite patients make your whole week better! ππ± Special shoutout to Jimmy and Sassy who came in for their routine checkup. These two are literally the most well-behaved cats I've ever met (yes, I'm biased).
Their dad @/maxverstappen1 definitely knows how to raise the sweetest cats in Monaco. ποΈπ
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username1 aweeee jimmy and sassy are so big now!
username2 vet to the stars
username3 THATS MY BFF AND IM PROUD
maxverstappen1 They only behave for you π At home Sassy keeps knocking everything off my shelves and Jimmy steals my socks. But at least they're healthy. Thanks doc!
β³ yourinstagram haha, that's because they know I'm the treat lady!
β³ landonorris Mate your cats have better healthcare than you do
β³ maxverstappen1 Shut up Lando
β³username4 iβm dying over this
alexandrasaintmleux Leo says he misses his favorite doc π’
β³ yourinstagram My little Leo!!! please bring him in soon
username5 cutest patients ever
username6 the way max is a softie for his cats
kellypiquet Jimmy and Sassy have the best vet in Monaco
β³ yourinstagram They already have the best parents! Say hi to little P from me
username7 i love her vibe i bet sheβs the sweetest person ever
username8 this is my dream job actually
username9 f1 pets favorite doc
liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 1,328,044 others
alex_albon Finally made the big move! π²π¨ Horsey has already claimed the best spot in the apartment: a shoe box. After years of everyone telling me to join the Monaco crew, here we are!
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username1 omggggg alex moved to monaco
username2 horsey is an icon tbh
username3 ALBON CATS TAKE OVER MONACO
charles_leclerc Finally!! Only took you 4 years π
β³ alex_albon Better late than never
maxverstappen1 Jimmy and Sassy have a new friend to judge from the balcony
β³ alex_albon As long as they don't teach him their sock-stealing habits
username4 they finally made him join the tax heaven crew
username5 monaco said ANOTHER ONE THANK YOU
username6 not me thinking that jimmy, sassy, roscoe, leo and the albon cats are now neighbors
williamsracing There goes our last UK-based driver π’
username7 i canβt believe a man who radiates this much golden retriever boyfriend is single
username8 HE LOOKS SO CUUUUUTE
username9 alex do your pets need a mom? cuz iβm free
liked by alex_albon, maxverstappen1 and 50,439 others
yourinstagram Late night emergency turned into meeting this gorgeous new Monaco resident! Everyone say hi to Horsey π€
Poor baby had a rough first week in his new home (pro tip: cats and moving box debris don't mix well!), but he's already feeling much better after some treatment. Such a brave boy who purred through the whole examination despite feeling under the weather!
PS: His dad @/alex_albon gets extra points for being so attentive and calm during an emergency situation - exactly what we love to see! Always nice when pet parents take such good care of their fur babies π
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username1 thank you for sharing your life as a vet! i love your posts
username2 such a cute boyyy horsey
maxverstappen1 The best π
β³ alex_albon You were right! Thanks for the recommendation π
username3 you just got another f1 patient no biggie
georgerussell63 Good to see Horsey feeling better!
β³ yourinstagram He's such a sweet patient!
username4 sheβs so popular among f1 drivers heeelp
charles_leclerc The Monaco pets collection grows
username5 ok but why is no one talking about how she called him attentive and calm?? ma'am we've seen him drive π
username6 ALEX GOT A VET ARC THIS IS NOT A DRILL
β³ username7 manifesting this storyline
β³ username4 y'all are too much omg π
username8 everyone in the comments being like π
β³ username5 THE DRIVERS ARE SO OBVIOUS I'M CRYING
username9 the group chat must be WILDING rn
username10 "his dad" MA'AM-
liked by alex_albon, charles_leclerc and 1,604,948 others
f1 When your local vet becomes paddock royalty!
Spotted at the #MonacoGP: The woman responsible for keeping the grid's furry friends healthy and happy! From Max's mischievous cats to Charles' pup, Lewisβ bulldog, and Alex's newly-relocated cats - @/yourinstagram has become the unofficial F1 Pet Doctor! ποΈπΎ
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username1 THIS IS SO CUTE OMG???
username2 SHES SO BEAUTIFUL
username3 this is definitely the coolest job in the world
maxverstappen1 Jimmy and Sassy's favorite human
β³ lando more like their only well-behaved moments
β³ username1 JIMMY AND SASSY JUST LOVE HER
oscarpiastri The real paddock MVP π
alex_albon β€οΈ
β³ lando very articulate there alex
β³ alex_albon shut up lando
β³ username2 OMGGGG WHAT DOES THIS MEAN
β³ username3the way alex just hearted it i-
β³ username4 we're watching a romance novel unfold in real time
username5 someone check on albon nation they're probably hospitalized
username6 the drivers exposing themselves in the comments π
username7 lando stirring the pot we love to see it
username8 not max immediately claiming her as his cats' favorite π
username9 THE HEART EMOJI???? ALEX???
username10 everyone in f1 moves to monaco for tax evasion and this vet
lewishamilton The best vet Roscoe's ever had! ππΎ
liked by alex_albon, lando and 68,934 others
yourinstagram Still pinching myself! ποΈ From late night emergency calls with your pets to watching you all race through the streets of Monaco - what a surreal experience! Thank you @/f1 for having me and huge thanks to @/williamsracing for the incredible hospitality (and the merch! π€«).
Special shoutout to all my four-legged patients watching their dads race from home and from the paddock today! πΎ
PS: These cars are LOUD! Now I understand why @alex_albon's cats get scared during race replays!
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username1 im her fan now
username2 SHES SO COOL
alex_albon Thanks for coming! Dinner to celebrate? π€
β³ lando smooth
β³ alex_albon I will block you
β³ landonorris worth it
β³ username1 WTF DID WE WITNESS
β³ username3 ohhh my god alex albon you have no shame
maxverstappen1 Thank you for coming !
williamsracing You're welcome any time! π
username4 DINNER??? ALEX???
β³ username2 THE SMOOTHEST DRIVER ON THE GRID FR
β³ username5 SOMEONE HOLD ME
username6 SO SHE WAS ALEXβS GUEST???
username7 can we talk about how pretty she is tho
georgerussell63 Next time bring your vet skills, my ego needs healing after that race
β³ maxverstappen1 same here doc
β³ yourinstagram Sorry boys, I only treat actual puppies π
username8 i ship her with alex idc idc
username9 WE NEED TO KNOW IF SHE ACTUALLY GRABBED DINNER WITH ALEX
f1gossip π¨ BREAKING: Alex Albon spotted having dinner with Monaco's favorite vet at Le Petite Maison in Nice! Sources say they arrived together and have been there for over 2 hours.
Multiple fans confirm they looked "very cozy" and were "laughing all evening" π
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username1 OMFGGGG I DIDNT SEE THIS COMING
username2 i love this pair actually
username3 Max Verstappen was seen at the same restaurant last week... did someone play matchmaker? π
username4 EVERYBODY STAY CALM IT'S HAPPENING
username5 interesting timing right after her Monaco GP appearance π€
username6 I SHIP THIS SO HARD
username7 seriously guys? let them eat in peace
username8 THE WAY HE TOOK HER TO A NICE RESTAURANT NOT JUST ANY PLACE
username9 our boy got GAME
username10 manifesting worked girlies
username11 the way this isn't even a netflix script this is REAL
liked by alexandrasaintmleux, alex_albon and 69,035 others
yourinstagram When your Monday morning turns into an impromptu F1 pets reunion!
Apparently EVERYONE needed an urgent check-up today... how convenient π€ (I'm looking at you @/lewishamilton @/maxverstappen1 @/charles_leclerc)
All patients are perfectly healthy, just as they were last week! Though Roscoe did get extra treats for being the most honest about this setup ππΎ
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username1 this is too funny
username2 why are they planninggggg
lewishamilton Roscoe said he was feeling under the weather!
β³ yourinstagram He was sleeping and snoring when you carried him in Lewis π
β³ lewishamilton ... he was conserving energy
username3 THESE DRIVERS ISTH
maxverstappen1 Jimmy and Sassy needed their... annual... weekly checkup
β³ yourinstagram Max, I literally saw them yesterday
β³ maxverstappen1 They miss you already?
charles_leclerc Pure coincidence π
alex_albon guys...
β³ georgerussell63 π
β³ alex_albon I can't with any of you
β³ username1 WHATS GOING ON
username4 THE WAY THEY'RE ALL TRYING TO HELP I'M CRYING
username5 not them all showing up at once π
username6 theyβre as subtle as a brick through a window
username7 ARE THEY TRYING TO PLAY MATCHMAKER??
username8 sassy looks so adorable i cantttt
username9 coolest job ever ! thanks for sharing your life as a vet <3
username10 alex just kiss her
liked by yourinstagram, georgerussell63 and 1,804,539 others
yourinstagram Tell the babies their favorite vet misses them!
β³ alex_albon They knocked over their food bowl as soon as I showed them this comment
β³ yourinstagram Sounds about right π Remember their anxiety meds before quali!
β³ alex_albon Already packed them! See, I can be responsible
β³ lando the cats or YN got you being responsible? π
β³ alex_albon blocked.
username3 WHAT JUST HAPPENED???
username4 did lando just exposed him?
username5 someone's cats getting a lot of vet attention lately π
maxverstappen1 Your cats have better race prep than you do
β³ alex_albon At least my cats like me
β³ maxverstappen1 Jimmy and Sassy said that's a lie
β³ yourinstagram Can confirm, all F1 cats talk about each other in their check-ups
β³ alex_albon et tu, doc? π
username6 ALEX SOOOO LIKES HER I CANT
username7 most wholesome grid dad
williamsracing Cat dad era > any other era
username8 ALEX IS PRETTY MUCH IN LOVE WITH THEIR VET I CANT
username9 crying heβs so obvious
username10 if the vet doesnβt want to be his girlfriend i volunteer just saying
liked by yourinstagram, alex_albon and 102,549 others
albon_pets Guess who we saw today? π€ Our favorite doc @/yourinstagram! Dad said we needed vaccines but we think he's just bad at making excuses π½
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username1 ALBON PETSSSS
username2 THE CAPTION π
yourinstagram My favorite trouble twins! β€οΈ Horsey only knocked over ONE thing this time, we're making progress!
β³ alex_albon that's because you bribed them with treats
β³ yourinstagram Professional secret π
maxverstappen1 Jimmy and Sassy are offended they weren't invited
β³ albon_pets Tell them we'll see them at next week's "emergency" appointment πΈ
username3 NOT ALEXβS OWN CATS DRAGGING HIM
williamsracing Our mascots looking purrfect π±
username4 those must be the most thoroughly examined cats in Monaco
username5 these cats getting more action than their dad
username6 whatever you do donβt picture alex trying to come up with excuses to take the cats to the clinic just so he can see doc yn
username7 alex stop using your cats as matchmakers
liked by alex_albon, maxverstappen1 and 70,198 others
yourinstagram Long night at the clinic with this tiny fighter. Found abandoned in the rain, severe hypothermia and malnutrition, but pulling through like a champion. Sometimes the hardest nights remind me why I love this job. Will keep everyone updated on this little one's progress! π
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username1 oh shes the sweetest ever
username2 poor little thing π₯Ή
monacoanimalrescue Thank you for taking this baby in! Let us know if you need anything
β³ yourinstagram Will do! Already showing good signs π
username3 Nothing hits harder than these late night rescue cases. You're doing amazing work! β€οΈ
β³ yourinstagram Thank you! Hour 16 and counting, but worth it
username4 need any supplies or volunteers?
β³ yourinstagram Actually yes! DMing you now
alex_albon Need any help? I can bring coffee or food or anything
β³ yourinstagram Actually could use both if you're up?
β³ alex_albon On my way!
β³ username1 OMG ALEXXXX
β³ username2 i see ππ
kellypiquet This is why youβre the best! π
username5 Those overnight kitten cases always get to me. Sending strength!
β³ yourinstagram The tiny ones are always the fighters!
liked by alex_albon, maxverstappen1 and 103,685 others
yourinstagram Trading my stethoscope for some racing earmuffs this weekend! Marie's handling the clinic while I watch someone who definitely doesn't have any more sick cats race around Silverstone πβ€οΈ
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username1 AWE THIS IS SO CUUUTE
username2 best couple ever i swear
clinicvet_marie Have fun! The clinic will survive π
username3 THE HELMETS IM CRYING
lando look who doesn't need to fake emergencies to see him anymore
β³ alex_albon I will crash this car into you
β³ landonorris worth it
username4 POWER COUPLE
username5 the most wholesome storyline ever
alexandrasaintmleux welcome to our crew π₯Ήπ₯Ή
williamsracing We canβt wait too see our favorite doc π
username6 i canβt believe alex got himself a girlfriend
alex_albon β€οΈ
β³ yourinstagram See you at the finish line β€οΈ
β³ username2 THIS IS TOO CUTE
β³ username3 I COULD CRY
username7 first race as girlfriend!
username8 sheβs so supportive of him iβm sobbing
username9 this picture is so pinterest coded iβm crying
username10 I NEED THEM TO ADOPT ME
liked by yourinstagram, lando and 1,308,577 others
alex_albon First race with my lucky charm in the paddock! Turns out having a real girlfriend is better than having sick cats π Thank you everyone for the amazing support today β€οΈ Special thanks to @/williamsracing for the incredible car
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username1 AWEEEEEE
username2 this is the cutest post ever
yourinstagram So proud of you β€οΈ
β³ alex_albon β€οΈ
β³ username1 STOP THIS IS TOO CUTE IM CRYING
username3 MY BF HAS A GF I CANT
maxverstappen1 Once again youβre welcome
β³ username2 HES SO ANNOYING
username4 driver finds success with real girlfriend instead of fake cat emergencies
username5 THE WAY THEY'RE BOTH GLOWING
williamsracing Petition to make the lucky charm permanent
β³ alex_albon Already planned π
β³ username1 IM SOBBING HES SO IN LOVE
lando so this is what happens when you stop inventing diseases
β³ alex_albon I should have tried this strategy sooner
β³ charles_leclerc Ya think? π
β³ username3 lmfao theyβre never going to let him live that down
username6 SOMEONE FRAME THIS PICTURE AND PUT IT IN THE LOUVRE
username7 theyβre so aesthetically pleasing i could cry
username8 THEY NEED TO GET MARRIED
liked by alex_albon, yourinstagram and 102,665 others
albon_pets We have a new brother! Meet Bruno Albon, the newest addition to our family! πΎ Mom @/yourinstagram and Dad @/alex_albon adopted him together (and this time it wasn't an emergency visit excuse π). He's already best friends with us and loves watching F1 races!
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username1 MY HEARTTTTT
username2 oh my god bruno albon you sweet boy
f1 The family grows !
yourinstagram Our big boy β€οΈ
β³ alex_albon Family complete π₯°
β³ username1 STOP I'M SOBBING
username3 THE ALBON FAMILY HAS MY HEART
lando my cats demand a playdate
β³ alex_albon Your cats aren't even real Lando
β³ lando Neither were your emergencies π€·ββοΈ
β³ username1 IM WHEEZING
username4 theyβre parents now what if i sob
username5 look at this beautiful family π
username6 the way they got a DOG together
username7 best F1 pet family
williamsracing Bruno already has his paddock pass
liked by yourinstagram, lando and 1,098,447 others
alex_albon A year ago I moved to Monaco and started inventing the most ridiculous cat emergencies known to veterinary science. Today I have the most amazing girlfriend, a beautiful family (including a dog who actually exists!), and somehow @/yourinstagram still hasn't banned me from her clinic π β€οΈ Best decision I ever made, even if my cats supposedly had everything from fever to existential crisis
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username1 IM SOBBING
username2 this is what to precious iβm so parasocial about them
yourinstagram From "my cat has seasonal depression" to "I love you" β€οΈ
β³ alex_albon Best character development π₯°
β³ username1 THE WAY THEY FLIRT IN COMMENTS NOW
username3 im so happy they found each other
lando emember when he googled "can cats get jetlag"
β³ georgerussell63 While his cats were literally at home
β³ alex_albon It was a valid question
β³ username2 ALEX WAS IN THE TRENCHES
username4 the cutest butterfly effect ever
username5 I HEAR WEDDING BELLS TIME TO START PLANNING
albon_pets mom and dad π
username6 this is just too sweet
username7 THE WAY ALEX HAD FAKE CAT DISEASES AND A DREAM
