Caught on Cam | 양정원
📬 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.
🏎️ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ masterlist. — from the drawer of stories I never meant to share. © June 2025