#jaymentions

📬 Archived Letters #02 — “Caught on Cam” ╰┈➤ For the one who watched every lap, even from miles away.

pairings. idol!bf!yang jungwon x f1!ferrari!driver!reader

w.c. 2.9k

soundtrack. just give me your forever by zack tadbudlo, double take by dhruv, and still with you by jungkook

authors note. let me know if you want to get tag by jungwons pov! I hope you enjoy this one ❤️

jungwon pov masterlist.

You hated rainy Saturdays.

The kind that soaked through your fireproofs before you even reached the garage.

The kind where strategy meetings turned into math puzzles, and every lap felt like skating on melted butter.

But what made it worse today?

He wasn’t here.

Your eyes flicked up to the paddock windows above the pit lane. Empty. Not that he ever stood in view anyway—but you always looked.

Just in case.

One Grand Prix ago, he’d surprised you after qualifying. Just stood there like a scene from a drama, holding two chocolate pastries and smiling like he hadn’t just flown halfway across the world to see you for eight hours.

You’d had to sneak into the back of the Ferrari motorhome just for one quick, stolen hug.

But this weekend?

Radio silence.

No chocolate.

No soft cheeks to pinch.

No late-night “힘내요, racer girl 🐿️” (“You’ve got this, racer girl 🐿️”) voice message.

And you hated how much you noticed.

You leaned back in the garage, helmet tucked under your arm, pretending to care about the telemetry your engineer was explaining.

Then your phone buzzed in your pocket.

[ my cutie only won ]

won: “Rain make vroom girl sad?”

You bit back a grin instantly.

Typing quickly:

🏎️: “Only when chipmunk goes missing.”

won: “Next GP. Promise. Red team lucky charm. Don’t crash.”

won: “No promises.”

You still remembered the first time you met him.

It wasn’t dramatic or romantic.

It involved a chocolate croissant, a shared table, and a battle fought through Google Translate in a new bakery café in Seoul.

You were in town for off-season training during your Formula 4 season. The bakery had just opened—run by your friend—and they’d dragged you in to “test the menu.”

It was warm inside. Cozy. Filled with the smell of butter, sugar, and fresh milk bread. A playlist of soft Korean indie music played overhead.

Your usual was already waiting: a hot chocolate with extra whipped cream and chocolate drizzle, steaming in a white ceramic mug.

You were halfway through mentally ranking the pastries on the shelf when the bell over the door jingled.

In walked Yang Jungwon—hood up, cap pulled low, hoodie slightly too big.

He ordered softly, “초코 크루아상 하나요…” (“One chocolate croissant, please…”) and then glanced around.

No empty tables. Just yours.

He hesitated. Then approached like someone approaching a wild animal.

“Uh… hello?” he asked carefully in English. “Can I sit here…? Please?”

You nodded. “Sure.”

He sat. Quiet. Reserved. Carefully peeling the croissant like it was fragile.

You watched him nibble on it, and couldn’t help the smile tugging at your lips.

He pointed to your cup. “Hot… choco?”

You nodded. “My comfort drink.”

He tilted his head and mumbled, “음… 어린이 스타일?” (“Um… kid style?”)

You blinked. “Did you just call me a child?”

His eyes widened in horror. “No! I mean cute style! Not baby! Like… soft drink for strong girl!”

He fumbled with his phone, typing rapidly into Papago. Then held the screen toward you:

You are like teddy bear with helmet. Cute but dangerous. Chocolate power.

You choked on a laugh. “That’s… weirdly poetic.”

You pulled out your own phone. Typed in:

You look like a chipmunk that just discovered baked goods.

He read it, blinked, then burst out laughing. “진짜? 다람쥐??” (“Really? A chipmunk??”)

“Yes. But the endearing kind.”

With a proud grin, he grabbed a napkin and doodled something in quick, scratchy strokes—a chipmunk in a race car, gripping a mug of hot chocolate.

He scribbled underneath it:

Vroom Chipmunk meets Chocolate Racer.

You kept that napkin.

Folded it carefully, tucked it between gloves and a lucky keychain. Because that meeting? That bizarre, sugar-fueled, translation-broken, laughter-filled moment?

It changed everything.

Even now, when the world called Jungwon a cat sharp eyes, elegant posture, smooth moves on stage. To you?

He was still that chipmunk stuffing his face with three pastries when he said he’d only eat one.

Your chipmunk.

Race Day.

The skies cleared by morning, but the track still shimmered with leftover rain and nerves.

You were starting P4.

Not perfect. Not hopeless. Not easy. But enough.

No message from Jungwon since yesterday.

No “힘내요” or even a sleepy emoji trail. Just silence.

You pulled on your gloves anyway.

“Good luck out there, champ. Try not to scare me today, yeah? I’ve nearly had five attempts of heart attacks from the stunts you’ve pulled on track.”

He patted the top of your helmet gently as you finished strapping it on.

You laughed, breathless, nerves fluttering in your chest.

“Come on, when don’t I do that every race?”

You slid into the cockpit, glancing up at him.

“You should be used to it by now.”

Exhaled. Inhaled. Told yourself to focus.

Lights out.

Go.

Chaos.

By Lap 3, two drivers were out. By Lap 21, the safety car had you breathing down the neck of the Red Bull ahead.

Lap 29 — DRS wide open. You pulled off a slick double overtake that had the entire crowd on their feet.

P2. Yours to hold. Yours to lose.

Every corner became sharper. Every decision faster. You were driving on instinct now, breathing through data and adrenaline. The pit wall was shouting, but you barely heard them anymore.

What you didn’t know—was that the rest of the world wasn’t just watching you.

Lap 47.

The F1 broadcast cut away from the track for just a moment. A paddock camera blinked on. Viewers blinked back.

Zoom. Focus.

And five seconds changed everything.

He was standing there.

Yang Jungwon.

Ferrari hospitality zone. Still wearing his backpack, as if he’d just stepped in from the flight. Navy blue cap with the stitched with your racing number pulled low. Hoodie unmistakable—yours.

He wasn’t even looking at the camera. Just at the monitor, like he could read your lap times from the way your car moved.

“Jungwon YANG – K-pop Idol & Reader’s Partner.”

The F1TV overlay didn’t even hesitate.

No need to guess. No rumor mill. Just… the facts.

He shifted slightly, chewing his lip, eyes locked on the screen like you were the only thing on track.

The silence didn’t last long.

Not on the internet.

First came the gasps. Then came the chaos. Then came the post.

And with that….the dam broke.

user1 IS THAT HER RACE HOODIE? IS THAT HIS HAT??

user2 NO WARNING. NO BUILDUP. F1 JUST DROPPED HIM LIKE A BOMBSHELL.

user7 F1 JUST DROPPED THE RELATIONSHIP ANNOUNCEMENT LIKE A DRIVER MARKET BOMBSHELL I’M—🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️ partner of Ferrari’s own? NOT EVEN HYBE POSTED THIS FIRST 😭

user3 real recognizes real. he’s literally watching like his life depends on her cornering speed. i can’t do this rn

user4 YO DID THE F1 GRAPHIC REALLY SAY PARTNER????

user8 f1 knew what they were doing. Jungwon was the real pole position all along.

user5 FERRARI NEEDED A LUCKY CHARM AND GOT A WHOLE IDOL 😭😭

user9 someone said “jungwon’s in his wag era” AND I’VE NEVER CLOSED THE APP FASTER HE’S A FORMULA ONE WAG NOW. A PADDOCK GIRLIE.

user6 okay but also shoutout to FERRARI. they really just said ‘yep, that’s our girl’s man.’

user10 explain why Jungwon made his relationship official through an international motorsport account

Final Lap

The rain had eased, but your heartbeat hadn’t.

P2. No one expects to change.

Tyres screaming. Brakes fading. Your engineer’s voice in your ear was shaking even as he counted down the final corners.

“Box box if it rains again—just kidding. Hold positions. Double Podium. Bring it home.”

Ferrari hadn’t had a double podium in two seasons.

A 2–3 finish today would be massive. Safe. Smart.

But you weren’t here to play it safe.

Not after fighting your way from P4 in the rain.

Not after taking every corner like it owed you something.

And definitely not after catching the leader.

Because he was right there.

One second ahead.

Worn tyres. Defending hard.

One chance.

One lap.

One corner.

Your fingers flexed on the steering wheel.

Your brain screamed all the reasons not to go for it.

Sector 2.

The McLaren in front twitched through the chicane. The tires were gone. He braked earlier than before—

You didn’t.

You dove inside.

It wasn’t neat. It wasn’t polite. It was bold. Aggressive. A line you hadn’t taken all weekend.

You snatched P1 right out of his hands.

Your car danced over the curbs, nearly lost the rear—but it stuck. You made it stick.

Radio silence.

And then—

Your engineer’s voice cracked like thunder.

“HOLY—WHAT THE—YOU MAD GIRL—THAT WAS—”

He fumbled. Laughed. Screamed again.

“YOU JUST SENT THAT! YOU JUST STOLE P1 LIKE A DAMN ART THIEF.”

You grinned under your helmet. “Had to wake you up somehow.”

“You woke up the whole grid!”

The world blurred. Just one corner left. You held the lead, heart racing faster than the car.

Checkered flag.

You crossed the line, fists clenched around the wheel, breath caught in your throat.

Your name lit up on the board.

P1.

Your 10th win.

A Ferrari double podium.

It’s too good to be true.

The radio exploded again.

“YES. YES! YOU ABSOLUTE MANIAC. P1, BABY! P1!”

“Ten wins—TEN! That’s officially danger girl status.”

“I’m putting in a complaint. You promised me a calm race.”

“Driver of the Day and definitely Driver of My Nightmares.”

You laughed, choking on the wave of it all.

Ten wins.

In F1.

In the rain.

With the weight of the world on your shoulders.

And for once, you didn’t have to wonder if he was watching.

Because when you stepped out of the car helmet off, rain still beading on your race suit.

You saw him.

Jungwon.

Standing by the Ferrari garage.

Not behind a screen. Not halfway across the world.

Here.

In the flesh.

With his cap pulled low, hoodie zipped up, and a look on his face that shattered you.

He wasn’t smiling. Not yet.

He was staring at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

Like he was the one dreaming this time.

You froze for half a second stunned, breathless, unsure if it was the adrenaline or the ache in your chest or the sheer impossibility of him being here.

And then you moved.

Over the barrier. Through the arms reaching for you. Past the team and cameras and officials yelling your name.

He saw you coming and dropped his bag before you even crashed into him.

You wrapped your arms around his neck like it was second nature.

Like it always had been.

Like you’d never had to hide it in the first place.

His arms locked around your waist tight, tight, like he thought you’d disappear if he blinked.

“You—” Your voice broke. “What are you doing here?”

Jungwon laughed, but his voice cracked too. “What else could I do? You said I always miss the big ones.”

“I didn’t mean—” You let out a sound between a sob and a laugh.

“It’s win number ten,” he whispered into your hair. “I wasn’t going to miss this. Not again.”

You pulled back slightly, hands cupping his cheeks. “They saw you, didn’t they?”

He nodded, lips twitching. “F1TV. They put a title card. My name. ‘K-pop Idol & [Your Name]’s Partner.’ The whole thing.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

“And you still walked into the paddock?!”

“I wanted to see you win.” His voice softened. “I wanted you to see me see it.”

You bit your lip, blinking fast.

“You looked…” he started, then shook his head. “No. There aren’t even words.”

“I was racing for you,” you admitted, breath catching. “And maybe a little for myself too.”

“You were flying.”

“You’re crying.”

“I’m not.” His nose twitched. “Okay, maybe I am.”

You laughed. You couldn’t help it. It bubbled out of you like champagne shaken too long. You’d just won your tenth Grand Prix and Jungwon was here and the world knew and you didn’t care anymore.

You kissed him.

Cameras be damned. Headlines be damned. You’d earned it.

He kissed you back like he’d waited a year for it which, honestly, he kind of had.

And just behind you, your race engineer’s voice cut through the radio.

“Tell our driver she’s got a trophy waiting and she can kiss her boyfriend after the anthem.”

Jungwon snorted against your cheek. “They sound mad.”

You wiped his tears with your thumb. “They’ll live.”

“Go,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll be right here.”

You pulled away with a grin. “You better be.”

And as you walked toward the podium, your team erupting behind you, champagne already in someone’s hands.

You glanced over your shoulder.

Jungwon stood where you left him, smiling now, lips parted in awe.

And for a second, just a second, it wasn’t the fans, the media, or the legacy that made your heart soar.

It was him.

It was always him.

📬 Archived Letters #09 — “drowsy confessions” ╰┈➤ For anyone who knows that the sweetest words often slip out when we’re too tired to hide them.

pairings. idol!kim dohoon x reader

w.c. 679 words

soundtrack. jaljayo good night by twice

author notes. I never knew that I could love and stan any kpop group again but here we are tws proving me wrong. I'm not even a month in but I'm in this fandom deep. Since it’s also my birthday today so I just want to post this one. Consider it as a birthday special! tws fighting!

After filming Wise Health Checkup for TWS:CLUB, Dohoon felt a little drowsy from the anesthesia. His steps were slightly unsteady as he followed the other members out of the clinic. They all thanked the staffs, doctors, and nurses for helping them through the day. Then, one by one, they said their goodbyes and went home.

You had gotten word from Jihoon that they’re back they’re dorm while Dohoon is still at daze, and despite the late hour, you couldn’t resist visiting. You quietly let yourself in, holding a small bag of snacks and his favorite drink ‘Asyatchu’, careful not to startle him.

“baby…?” His voice was soft, thick with sleepiness as he slumped against the couch, a blanket draped around his shoulders. His hair was messy, and the dark circles under his eyes made him look even more endearing.

“You came to see me,” he murmured, his lips quirking into a half-smile. “Good… good.”

You knelt beside him, setting your bag down. “Of course, silly. How are you feeling?” you murmured as you cupped his cheek.

Dohoon blinked slowly, then reached out almost instinctively, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Better… now that you’re here,” he mumbled, leaning his head on your shoulder.

You stifled a laugh at how clingy he already was. “You’re so drowsy… you sound like a little kid,” you teased, brushing a stray hair from his forehead.

“Kid?” He pouted, resting his chin on the top of your head. “I’m… serious… serious grown-up,” he slurred, then yawned, his eyes fluttering shut for a second before peeking open again.

The members had called you earlier, already teasing him over the things he had said under anesthesia. Apparently, Dohoon had been very vocal, muttering about wanting to hold hands, asking for comfort, and saying he missed someone—you, in fact without realizing anyone was listening.

“You know, he was talking about you nonstop,” Jihoon had said on the call earlier, laughter bubbling in his voice. “Dohoon said he wanted to keep you in his pocket”

Dohoon’s ears flushed pink as he leaned even closer to you. “I… I didn’t… I just… sleepy… you were in my mind…” he mumbled, his usual pride fighting against the lingering haze of anesthesia.

“Oh my gosh, Dohoon,” you giggled, placing your hands over his. “You think of me even while unconscious?”

“Of course, I always think of you” His sleepy tone was almost whiny, and you could feel his fingers clutching yours tighter. “I…always…think…of you consciously too…”

You laughed again, tugging him gently closer. “Good, you better. But now… you can rest on me while I tease you a bit.”

He nuzzled into your neck, muffling a soft “huh… okay…” His arms snaked around you, holding you like you were his safe space, his drowsy body sinking into yours.

You settled into the couch with him draped over you, one arm holding him close and the other brushing his hair back. His small, sleepy complaints came every so often about how heavy he felt, about how warm you were, about how unfair it was that he couldn’t just stay asleep forever in your arms. And every time, you kissed the top of his head, whispering soft assurances, letting him melt completely against you.

For the next hour, you stayed like that, him murmuring half-coherent thoughts, you laughing quietly and soothing him. Occasionally, he would hug you tighter, mumble something about not wanting to let go, and drift back into a doze, only to repeat the cycle when he stirred.

By the time he finally fell into a peaceful, deep sleep, you couldn’t help but grin at him. The anesthesia hangover might have left him drowsy and clingy, but in that moment, he was entirely yours–soft, vulnerable, and utterly adorable.

“You’re so hopeless,” you whispered, brushing your fingers against his cheek. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

And as you sat there holding him, the quiet of the dorm wrapping around you both, you realized that this kind of clingy, sleepy, messy Dohoon was maybe your favorite version of him yet.

📬 Archived Letters #03 — “hey, co-pres.” ╰┈➤ for the girl who was just supposed to keep the peace but ended up losing her heart to the chaos in a HUMSS president's smile.

pairings. HUMSS president!yang jungwon x STEM class president!reader

w.c. 2.1k

soundtracks. miss miss by rob deniel, every summertime by niki, style by hearts2hearts

author's note. Writing this fic made me miss my days as president… and lowkey, that one co-president I used to argue with 24/7. Miss na kita haha.

shs masterlist.

From: CSC President - Clarisse Dela Cruz To: STEM Section Matteo President, HUMSS President Subject: Assignment for Intramurals Supervision

Good day,

Attached is the list of sports for which we need student leaders to supervise. For the Basketball Game 3 on Day 2, the assigned monitors are:

STEM Representative: [Your Name] (President, STEM Section Matteo)

HUMSS Representative: Yang Jungwon (President)

Please coordinate and ensure a smooth and sportsmanlike game environment. Thank you!

"Shit."

That was my very intellectual and presidential reaction upon reading the email.

I mean, seriously? Basketball? Of all the sports, why was that given to me? Sure, there is handsome players I like in that sport but PLEASE I would've preferred watching the volleyball games with my friends, or better yet, just cheering from the STEM booth, waving our giant cutouts and screaming "S-T-E-M! Let's go STEM!" like the proud, noisy strand we were.

But no. Destiny had other plans. Destiny named Clarisse, the CSC President, who apparently thought it would be cute to pair me up with Yang Jungwon.

Yang. Freaking. Jungwon.

President of the HUMSS Strand. Mr. "Perfect Hair Even After PE," Mr. "Straight-A While Chairing Three Clubs," Mr. "Every Teacher's Favorite HUMSS Golden Boy."

And now, apparently, my partner of being pseudo-police in the Basketball Court.

I flopped onto my seat and dramatically groaned.

"Pres, you ok?" Jiwoo asked, one of the class officers I'm with.

"Nope," I answered while I covered my face with my hands. "The noise of the Humanistas will kill me."

As if on cue, I heard the loud screams of the HUMSS students:

"Hu! Ma! Nis! Ta!!"

Along with STEM on the other side:

"S! T! E! M! Let's go STEM! S! T! E! M! Let's go STEM!"

Great just great. War of the Worlds but pom-poms and DIY megaphones are used. I opened my phone again. Jungwon had already messaged me.

Jungwon: Hi. See you on the court later. Let me know if you want to go early so we could check the seating arrangement?

Professional. Polite. Take the HUMSS persona seriously.

I typed back:

Me: Copy. I'm already here in the bleachers. I got here early since we finished tying the ribbons in our booth.

His reply came in a heartbeat:

Jungwon: Okay. Take care. Drink water to stay hydrated. It's hot :))

I stared at the message.

Why is there a smiley? Why does it look sweet? Why am I excited?

No. This is a strictly political alliance.

By the time I arrived, the court was already packed. Each strand had their banners waving, the color red and blue flying, and DIY megaphones blaring. On the sidelines, I spotted Heeseung already setting up his camera, adjusting the lens like a pro. He was scouting for good angles to post later on the school publication's Facebook and Instagram pages—calm, composed, and definitely treating this like the Met Gala.

“S-T-E-M! Let’s go STEM!” my strand chanted like it was a war cry.

“Hu! Ma! Nis! Ta!!” the other side fired back immediately, waving their flags with cut-outs of their players’ faces. So competitive.

My eyes instantly found my classmates especially the boys in the back who seemed like the universe’s way of combining all the noise and chaos into one section. Some of them even had face paint, one brought a DIY drum made from a water container, and Yeonjun the loudest of them all was holding up a cardboard cutout of #7 with blinking lights. Probably made by STEM’s props team.

“Pres! Do your job, okay? HUMSS might try to steal you!” one of my classmates shouted, followed by laughter from his group.

“Or maybe Jungwon’s the one planning to steal you!” Yeonjun butted in, of course, adding a dramatic wink. If teasing was a sport, he’d win gold.

“Cut it out! You guys are the first ones I’ll keep an eye on! Be on your best behavior this is why intrams this year almost got cancelled!” I yelled back, though I couldn’t stop smiling. They were chaotic, competitive, borderline reckless. And for better or worse, they were STEM’s personal cheer squad.

And right in the middle of it all, standing by the officials' table like he owned the place, was Jungwon.

White polo, black slacks, black tie, ID hanging neatly with badges from his strand and the clubs he chaired. The sun hit him just right—and for a second, you’d think he was the star player, not the student monitor.

He looked good.

We’d been schoolmates for years. Same batch since junior high, sometimes even in the same classes. We always ended up working together on something group projects, class campaigns, school-wide events. And every time, he was like that: calm, efficient, soft-spoken but sharp. And friendly. Always friendly.

Too friendly, honestly.

There was a time I liked him. Just a small crush. Harmless. Maybe back in junior year? I think. I don’t even remember. That’s over. I’ve moved on. Totally. Completely. As in, absolutely nothing there anymore.

“Hey, Co-Pres,” he said with a small smile when he spotted me. “Ready to act as referee-slash-bouncer?”

“I’d rather be a cheerleader, honestly,” I muttered, adjusting the STEM badge on my chest while watching my classmates nearly fall off the bleachers mid-cheer.

He chuckled. “Is that so? Should I get you some pompoms? You’d look cute with them.”

My eyes widened. “Duh, have you seen this cute face!”

He just turned away, pretending to check the player line-up. “Alright. Next time, I’ll bring some. Might help you look better.”

The nerve.

During the Game

The match was intense. STEM and HUMSS players were neck and neck and so were their fans. One cheer would spark a louder counter-cheer, until you could barely hear the referee’s whistle. The covered court was alive with flags, face paint, and pure adrenaline.

Jungwon stood beside me, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line of fake seriousness as he peeked at the score. You could see it on the side of his face, that focused look of his. Eyebrows slightly furrowed. That classic Jungwon concentration, like there was a big exam tomorrow.

I leaned in, pretending to get a better view of the scoreboard. “Looks like STEM’s gonna win,” I said, letting my tone drip with teasing.

He scoffed. “In your dreams. HUMSS is dominating the second half.”

I tilted my head toward the court. “Yeah, especially #24. Ramos.” I sighed dramatically. “He’s so good, right? Tall, has ball control, quiet but confident. I’d trust him with the ball and maybe even my heart. He looks like…boyfriend material.”

He whipped his head toward me so fast, you’d think I tapped him on the back. “Wait. You have a crush on him?”

“Hmm…” I pretended to think, watching Ramos sprint across the court. “He’s tall. He’s skilled. Not arrogant but super charismatic. And when he smiles? Instant MVP vibes.”

Jungwon let out a sharp breath—a borderline scoff. “So that’s your type? Someone in a jersey, holding a ball, and always running in slow motion?”

I grinned. “You know it! Thank you, Mr. HUMSS President.”

He rolled his eyes. “Wow. Here I am sacrificing my whole afternoon making sure no one starts a fight, and you’re out here scouting for a boyfriend.”

I patted his arm. “Multitasking. Very STEM behavior. Why do one thing when you could do two?”

“You know what?” he said, turning to me now with that annoyingly attractive smug look. “If I were your varsity player, you wouldn’t need to look at anyone else.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” he said, voice low and confident. “If I were your player, I’d make sure I’m the only one you watch. From warm-up to final buzzer.”

I clutched my chest dramatically, pretending to be scandalized. “Wow. That was dangerously smooth. Did the HUMSS President just flirt with me? While on duty?”

He leaned in a little, eyes twinkling with mischief. “I don’t follow rules when it comes to you.”

Butterflies. Literal butterflies. I almost forgot we were in the middle of a crowd.

But I didn’t back down.

“Careful, Mr. President. You might get a foul for that.”

He smirked. “That’s fine. Might end up being a three-point play.”

I burst into laughter, shaking my head. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He chuckled. “Not full of myself. Just confident. I mean—even if Ramos is your type—I know I’ve got the edge.”

“Oh?” I raised a brow, intrigued. “And what exactly is that?”

He leaned even closer this time, whispering just loud enough for me to hear: “I’m the only one who’s ever done student duty with you… while you’re blushing.”

My jaw dropped. “You shameless little—!”

“Exactly,” he cut in with a grin, stepping back. “You already took it from me.”

I was stunned. I couldn’t even think of a comeback.

Then, just as #7 scored again and the STEM crowd roared in celebration, Jungwon tilted his head toward me and said:

“Congrats on your crush. But when you go home later, guess who spent the whole game by your side?”

I tried not to smile. Failed.

“Psh. Maybe you’re just taking advantage of the fact that we were forced to be together.”

STEM won. By one point.

As in, just one. And still, the court exploded like we’d just won the championship. Screaming. Pushing. Someone even climbed onto the railings, waving banners like a maniac. There was confetti—from who-knows-where. STEM was on fire.

Everyone from our strand was on their feet, yelling, jumping like we hit the lottery. One guy even screamed, “#7 FREE FOODS ON YOU!!!” while he was being lifted by our classmates. It was pure chaos. Glorious, sweaty chaos.

Me? I was half-celebrating, half-dazed, and fully exhausted.

I turned to Jungwon who—despite HUMSS’s narrow loss—was calmly clapping, still wearing that soft, boyish smile. No bitterness. No pouting. Just… calm. Cool. Jungwon.

“Good game,” I said, nudging him lightly with my elbow.

“Good partner,” he replied, nudging me back.

That shouldn't have made my heart skip a beat. But of course—it did. dimple king with soft eyes? Yeah. Fatal combo.

“Wow,” I teased, side-eyeing him. “Is this how you recover? Lose the game but still find time to flirt?”

“Flirt? That was just a compliment.” He raised a brow. “Unless... you were affected?”

I gave him a look. “Wow. You think I fall that easily?”

“Says the girl with a soft spot for varsity boys,” he smirked. “I saw that smile you gave to Ramos.”

I gasped—dramatically. “Excuse me?! Were you watching me instead of the game? Not very focused, Mr. President.”

“Multitasking,” he shrugged, throwing my own word back at me. “I’m very efficient.”

“You’re unbelievable,” I muttered, rolling my eyes but grinning anyway. “For your information, I used to crush on varsity players. Past tense. It’s just a high school phase.”

“Ohh. So you used to like varsity players?” He leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Does that mean I have a chance at being your next one?”

I bit back a smile barely. “What, you planning to join the basketball team now? If I didn't?”

“If that’s what it takes,” he said smoothly. “Though I think I can win your attention even without the jersey.”

My breath caught.

“Confident,” I muttered, turning away to hide my cheeks. “Didn’t know HUMSS came with that much ego.”

“Not ego,” he said, a little softer this time. “Just… certainty.”

And the worst part? That kind of certainty felt dangerous.

Eventually, the crowd started to thin. The roar faded to background noise. Finally, we sank down into the now-empty bleachers. I slouched immediately, the adrenaline draining from my body.

“I’m so tired,” I groaned, tilting my head back.

Jungwon stretched out his legs and let out a long sigh. “Same. But that was fun.”

I nodded. “Way more fun than I expected, actually.”

He turned to me, one arm casually resting on the bench behind me. “Did you think it’d be boring being partnered with me?”

“Well,” I teased, “I thought you were the serious type. All business. Too busy being ‘Mr. President’ to joke around.”

“And now?”

I looked sideways at him, lips twitching. “Now it turns out… you’re the biggest troublemaker in HUMSS.”

He faked offense. “Excuse me? Says the girl who couldn’t stop flirting with varsity boys.”

I gasped again. “You still haven’t moved on from that?”

“Nope,” he said smugly. “Because I know for a fact that I'm the only one you see and like”

I burst out laughing. “Oh my god. You really think you are?”

Then came the silence. Not awkward. Not loud. Just… warm. Familiar.

He tapped my shoe with his.

“Hey,” he said, softer now. “Next game… do you still wanna be my partner? Even if we’re not assigned together?”

I turned to look at him. “Even if it’s not basketball?”

“Even if it’s badminton. Or chess. Or that carnival game where you drop coins into cups,” he chuckled. “As long as I’m with you.”

Suddenly, it wasn’t about the game anymore. Or the crowd. Or strand rivalries.

It was about this. Him. Us.

“Okay,” I whispered, nudging his knee with mine. “As long as it’s you, you’re the exception.”

His grin widened, eyes crinkling with the kind of quiet happiness that slips under your skin before you can stop it.

📬 Archived Letters #02.5 — “Soft Eyes” ╰┈➤ for the one who always made the risks worth it.

pairings. idol!bflyang jungwon x f1 ferrari driver!reader

w.c. 3k words

soundtrack. araw-araw by ben&ben, invisible string by taylor swift, only by leehi.

authors note. I hope you enjoy reading this one as much as the first part ❤️ thank you for reading!

first part masterlist.

The first time I saw her, I was so tired that I almost walked past her.

No joke—I was zoned out. Like, the kind of zoned out where you forget what street you’re on, where your feet just drag you toward anything warm-smelling and bright.

That day, it happened to be a bakery café tucked in a corner of Seoul.

I didn’t even register the name. I just remember the smell—chocolate, butter, something like home. And her, sitting by the window with whipped cream on her nose and this big ceramic mug in her hands like it was a safety blanket.

I thought she was local at first. Then she looked up, blinked, and spoke perfect English when I asked, “Can I sit here?”

She nodded.

And then I saw the helmet bag beside her, the fireproof sleeves pushed up to her elbows, and the slight grease mark on her cheek like she'd come straight from fixing a spaceship. Or fighting one. A motorcyclist maybe.

That was the start. Me, with a chocolate croissant and broken grammar. Her, laughing with whipped cream still on her face. We joked through Google Translate, called each other ridiculous names—she said I looked like a chipmunk.

The first person who found out about us wasn’t supposed to.

It was after practice for the upcoming comeback XO (Only If You Say Yes).

Heeseung caught me during dance practice—grinning at my phone like a complete idiot.

She had sent me another selfie, fake-pouting because of the wet race.

[vroom vroom girl 🏎️]

attached photo

Me when FIA says it’s too dangerous to drive 😢😢😢

He leaned over, suspicious. “Is it your mom again?”

I tried to lie. “Uh, yeah.. It’s about maeum doing tricks again.”

He didn’t believe me for a second. Jay, of course, joined in.

“You’ve been acting weird since our break in Melbourne,” he said. “Weird, like… soft boy in love weird.”

Heeseung didn’t ask anything. He just stared and said flatly, “It’s a girl isn’t.”

I froze. That was it. The gates were open.

"WHO IS SHE?"

"DOES SHE KNOW YOU'RE FAMOUS?"

"IS SHE AN IDOL? A FAN? A MODEL?"

"DOES SHE HAVE PETS?"

“She has to like animals,” Jake added seriously, crossing his arms. “That’s basic compatibility.”

I gave in.

“She’s not an idol. She’s… a racer.”

Dead silence.

Ni-Ki blinked. “Like, Mario Kart?”

“No, like Formula 2,” I said, immediately regretting it.

“YOU’RE DATING A F2 DRIVER?!” Sunoo shrieked.

“She wasn’t in F2 when I met her!” I protested. “She was in PREMA back then—Formula 4! It was literally just chocolate and a shared table. I even thought that she was just a cute Motorcyclist”

Jay raised a brow. “So the chipmunk nickname girl... was real?”

I pulled my hoodie over my head. “Don’t call it that.”

Sunoo bewildered and said “I thought she was one of your delusions but way to go she’s real.”

I glared at him, but it didn’t land right. Mostly because I was already smiling.

“You think I hallucinated a Formula driver who calls me chipmunk and knows my coffee order?”

Sunoo tilted his head. “Yes.”

Jake leaned forward. “Wait, wait—PREMA? That team’s legit. Oscar Piastri came from there.”

I blinked. “You know PREMA?”

“I’m Australian. I know my racing,” he said smugly. “The rest of you are clueless.”

“Hey, I know Formula One,” Ni-Ki said. “The red car wins a lot.”

“Red Bull wins, genius,” Sunghoon muttered.

They didn’t tease after that. Not really.

Jay would change the topic when interviews got too nosy. Sunoo would keep an eye on fansites. Ni-Ki learned to spot her team logo before anyone else.

Sunghoon even downloaded the F1 app. He got really into it. “If I’m going to approve this relationship, I need to know her qualifying stats.”

Heeseung once watched a full Grand Prix backstage with me.

Jake became my translator for everything F1.

They were annoying. But they’re a family to me.

For months, we stayed hidden in plain sight.

Until the race.

The plan was simple: I’d attend quietly. Hoodie. Cap. Your driver number stitched in black on red.

Just one weekend. Just to support her.

But somehow.. the camera found me.

I wasn’t on my phone.

I didn’t even notice the screen above the pit lane showing my face.

I was watching her—you were overtaking two cars with that ridiculous fearlessness you always had, and I swear I forgot to breathe.

Then I felt it.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzzbuzzbuzz.

My phone exploded in my pocket. I ignored it at first. Thought it was staff or some fan account tagging me.

Then my manager leaned over and whispered, “You’re trending in five countries.”

My stomach dropped.

I opened the group chat.

[나가지❌❌]

SUNGHOON

@korean won IS THAT YOU????

I HAD TO BLINK SIX TIMES

I THOUGHT I WAS HALLUCINATING

JAKE

BRO

DID YOU JUST BASICALLY LET THE WHOLE WORLD KNOW THAT YOURE GIVING HER THE SOFTEST LOOKED ON INTERNATIONAL BROADCAST???

NI-KI

HYUNG YOU’RE ON TV

TV TV

FORMULA ONE TV

SUNOO

OMG THEY PUT YOUR NAME

“YANG JUNGWON – KPOP IDOL AND HER PARTNER” 😭😭😭

HEESEUNG

You didn’t tell us you were going.

I feel like I’ve been cheated on.

JAY

This is a betrayal.

JAKE

Wait I’m watching the replay.

That was the softest looked I’ve ever seen.

I’m gonna cry.

SUNGHOON

I downloaded the F1 app for this relationship and it finally paid off.

Respect.

Then my manager’s text came in:

[Manager Yuki-nim 💼]

Next time, just give me a heads-up ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

I just stood there, phone in hand, heart somewhere between my ribs and the clouds.

The moment she stepped out of the car, the world blurred.

It wasn’t the crowd or the roar of the engines dying down behind her. It wasn’t the media flash or the voice of the commentator still echoing through the speakers.

It was her.

Helmet under her arm, damp curls plastered to her temples, suit streaked with rain and glory. And her eyes—scanning the chaos until they locked on mine.

Everything else dropped away.

My bag hit the ground.

I didn’t mean to let go of it. I didn’t mean to move. But my body moved before my brain could catch up.

She was already climbing the barriers.

Security didn’t even have time to react. Neither did I. One second she was on the other side—racing royalty, post-win euphoria, the center of the paddock universe—and the next, she was just her.

My girl.

And I caught her.

Arms around her waist, breath leaving my chest like she’d tackled the wind out of me, like the weight of missing her finally landed in my arms.

She smelled like wet asphalt, adrenaline, and a faint trace of the perfume I’d given her months ago in Tokyo.

I didn’t care who was watching.

All I could think was—

She’s here.

She’s safe.

She’s mine.

And somehow, despite the cameras, despite the fact that the world had just found out.

For a split second, it felt like just us again.

Like a boy and a girl in a quiet bakery.

Like chocolate croissants and whipped cream on a nose.

Like we hadn’t spent months hiding between schedules and red-eye flights and screens.

She was real. Warm. Laughing.

And mine.

Then the sound of the crowd came rushing back in—like someone hit play on the world.

Someone shouted her name. Someone else screamed mine.

And somewhere overhead, a screen replayed our embrace in slow motion, while the F1TV overlay—still visible—read:

“Yang Jungwon — K-pop Idol & Her Partner”

The group chat was probably exploding again.

But this time, I didn’t care.

Because she was in my arms.

And I wasn’t letting go.

I didn’t even realize I was smiling until the camera panned away.

Not the usual polite idol smile—the practiced, fanservice kind. This one tugged from somewhere deep in my ribs, somewhere stupidly soft.

Somewhere that had only ever belonged to her.

I kept my arms around her a second longer than necessary, even when she shifted slightly in my hold. Her heartbeat was still racing. Maybe from the victory. Maybe from the run. Maybe just… from this.

From us.

Her team was shouting her name across the barriers again. Someone called for her to do the post-race interview, and a cameraman jogged past, half-winded, as if he didn’t know whether to point his lens at the winner or the unexpected boyfriend reveal.

The paddock was chaos.

But all I could see was her back as she jogged away—turning once, barely, just to meet my eyes again.

And the smirk she gave me was enough to make the group chat self-destruct.

My phone buzzed in my back pocket like it was on the verge of combustion.

[나가지❌❌]

SUNOO

OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD

WHY DID SHE JUMP THE BARRIER LIKE A MOVIE SCENE 😭😭😭

NI-KI

Replay is trending already. The slow-mo.

THE SLOW-MO.

JAKE

@korean won

WHY WOULD YOU CATCH HER LIKE THAT.

MY MOM SAW THAT. SHE ASKED IF IT WAS A DRAMA.

HEESEUNG

My brother just texted me asking if you’re getting married.

JAY

That was the most romantic tackle I’ve ever seen.

Ever.

EVER.

This is why I can’t date. Standards are ruined.

SUNGHOON

I NEED TO SIT DOWN

WAIT I AM ALREADY SITTING BUT I NEED TO LAY DOWN

JAKE

Bro, are you crying??

You look like you’re crying.

JUNGWON

no comment (I was crying. A little.)

It was too much.

The noise, the notifications, the disbelief that this moment—the thing we had tiptoed around for months—was real, loud, and now owned by the world.

But I couldn’t stop smiling.

Later, when the crowd finally thinned and the sun started dipping low over the circuit, I found a quiet corner behind the garages. Not totally private—this was still the paddock, after all—but quiet enough to breathe.

I leaned against a stack of tire warmers and pulled my hood up again.

Not to hide.

Just because I could still smell her perfume on it.

My fingers curled over the edge of the fabric and I closed my eyes for a second.

The gravel crunched somewhere behind me. I didn’t need to look up to know it was her again. Even the sound of her steps was familiar now—light, fast, confident.

Like victory in motion.

And even though I promised myself I wouldn’t cry, not here, not now, I felt that stupid warmth rise up again behind my eyes.

Because I realized—

She didn’t just run the race.

She ran to me.

A Few Hours Later, Somewhere Over Europe

The whine of the engines was soft in the background. Just enough to remind us we were flying, but not enough to disturb the quiet bubble we had built inside the jet.

She sat curled against me on the wide, cream leather bench seat, legs tucked beneath her, her head resting just under my chin. We were wrapped together in one of the airline blankets—ridiculously plush, and for once not some sterile company issue.

I wasn’t sure if the silence was because we were too tired to talk… or if we just didn’t need to anymore.

She stirred slightly. “We’re really in the air already?”

“Mmhmm,” I hummed, not bothering to look out the window. “You fell asleep as soon as you sat down.”

“Liar.” She tilted her head up. “I was listening to you hum. You always hum when you’re trying not to freak out.”

“I was not freaking out.”

“You were freaking out.”

I smiled against her hair. “You just won a Grand Prix. I’m allowed a little internal chaos.”

She laughed softly, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. I could feel the heaviness in her muscles—champagne-sticky, windblown, emotionally wrung out. Her fingers were laced in mine now, thumbs brushing back and forth like she needed something to ground her.

“I didn’t get to say it properly,” I said, turning slightly to face her. “I’m proud of you.”

She blinked, and I saw it land.

“Like—seriously proud. I mean the kind of proud that makes your chest hurt.”

Her eyes searched mine, and slowly, the armor dropped from her expression.

“I kept thinking about you in the car,” she whispered. “Every lap. Every time the tires lost grip or the comms cut out—I just thought about you. How you always tell me to breathe. How you wait.”

“I’ll always wait for you.”

She exhaled shakily and pressed her forehead against my shoulder. I felt it then—something melt. Some part of her that had been holding everything up all day. For the team. For the cameras. For the win.

She didn’t need to hold anything up here.

I let my hand slide slowly up her back, under the hem of her shirt where her skin was warm and real and so, so familiar. She shivered just slightly and leaned in closer.

“Are you cold?” I asked, even though I already knew.

“No,” she said. “I just… missed you.”

We hadn’t been apart that long. Two weeks. Maybe three. But we’d been in different worlds. Different time zones. I’d watched the press conferences on the floor of a practice room in Seoul. She’d texted me between strategy meetings and simulator sessions.

“I didn’t even care about the win,” she mumbled suddenly, and I felt her voice right against my collarbone. “I mean—I did. But the moment I got out of the car, I didn’t want anyone else.”

“I know.”

“I just wanted to find your eyes in the crowd.”

“You always will.”

She kissed my neck. Softly. Carefully. Then again, higher this time, just below my jaw.

“I hate that I can’t have this all the time,” she whispered.

I turned toward her fully now, pressing our foreheads together. “But when we do… it’s everything.”

And it was.

She reached up and cupped my cheek with one hand, her thumb brushing just beneath my eye. “You look tired, baby.”

“You’re one to talk.”

She smiled. “We’re a mess.”

I kissed her then. Gently, at first. The kind of kiss that tasted like gratitude. Like relief. Like home.

And then again—deeper this time, her hands threading into my hair, mine sliding along the curve of her waist to pull her onto my lap. We didn’t rush it. We never did. We knew how fast the world could spin, so when we had each other, we slowed down.

Every movement was familiar. Muscle memory. Her lips fit against mine like they’d been shaped to match. The sound she made when I bit her bottom lip softly, the way she smiled against the kiss, the way her body melted into mine like she was exhaling months of tension in one breath—

“I love you,” I said against her mouth.

“I know.”

She didn’t have to say it back. I felt it in her hands. In the way she tucked her face into my neck like she was hiding the best part of herself only for me.

Eventually, she pulled back just enough to press our foreheads together again.

“You’re coming to the next race, right?”

I laughed quietly. “I’m already packed.”

“You hate early flights.”

“I’d fly every night if it meant I got to see you like this again.”

She leaned in and kissed me once more—slow, lingering, like she was marking the moment in her bones.

Then she curled up against me again, tucked perfectly into my side, and this time when her breathing slowed, I knew she was really asleep.

I rested my cheek against the top of her head, eyes still open, watching the sky through the small window.

Stars scattered across the night.

But none of them had ever looked quite like her.

📬 Archived Letter #01 — “Right Track, Wrong Turn” ╰┈➤ For what almost was and what never fully ended.

pairings. ex!charles leclerc x opla nico robin actress!reader

w.c. 1.9k

author’s note: this is my first letter I ever posted so there’s definitely errors there but I hope that you’ll love it!

soundtracks. no one noticed by the marias || nights by frank ocean

masterlist.

The Monaco sun was golden that day — calm and distant, like a fading photograph. The 2024 F1 season had just wrapped, and with it, so had your relationship with Charles Leclerc.

It ended quietly. No drama. No mess.

Just two people who understood that love didn’t always mean staying. He needed to give everything to racing.

You were ready to step into something that had waited patiently in the background.

No one knew. Not the media, not the fans, not even the team.

Until it did.

Charles posted it one evening. A simple black story with plain white text:

“After a meaningful chapter together, Y/N and I have decided to part ways. We wish each other nothing but the best.”

No explanation. No photos. No rumors to chase. Just the truth.

The fans were the first to react. Not the usual chaos that followed celebrity breakups — just honest disbelief.

In the paddock, the reaction was similar. Quiet surprise. A few drivers saw the post and sat with it for a moment before moving on.

Even Charles’s family had been surprised. You had still been there at the last dinner, laughing with Pascale over something in French, sharing inside jokes with Arthur. There were no signs, no cold distance, no shift in tone. That was the kind of breakup it had been — no explosion. Just two people choosing different roads.

And then… you disappeared. Quietly.

Until 2026.

The One Piece live-action Season 2 cast was announced mid-season — and there you were. Nico Robin.

netflix and yourusername posted!

netflix You asked for her. We found her.

[Reader’s Name] will play Ms. All Sunday (Nico Robin) in One Piece Season 2. #OPLA #Netflix

liked by charlesleclerc, mackenyu, emilysteaparty, and others

inakigo WELCOME TO THE STRAW HAT CREW (kind of) 💜🫡 you’re SO robin i’m scared

mackenyu told y’all she was perfect. 🔥 welcome to the crew.

user1 SHE’S SO ROBIN-CODED I’M ACTUALLY SHAKING 😭💜

emilysteaparty you were born for this. literally. also pls don’t read my mind it’s full of spoilers.

user2 i just know Oda smiled when he saw her photo.

bookofjacob GIRL got the calm storm energy down that’s for sure 😮‍💨

user3 someone said “she left the paddock and joined the crew” and I haven’t known peace since

Fans lost it.

Old paddock photos resurfaced — Monza 2023, where you wore a deep violet silk blouse with sunglasses shaped almost exactly like Robin’s.

Singapore, where you wore a wide-brimmed hat and sleek boots that now looked suspiciously like cosplay. The Internet did what it always does: it made connections. People swore you’d been dropping “clues” all along. You hadn’t. It was just your taste — clean, iconic, and occasionally pirate-coded.

Then a video made the rounds again. Austin, 2024. A small boy had waited by the barrier with a gift — a drawing for Charles. Charles hadn’t seen him, too deep in post-qualifying thoughts.

You had.

You walked back, crouched to the kid’s level, smiled. Noticed the Chopper plush on his backpack.

“Is that Chopper?” you asked.

The boy nodded.

“Good choice,” you grinned.

“He’s got the biggest heart.” Then you asked him for his favorite Chopper scene.

That was it. No cameras. No PR.

Just a sweet moment that had been quietly captured by someone’s phone — and forgotten.

Until now.

And just like that, the One Piece fandom embraced you. And so did the F1 fans who’d missed you without realizing it.

Now, you were back in Austin. But not in the shadows this time. Not as Charles’s girlfriend. Not as the quiet paddock icon.

🏎️ ⋆｡ﾟ

October 2026 – Race Day, United States Grand Prix

The sun over Austin was brutal and brilliant — the kind that turned every surface gold and every shadow sharp.

The air buzzed with heat and engine noise, with cheers and tension, with the full weight of Sunday.

You stood just behind the pit wall, your Alabasta-inspired outfit traded in for something slightly more structured — still Robin-coded, but cleaner.

The purple corset, matching cowboy hat, and quiet silver details — Robin-coded in spirit, but all your own. A little bit Alabasta, a little bit Austin.

You were no longer just a guest.

You were the flag bearer for the final lap of the race.

Chosen by FIA and Netflix. Positioned at the most iconic spot. Camera-ready. History-ready.

You didn’t ask how the decision was made. You didn’t need to.

When the announcement came that morning — that you would be waving the checkered flag — you simply smiled, nodded, and tucked the moment somewhere quiet inside your chest.

The crowd behind you roared as the final laps ticked down.

You could feel the energy tighten around the pit crews. Team radios hummed. Mechanics leaned forward. The grid braced for the sprint.

Somewhere ahead, Charles was in P3.

His Ferrari glinted like red steel through the Texas heat, cornering with the precision only time and heartbreak teach a driver. You watched the car fly past Turn 12 and felt — not pain, not longing — but something like distant warmth.

That version of him belonged to a different time in your life.

A nearby conversation caught your ear. Two Ferrari engineers were talking just a few feet away, casual, unaware you were listening.

“Still crazy to think next season it’ll be Charles and a rookie,” one of them said.

“Yeah. Fresh blood. Hope he’s got thick skin,” the other replied.

You weren’t looking for updates on his world anymore. But every now and then, it still floated to the surface — the way old music plays in a café when you’re not expecting it.

You didn’t turn. You didn’t need to.

A rookie.

New beginnings.

You exhaled slowly. Everyone moves on in their own way.

The final lap came.

The cars closed in. McLaren in first. Mercedes second. Charles pushing hard in third.

And then it was time.

You stepped forward. Flag in hand. Cameras fixed. The moment approaching like a wave.

You raised the flag.

Held your breath.

And waved.

Smooth. Controlled. Still.

The checkered flag fluttered with grace — your own kind of farewell.

Charles crossed the line beneath it.

Full speed.

Full silence.

And just before the cooldown lap… he looked up.

Eyes met yours. For a second. No longer.

But something passed through the space. Not regret. Not love. Just… memory.

Then the moment was gone.

yourusername posted!

yourusername Ms. All Sunday in COTA 🏎️

liked by charlesleclerc, mackenyu, emilysteaparty and others

emilysteaparty not me texting wardrobe asking if I can borrow your whole fit… for reasons 😌👒💜

user1 Ferrari radio: “Charles, are you okay?” Charles: emotional damage noises

inakigo She waved the flag and I waved at the cars. Who did it better? 😆

user2 NETFLIX REALLY COOKED WITH THIS ONE. LIKE??? YOU PUT HER IN CORSET AND COWBOY HAT?? THEY KNEW.

taz_skylar Every Ferrari mechanic turned into putty when you walked by. I saw it. I was one of them.

user3 When Netflix said “All Sunday,” they meant all slay 💅

user4 he saw that and remembered EVERYTHING

user5 Charles lost clearly was not a drivers championship

Evening – Leaving the Paddock

You passed through the back exit of the Ferrari garage on your way out — not intentionally, just geography. You weren’t planning to run into anyone.

But Charles was there. Post-debrief. Suit down to his waist. Laughing lightly with someone from his team. Focused.

Until he looked up.

Saw you.

And stopped.

There was no tension. Just stillness.

For a moment, he didn’t move. Like he wasn’t sure if he should. Like he wasn’t sure if he could.

But then he did.

A slow, careful stride that felt like it belonged to an earlier version of him—the one who used to walk toward you like it was instinct.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here,” he said, voice softer than you expected. Not surprised, exactly.

Just unsure.

You smiled, just enough. “I could say the same.”

He nodded, eyes lingering for a second too long on the brim of your hat, the shade of purple you used to say reminded you of late evenings in Monaco.

“I heard about the role,” he added, thumb grazing the edge of the glove still in his hand. “Ms. All Sunday really suits you.”

“Thanks,” you said, quietly. “Austin suits you too.”

And even though it wasn’t meant to mean anything— maybe it did.

He laughed, gently. “Sometimes.”

Then paused again.

Two people who had known each other once. Still respectful. Still real. No bridges burned—just different roads now.

He hesitated. Just a flicker. Then his voice dropped lower, steadier.

“I’ve been meaning to reach out.”

You tilted your head slightly, not cold, just… cautious. “But you didn’t.”

He nodded. No defense, no excuse. Just honesty. “I wasn’t sure if I should.”

You looked at him then—really looked. The way his hair curled slightly with sweat, the way his eyes still searched yours for a softness that used to be so easily given.

You didn’t speak.

So he did.

“I saw the flag,” he said. “Didn’t expect it to be you, but… it made sense.”

A breath passed between you. The kind that carried memory.

“I wasn’t sure if I should come over now either,” he added, glancing down at his gloves. “But I didn’t want to leave without saying something.”

“What would you have said?”

He smiled, quietly. “I don’t know. Something better than this.”

You laughed, soft and surprised. And for a second, it felt easy again.

Familiar.

“I don’t expect anything,” he continued, eyes meeting yours again. “But maybe… if you’re ever free. Coffee? Just to catch up.”

You didn’t answer right away.

You didn’t have to.

There was no rush—not anymore.

“I’ll think about it,” you said.

And he nodded, like that was more than enough. Like hope didn’t need a promise, just a maybe.

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

“Goodnight, Charles.”

You turned and walked away. But for the first time in a long time, neither of you felt like you were closing a door.

Later That Night – Hotel Balcony, Austin

You kicked off your boots, pulled your hair loose, and stepped out onto the balcony, the Texas night warm and heavy on your skin.

Tired from all the things you did for the day. Ready to go home and rest all day without even getting up just sleeping through the fatigue.

You were starting to miss home.

Ting.

Your phone lit up with a new message.

Speaking of home.

[JK 🐰]

i literally can’t believe you left me to suffer alone like this ㅠㅠ

this is betrayal.

call me immediately so i can forgive you. maybe.”

📬 Archived Letters #05 — “doom room” ╰┈➤ to the ones who care a little too much, stress a little too often, and love a little too quietly—this is for you.

pairings. ABM!park jongseong x ABM!reader

w.c. 2.2k

soundtracks. pasilyo by sunkissed lola, i like me better by lauv, and ttyl by loosemeble.

author's note. for my best officer companion this is for you hehe. Thank you for keeping me sane in our disastrous class (..◜ᴗ◝..)

shs masterlist.

Another Day in Doom Room 144.

I sighed loudly this time, for the third time in the last ten minutes while staring at the pile of class dues that had yet to be submitted. My eyes flicked up to the whiteboard where someone, bless their soul, had written:

“Deadline: Friday. Submit to Treasurer!!”

Except our treasurer was one of the core members organizing the Foundation Day booth, and I hadn’t seen her since Tuesday.

I wasn't even a class officer. And yet here I was, arms crossed and forehead in a permanent crease, like a mom of twenty-eight.

"Hey, the other haven't paid yet," my seatmate whispered, dropping the crumpled list of unpaid names on my desk.

"Of course," I muttered. "Why would they even pay in time? What are the announcements for?"

If there was one thing you should know about St. Benedict a.k.a Room 144—it was cursed. I always said that. Anything with a "4" in it twice? Bad luck. Triple bad luck if you count the four problem students who had never shown up to class funds day once.

My phone vibrated.

ABM ST. BENEDICT GC '23-'24 Pres: 11:07 AM Guys, sorry! I can't collect funds and merch collection. Anyone free?

I sighed again, cracking my knuckles.

“No one’s going to do it, so I guess it’s me again,” I said, standing up. My seatmate gave me a half-hearted thumbs-up while munching on Bread Pan.

Right as I was gathering the class fund envelope from the desk drawer, the classroom door creaked open—and he walked in.

Park Jongseong.

Also known as Jay.

Also known as the guy every girl in ABM secretly has a crush on. Tall. Always neat in his uniform. A voice that sounded like warm caramel. A smile that made you question your life choices. He was also the Auditor of the Student Council, which meant he was the enemy when it came to fund deadlines—but also, the savior if no one else was around to help.

Jay looked around the classroom, clipboard in hand, smile soft. “Hi, good afternoon. Just here to collect funds for the Foundation Day event.”

He was wearing his usual white ID lanyard and a slightly wrinkled polo, probably from going around under the 1 PM sun. Still looked unfairly good, though.

I blinked. “Wait, there’s another payment?”

Jay’s smile twitched.

I hadn’t meant to say that out loud.

“W-What?! There’s another fee? That wasn’t even announced! Our president didn’t inform us at all?!” I blurted out, too stressed to filter my words.

Jay chuckled under his breath. And then he smiled.

Not just a normal smile.

A full-on dimples-out, eyes-soft, lips-curved-like-he’s-holding-back-laughter kind of smile.

And I wanted to throw my desk across the room.

“I’m sorry,” he said, still grinning. “You just looked really… passionate about it.”

“Passionate?” I squinted at him. “This isn’t passion. This is chronic stress.”

He laughed—laughed. Like he was actually enjoying this. Enjoying my pain. Enjoying my life falling apart because my classmates couldn’t hand over twenty pesos on time.

“You’re not even a class officer, right?” he asked, scribbling something on his clipboard.

“No, but it sure feels like it,” I muttered.

Jay tilted his head. “So why are you the one panicking?”

I opened my mouth.

Paused.

Realized I didn’t have a solid answer. Because I cared too much? Because no one else would do it? Because Room 144 was three missed payments away from total embarrassment?

“Because no one else is!” I said dramatically. “If I don’t do it, then no one will.”

He smiled again, softer this time. “That’s admirable.”

I rolled my eyes, but a small part of me flushed.

“What’s the amount?” I asked.

“Fifty,” he said. “But that’s optional if you want the merch. It’s only thirty if it’s just for the booth.”

I reached into the envelope and started counting the bills I had collected so far. Jay leaned a little closer to watch, and suddenly I was very aware of his cologne—clean, subtle, like fresh laundry and soap.

Too close.

I subtly leaned back and cleared my throat.

“How many students submitted?” he asked, eyes scanning the list.

“Nineteen,” I said. “Out of twenty-eight.”

Jay made a face. “That’s actually not bad. Other sections only had ten.”

I shrugged, pretending not to feel victorious. “I threatened them with public humiliation in the class group chat.”

Jay chuckled again. “Remind me never to mess with you.”

“Good plan.”

Before he could say more, a loud thump echoed in the hallway.

Jay turned just in time to catch the blur that was Jake sprinting past the door, a stack of printed flyers in hand.

“BRO, THANKS!” Jake shouted mid-run, dapping Jay quickly before disappearing into another room.

Jay blinked, unfazed. “He always does that.”

“You good?” I asked, blinking after Jake’s trail.

Jay smiled again. “I think he runs on caffeine and pure chaos.”

I snorted. “Sounds about right.”

We stood in an oddly comfortable silence for a second, and I noticed how Jay’s thumb tapped rhythmically against the side of his clipboard something he probably didn’t even notice.

"Do you want help collecting from the rest of the rooms?" he asked suddenly.

I blinked. "You have time?"

Jay checked his phone. “Fifteen minutes ‘til my next meeting. That’s enough time to hit 146 and 143 with you.”

Was it bad that my heart skipped?

"Sure," I said, trying to act like I wasn’t suddenly hyperaware of everything—the way his steps matched mine when we walked, how he held the envelope carefully like it was made of glass, or how he’d open doors slightly ahead of me, just enough to let me go first without making a show of it.

Room 146 was surprisingly cooperative. The officers had already gathered their dues, and all Jay had to do was sign off.

Room 143… not so much.

The officers weren’t inside, and most students just blinked when we asked about the fund.

Jay gave me a look.

I gave him a look back.

“Do I have permission to go scary mode?” I whispered.

He smirked. “I’d love to see it.”

So I did. I may have pulled a chair over and stood on it, dramatically waving the list of unpaid names.

“If you don’t want to pay, just say that,” I said sweetly. “But don’t come crying when the merch runs out.”

Jay leaned against the doorway, trying not to laugh.

Eventually, we walked out with a few more crumpled bills and the kind of victory that made me want to take a nap.

“Are all your days like this?” Jay asked as we made our way down the stairs.

“Only the cursed ones,” I said. “So, every day.”

Jay nodded seriously. “I’m impressed.”

I peeked at him. “You’re too nice, you know that?”

“I get that a lot,” he said, chuckling. “But you… you’re kind in a different way.”

I blinked. “What do you mean?”

He stopped at the base of the stairs and looked at me. “You care. Even when it’s hard. Even when no one asks you to.”

My throat went dry for a second. “…And you noticed that?”

He smiled, softer this time. “Hard not to.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I looked down at the envelope in my hands. “Well. You’re not bad either. For someone who’s technically the villain in every class fund drama.”

He laughed. “Villain? Ouch.”

“Sorry. Someone has to be the antagonist.”

He shrugged. “I don’t mind. As long as I’m the kind of antagonist who helps the heroine when she’s too tired to keep going.”

My heart did that stupid fluttering thing again.

We reached the ABM hallway again, and as we approached Room 144, I could hear the faint buzz of my classmates inside. Jay turned to me before I could open the door.

“Hey,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Thanks for letting me help.”

I looked up at him. “Thanks for showing up.”

His smile was brighter this time. “I think I’ll keep showing up, if that’s okay.”

My breath caught.

“Yeah,” I said softly. “That’s more than okay.”

And just as I pushed open the door, the noise of Room 144 rushing back into my ears, I thought—

Maybe today wasn’t another cursed day in Doom Room 144.

Maybe it was the start of something else.

ABM HALLWAY — THURSDAY By Thursday, I had officially morphed into a human bulletin board.

Posters under my arm. Tape dispenser hanging off my wrist. Someone even asked if I worked in logistics.

I didn’t. But at this point? I might as well have been hired.

I was pacing the third-floor hallway, scanning the walls for clear spots, when I felt a poster slip free from the stack in my arms. I lunged to catch it—missed—and braced for the paper to flutter to the ground—

But it didn’t.

A hand caught it before it touched the floor.

“I should start charging every time I save you from near-tragedy,” said a familiar voice.

I looked up—and of course it was him.

Jay.

White ID lanyard, sleeves slightly rolled, hair a little mussed from the wind coming through the open stairwell. The hallway light hit his cheekbones just so, and I hated that I noticed.

“That wasn’t a tragedy,” I mumbled, grabbing the poster from his hand. “It was a mild inconvenience at best.”

“Mm,” he nodded solemnly. “And yet, here I am. Your knight in cotton polo.”

I narrowed my eyes at him. “You’re so annoying.”

Jay shrugged, unbothered. “And yet, here you are. Still talking to me.”

Touché.

“Shouldn’t you be auditing someone’s soul right now?” I asked, shifting the posters in my arms.

“I already did,” he replied. “And now I’m here. Fate, maybe?”

“More like poor timing.”

Jay tilted his head. “Or… perfect timing.”

I stared at him. “You really just say things like that, huh?”

“What?”

“Like it’s normal. Like it’s not illegal to be that smooth at 2 PM.”

Jay smiled, and for the first time, it wasn’t the teasing kind.

It was the kind you didn’t see often—the one that curled just a little at the corners like it was only meant for you. A smile that said he was paying attention even when you weren’t looking.

He stepped closer. Not too close, but enough that his voice dropped just slightly.

“You look tired,” he said.

I blinked. “Wow. Thanks.”

“No, I mean—you’re tired, but you still showed up. Again,” he said quietly. “It’s like… every time something needs to be done, you’re already doing it.”

I glanced away. “It’s not like anyone else will.”

Jay was quiet for a beat. “But who shows up for you?”

The question caught me off-guard.

I didn’t have an answer. I looked down at the posters in my arms because I suddenly couldn’t hold eye contact.

Jay took a breath. “I think I want to try.”

That made me look up.

“What?”

“I want to show up. For you.”

I blinked. “Jay—”

“Not as the Auditor. Not as the guy who collects money and signs papers,” he said. “Just… as me.”

I didn’t say anything.

Mostly because I couldn’t.

Jay smiled again—this time smaller, more hesitant. “Sorry. I don’t mean to overload you in the middle of hallway errands.”

“You’re not,” I said quickly.

He glanced down at the posters. “You’re still on duty?”

I nodded.

Jay reached out and took half the stack from my arms like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“I’ll help,” he said, already starting to walk toward the bulletin boards.

I stood there for a moment before following him, still processing everything.

As we moved down the hall, taping up posters in a quiet rhythm, he spoke again—so casually it made my heart stutter.

“You know…” He tilted his head, eyes still focused on smoothing a corner of the poster. “I used to think Room 144 was cursed too.”

I looked at him in surprise. “Wait, really?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Too much drama. Too many headaches. I used to avoid collecting from there.”

“Wow,” I scoffed. “Thanks.”

He chuckled. “But lately… I think I’ve been making excuses to stop by.”

I turned slowly to face him.

His eyes met mine.

And for the first time since this whole mess of class dues and hallway chases started, I saw it—undeniable and unfiltered.

That spark.

That look.

That heartbeat you feel in your throat instead of your chest.

He smiled, but it was quieter this time. No teasing. No flirty remarks.

Just truth.

“I think Room 144 might be my favorite room now.”

I opened my mouth. And nothing came out.

“Jay…”

“Hmm?”

“You’re dangerous,” I whispered.

He tilted his head. “Why?”

“Because I think I might actually start looking forward to fund collections now.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners. “Then I’m doing something right.”

And then, without warning, Jay took the last poster, folded it neatly, and slid it into my hands.

“I don’t think we need to put this one up,” he said.

“Why?”

He looked me dead in the eye and said—

“Because I’m already all in.”

And just like that—he turned around and walked away, hands in his pockets, like he hadn’t just left my heart lying there on the third floor, buzzing louder than the school bell.

Room 144 may have been cursed.

But for once.

I didn’t mind the chaos. Not if it meant he would keep walking in.

📬 Archived Letters #08 — “among us” ╰┈➤ for the person who made my pandemic life better.

pairings. ugo ugochukwu x reader

w.c. 689 words

soundtracks. misteryoso by cup of joe, levitating by dua lipa ft. dababy, and tick-tack by illit

author's note. watching prema videos at the moment and I suddenly miss fred, oscar, and logan content plus i miss playing among us >.<

Among Us downloading....

The loading bar crept across Ugo's phone screen, painfully slow. He rolled onto his stomach, chin buried in his pillow, hoodie hood pulled over his head.

This was not his idea.

Not even close.

"Come on, Ugo, you’ve been staring at your ceiling for three hours. Just play with me,” his brother insisted earlier, shoving the app store into his face. “Everyone’s playing it. Even my friends.”

“You have friends?”

“Of course I do unlike you.”

And that was how he got here. Pandemic boredom, a relentless older brother, and a brightly colored murder game that looked way too dumb to be addictive.

The download finally dinged complete. Ugo tapped the icon.

Enter username: p1kach4k

Set as default color: Orange And just like that, he entered his first public lobby.

Ten bean-shaped astronauts zipped around the screen, bumping into walls like toddlers on a sugar rush. Cyan was spinning in circles. Pink was spamming the chat with “STARTTTT.” Yellow’s username was “hatdog.”

Then there was Red. Usn: heeheehee. She was loud, even without a mic. Just through typing, Ugo could tell she had… energy.

(red) heeheehee: OK OK WAIT I’M JUST CHANGING THE EMERGENCY COOLDOWN JEEZ.

Ugo smirked. He hadn’t even played yet and he already liked annoying people like her.

The countdown hit zero.

Game starting in 5…4…3…2…1.

The screen flipped.

CREWMATE. There are 2 impostors among us.

Round One

Ugo stretched his fingers, ready to wander aimlessly. He wasn’t even two steps out of Cafeteria when he noticed Red zooming down the hallway. No tasks in sight. Suspiciously fast.

He tailed them.

Through Weapons. Down into O2. Into Storage.

Red suddenly stopped. Turned around.

heeheehee: WHY ARE YOU FOLLOWING ME. p1kach4k: sus. heeheehee: I AM DOING TASKS. p1kach4k: didn’t see u do any.

A body was reported before the argument could finish. The meeting was instant chaos.

cyan: where? green: electrical. p1kach4k: red sus. heeheehee: EXCUSE ME??? p1kach4k: running around. not doing tasks. heeheehee: BECAUSE YOU WERE STALKING ME. purple: lmao fight fight fight. cyan: idk red seems defensive. heeheehee: DEFENSIVE BECAUSE I’M INNOCENT.

The votes stacked. Red: 4. Skipped: 6.

She barely survived.

The chat box popped up one last time before silence fell again:

heeheehee: I HATE YOU.

Ugo grinned.

The round continued. Ugo wandered to Electrical (where he immediately died to the real imposter). But even as a ghost, he couldn’t stop watching Red.

She wasn’t the imposter. She really was doing her tasks. Swiping card in Admin with brutal speed. Fixing wires like her life depended on it. Raging in the chat every time someone accused her.

p1kach4k (dead chat): lol cherrybomb.

The nickname popped into his head instantly. And it stuck.

When Red finally got ejected at 6 players left—wrongly accused once again—Ugo burst out laughing on his couch. His brother frowned at him.

“You lost. Why are you laughing?”

“Because I just met the funniest person alive,” Ugo said, eyes glued to the screen where her bean floated away into space.

The next lobby loaded. Same red bean. Same username: heeheehee.

And she was already yelling.

heeheehee: I TOLD YOU IM NOT THE IMPOSTER U GUYS SO STUPID. heeheehee: AND P1KACH4K STOP JOINING MY LOBBIES. p1kach4k: hi cherrybomb. heeheehee: STOP CALLING ME THAT. p1kach4k: sounds like something a cherrybomb would say.

The other players were wheezing. ‘Ugo, why are you flirting with Red? I’m telling Mom!” his brother said Ugo didn’t even mind his brother and continued teasing.

purple: LMAO orange got u there. cyan: this is where my grandparents started their love story. heeheehee: WE ARE NOT A COUPLE. p1kach4k: they never said we were 👀

That round, she worked hard to prove herself innocent. She stuck in groups, did every visible task, even let others watch her scan. But every time she passed Orange…

p1kach4k: sus. heeheehee: I’M SCANNING IN FRONT OF YOU. p1kach4k: could be faking.

By the time the game ended (with the imposters winning while everyone was too distracted by the Orange vs. Red feud), she was practically foaming.

heeheehee: I SWEAR IF YOU JOIN AGAIN— p1kach4k: see u next round, cherrybomb 😉