jo-com

[jo-com]

pls more of alex albon🥳

──★ ｡˚🐾˖° Pet Account

Alex Albon x Fem!Reader

୨ৎ Summary: It started with pet photos and unhinged captions. It ended with Alex Albon’s not-so-secret girlfriend going viral overnight.

୨ৎ Genre: SMAU, secret and established relationship

୨ৎ Notes: I am sorry it takes me a while to do the request T^T but Send more request y'all, i really appreciate it! there are some grammatical errors and this is not proofread but hope you enjoy tho!

୨ৎ Fc: Random Pinterest Girlies

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

Alex_Albon

❤️ 100k 💬 15k

Alex_Albon i wake up every day surrounded by tiny paws and judgmental stares 🐾wouldn’t trade it for the world (except maybe a few extra hours of sleep) @Albon_pets for daily updates from the fluff squad 🥹💗

Tagged; @Albon_pets

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Username those cats got sass levels on 1000 🔥 i fear them but i respect them

Username me waiting for @Albon_pets like it’s the morning paper 😭 i need my daily serotonin dose

Lando you sure you’re not running a petting zoo? 💀 how many are in there now??

Alex_albon come over and find out. but bring treats or face the consequences 😼

Username Duck is giving ✨do not disturb✨ energy… i aspire to be that level of done 🫠

Alex_Albon she’s booked and busy. 3pm nap, 4pm ignore me, 5pm chaos.

Username albon cuddling his dog like it’s his emotional support bestie… yeah i’m sobbing in 4k 🥲❤️

Username nah bc the entire squad looks like they pay taxes and hate Mondays 😭💀

Username those cats 100% run a gossip circle and alex is their live-in entertainment 🐈‍⬛💬🪑

Alex _Albon they saw me trip on a toy once and held a TED Talk about it 😔

...

Albon_pets

❤️ 28k 💬 12,000

Albon_pets mum says no more snacks after 10pm but she gave me chicken anyway 🫢💕

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Username THAT’S NOT ALEX’S HAND. I REPEAT. THAT IS NOT. ALEX’S. HAND.

Username she gave him chicken after bedtime. she’s already the fave. you’ve lost, albon 🫡

Username the way he casually dropped ‘mum’ like we wouldn’t spiral?? alex pls control your child 😭

Username That’s not the driver’s hand...

Username DID HE JUST SAY MUM??? this is not a drill. we have a civilian in the compound 😭

Username bro we’re witnessing emotional intimacy through DOG NARRATION i can’t keep living like this

Username he just said mum like we’re all supposed to be chill abt it???? no bc that’s basically a marriage announcement in pet language 😭💍🐾

...

Username The facts that they know ALL the secrets. They've witnessed relationship milestones we haven’t even seen.

Username no because this is peak alex energy. man’s getting out-PR’d by his own cat 😩

Username she gave chicken past 10pm… she's the one. wife material confirmed

Username the captions are funnier than alex’s interviews 😭 GIVE HER A MIC

Username this is the most iconic soft launch since Zendaya and Tom Holland. fight me

Username not us CSI-enhancing every photo to find her reflection in the kettle 😭 we’re too deep

Username they soft launched her through THE PETS I CAN’T STOP LAUGHING 😭💀

...

Albon_Pets

❤️ 1.2M 💬 100k

Albon_pets dad said i looked ridiculous. mum said i looked fabulous. guess who won 🧣😌

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Username mum is winning and we don’t even know who she is. powerful.

Username i feel like a side character in this relationship and i’m not even in it 😭

Username alex: ‘don’t dress them.’ her: enters with a seasonal lookbook

Username when she posts the pets in matching beanies i’m actually going to combust

Username albon losing fashion debates to someone who isn’t even tagged 💀

Username alex blink twice if you’ve completely lost control of the household 😭

Alex_Albon can’t blink. i’m currently holding the scarf while she picks out shoes 🫠🐾

Username first the post. now the clothes. what’s next? wedding rings??

...

F1TeaDaily

❤️ 91k 💬 35k

F1TeaDaily 🐾 “Alex Albon’s pets may have soft-launched his girlfriend before he did — and fans have receipts 👀📦”

Tagged; @Alex_Albon, @Albon_pets

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Username the soft launch is so strategic i almost respect it

Username lowkey waiting for the pet account to post their wedding before alex does 💀

Username i want to be known by alex albon’s cats before i’m known by him 🥲

Username albon losing his girl to his own pets is something shakespeare would write tbh

Username we’re literally watching a love story unfold through cat memes

Username this is what a royal soft launch looks like. albon pets carrying the PR game rn

...

Alex_Albon Posted a story

Caption: “single? no. quiet? absolutely. judged by my own pets? every day.”

Replies:

Username sir just @ her at this point we’re TIRED 😭

Username so she is real. and the pets chose her over you. understood

Username alex said ✨ taken but mysterious ✨ and vanished again

Username does she have a name or do we keep calling her The One Who Has Been Chosen

Username so this is what heartbreak with a side of pet envy feels like

Username you just casually dropped a whole relationship status like it’s nothing and expected us to stay calm??

Username the way you said that so casually like we haven’t been on detective mode for weeks 😩

Username we already knew. the painted nails. the lap privilege. it was OVER for us

Username i didn’t need to be attacked by a caption today

...

Yn_nn

❤️ 109k 💬 90k

Yn_nn he says they’re dramatic. they say he’s late with dinner. i stay out of it.

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Username wait… this caption feels connected to something but i can’t place it??

Username not the same passive aggressive tone alex had in his story yesterday omg

Username who is he 👁️👄👁️

Username what do you mean he says they’re dramatic. are you… in the same house???

Username he says they’re dramatic’ girl… who’s he 😭

Username IS THIS WHO THE CATS CHOSE??

comments are limited

...

Chats between Alex and Yn

...

Alex_Albon

❤️ 2M💬 120k

Alex_Albon 10 years, countless memories, and a home full of love (and fur). I’m still as in love with you as I was on day one. You, me, and our little zoo — forever. My one and only wife. 🤍🐾

Tagged; @Yn_nn, @Albon_pets

view all comments

Username I thought they were just dating secretly not MARRIED WITH PETS 😭❤️

Williamsracing We’ve been sitting on this like one of their cats on the team couch. FINALLY. 🐾💍💙

Alex_Albon You kept the secret better than I did on track radios. Appreciate the love, fam 💙🐾

Username wait. wife?? like… legal government paper wife???

Alex_Albon confirmed by the British government 😅

Username the soft launch was a DECADE ago i’m screaming

Username the way he said ‘my wife’ so casually like he didn’t just drop a BOMB

Username they’ve been living in a whole romcom while we were out here reading crumbs 😩

Username the caption made me tear up and then i saw the cats in the background and sobbed harder

Yn_nn they were at the wedding in little bowties 🥹

Username we were NOT ready for this drop. this is bigger than a podium tbh

Username this is why their animals are so well-behaved. stable parents 😭😭😭

Username i need a documentary. i need the wedding video. i need the pets in tuxedos. i need EVERYTHING.

Alex_Albon we’ll check the hard drive. might be some chaos in there 📹

Username 10 YEARS TOGETHER. MARRIED. AND THE PETS. they win. they literally win.

Username suddenly i believe in love. like ACTUALLY

Username is it too late to send a wedding gift or…

Alex_Albon pet snacks are accepted as currency 🐾

Username how do i apply to be reincarnated as one of their pets i’m serious...

[jo-com]

──★ ｡✩°｡🎧 If i were to disappear?

Multidriver x Fem!Reader

୨ৎ Summary: based off the title☝🏻

୨ৎ Includes: Yuki Tsunoda, Lando Norris, Alex Albon, George Russle, Carlos Sainz, Lewis Hamilton, Oscar Piastri, Charles Leclerc.

୨ৎ Genre: Text AU

୨ৎ Note: This have been on my drafts for so long and just wanted to get this out so yeah. Hope y’all enjoy!!

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

[jo-com]

──★ ｡🪼*:･ Cogito ergo sum

Ollie Bearman x Toto's Daughter

୨ৎ Summary: The story between a HAAS driver and a Mercedes raised daughter.

୨ৎ Genre: Forbidden romance, slow burn? a bit enemies to lover? a bit angsty

୨ৎ Note: kinda long sorry. don’t come for me, i know there are typos 😭 proofreading? yeah no we don’t do that here. brain is sleepy, heart is full. drop your requests anytime & enjoy the mess <3

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

Oliver Bearman signed his life to Formula One before he could legally drink champagne on a podium.

Years in the Ferrari Driver Academy turned into reserve roles, and now? Haas driver. Full-time. Real deal. Still wearing red on the inside, but with the weight of expectation crushing his shoulders.

He had finally made it. The dream was real.

And yet, all he could think about was the one clause buried in every contract from the beginning:

“Romantic involvement or entanglements with any personnel or immediate family of senior management from Ferrari-affiliated teams is strictly prohibited.”

Back then, it was fine print.

Now?

It was a personal war.

Because now he wasn’t just thinking about her—he was falling. For Y/N Wolff.

Toto Wolff’s daughter. Mercedes-born. Silver-spined. A living, walking reminder of everything he wasn’t supposed to touch.

...

She entered the paddock like it was her runway.

Wearing a Mercedes team hoodie, the sleeves haphazardly rolled up, a black tennis skirt that swayed with every step, and heavy boots that thudded across the concrete floor with no hesitation. A pair of vintage sunglasses slid low across the bridge of her nose, and her lips curled at the corners—equal parts amused and unbothered.

She didn’t walk. She glided. She didn’t try. She owned the space. Like her last name didn’t carry weight in every boardroom. Like her bloodline wasn’t inked into contracts across multiple teams.

Ollie noticed.

He always noticed.

From across the grid, leaning against the Haas garage setup, he watched her. Helmet under his arm. Heat crawling up his neck despite the breezy weather. She laughed at something on her phone—probably a text from Susie. Her hair was tied up, her posture relaxed. She looked at home in the chaos. Born in it.

And maybe that was the problem.

She was home. She belonged here. And ollie? He wasn’t supposed to come anywhere close to that kind of belonging.

“Oi, Bearman,” one of the Haas engineers teased, nudging him out of his daze. “Focus on the tire data, not Mercedes’s royal family.”

Too late.

Ollie’s head was already swimming—not with telemetry or track strategy—but with the way she had glanced at him earlier that week. Just once. Just enough to light a fire under his skin.

He knew the risk. He knew what people would say if word ever got out. Wolff’s daughter with a Ferrari-bred driver? A scandal waiting to happen. But when she looked at him, he felt weightless. Borderline reckless.

You know Descartes’ philosophy?

“I think, therefore I am.” Cogito ergo sum.

Well, when Ollie sees Y/N—

He doesn’t cogito.

Therefore, he doesn’t sum.

...

They weren’t supposed to speak.

That’s what made it worse—the fact that neither of them planned it.

It happened in the one place no one would look for sparks: the hospitality coffee line in Monaco. The early kind of morning where the world hadn’t woken up yet and the paddock still smelled like sea air and tire rubber.

Ollie was behind her.

She was holding up the line.

Not on purpose—just scrolling through her phone, half-distracted, trying to decide between oat milk and normal milk like the world hinged on it.

He knew he should wait. Should’ve looked away. Should’ve turned and walked.

But instead, he said:

“You take milk like it’s a race strategy.”

Y/N turned slowly, raising an eyebrow, sunglasses pushed halfway up her forehead. “And you talk like someone who’s not afraid of getting fired.”

He froze.

And then… she smiled. Not sweet. Not friendly. Smug. Curious. Like he’d surprised her, and that didn’t happen often.

“I—” he started, fumbling slightly. “Didn’t mean it like—”

“No,” she interrupted, pulling a small smile to her lips. “You did. And it was funny.”

Silence.

A beat too long.

Then: “Oat milk. Final answer,” she said, tapping it on the screen.

He huffed a breath of a laugh. “Good choice.”

Another second.

Then two.

Her eyes flicked down to the Haas logo on his shirt, and something changed in her expression—not colder, not cruel… just guarded.

And she stepped aside.

“Enjoy the coffee, Bearman.”

He said nothing. Did nothing.

Just stood there long enough for the barista to ask twice if he was okay.

...

After that it was just stolen glances from across the paddock.

Quick ones. The kind that linger a heartbeat too long. The kind that only mean something if you want them to.

Oliver Bearman kept his distance—publicly. But when Y/N stood near the pit wall, when her laugh echoed down the paddock or when her eyes scanned the garage and paused on him… He cracked.

Not completely. Just enough to ruin himself a little more each time.

The memory of Monaco hung quietly between them—unspoken but alive in the space they shared. It had been their first real conversation. Brief. Fleeting. Not what Ollie had imagined it would be. But it left a mark all the same—thrilling in its own quiet way. A spark that hadn’t gone out since.

“You’re quieter than I expected,” she said, watching him over the rim of her glass, her tone calm—casual, even—but her eyes told a different story. She remembered.

So did he.

Ollie glanced at her, his mouth pulling into a faint, crooked smile. “And you’re exactly as sharp as you were in Monaco.”

Her brow lifted, but there was amusement behind it. “Sharp?”

He didn’t answer right away. His mind flicked back—early morning, sea air, her standing at the coffee machine like the world revolved around her milk choices. The first time he said something he shouldn’t have. The first time she smiled like she might bite.

“Dangerous,” he said finally. “That’s probably more accurate.”

That made her laugh—quiet and unbothered, like she wasn’t the very reason he’d been on edge for weeks. “Right. The coffee line,” she mused, setting her glass down. “Didn’t peg you for someone who remembers a five-minute conversation.”

“Didn’t peg you for someone who’d answer back.”

She tilted her head slightly, watching him. “Maybe I was bored.”

“Maybe I wasn’t,” he replied before he could stop himself.

That made her pause. Just for a second. But it was enough. Enough for everything to switch between them, heavier now—weighted with the memory of what had already begun, and the knowing that neither of them had done a damn thing to stop it.

...

After that, something in the air between them shifted—subtle but undeniable. It became something they both knew they should walk away from… but but neither of them moved.

It was like something magnetic that keeps them grounded, a pull that makes them come back for more.

There were a thousand possibilities between them—each one more tempting than the last. But in every alternate version, in every imagined universe, the ending was always the same: it wasn’t meant to last.

...

The paddock was quieter at night—emptied out, the chaos packed away in shipping crates and media vans. Most people were already gone, leaving behind the faint buzz of overhead lights and the metallic smell of rubber and fuel. It was the only time the place felt still.

Y/N didn’t expect anyone to be around, least of all him.

But there he was—Ollie Bearman—leaning against a tire stack outside the Haas garage, half-zipped out of his suit and hair tousled like he’d run a hand through it one too many times.

She kept walking.

She didn’t look at him. Didn’t break stride.

But he still called out, voice low and laced with something that made her steps falter.

“Are you following me?”

She didn’t turn, just answered over her shoulder, casual and cold:

“Please. If I were, you'd never know it.”

Ollie pushed off the tires, falling into step beside her. His grin was annoyingly easy. Like this wasn’t dangerous. Like they weren’t toeing a line neither of them could afford to cross.

“Stealth mode? I’m honored.”

She glanced sideways, lips twitching despite herself. “I thought Haas drivers had curfews.”

“Only if someone tattles,” he said, raising an eyebrow. A beat. Then— “You gonna tell your dad on me?”

That made her stop.

She turned slowly, facing him now under the soft yellow glow of the paddock lights. The smile slipped from her face, replaced by something sharper. “You think this is a game?”

His smirk faltered. Just for a second. But she caught it.

“No,” he said, quieter now. “I think it’s a really bad idea that doesn’t feel bad when I’m near you.”

She hated that her heart responded to that. Hated that her hands felt warm even though the night breeze had turned cold.

They were too close now. Not touching, but close enough that if someone turned the corner, there would be questions neither of them could answer.

“I shouldn’t be talking to you.”

“Then why are you?” he asked.

She didn’t answer. Not immediately.

Instead, her eyes searched his face—memorizing the way his jaw clenched slightly, how his eyes didn’t waver. He wasn’t playing. Not anymore.

Maybe he never had been.

“Because I’m selfish,” she said finally. Her voice was quiet. Honest.

His response came just as softly.

“Good. So am I.”

Silence stretched again, thick and fragile.

From somewhere deeper in the paddock, the clatter of tools echoed. But here—between them—there was only the sound of breath and possibility.

“Five more minutes,” Ollie said. “Then you can pretend this never happened.”

She stared at him. Really looked. And that was the problem—he didn’t look dangerous. He looked safe. Familiar in a way he shouldn’t be.

But something in her still whispered yes.

And when she spoke, it was barely louder than a breath.

“Fine. Five.”

He smiled—soft this time. No teasing. No cockiness.

And she knew, even as the words left her lips, that they were already far past the point of pretending.

Ollie’s smile lingered, something careful behind it now. Like he knew he was walking on a wire—but somehow, he couldn’t stop. And neither could she.

They didn’t move at first.

Just stood there, watching each other in that stillness that only existed after midnight and just before everything went wrong.

“You always talk like that?” she asked after a moment, folding her arms loosely. “All confident and reckless?”

“Only around people I’m not supposed to be talking to.”

She let out a quiet breath that almost—almost—sounded like a laugh. It surprised even her.

“You know, if someone sees us—”

“They won’t,” he said quickly, then softer, “I wouldn’t let that happen.”

That made her look at him again—really look.

Because Oliver Bearman didn’t say things like that. Not in press conferences. Not in interviews. And definitely not in casual passing.

But here, under the flickering lights of an empty paddock, it felt like truth.

She swallowed, unsure if the sudden thudding in her chest was adrenaline or something much worse.

“You’re too bold for your own good,” she murmured.

“You’re too careful for yours,” he shot back, eyes locking with hers.

She finally let out a laugh. A real laugh. "Oh how the tables are turned."

He said nothing—just smiled at her like she was a masterpiece he wasn’t meant to touch. Flawless at first glance, but hiding something he couldn’t name. Something that made him want to keep looking.

Then a pause. One she could’ve broken—but didn’t.

“Why are you still here?” she asked, softer now. There was no edge to it. No teasing. Just honest confusion and the tiniest crack in her carefully built walls.

“Because five minutes with you feels better than an entire weekend on the podium,” he said without hesitation.

Her breath hitched. It wasn’t the words. It was how simply he said them. No dramatics. No performance.

And for a second, she hated him for it. Because she believed him.

“This can’t happen,” she whispered.

“I know.”

“It’s stupid. Reckless.”

“It is.”

“It’ll ruin everything.”

“Yeah.”

Another beat of silence.

Then:

“But I still want it,” he said.

She blinked. Once. Twice.

And for the first time since Monaco, Y/N didn’t have anything to say.

Before they knew it, they were leaning in.

Slow. Careful. Drawn together like two sides of a secret they hadn’t meant to share.

Their eyes didn’t break. Couldn’t.

It felt like if one of them looked away, the moment would collapse. Their foreheads almost touched. Their mouths, just inches apart.

So close.

And then—

“Y/N.”

The voice made her flinch.

Her breath caught mid-chest, and Oliver stepped back almost instantly, like the air itself had snapped between them.

She turned toward the sound, pulse hammering.

Toto.

He stood a few feet away, holding her tablet, his expression unreadable. His presence filled the quiet space with something heavier than just authority—it was fatherhood, and it cracked through her like thunder.

“You forgot this in the briefing room,” he said, offering the tablet.

She swallowed hard, nodding as she approached him with a forced calm.

“Thanks dad,” she managed, voice steady despite the heat still rising under her skin.

Toto’s eyes flicked briefly over her shoulder. “Bearman.”

Ollie straightened, posture sharp. “Sir.”

There was nothing overt in the way Toto said it—no suspicion, no sharp edge. But it lingered long enough to remind them both of what was at stake.

Toto glanced back at his daughter, brow raised slightly. “You good?”

She nodded, a little too fast. “Yeah. Just needed air.”

A pause. Too long to be normal.

“Come on, then,” Toto said finally. “Let’s go. It’s late.”

She hesitated. Just for a second.

She didn’t look back. Couldn’t.

Because if she did, she might stay.

She fell into step beside her father, hands wrapped tight around the tablet like it was the only thing holding her together.

Behind her, Ollie didn’t say anything.

Didn’t move.

But she felt it—his gaze. Like a tether still stretched between them, pulled taut and trembling.

Her footsteps echoed down the corridor, growing quieter with each one. And as they disappeared into the night, Ollie finally let himself breathe.

The kiss hadn’t happened. But that didn’t make it any less real.

...

Y/N wasn’t supposed to be here. She knew that.

She wasn’t supposed to be on this floor.

Team hotel rules were clear—stick to your designated floors, don’t wander, don’t risk headlines. But the elevator had dinged on Level 8 by mistake, and before she could hit the button again, she saw him.

Ollie.

Slouched against the door to his room, hoodie pulled over his head, phone in hand, thumb pausing mid-scroll when he looked up and saw her.

Her breath hitched. She didn’t mean to stop walking.

But she did.

And so did he.

Neither of them spoke at first. The hallway was too quiet—the kind of quiet that made everything louder. Footsteps. Heartbeats. The hum of electricity in the walls.

“You lost?” he asked, voice low, like even the hotel walls had ears.

She shook her head, slowly. “No. Just… wrong floor.”

A half-truth. Maybe less.

He stood straighter, pulling his hood down. Hair tousled, eyes rimmed with exhaustion—but soft. Soft in a way she hated herself for noticing.

“You look tired,” she said.

“I am.” Then a pause. “You look like you’re about to change your mind.”

That made her freeze. “About what?”

“About staying away.”

She didn’t answer. Didn’t need to.

Because her eyes gave it away. They always did when it came to him. “You’re not making this easy,” she muttered, fingers curling into her sleeves.

He laughed, quiet and short. “Not trying to.”

She took a step closer. So did he.

“You know what happens if anyone sees me here.”

“Yeah.”

“And you still…”

“I still want you here.”

Her resolve thinned, crumbling like paper left out in the rain. “You’re an idiot.”

“So are you,” he said, almost smiling. “You showed up.”

He didn’t say another word after that—just watched her the way he always did. Like she was a secret too beautiful to keep—but too dangerous to share.

She hated how her heart answered him before her head could.

But it was already too late.

Her feet moved before reason could catch up, slow steps shrinking the space between them until they were standing face to face in the middle of a hotel hallway that could ruin them both.

He didn’t touch her. Didn’t move. But his eyes dropped to her mouth—and that was enough.

“Tell me not to,” he whispered.

“What?”

“Tell me not to want this. Tell me you don’t think about it. About what almost happened last night.” Her breath caught.

“I can’t,” she said.

That was it. That was the truth. “You were going to kiss me,” she said.

“I still want to.”

“You’re reckless.”

“Only with you.”

“You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough to want to.”

His voice cracked through whatever restraint she had left. She could feel it slipping—the control, the logic, the weight of her last name.

“Say the word and I’ll back off.” He leaned in, forehead brushing hers, breath warm. “I’ll stop.”

She didn’t say it.

Instead, she whispered what would ruin everything— “Don’t stop.”

And he didn’t.

Ollie kissed her like he was afraid she’d disappear. Careful, warm, like a secret he’d been dying to keep close. Her hands clutched at the front of his hoodie, anchoring herself to him like it was the only real thing left in the world.

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t frantic.

It was worse. It was real.

But just as she leaned into him fully—just as their mouths deepened, hearts slamming against the walls they’d tried to build—

Her phone buzzed. Once. Twice.

Too loud. Too sudden.

She froze. Pulled away.

Her phone screen lit up.

“Dad.”

Ollie stepped back. Hands clenched at his sides, lips parted like he was still chasing her.

“Shit,” she breathed, guilt slamming into her chest like impact.

“I have to go.”

He nodded, saying nothing.

She stared at him for a moment longer, like she wasn’t ready to leave this behind—even if she had to.

“Don’t say anything,” she whispered. “Please. I can’t—”

She didn’t finish. Couldn’t.

She turned away, swiping to answer the call. “Hi, yeah, I’m just grabbing something from the lobby. I’ll be back in five.”

Then the elevator doors opened, and she stepped inside.

Just like that, she was gone.

...

It wasn’t until the next morning that everything fell apart.

Y/N woke to her phone blowing up with notifications. Messages. Missed calls. Group chats that never usually spoke before 10 a.m. suddenly active with—

"WTF?"

"Tell me this isn't real."

"Y/N. You and Bearman???"

Her stomach dropped.

She opened Twitter. And there it was. A picture of you two kissing, it was blurry— a dim lit picture that showed the two of you together.

Clear enough to see her hands in his hoodie.

Clear enough to see Oliver’s lips on hers.

The caption read: “That doesn’t look like just coffee in Monaco anymore.”

And the rest of the world? Was already putting the pieces together.

Your heart dropped at the sight— chest heaving frantically up and down, the pain in your chest worsen as you red the chat Toto sent.

Reality hitting you like a train. Quick and painful.

...

The paddock felt different today.

Quieter. Colder. Like everyone knew something she wasn’t ready to admit out loud.

Y/N kept her head down, sunglasses shielding her face despite the overcast skies above. Every step toward the Mercedes motorhome felt heavier. More deliberate. She could feel eyes on her—sharp, curious, loaded with the kind of silence that screamed.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket.

Another message from her father.

"Office. Now."

No hello. No warmth. Just weight.

She swallowed hard and cut across the back lot toward the motorhome—only to pause when she caught sight of him.

Ollie.

Standing outside the Haas hospitality unit, flanked by two members of the PR team. One was scrolling through a phone, the other speaking low and fast, gesturing with restrained panic. Ollie just stood there, arms crossed, lips pressed tight into a line. His jaw was locked, his hair still wet from the shower, hoodie clinging to his frame like armor.

He looked… cornered.

When his eyes flicked up and found her across the way, he blinked like he hadn’t expected her to be there. His expression shifted—softened—but only for a second.

The woman next to him said something sharp, and he looked away.

Back to business. Back to damage control.

She should’ve looked away too.

But she didn’t.

And he didn’t come after her.

So she turned and kept walking, each step louder than the last until the motorhome door clicked shut behind her.

...

Toto’s office was quiet when she entered. Too quiet.

He stood at the window, arms crossed behind his back like a general surveying a battlefield. He didn’t turn around when she walked in. Didn’t greet her. Just let the silence build like pressure in her chest.

“Shut the door.”

She did. Carefully.

“You want to tell me what the hell I saw on the internet this morning?” he asked, voice dangerously calm.

She hesitated.

“It wasn’t supposed to happen.”

He turned then—finally—and the look in his eyes was worse than yelling. Not angry. Just… disappointed. “You think I care about the PR mess? The articles? No. I care that you lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie,” she said quickly. Then quieter, “I just didn’t tell you.”

“Which is worse.”

She didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

Toto ran a hand down his face and let out a slow breath. “Do you even understand what this means?”

“Yes.”

“No, you don’t. You’re my daughter. He’s a Haas driver. You don’t just kiss each other in a hallway and hope the cameras missed it. You jeopardize reputations. Contracts. His career.”

That hit harder than she expected.

Because she knew he was right.

And maybe that was what made it worse.

“I didn’t mean to put him in that position,” she said, eyes dropping to the floor.

“But you did,” Toto said. “And now it’s not just between you two. It’s headlines. It’s leverage. It’s political.”

He sat down behind his desk, voice leveling out again. “I’m not going to ask you what’s going on between you. I don’t want to know.”

That stung more than it should have.

“But from here on out, it’s over. Do you understand me?”

She looked up at him slowly, chest tight. “You can’t control who I feel—”

“I can control what happens inside this paddock,” he cut in, sharply. “And you need to decide if whatever this is… is worth everything it could destroy.”

Her breath caught.

Because the truth? She didn’t know.

...

The storm didn’t start with the rain. It started with her father.

The conversation still echoed in her head—sharp, final, the kind that left no room to breathe. But as soon as she stepped out of the motorhome, the sky followed suit.

Rain fell like the universe had timed it. Like it had been listening in.

It wasn’t heavy—but it was cold. Sharp. Relentless. The kind of rain that sank through your clothes, clung to your skin, and made you feel like the world was punishing you for wanting too much.

Like it wasn’t enough for your heart to break— It had to drown too.

Y/N stood under a flickering paddock light, arms crossed over her chest. Her ponytail was drenched, strands sticking to her cheeks. The Mercedes hoodie clung to her skin, heavy with water, like even it knew she was carrying the weight of something she shouldn’t.

She hadn't moved in ten minutes. She wasn’t sure she could.

Then she heard footsteps.

She didn’t turn. She didn’t have to.

Ollie stopped a few feet away, water dripping from his curls, fireproofs half-zipped, chest rising and falling like he’d just run there.

Neither of them said anything at first.

“You shouldn't be here,” she finally muttered. Her voice was low. Shaky. “We said—”

“I know what we said.”

He took a step closer.

She stepped back.

“Don’t.” Her eyes flicked up, tired and wet and burning. “Don’t make this harder.”

“I’m not trying to make it harder,” he said. “I’m trying to make it real.”

She laughed once, bitter and sharp.

“It was real, Ollie. That’s the problem. And now the whole world knows it.”

“So what? Let them.”

“Easy for you to say.” She snapped now, finally letting the frustration rise to the surface. “You’re not the team principal’s daughter. You’re not the one with your dad in your ear telling you to pick a side—telling you you’re the reason someone else’s future is at risk.”

She looked away quickly, like she regretted saying it. The rain was relentless now, plastering her sleeves to her skin.

Ollie was quiet. But only for a second.

“Do you think I care about my future if it means I lose you?” His voice cracked—not loud, just broken. “Do you think I can go back to pretending like everything didn’t happen? Like I didn’t feel it every time you looked at me?”

“That’s not fair,” she whispered.

“None of this is fair.” He stepped forward again.

She didn’t move this time.

“You think I haven’t been trying to forget you? You think I don’t lie awake every night wondering if it would’ve been easier if I’d just kept walking in that damn coffee line?”

She stared at him.

His hands clenched at his sides.

“But I didn’t. Because you smiled. And that was it. You ruined everything in one second—and I haven’t wanted anything more since.”

Y/N shook her head, half a warning, half a plea. “Stop. Don’t say that. You’ll get dropped.”

“Then I’ll get dropped.” His voice was steady now. “But don’t ask me to walk away from you. I won’t survive it.”

Her chest rose with a sharp inhale. Eyes glistening—not just from the rain.

She stepped forward.

Then another step. Until she was right in front of him.

Still angry. Still heartbroken. But more than anything—undone.

“You idiot,” she whispered. And then she kissed him. Hard.

Like it was a war they’d both already lost.

His hands gripped her waist like they were still in free fall. Her fingers twisted into his fireproofs, anchoring herself to him because she knew—this might be the only moment they ever get to be honest.

When they finally broke apart, breathing hard and rain-soaked, she pressed her forehead to his.

“We’re so screwed.”

Ollie laughed under his breath. “Yeah. But I’ve never wanted anything more.”

And this time—Even after the fight, the storm, the warnings— Nobody walked away.

...

He didn’t mean to do it.

He’d told himself a hundred times—not yet. Not until the season was over. Not until the media heat died down. Not until he had more leverage. More wins. More certainty.

But Oliver Bearman had just driven the race of his life. Haas was on fire—figuratively, for once—and he’d finished P7 after a brutal last-lap battle that left the garage screaming and the paddock watching.

And as soon as he pulled into parc fermé, helmet still on, he was scanning the crowd. Not for his race engineer. Not even for Guenther.

He was looking for her.

And she was already watching him—arms folded, sunglasses in her hair, smirking like she knew. Like she always knew.

The cameras were following his every move, but he didn’t care.

He made it halfway down the hallway behind the paddock when he saw her waiting—leaning casually against the wall, dressed in a loose black blazer and that ever-present Mercedes lanyard around her neck. Her nails were painted silver. Her lip gloss shimmered faintly under the fluorescent lights.

“P7,” she said, one eyebrow raised. “Not bad.”

“Could’ve been better,” he replied, stepping closer. “You weren’t at the grid before the start.”

“Mercedes briefing. Sorry.” But her tone wasn’t apologetic.

“You could’ve at least sent a good luck text.”

“I was going to.” She paused. “Then I remembered your contract forbids emotional entanglements.”

He laughed softly, eyes locked on hers. “You think this is emotional?”

“I think it’s a disaster waiting to happen.”

And maybe it was. Maybe it had always been. But if it was going to ruin him—if it was going to cost him—he wanted to make damn sure it was worth it.

So he stepped forward, no words, no hesitation, and kissed her.

Right there in the hallway. In front of a stunned Red Bull media assistant, two comms engineers, and a cameraman who visibly froze mid-step.

Her hands went to his collar. His fingers curled around her waist. It wasn’t messy. It wasn’t rushed. It was steady. Intentional. Like sealing something they’d been trying to deny for far too long.

When he finally pulled away, her cheeks were flushed, lips parted, and her next breath shook with adrenaline.

“You really think that’s gonna go unnoticed?” she asked, voice low.

“I hope it doesn’t,” he said.

The kiss went viral in under five minutes. Twitter was broken. Instagram was full of blurry zoomed-in reposts from a panicked F1 intern’s story.

The captions practically wrote themselves:

“DID BEARMAN JUST HARD LAUNCH Y/N WOLFF???” “Tell me this isn’t real. I’m crying and screaming.” “We finally have an enemies-to-lovers paddock AU in real life.”

Even the F1 official account got in on it:

📰 BREAKING: Bearman x Wolff confirmed. And no, it’s not a crossover fanfic.

The next day, Ollie was summoned to Toto’s office.

It was colder than usual. Minimal words. Y/N sat beside him, calm and poised. But her heel bounced slightly against the marble floor.

Toto looked at Ollie like he was measuring something. Like he was weighing every possible consequence of this boy kissing his daughter in front of the entire racing world.

“You do understand what you’ve done,” he said finally.

“Yes, sir,” Ollie said. “I do.”

Toto leaned back. “Your team isn’t happy.”

“I know.”

“Your contract—”

“I know.” His voice was steady. “But I’d do it again.”

Silence.

Then, a slow breath. Toto turned to Y/N. “And you?”

She met his gaze, unapologetic. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

A beat passed. Then another.

Toto sighed. Long. Tired. “You both are idiots.”

Y/N blinked. “So that’s a yes?”

“No,” he said. “That’s a don’t get caught doing anything dumber than that kiss.”

Oliver nearly laughed in relief.

“And if you’re serious about this,” Toto continued, voice firm, “then you bring him to family dinner next week. I’m not having my daughter dating a boy I only know from pit lane radio.”

[jo-com]

Hey if your request are open can you please write kimi antonelli fluff

──★ ｡°🌿. ⋆ Interview Things

Kimi Antonelli x Fem!reader

୨ৎ Summary: 5 Times Kimi Antonelli Can’t Stop Mentioning His Girlfriend in Interviews

୨ৎ Genre: based off the suggestion above☝🏻 Fluff, established relationship

୨ৎ Note: there's some grammatical error and always not proofread cuz i am lazy, also send request guys!! hope y'all enjoy

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

Kimi wasn’t the type to overshare. Not usually. But something about her had turned him soft in ways he hadn’t expected. Maybe it was the way she loved him so gently. Or the fact that he trusted her with the raw, unfiltered parts of his life—the parts no one else got to see.

...

Kimi sat in the guest seat— hands resting on both armchairs and legs spread slightly, wearing a practiced yet soft smile on his face as he listened to his interviewer.

“What’s your pre-race ritual?”

Kimi paused for a moment to think. “Nothing crazy,” he answered. “I usually FaceTime my girlfriend in the morning. She’s kind of like my reset button.” a sheepish grin slowly cracking his neutral facade as he continued. “Then I eat whatever she tells me to—she says I have the diet of a toddler.”

His interviewer laughed, and Kimi just shook his head, now fully smiling—his cheeks visibly turning pink. He couldn’t help it, not when his thoughts kept drifting back to her, like she was the only thing that ever clouded his mind. God, she’d definitely tease him for this later.

"Moving on, then," the interviewer interjected, smirking knowingly—as if they hadn't just caught Kimi blushing like a lovesick teenager.

...

It was an after race interview that one of the tv channel hosted. They did almost half of the driver's and Kimi was up now.

They stood off to the side, several cameras trained on them. A mic rested in his hand as he answered questions about the race earlier, his voice calm despite the post-race buzz.

The interviewer held the mic as she asked, "What motivates you when things get rough?"

Kimi tilted his head slightly, lips pressed together as he paused to think, fidgeting the mic slightly. “I think about her. About how she always believes in me—even when I don’t. I want to make her proud. That’s usually enough.” he answered with a shrug.

Thinking about the time where y/n stayed up all night listening to him talk about strategies with him, not understanding a single chart but pretending she did—just so he wouldn’t feel alone.

The Interviewer looked at awe with his answer, "That's really sweet of you kimi, i bet she's so lucky to have you."

Kimi chuckled softly, shaking his head with that familiar, lovestruck smile. “No way,” he murmured, eyes soft. “I’m the lucky one.”

Because he was. You were the heartbeat behind every win, the quiet moon pulling his tides. Without you, he wouldn’t shine the way he does. You were never just part of his world—you became it.

...

The day pass and It was another media day, and the room buzzed with light chatter and laughter. Kimi sat comfortably on the small stage, mic in hand, surrounded by his teammate. Cameras flashed occasionally, but the atmosphere was far more relaxed than race weekends.

The interviewer smiled as they flipped to the next card. “Alright, let’s have some fun—what’s something the fans don’t know about you?”

Kimi hummed softly, parting his lips to speak before pausing, the words lingering on his tongue. “I’m actually really sappy when it comes to my girlfriend,” he admitted. “I send her good morning and good night texts, even if we’re in the same house.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “She’ll definitely kill me for saying that.”

The fans erupted into excited screams, their voices rising like a tidal wave of chaos and love. Kimi blushed instantly, ducking his head with a shy smile as the noise filled the room.

Beside him, one of the drivers nudged his shoulder with a grin. “Aww, look at him turning pink,” George teased.

From the side one of their crew chimed in “Hopeless romantic, this one,” earning a round of laughter.

Kimi could only shake his head, his cheeks still warm. But he didn’t mind—not when the reason behind it made his heart feel this full.

...

It was part of a special behind-the-scenes feature—a sit-down profile for Mercedes’ official F1 YouTube channel, spotlighting Kimi beyond the race track. The kind of interview where helmets were off, team suits swapped for casual shirts, and answers went deeper than tire strategy or qualifying pace.

The room was quiet, lit warmly, with a single camera framing Kimi as he sat comfortably across from the interviewer. It was meant to show the person behind the driver—and so far, it had done just that.

The interviewer smiled, glancing down at their notes before looking back up.

“Alright,” he said, tone soft and curious. “Let’s go a little deeper. What’s the best compliment you’ve ever received?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” he said, tone softening. “She once told me I’m her safe place. Not because of what I do or what I’ve won—just because I make her feel loved.”

He paused. “That meant more than any trophy.” It wasn’t scripted. None of it was. He didn’t plan to bring her up every time. But she was rooted in the quiet corners of his mind, always ready to bloom into the conversation.

The interviewer smiled at him softly, feeling the endless love he has for you in just those few words.

Those words had you melting the moment you watched the interview online. Of course, you brought it up—more than once—teasing him with that smug smile he secretly loved. He never protested, though. He’d just grin at you, all shy and wide-eyed, like he couldn’t believe you were real. And if hearts could form in someone’s eyes, Kimi’s definitely did.

...

Kimi was on one of those fan-focused media panels—bright lights, comfy chairs, and the kind of questions that made even the most composed drivers loosen up a little. Kimi sat among a few of his fellow drivers, mic in hand, answering with that calm charm fans had come to love. The audience buzzed with excitement, hanging onto every word.

The interviewer smiled, clearly enjoying the energy in the room.

“Here’s one I think the fans will love", they said, glancing at Kimi. “If you weren’t a driver, what would you be doing right now?”

He didn’t even blink. “Probably traveling with her. She wants to see the northern lights.” A dreamy smile tugged at his lips.

“I’d take her tomorrow if I could.”

The crowd responded with a soft wave of awe, their reaction wrapping around the room like a warm breeze.

The interviewer turned to the next driver, smoothly shifting the spotlight. The mic passed hands, a new question was asked, and the cameras rolled on. But Kimi?

He was still thinking about her.

About how she’d text him in exactly twelve minutes to ask if he’d eaten—probably with a heart emoji she knew made him blush. About how she’d pretend to groan when she watched this later, claiming he was too cheesy on camera, even though she secretly saved every single clip.

He didn’t plan to talk about her. He never had to. She just lived in the spaces between his words. Because no matter the question, somehow… the answer always circled back to her.

[jo-com]

──★ ｡✩ ₊˚｡🧸The Other Charles

Charles LecLerc x Fem!Reader

୨ৎ Summary: You’re dating a totally normal guy — Charles, the sweet, lowkey, not-famous type. But because his Instagram handle is @Charles_L, fans mistakenly believe you’re dating Charles Leclerc. You think it’ll blow over… but Charles? He leans in. Comments, likes, even subtle story reactions. For fun. For the bit. Until the bit… stops being a bit.

୨ৎ Genre: SMAU, slight cursing, chaotic and messy, slight angst?, breakup but not between you and charles

୨ৎ Face claim: Dove Cameron and other pinterest girlies

୨ৎ Note: Send request y'all, they're always open. There are some grammatical error, like always this is not proofread. Hope you enjoyed tho!

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

js.me

❤️ 15k 💬 3k

js.me Black cat gf and Golden retriever bf irl?

Tagged; @Charles_L

view all comments

username IS THAT CHARLES LECLERC?

username Not me zooming in trying to find the Ferrari logo somewhere 😭😭

username bro has Charles’ exact curls, jawline, and energy… like??? we’re not dumb 💅

username FIA needs to investigate this soft launch immediately 🕵️‍♀️ we deserve answers

username We’re being gaslit in real-time and I love it. That’s Charles. IDC IDC IDC

username That is LITERALLY Charles Leclerc, I will bet my student loans on it 😭

Charles_Leclerc ❤️❤️❤️

username he didn’t even try to be subtle 💀 username this is not a drill 🚨🚨🚨

username Imagine this whole time Charles has been dating in peace with a private account 😭 we’re in the wrong timeline

username in my mind i think this is his private account😔✌🏻

username nah you’re not alone✌🏻

...

Chats between Y/n and her Girlie

...

js.me

❤️ 360k 💬 82k

js.me what’s it like dating an F1 driver? wouldn’t know 😌

view all comments

Charles_Leclerc you sure?

Username sir. why are you flirting in riddles. SAY IT WITH YOUR CHEST

username just tell us when the wedding is. i’ll bring the champagne 😮‍💨✊🏻

username you sure? is the most Charles-coded soft launch line ever omg

username she said ‘wouldn’t know’ and he said ‘you sure?’ so YES they’re dating idc 🙄

username okay but the way they’re gaslighting us in harmony is actually beautiful

username broski didn’t even deny it… that’s CONFIRMATION IN MY BOOKS 🧠🔍

urbestie_ remember when you said ‘I like lowkey guys’? be honest… did you mean LOWKEY LECLERC 😭😭

username you KNOW it’s real when the bestie starts dropping hints like that 😩

js.me YOU’RE NOT HELPING‼️

username his comment reads like someone who absolutely is her boyfriend

…

username don’t play with me right now. I’m one more espresso away from a breakdown 😭☕

username Charles really said ‘if you know, you know’ 😌 and WE KNOW

username Charles: ☕❤️ Y/N: spotted Me: emotionally unstable”

username this is giving domestic. this is giving Sunday mornings. this is giving ENDGAME

username ‘Love a good flat white’ is actually code for ‘I’m in love and I want the world to suffer’ 😭❤️

Carlossainz55 not sure what’s going on but… good coffee choice, I guess ☕👍

username idc if it’s him or not, the way this storyline is unfolding… I’m invested. netflix could never

...

chat between charles and y/n

...

The Charles situation was supposed to be a joke.

A funny little accident. A mistaken identity. A one-off comment under your post that spiraled into a thousand fan theories, memes, edits. You laughed about it, once. So did he.

But over the last few months… it never stopped.

He kept commenting. Kept messaging. Kept checking in.

He never crossed a line—never flirty, never disrespectful. Just consistent, almost warm. Like he was someone who actually wanted to be in your life.

And maybe that’s what made it worse.

Because now?

Your boyfriend isn’t laughing anymore.

...

js.me

❤️ 82k 💬 12k

js.me another lap around the sun🥂💋

view all comments

username HAPPY BIRTHDAY QUEEN 👑 hope Charles gave you a Ferrari as a gift 🏎️

username another year prettier??? how is that fair 😭❤️

username if charles comments again we’re taking this as a birthday confirmation idc

username happy birthday!! may your next year be filled with love, success, and fewer Charles comments (unless you want them 😏)

username she really said: wish big, post bigger 😌

Charles_Leclerc joyeux anniversaire 🤍 hope it was everything you wished for pretty girl ❤️liked by author

js.me TYSM CHARLIE💋

username happy birthday y/n!! thank you for being the main character in this chaotic romcom we’re all watching unfold

Charles_L happy birthday, love. always proud of you 🎂❤️liked by author

username she didn’t even reply to him but replied to charles 💀 bro I’d simply log out username the like without the reply is… loud.

...

chats between charles (her bf) and y/n

...

Months had passed since the breakup, and you had quietly disappeared from the internet. No posts, no stories, no trace of the person who once laughed through captions and comment sections.

The silence was intentional, but heavy. One night, a message popped up—unexpected, gentle. It was Charles.

Not flirty, not playful like before, just simple: “Hey. Just noticed you haven’t been around. I hope you’re okay.” And for some reason, that was the message that broke you a little.

You told him everything. About the breakup. About how your boyfriend left because he saw something forming between you and Charles that you hadn’t even admitted to yourself.

How it wasn’t Charles’ fault, but still, somehow, he had become a piece of the space between you and someone you once loved.

You expected him to pull away after that, to retreat from the weight of it all—but instead, Charles just replied: “I’m still here. Not as a joke. Not for the internet. Just… if you ever want to talk. Or not talk. Whatever you need.” It wasn’t grand. It wasn’t romantic. It was soft. And in the quiet, it felt like the first real breath you’d taken in weeks.

...

A year and a half passed. It didn’t happen all at once. There was no grand confession, no dramatic kiss in the rain. Just time. Gentle, steady, healing time.

Charles stayed.

He messaged you when your posts came back, slowly, like a sunrise peeking through a long storm. He checked in after races. Sent photos of ridiculous coffee foam art. Shared the kind of silly, quiet parts of life that made you feel like maybe you weren’t just someone he stumbled into online — but someone he chose to stay with.

And over time, his messages turned into calls. Calls turned into visits. And eventually, he stopped asking if he was bothering you.

He just came. He just was there.

He never rushed you. Never asked for anything in return. But somewhere between the midnight drives through Monaco and the mornings you spent laughing into takeout boxes on your couch, you realized — he was courting you.

Not in the flashy, public way people expected from someone like him. But in the way he remembered how you took your tea. The way he waited in silence when your thoughts were too heavy to speak. The way he never brought up your past unless you did.

So when it finally happened — when he looked at you one evening, hands warm in yours, and said, “I don’t want to be almost or maybe anymore” — the only thing you could do was smile, and nod, and say, “Okay.”

And just like that, the internet’s favorite delusion became something real.

Not for likes. Not for comments. But for you.

...

Charles_Leclerc

❤️ 1.2M 💬 360k

Charles_Leclerc remember when this was a conspiracy theory? yeah. about that😌

Tagged; @js.me

view all comments

js.me je t'aime tellement ma vie 🥹🌷❤️liked by Author

Charles_Leclerc je t'aime plus belle💋

username this is for the girlies who saw the vision from day 1 🫡

username this feels like the season finale of the best internet slow burn ever written

username I’m literally gonna rewatch your whole relationship via fan edits now😮‍💨

username her ex is somewhere punching the air rn sorry king 💀

username suddenly I believe in love. and Instagram comments. and fate🥹✊🏻

urbestie_ remember when I said you were accidentally dating him? yeah. wasn’t so accidental, huh 😌 proud of you, lover girl 🤍

username from ‘who even is this guy’ to ‘mother I’d like to thank the algorithm’ 😭❤️

[jo-com]

──★ ｡⋆.˚💋⋆ D N S

Carlos Sainz x Fem!Reader

୨ৎ Summary: Carlos Sainz didn’t start the Austria GP, and the frustration simmered beneath the surface. He didn’t say much—he let it all out the only way he knew how… with you.

୨ৎ Genre: Smut, MDNI!!! 18+ content, rough sex, kinda aggressive, built up tension, semi- public, degrading, curse, unprotected sex, creampies, (p and v penetration), getting kinda comfortable writing smut so yeah…

୨ৎ Note: Send requests guys!! Hope you enjoy this, there are some grammatical errors and obviously this is not proofred :P

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

You were in the Williams garage when you heard it. James’ voice crackled through the radio—short, clipped, disappointed. "It’s over. Shut it off.."

Carlos didn’t argue.No start. No redemption. Just another DNF—except this time, he never even made it to the grid.

You watched from behind the glass as he stepped out of the car, jaw locked, hands trembling slightly as he yanked his gloves off, threw them, then ripped off his balaclava like it burned. He didn’t look at anyone. Not his team, not the cameras.

But then his eyes found yours.

It was only a second.But that was enough.

He was on you before you could say a word—gear half undone, still fuming, all heat and tension and unspoken things.

“Come,” he muttered, low and rough.

You didn’t ask questions. Just nodded, taking off the headset— setting it aside as he took your hand, almost too tight, and practically dragged you out of the garage. Neither of you cared who saw.

He didn’t stop until you were in the Williams hospitality suite, slamming the door shut behind him. The sound echoed.

His mouth was on yours before you could speak—urgent, consuming, like kissing was the only way he knew how to breathe. There were no words. Just pressure. Frustration. Fire.

You didn’t fight it—you couldn’t. Not when his hands gripped your waist like you were the only thing tethering him to this world.

“Do you have any idea what it feels like?” he growled against your lips, voice low, venomous with restraint. “To be wired to go—and then told it’s over before it even begins?”

You tried to answer, but he didn’t let you. His mouth was back on yours—biting this time. Desperate. His fingers were already tearing at your clothes, rough and fevered like he resented every second you'd made him wait.

There was no teasing. No build-up. Just need.

And then—he stopped. Just for a second.

Carlos stepped back, chest heaving, eyes burning into yours. He undid the zipper of his suit slowly—not rushed, not frantic. Intentional. Controlled.

Like he wanted you to feel small beneath the weight of him.

The blue peeled from his body, race suit following, until nothing stood between his fury and your submission.

When the last layer hit the floor, he stepped forward—close enough for heat to pass between your bodies, not touching yet, but daring you to look away.

“You think you get to walk away from this?” he muttered, voice like gravel, like smoke. “Like you’re not the one who kept me strung out for weeks, acting like you didn’t know what you were doing?”

He grabbed you and spun you around, bending you over the counter so fast it knocked the breath out of you.

“Don’t act innocent now,” he hissed in your ear. “You like this. Being used. Bent over like you’re nothing but a body I can fuck the anger out of.”

You whimpered—part protest, part desperate need.

“Be good for me,” he commanded, voice ruined, sharp. “Take it.”

And you did.

His hips slammed into you, punishing and deep, like he wanted to leave fingerprints on your soul. The sound of skin against skin was obscene, echoing in the room as he rutted into you with no mercy.

His palm landed on your ass—once, then again, until your skin flared with heat.

“You gonna cry now?” he sneered, fingers curling tight into your hair as he yanked your head back. “That what you want? My cock so deep you forget how to think?”

You gasped—choked, broken, so far gone you didn’t know where he ended and you began.

“Mine,” he muttered through clenched teeth, biting down on the soft flesh of your shoulder.

Your moans spilled out—raw and unfiltered—as he took you, as he claimed you like a possession that had dared to run.

His grip on your hips was bruising, anchoring you as he lost himself, pace wild, rhythm faltering.

“Say it,” he snarled. “Say you’re nothing without me.”

“I’m yours,” you cried, undone, voice shaking, body trembling under him. “Carlos—I’m yours. Always.”

That was all it took.

He drove into you with a final, wrecking thrust, his body tensing as he spilled into you, breath torn from his lungs in a shattered groan.

And then—silence.

Just the sound of your breathing, your skin slick against his, the weight of everything he couldn’t say pressing into your back.

But then—his touch softened. His fingers traced over the bruises he'd made like he regretted them.

His lips found your shoulder again. Gentle. Almost reverent. “I needed that,” he whispered, voice thick, raw.

You tilted your head toward him, finding his gaze over your shoulder. “I know,” you breathed, soft and certain.

[jo-com]

pls alex albon fic next🙏🤞parang awa mo na teh

──★ ｡🫧⋆｡˚ The Backup Plan

Alex Albon x Fem!Reader

୨ৎ Summary: You’ve had a long-standing pact with Alex: If you’re both still single by 30, you’ll marry each other...You’re engaged to someone else now… until Alex drunkenly posts the pact on Twitter. It blows up—and fans vote that you should dump your fiancé.

୨ৎ Genre: Slight angst?, a little smau and a happy ending or nah? read to find out ;)

୨ৎ Note: Send request y'all, also hope you like this! has some grammatical error and stuffs

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

They were sitting on the roof of his apartment, legs dangling over the edge, two beers between them and an entire city below. It was 2:08 AM, the kind of hour that made everything feel quieter, closer, truer.

You were both twenty-one. Young enough to believe in forever, dumb enough to talk about it like it was something you could schedule.

“I’m never gonna find someone,” Alex said, head tilted back to look at the stars. “They either want the driver or the version of me they think lives on yachts.”

You snorted. “Yeah, god forbid someone loves you for your sparkling sarcasm and sleep deprivation.”

He smiled, soft and sideways. The kind he only gave you. “You’re not exactly thriving in the romance department either.”

You leaned back on your elbows, the breeze catching your hair. “I’m holding out for a golden retriever in a human man’s body. Loyal, dumb, likes snacks.”

“That’s literally me,” he said, deadpan.

You turned to him, smirking. “You’re not dumb.”

He blinked. “That’s what you took from that?”

You were quiet for a moment, the laughter settling into something gentler.

And then you said it—half a joke, half a wish:

“Okay, if we’re both still single at thirty, we get married.”

Alex didn’t laugh. He didn’t even hesitate. He looked at you with that warm, steady certainty that always threw you off.

“Deal,” he said, holding out his pinky.

You looped yours with his.

“We’ll probably forget we even said this.”

But deep down, you knew you wouldn’t.

Neither of you ever did.

...

Years slipped through your fingers like sand—quiet, unnoticed, until they weren’t. Now, at twenty-eight, you and Alex were two almost-strangers orbiting around what used to be everything. Birthdays, wins, late-night calls—once sacred little rituals—were now reduced to muted texts and empty-hearted “miss you’s.”

The milestones still came. But they came alone.

The big 3-0 was creeping up now—no longer a distant joke or a silly pact sealed on a rooftop, but a deadline that loomed like a memory you hadn’t made peace with. It sat in the corners of your thoughts, like dust you kept forgetting to clean.

Only this time, something was different.

You were engaged.

To someone steady. Kind. Good. To someone who wasn’t him.

And for the first time since that night on the roof, the deal—the pinky promise you once held like a lifeline—felt like something you had quietly buried in the past. Not because you forgot.

But because remembering it hurt.

...

The proposal had been perfect.

A quiet dinner. Your favorite restaurant. Warm lights, soft music, a ring that sparkled in just the right way. He’d gotten down on one knee and asked, and you’d said yes with a smile that felt real.

It was real. But it wasn’t whole.

Because the first person you wanted to tell—the one person who would’ve rolled his eyes and said “finally, someone’s dumb enough to marry you”—wasn’t there. Not in your inbox. Not in your messages. Not even in your life the way he used to be.

You sent him a picture of the ring anyway.

No caption. Just that. He didn’t reply.

And maybe that should’ve been enough for you to let it go. To finally move forward with both feet planted where they should be.

...

username NOT ALEX ALBON SOFT LAUNCHING HIS HEARTBREAK AT 3AM 😭😭😭

username whoever that girl is… break up with your fiancé. it’s for the grid. for the sport. for the legacy 🏁💍🚩

username no bc if alex tweeted this about ME i would be at his door in a wedding dress IMMEDIATELY 👰‍♀️💅

username the way this man just said “i’m emotionally unavailable but loyal” in one tweet 🥲

username imagine being engaged and the ENTIRE F1 fandom is telling you to go back to alex albon. i would simply fold.

username this tweet has more chemistry than most paddock couples. i fear this ship is sailing with or without her 😭🚢

username alex albon said “what if i caused emotional damage AND chaos in 140 characters” and honestly? he succeeded ✨

username “they forget” — YOU KNOW SHE DIDN’T FORGET BRO 😭 this is pain. i’m feeling it in my chest.

...

Two months later—on a regular Tuesday, when the sky was gray and your phone was face-down—he tweeted it.

Your eyes widened instantly as you red between his tweet— Your breath caught without permission.

And that feeling—the one you'd spent months, maybe years, trying to bury—rose fast and vicious in your chest. That familiar tightness. That ache between your ribs. The one that only ever belonged to him.

Confusion hit first. Then came the anger.

What was he thinking? why now? why publicly?

And then came the other realization.

Why do i care so much?

Because everything was different now. You had a ring on your finger. A man who loved you. A wedding date marked in ink.

You were getting married.

Just not to the boy who once pinky-promised you forever at 2:08 a.m.

And that’s the problem.

...

You didn’t hear him come in.

You were still sitting on the couch, phone limp in your hand, the tweet burned into your retinas like some kind of confession you hadn’t meant to write—but somehow belonged to you anyway.

“Y/N?”

Your head snapped up. He was standing in the doorway, coat still on, holding a takeout bag and a look that made your stomach twist.

You swallowed. “Hey. You’re back early.”

He didn’t answer at first. Just walked in slowly, set the food on the counter, and stared at you in that quiet way he always did when he was thinking too hard and trying too hard not to show it.

“You’re trending,” he said.

Just like that.

You opened your mouth, but there was nothing ready to come out. Not an excuse. Not an explanation. Nothing that could make this better.

He sat across from you. No anger. No raised voice. Just… restraint.

“That tweet,” he said softly. “The one about the marriage pact.”

You couldn’t meet his eyes. “It’s nothing.”

He let out a breath. It wasn’t a laugh. It wasn’t a scoff. It was disappointment, paper-thin and sharp.

“Do you love him?”

Your heart stuttered.

“No,” you said too quickly. “I mean—not like that. Not now. I don’t—”

“But you did.”

Silence.

He nodded, slow and defeated, like the answer had already been written in every pause, every time you’d flinched at Alex’s name, every time you smiled too softly at an old memory.

“I know I’m not him,” he added, barely above a whisper.

And the worst part was—you didn’t even know if that was meant to comfort you or remind you.

“I’m trying, Y/N,” he said. “I’ve been trying. But I feel like I’m holding a place someone else still owns.”

The room felt small. The air too still.

“I chose you,” you whispered. “I said yes.”

“But have you let him go?”

And that was the question, wasn’t it?

[jo-com]

are u filo? 😻 i was js reading your fic and realized the fc was liza and kath was in the comments !! if u are thats so cool reading a fic from a fellow filo ‼️🇵🇭🫡

YESSSS, shout out to other filo authors and readers there😋😋 ILYS SA MGA FILIPINO JAAN!🫵🏻 also send requests guys i am running out of ideas😭

[jo-com]

──★ ｡𖦹˙🍓 ̟ Enemies Online, Lovers Offline?

Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

୨ৎ Summary: You and Lando Norris hate each other. At least, that’s what it looks like online—

୨ৎ Genre: A little SMAU, Enemies with benefits, Smut

୨ৎ Note: Please don’t judge my smut, haven’t written that for like months now i think? Explicit content / 18+ (spicy smut scenes), Language, Fake hate, real sexual tension, Hotel room hookups, Light dom!Lando energy

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

Username she said “i love him” but with ✨rage✨

Username this is not beef. this is foreplay

Username ❎enemies to lovers? ✅lovers who pretend they’re enemies.

Username this is not hate. this is love in lowercase and violence

Username she’s probs tweeting this while sitting on his lap

Username she hates him. which means she’s either dating him or about to

…

Username imagine fighting on main and spooning 20 mins later

Username lando’s version of love language is “fight me then feed me”😭

Username he probs said “you mad?” after this tweet

Username NO CUZ ITS GIVING THAT😭😭😭

Username someone said “bantercore relationship” and this is it

Username Is Mclaren not gonna do something about this or…

Username is this banter or a soft breakup announcement 💀

…

Username this relationship is 90% roasting, 10% emotional damage cuddles

Username high IQ on track, zero when he texts “wyd” at 1am

Username the tweet is rude but the love is real

Username Their love language is definitely verbal attack🥹

Username can they fight less and kiss more pls my heart can’t take it

Username the slow burn is actually fast and messy but i’m obsessed

…

Username the fact he claps back with effort… yeah they’re sleeping together😮‍💨

Username imagine hating someone but still thinking of clever burns for them… in public

Username Nah i JUST know he’s soft for her irl😛

Username Idc they’re my fav couple even if they say they’re not “dating”

Username THE WAY I SEE THEIR POSTS IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER IS INSANE

Username my whole feed is literally just them fighting😭😭😭

…

He pinned you against the door before you could even breathe, his hands gripping your hips like he was trying not to lose his grip on reality. “You always run that mouth on no?,” he growled, lips brushing your jaw, “but the second I get you alone—what, suddenly you’ve got nothing to say?”

You rolled your eyes even as your body melted into his. “I hate you.”

“Yeah?” His teeth grazed your throat. “Then why are you so wet for me right now?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. His hand was already sliding beneath your skirt, fingers hooking into your panties and dragging them down like he owned you. You gasped when his thumb pressed against your clit—teasing, slow, confident.

“Still talking?” he muttered, voice low and dangerous.

“You’re a cocky—”

He cut you off with a bruising kiss, swallowing your insult like he was starving for it. He pulled back just long enough to murmur, “Take your clothes off.”

“Make me.”

That smirk. That goddamn, unbearable smirk.

He lifted you effortlessly and threw you onto the bed. You bounced once, laughing breathlessly before he climbed over you, ripping your top off like it was holding him back from something vital.

“You look so fucking good like this,” he muttered, dragging his lips down your chest. “Laid out. Mouthy. Mine.”

“I’m not yours,” you bit, even as your legs parted for him automatically.

“No?” He pushed inside you in one smooth, devastating thrust—deep, slow, filling. You choked on your own breath.

“Say it again,” he said through clenched teeth, gripping your thighs and grinding into you harder. “Tell me you’re not mine while I fuck you like this.”

You didn’t say it again. You couldn’t. Not when he was rolling his hips into yours like he knew exactly where to hit, not when your nails were digging into his back, not when every moan that left your throat made him groan against your skin.

Lando leaned in, forehead against yours, breath ragged.

“You act like you hate me,” he rasped, pace brutal now. “But no one fucks you like I do, do they?”

You whimpered—high and desperate, your entire body trembling as your release built too quickly to stop.

He felt it.

“Come for me,” he said, voice rough, hips snapping harder. “Come so loud they’ll know exactly who shuts you up.”

And you did.

It hit like a wave, like fire, like heat and hate and something terrifyingly close to love. You came with a gasp, your walls clenching around him, dragging him over the edge just seconds later.

He groaned into your neck, hips stuttering as he spilled inside you.

He let out a deep, satisfied sigh as he collapsed beside you, his arm immediately flinging across your waist like instinct. Like he was supposed to be there.

You were still catching your breath, cheeks flushed, heartbeat matching the lazy rise and fall of his chest against your side.

“…You’re really annoying, you know that?” you mumbled, staring at the ceiling.

He didn’t answer right away—just nuzzled his face into your shoulder with a smug hum. “And yet here you are. Wrecked. Speechless. Obsessed.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched.

“Obsessed?” you snorted. “I literally hate you.”

“You say that,” he murmured, lips brushing your collarbone, “but you’re the one clinging to me like a koala.”

“I am not—” You glanced down. You were very much wrapped around him. Legs tangled. His hoodie half on your body. His fingers tracing patterns on your back.

“…Shut up.”

He grinned, boyish and soft, like he couldn’t help it. “You shut up.”

Silence fell for a moment. But it wasn’t tense. It was glowing. Comfortable. Then he reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. It was nothing. It was everything.

“I like when you’re like this,” he said quietly, barely above a whisper.

You blinked. “Like what?”

He paused.

“Real.”

Your stomach fluttered, but you masked it with a scoff. “Ew. Don’t get sentimental on me, Norris.”

“Too late.”

He turned toward you fully now, his hand finding yours under the blanket. No sarcasm. No teasing. Just… him.

Warm. Gentle. Familiar.

You hated how safe it felt.
You also kind of loved it.

“You still suck,” you muttered, your voice softer now.

He leaned in, nose brushing yours, eyes full of something way too sincere for someone you supposedly hated.

“I know,” he said. “But I’m your problem now.”

[jo-com]

──★ ｡𖦹°‧⭑ Love Triangle, Monaco Edition

Charles Leclerc x Fem!reader x Arthur Leclerc

୨ৎ Summary: Two brothers. One girl. And a chaotic comment section

୨ৎ Genre: SMAU

୨ৎ Notes: Some grammatical error and google translated french, hope you enjoy guys!

୨ৎ Fc: Beabadoobee & Random Pinterest Girlies

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

Missgirl_

❤️ 105k 💬 15k

Liked by Charles_Leclerc, Lilymhe, Arthur_Leclerc and others

Missgirl_ Tea anyone?

View all comments

Username What’s 4 + 4?

Username ATEE🔥 ❤️ by the Author

Username the only tea i need is of you and the brothers👀

Username no cuz same😔🤚🏻

Charles_Leclerc belle comme toujours🥰

Missgirl_ tu es plutôt beau toi-même😉 ❤️ by Charles_Leclerc

Username SOMEONE PLEASE TRANSALE THIS!!

Iamrebeccad on my knees rn as we speak

Missgirl_ I DO ALREADY🤭

Carlossainz55 ???

Lando what no drama?

Username SAME GIRL SAME

Username “I am just a girl” vibes

Username he’s a girls girls fr😮‍💨

Username girl you’re not giving. you’re snatching lives.

Username this is the kind of energy you get after emotionally destroying two leclercs and sleeping fine after 💅

…

…

Arthur_Leclerc and Charles Leclerc Posted a story!

Replies:

Y/N → Charles

Always second?? you woke up and chose violence huh 💀

Only because he had to hear it 😌
But for you? I’ll always be first in line.

Lando → Charles

Bro. It’s always the poetic ones you come for 😭 Let him have his sunset, damn.

George → Arthur

I support emotional vulnerability. But maybe next time, sunset without the subtext?

Alex → Charles

Bro. He posted vibes. You posted a hit.

Oscar → Arthur

Next time just post the sun and log off man 😭 Charles came in SWINGING.

Yuki → Arthur

You should’ve just captioned it ‘nice view’ and walked away 💀

Y/N → Arthur

Very poetic of you, Arthur. Is this a sunset or a love confession? 👀

Depends. Did it work? 👀😏
If not, I’ve got more metaphors and all night.

…

Username someone get them a ref before it turns into WWE.

Lando this is better than the Netflix series tbh

Username WHY R U EVEN HERE MAN😭

Lando For the drama duh🙄🍿

Username Charles waking up and choosing violence before breakfast✊🏻✊🏻

Username Arthur blink twice if your ego’s okay rn 😭

Username this whole exchange was not FIA sanctioned

Username and here I was just tryna enjoy a sunset 🫠

Username Y/N checking her phone like it’s Hunger Games out here.

Username Y’all, it was just a sunset. A SUNSET 😭😭😭

…

Missgirl_

❤️ 1.5M 💬 178k

Missgirl_ Sibling peace treaty signed under my supervision 🕊️✨

Tagged; @Charles_Leclerc and @Arthur_Leclerc

View all comments

lando What did it cost you… mentally?

Missgirl_ sanity, patience, and 2 espresso shots before 9am 😩

Username this is what F1 Drive to Survive WISHES it could capture

Username they’re literally just waiting for you to turn around so they can start again 💀

Username Fr giving those vibes😭

Username THE WAY SHES ON THE MIDDLE PIC IS WILD

Carlossainz55 Please tell me there was a team principal supervising

Missgirl_ you’re looking at her. it’s me. hi.

Carlossainz55 🤦🏻🤦🏻🤦🏻

Pierregasly They look like they’re planning who gets to post you on IG next

Missgirl_ joke’s on them — I’m posting me ✨

Username Ferrari garage turning into family therapy

Username The real Ferrari team principal: Y/N L/N

Missgirl_ I don’t get paid enough for this sht🙄

Username the fact that you had to fix Leclerc family affairs is wild

[jo-com]

──★‧₊˚🖇️✩ MY DADDY!

Max Verstappen x Family

୨ৎ Summary: During a race weekend, Max shares a quick thank-you hug with the event organizer’s child. But their own toddler sees it—and instantly gets upset.

୨ৎ Genre: Cute and Adorable

୨ৎ Note: Doing some fluff cuz i write angsty stuff all the time. There are some grammatical errors, google translated dutch and this is also not proofread but hope y’all enjoy.

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

The paddock was alive with noise—mechanics rushing, cameras flashing, fans cheering from behind the barriers. It was just another race weekend, buzzing with excitement and chaos.

Amongst it all, there walked Max, along with Y/n and their daughter lily—who was holding onto his hands while the other held a small stuffed toy that he had recently bought her and was now her current favorite toy to bring.

The camera soon turned all their attention on them— capturing the small yet warm moment between the three.

Lily glanced around, her wide eyes meeting the curious stares surrounding them. Instead of shying away, she beamed a gentle smile and gave a cheerful wave with her tiny hands, still clutching her favorite toy. When she noticed a camera nearby, she tilted her head and smiled a little brighter, as if offering a quiet hello to whoever might be watching.

Max and Y/n shared a look of fondness as they saw the cute interaction. Grinning widely at their daughter’s antics.

…

Once they arrived at the Redbull hospitality, Lily was quick to rush towards to plop down at the couch, struggling slightly from the height.

“Want me to help you out baby?” Max spoke, his tone gentle like he always was with her. Not the serious and assertive one he always had on camera. No. It was something he reserved only for the two of you.

Lily shook her head. Determined. “No papa, I could do it”

You smiled from ear to ear as you crouched down besides her level. "Sure you don't want any help schatje?"

She stopped mid way and sighed deeply— as if gathering all her strength for one big moment—Her eyes glint with pure determination, trying once more to climb the couch.

Max stood there watching, a wide grin plastered on his face, as Lily successfully climbed onto the couch all on her own.

"See mama, told you i don't need help" she spoke— her tone laced with pride, the kind she inherited straight from Max.

He chuckled, crossing his arms as he watched her triumph. "That’s my girl," he said proudly. "A true Verstappen—stubborn, fearless, and always finishing what she starts."

...

Later that afternoon, Max was showing Lily around, pointing out cars and waving at familiar faces in the paddock, when one of the organizers approached, a friendly smile on his face and a young boy trailing beside him.

"Max! Hope we’re not interrupting," the man said warmly. "Thought I’d introduce my son—he’s a big fan."

Lily peeked up from behind Max’s leg, clutching her toy. The boy, a little older than her, gave a shy wave.

She looked back at him but not with the same energy. A flash of predatory gaze lingered on the poor boy.

Max laughed awkwardly as he scratched the back of his head. "Sorry, lily isn't usually like this."

"No it's fine, he can get a little bit shy too." The man said, waving off his hands assuringly.

The organizer smiled warmly. “Actually, Noah really wanted to take a picture with you, is that okay?” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it up.

Max chuckled, nodding. “It’s nice to know he’s a fan at such a young age—guess the racing bug really starts early.”

He gently took the phone from the organizer’s hands and crouched down beside Noah, wrapping an arm around him in a one-sided hug as he snapped the picture.

From the side, Lily stared with pure hurt. Her once cheeky smile turned into a scowl almost instantly. Without a thought she plunged forward and lightly pushed the kid.

"My Daddy!" she yelled, eyes blazing with jealousy.

Max’s eyes widened, clearly caught off guard. He quickly stepped between Lily and his son.

“Lily, what was that for?” Max asked gently, then glanced back over his shoulder at the boy, who looked startled but unharmed.

Max turned back to the organizer, an apologetic smile tugging at his lips. “I’m really sorry, she isn’t usually like this—I don’t know what came over her.”

The organizer gave a reassuring nod, kneeling down beside his son. “It’s alright. Kids will be kids. I’m just glad no one got hurt.”

He looked back at Lily, then Max, with a patient smile. “If anything, it just shows how much she cares. Sounds like she’s a true Verstappen—fierce, determined, and not afraid to stand her ground, just like her dad.”

Max let out a dry chuckle, waving goodbye to the organizer after apologizing once more before they leave.

...

He then gently took Lily’s hand and led her to a quieter spot away from the crowd. Crouching down so he was eye-level with her, he gave her a look that was both serious and soft.

“Lily,” he began, his voice calm but firm, “you can’t push people, even if you’re upset. That’s not how we show our feelings, okay?”

Lily huffed, arms crossing tight over her chest. “But he was trying to take you,” she said, her lower lip jutting out. “You’re my papa.”

Max sighed, trying to hide a smile. “I am your papa. And I always will be. But hugging someone or taking a picture doesn’t mean I’m not yours anymore.”

She looked away, grumbling under her breath, “Still looked like it.”

Max gently touched her chin to bring her gaze back to him. “It’s okay to feel jealous, but you have to use your words, not your hands. Got it?”

Lily’s shoulders slumped just a little. “Okay…” she mumbled, then added more clearly, “I’m sorry, Papa. I didn’t mean to be mean. I was just mad.”

Max’s face softened completely. He pulled her into a hug. “I know, Lil. And thank you for saying sorry. That’s really brave of you.”

She hugged him tightly, then leaned back and gave him a dead-serious look. “But he still can’t have you.”

Max blinked. “Oh?”

Lily nodded firmly. “Only I can hug you. ‘Cause I’m the boss.”

Max laughed, standing up as he ruffled her hair. “Yes, ma’am. Boss of me it is.”

[jo-com]

Need help cuz idk what to decide on and wanna write something so bad😭

[jo-com]

──★ ˙🧷 ̟ !! Healed Girls Don’t Text Back

Charles Leclerc x Fem!reader

୨ৎ Summary: He thought she cheated, so he walked away. She didn’t fight it—didn’t beg, didn’t explain.

୨ৎ Genre: SMAU, mentions of cheating, no hate on charles tho

୨ৎ Fc: Kendall Jenner and other Pinterest Girlies

୨ৎ Note: There are some grammatical errors in here so enjoyyy

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

F1Gossip

❤️ 115k 💬 8,209

F1Gossip Model Y/N L/N, Girlfriend of F1 Star Charles Leclerc, Spotted Multiple Times with Mystery Man—Fans Speculate Trouble in Paradise??

Read more to find out…

View all comments

Username WHOA WHAT???

Username Nah y/n isn’t like that

Username NOOO MY SHAYLASS🥹💔

Username never liked her from the start.

Username Istg there’s got to be a better explanation for this

Username is this fr?😭

Username Y’ALL Y/N IS NOT LIKE THAT!

Username real😔 y/n is the most loyal person i know

Username 🤮🤮🤮

Username y/n hate is so forced lmao

…

➛ Charles and Y/n

…

xoxo.yn

❤️ 1.2M 💬 15k

Liked by lando, bellahadid, iamrebeccad and others

xoxo.yn ❌ Brother ✅ Mysterious Man

Tagged; @Bro

View all comments

Username oof—

Username literally her silencing them all with one post🤌🏻

Iamrebeccad i bet he’s losing his shit rn

xoxo.yn his lost tbh🤷🏻‍♀️ ❤️ Liked by iamrebeccad

Username UHM WHAT?

Username i think we missed a few chapters😭

Lando ICON‼️ ❤️ Liked by Author

xoxo.yn thanks queen😌

Username CAN SOMEONE TELL ME WHATS GOING ON?

Username i was only gone for a minute damn

Username they were silenced!!

Bro i feel so bad tbh😭

xoxo.yn thanks for showing me who he really is

Username 👀👀

Username i hope charles can fight

…

➛ Charles and Y/n

…

xoxo.yn

❤️ 4M 💬 150k

Liked by Carlossainz55, lando and others

xoxo.yn Single isn’t a status—it’s a whole lifestyle upgrade🥰

View all comments

Lando single and ready to mingle?

xoxo.yn i’ll think about it😉

Username JOJO HAVE YOU LEARNED NOTHING

Username literally an f1 driver magnet😮‍💨

Bellahadid my precious baby ❤️ Liked by Author

Username He lost a baddie😔

Username Charles Fumbled so bad bro

Username Live.Laugh.Love y/n indeed🙏🏻

xoxo.yn 🤭🤭🤭

୨ৎ Short and simple cuz why not? Should i make a part two where she meets someone new??

[jo-com]

˖ ݁♬⋆.˚𝄞. ➛ Right Person, Wrong Time

Oscar Piastri x Fem!Reader

୨ৎ Summary: The story of how they fell apart, found themselves, and came back together stronger than ever—this time, for good.

୨ৎ Genre: Little Angsty but with a happy ending!

୨ৎ Note: Some grammatical errors, this also not proofread. Hope y’all enjoyyy!!

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

Oscar and Y/n have been inseparable since the very beginning—their moms were best friends long before they were even born, laying the foundation for a bond that felt written in the stars.

Their lives grew tangled in all the right ways, shaping each other in quiet, everyday moments. Oscar wouldn't be who he is without his Y/n, and the same goes for her. What they had felt like it was lifted straight from a fairytale—but not the perfect, polished kind. It was the kind with scraped knees, shared secrets, and laughter over nothing. Two innocent kids who didn’t realize that all those little moments were slowly leading them to something bigger. To love. The kind that felt inevitable.

It was like they were fated to be each others company.

...

When Oscar started racing, Y/n was alongside him— cheering him on in the sidelines. Always proud to see him reach for the sky and landing the dream he longed for.

You were beyond happy when his talents were discovered— his reputation sky rocketed in an instant. With each milestones that Oscar gained you were always there— giving him nothing but endless love and support.

But they say the good cannot coexist without the bad.

Like every story touched by magic, there’s always a storm that follows the calm. You just never expect it to hit as hard as it does. One moment, everything feels untouched, golden—and then suddenly, it doesn’t. The silence gets louder. The distance creeps in. And before you know it, you're left standing in the wreckage, wondering how something so good could break so quietly. Wondering if you ever really mattered in the way you thought you did. Questioning your place in his world, like maybe you were just passing through—while he was your entire map.

It broke you in ways you didn’t know were possible—to watch something so carefully built fall apart without warning. Years of shared memories, inside jokes, and quiet trust, all crumbling under the weight of unspoken words and arguments that never really had a point. It wasn’t one big moment, just a slow unraveling. And that’s what hurt the most. Not the shouting, not the silence—but the way it ended like it meant nothing, when to you, it meant everything.

...

Years have gone by, You were living… but were you really? Or were you just existing, moving through the days with a version of yourself that never fully came back after him? Because some goodbyes don’t echo right away—they linger, quietly, in the spaces where love used to live.

You were there present times but your mind just wonders back to the past. A past you swore you moved on from.

Whenever you scroll through your phone— headlines of him passes by... just like the memories you locked up. Clouding your mind with endless possibilities of what should have been and shouldn't have.

Seeing him happy and fine without you was tearing you apart.

...

Days later, your friend begged you to come with her to a Formula 1 event. You said no at first—too many memories, too much risk of running into him. The thought alone made your chest tighten. But she insisted, said you needed a change of scenery, something to pull you out of your head.

So there you were, standing beside her in a dress that hugged you just right, the kind you wouldn’t normally wear. The wind danced through your hair, engines roared in the distance, and for a moment, you almost forgot why your heart felt so heavy. Almost. Because even in a crowd that big, part of you was still scanning for the one face you weren’t ready to see—but couldn’t stop hoping you would.

"Are you having fun y/n/n?" Your friend asked, smiling as she examined your tensed features.

You nodded lightly, contemplating whether or not to share your fleeting feelings with her.

She hummed in response as she took a sip on her drink, paying no mind at your not so obvious anxious state.

After a while, the drivers began to roll in, the announcer's voice echoing as each name was called. Cameras zoomed in on each passing figure, but your world slowed down, your heart skipping when they finally called his name. Time seemed to freeze as the crowd cheered, and for a moment, it was like everything else disappeared. All you could hear was the rush of your own heartbeat, the echo of his name ringing in your ears.

You looked away immediately as soon as you took a glance at him. The growing feeling in your heart becoming heavier as you saw a glimpse.

Oscar smiled across the room, unbeknownst to him that you were only a mere meters away from him.

Your eyes couldn’t help but follow him, even when you didn’t want to. You saw how effortlessly happy he was, laughing and smiling with everyone around him. That smile—one you once knew so well—was the same one you had watched fade away when things between you two fell apart.

And then it came—the moment you’d been dreading all night. His eyes finally met yours, and with every passing second, his grin slowly shifted into a frown as your gaze locked.

You looked away, not wanting to feel the heavy pain that came with his eyes. The weight in your chest felt like it might suffocate you, but you fought it off, pushing back the ache. Your focus shifted to something—anything else. The crowd, the noise, the cars racing in the distance—but it was all just background noise now, like everything was happening in slow motion.

For a moment, you thought maybe you'd escape the hurt, but then you felt a tap on your shoulder. You turned, almost startled, to find your friend watching you closely. She knew you too well. "You good?" she asked, her voice soft but firm, like she already knew the answer.

You nodded almost instantly. The beat on your heart not resting. "I uhm i am just.. tired yeah tired." You quipped back.

She looked at you knowingly, her eyes catching the tension in your face—your brows knitted together, your chest rising and falling with each shallow breath, and the slight crack in your voice. It was a habit you had whenever stress hit, and she’d seen it enough times to recognize it instantly.

"Want to go home now?" she asked softly, her voice gentle but carrying the weight of everything unsaid.

You didn’t even hesitate. The weight of the night, the memories, and the sudden rush of emotions all became too much to bear. You nodded, your throat tight as you forced a small, thankful smile.

"Yeah," you whispered, "I think I do."

She didn’t ask anything more, just nodded in understanding, guiding you away from the noise and toward the exit. As you walked, it felt like you were shedding a part of yourself with every step—walking away from a past that had once meant everything to you.

His gaze followed you until you were swallowed by the crowd, the space between you growing wider with each step. He stood there, frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do with the flood of emotions that suddenly hit him. There was a tightness in his chest, an ache he couldn’t shake. He had always been able to read you—knew when something was wrong, even before you said a word—but now, seeing you walk away like that, he felt a sense of helplessness.

He wanted to run after you, to apologize, to fix whatever had broken between you, but the thought of reaching out only felt like a step too late. The moment passed, and all he could do was watch, his heart heavy with regret, as you disappeared into the night.

...

The next morning you woke up like normal— did your usual morning routine but with an unexpected bombarding text from none other than him.

Your hands seem to shake as you reached down to open your phone. You were scared to read what it contained— hesitantly you opened his text.

Oscar [3:43 AM]: i know im probably the last person u wanna hear from right now but i can’t stop thinking about u i saw u today. u looked beautiful. like always. and it hit me all over again i messed up. i know that i was stupid, and i let u walk away without saying what i needed to say can we meet? please just talk. just once i’m sorry y/n. for everything.

You stared at your phone, the screen glowing in the room. His name sat at the top of the message, your heart pounding harder with each word you read. A part of you wanted to cry. Another part wanted to scream. And somewhere deep down, beneath all the hurt, was a quiet voice that still missed him.

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, the words forming in your head but never making it to the screen. You locked your phone instead, tossing it gently onto the bed like it might burn you if you held on too long.

You needed time to breathe. To think. Because the wound was still there, barely healing—and reopening it now felt like risking everything all over again.

...

It had been three days since the message. Three days of pacing, rereading, overthinking. But in the end, something in you gave in—not because you were ready, but because a part of you still needed closure. Or maybe hope.

You agreed to meet at a quiet café tucked away from the buzz of the city, the kind of place no one would recognize either of you. You sat by the window, fingers curled around a warm cup, trying to steady your nerves as the minutes ticked by.

Then the door opened.

You didn’t need to look up to know it was him. You felt it—the shift in the air, the way your heartbeat quickened without warning. And when you finally did glance up, there he was. A little tired, a little messy, like sleep hadn’t come easy. But his eyes locked onto yours like they never forgot the way back.

He walked over slowly, uncertain. “Hey,” he said, voice low.

You gave a small nod, unsure of what to say, unsure if anything could ever really fix what had been broken—but you were here. And so was he. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough to start with.

He slid into the seat across from you, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to read the time that passed between you. You sat in silence for a few seconds, the quiet louder than it should’ve been.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he said, voice a little hoarse.

You shrugged, keeping your gaze steady. “Neither did I.”

He gave a dry chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was drunk when I sent that. But… everything I said—I meant it.”

You looked down at your drink, fingers tracing the rim of the cup. “You always seem to mean things too late, Oscar.”

That stung. You saw it in the way he looked down, his jaw tightening. “I know. I know I hurt you. I was stupid, and I let everything fall apart like it didn’t matter. But it did. You mattered. You still do.”

Your heart twisted. God, part of you wanted to believe him. To rewind everything. But the other part? The one that carried the weight of every sleepless night, every moment you felt like a ghost in his world—that part kept you grounded.

“I’m not here because I forgot what happened,” you said softly. “I’m here because I don’t want to wonder anymore. I need to know if there’s something still worth holding onto… or if I should finally let it all go.”

He leaned forward, eyes pleading. “Then let me prove it. I don’t want to be the storm that ruined you. I want to be the calm after it.”

You didn’t answer right away. You just looked at him, really looked at him—and for the first time in a long while, he looked like he meant it.

You let his words hang in the air for a while, unsure if the ache in your chest came from hearing what you’d always wanted—or fearing it wasn’t enough anymore.

“I don’t know if I can go back to how things were,” you finally said, voice barely above a whisper. “Too much has changed. I’ve changed.”

He nodded, his expression gentle but weighed down with guilt. “I don’t want to go back. I want to start from where we are now. Even if it’s slow. Even if you’re unsure. I just… want a chance.”

You looked at him again—really looked. He wasn’t the boy you grew up with, or the one who broke your heart. He was someone in between now. Bruised by life. Regretful. Human.

You exhaled, your chest rising and falling with a strange mix of relief and sadness. “Then don’t say things you don’t plan to follow through with this time.”

“I won’t,” he said quickly, earnestly. “Not again.”

For the first time that evening, a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. Not out of happiness, not quite—but out of possibility.

“Okay,” you said softly. “One step at a time.”

He smiled, just a little. And this time, it didn’t feel like a distant memory—it felt like something new.

...

Six months later

It didn’t happen overnight.

There were awkward silences, hesitant conversations, and days when the past felt heavier than the present. But there was effort—real, intentional effort. Oscar showed up. Consistently. Whether it was texts just to check in, coffee left at your door, or quiet walks where no one needed to say much—he was there.

You started laughing again. The real kind. The one that filled a room without trying.

He learned how to be patient. You learned how to forgive—not just him, but yourself too.

There were no grand gestures or movie-worthy speeches. Just small, honest moments stitched together over time. A touch on your hand that lingered a little longer. A shared memory that no longer hurt to revisit. A night spent talking about everything and nothing until you both fell asleep on the couch.

And one morning, as sunlight spilled through the window and your head rested on his chest, you realized something.

You were happy.

Not the naïve kind of happy you once were, but the quiet, steady kind that came after the storm. The kind that knew what it was like to lose—and chose, day after day, to stay anyway.

He looked down at you, brushing your hair back gently. “You know,” he whispered, “I think we’re finally okay.”

You smiled, fingers tracing lazy shapes along his arm. “Yeah,” you whispered back, eyes fluttering shut. “We are.”

And for the first time in a long time, it felt like the ending you both deserved—no longer a fairytale, but something even better.

Something real.

...

One Year Later.

The entire weekend had built up to this moment. The pressure, the anticipation, the sweat. But when the checkered flag waved and the world seemed to slow down, it didn’t matter anymore.

Oscar had done it.

P1.

The crowd was roaring, the team was shouting, and the pit crew was cheering as if the whole world had exploded in celebration. But amidst all of that, Oscar wasn’t looking at any of them.

He was looking for you.

He tore off his helmet, adrenaline pumping through his veins. He wasn’t interested in the reporters or the flashing cameras. His eyes were on the one person who had been there from the very beginning.

You.

The moment his gaze locked onto yours, he broke free from the chaos. Pushing past everyone, he sprinted across the track, his heart racing as fast as his car had. The cheers of the crowd faded into the background, the only sound he could hear was the pounding of his feet on the pavement, and the thudding of his heart.

When he finally reached you, there was no hesitation. His arms were around you in an instant, pulling you into him as if he couldn’t bear the thought of being apart, even for another second.

And then, without a word, he kissed you.

It was a kiss that was years in the making—fueled by everything you’d been through, every moment of doubt, every argument, every quiet night spent holding onto each other in the aftermath of pain. But this kiss wasn’t about the past. It was about the future. About all the promises you’d made to one another in whispers and in silence.

He kissed you like he had just won everything that mattered.

“I did it,” he breathed, forehead pressed against yours as he pulled back, still holding you close. “We did it.”

You smiled, your fingers tracing the outline of his jaw, still trying to process the reality of what had just happened. “You’re incredible,” you whispered.

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” he said, his voice filled with emotion. “You were always here, even when I didn’t deserve it.”

The crowd was still cheering, the cameras flashing, but in that moment, it felt like it was just the two of you, standing there on the track, the rest of the world waiting for the celebration.

But to Oscar, this moment—this kiss, this feeling—was the victory that mattered most.

[jo-com]

I want to write about something sad but with a happy ending, I JUST DONT KNOW WHOO THOO. Please help me

[jo-com]

⋆˚🍙₊✧ ➛The Nail Polish Incident

Formula 1 Drivers x Fem!Reader

୨ৎ Summary: Based off this tiktok trend

୨ৎ Includes: Yuki Tsunoda, Lando Norris, Alex Albon, George Russle, Carlos Sainz, Oscar Piastri, Charles Leclerc.

୨ৎ Genre: Light swearing but mostly none

୨ৎ Note: There are some grammatical errors and this is not proofread. Hope y’all enjoy!

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

YUKI TSUNODA

⤿ Explosively jealous, not hiding it.

You walked closer and sat down infront of him— showing him your new nail set. "You like?"

He gently placed your hand in his and was in awe. "Baby it's wonderful, you look good in it, it's just— wow."

Your smiled widen from his compliment, blushing a little. "Thanks, Max chose this design and i just went with it."

His smile slowly turned into a frown, hearing Max's name. "W-what?" He said almost confuse.

I shrugged, "I asked him earlier and said that I looked god in this set—", "So you got what he wanted?" Yuki said interrupting you, his voice low.

I hummed and admired the nails more. Yuki looked at you with utter disbelief. "Now that i look at it, i don't think it's good."

You looked at him in shock. "You said it was amazing on me."

"Not before you said Max picked it. You should've asked me instead." he quipped, the tone in his voice shifting from in awe to jealousy.

Yuki glared back at you then to your nails. "Yeah it doesn't suit you at all. How about this one. The one i'll pick." he said— grabbing his phone and scrolling down pinterest.

For a good hour he just sat in bed— on his phone and just finding endlessly on pinterest. Determined to find a new nail set that would suit you whilst sulking in the corner.

LANDO NORRIS

⤿ Passive aggressive but trying to joke it off.

"So, you're saying Carlos picked that out?" he asked chuckling.

You nodded still looking at your new nail set. "He wanted it and so i got it."

Lando chuckled again. "Do you hear yourself mate."

"What, i was just being nice." You shrugged.

"He wanted it." He joked his voice laced with 'are you serious' tone.

Lando at first tried to ignore it and just continued to laugh it off but the more he stares the more it just looks vividly like Carlos.

"You know what, it's starting to grow on me." He said flatly.

You looked back at him, eyes filled with skepticism. "Really?"

Lando hums in response. "Yeah— i mean if you love ugly nails then i am cool with it because Carlos wanted it, right?"

You lightly slapped his chest, earning a soft groan from him. "What i was just being nice." he said mockingly.

"I am sorry okay? if you like it then i like it" Lando spoke— grabbing your wrist and pulling you closer.

You hugged him back and leaned into his chest. "Quick thought, Do you think Carlos wanted this hug too?"

You rolled your eyes and softly pushed him away and walked off not before yelling at him. "You're such an ass."

Lando stood there laughing by himself trying to mask his real emotion.

ALEX ALBON

⤿ Playfully chill, a little side-eye though.

"Yeah, Oscar helped picked it." You said, your eyes fixated on your nails.

Alex glared at you, his facial expression pulled into a look of uncertainty. Not knowing what or how to even react.

"Well it is pretty baby." he said, still unsure.

You hummed in response then smiled at him. Alex then softly placed your hand on his— examining the design.

He looked at it in every possible angle, his eyes blazed with both adoration and something he wasn't sure what to call.

"What's wrong hon?"

Alex looked at you then back to your hand. "Nothing it's just pretty."

"You could've asked me too but it's fine. If you like it that much." he said, his tone soft and gentle.

For the whole Afternoon Alex kept glancing down you're nails every time he gets. His eyes lingering longer than needed— his face scowling every time.

GEORGE RUSSLE

⤿ Polite on the outside, deeply suspicious inside.

George raised his eyebrow as he continued looking at you're nails. "So you're telling me that Lando picked this?... Well that's an unconventional choice..."

"You don't like it?" you asked, looking at him with a slight pout on your lips.

"No no i like it, it's beautiful darling just— why didn't you asked me instead? you know i have great taste."

You smiled it off and shrugged. "Thought you were busy so i didn't asked."

George looked back at you, his brows still raised from your choice of words. "I'll give it to lando then, he does have quite a nice taste in nails."

You nodded, admiring your nails also. "Yeah, he was nice for picking it out for me."

He just stood there, his smile tugged into awkward ones. His head running wild, a few questions popped up as he studied your face.

"Hmm, it is pretty."

George looked back at your hands, praising it endlessly but was fuming on the inside. He wasn't sure whether or not he should talk to Lando about this or not.

He kept bringing it up every chance he gets not being defensive but just saying, "not that i care though"

CARLOS SAINZ

⤿ Mildly bitter, very passive aggressive.

"Hmm.. interesting" Carlos said, his tone flat and serious.

"You don't like what Alex picked?" you spoke teasingly.

He just shrugged and looked at you with a burning gaze.

"If it were me though i would have picked something that suits your skin tone."

You chuckled, examining his face. He was deadpan and utterly in disbelief while looking at your new nail set.

"So it doesn't look good on me?"

Carlos without a second nodded and agreed to what you said. No second thoughts needed for his answer. "It just doesn't match your whole aesthetic mi corazón. I could find you better ones. One that will be more than this..." he said pointing out your nails with a hint of disgust.

"But it's expensive to get it done again." you argued well atleast you tried to.

"Nothing is expensive for my girl. Plus i can't stand the look of that."

You smiled at him— amused by his tone and behavior.

A good few hours have passed and he finally found something that suited you and was persistent to get it done and change your new currents one, insisting it intently.

OSCAR PIASTRI

⤿ Emotionally unreadable, but 100% storing it for later.

He looked at you with all seriousness, no emotion whatsoever just staring at you with a thin lipped smile. You tried to read his face but it was harder to read than whole book itself.

You coughed breaking the silence. "So do you like it? Charles said it was alright." you said unsure yourself.

His eyes moved to yours then to your hand, still carefully examining them.

You raised your brows, looking at him your eyes searching for his reaction.

"It's cool i guess?"

You weren't sure of how to react also, his voice was flat and his face was normal. Unbeknownst that he was actually worried on the inside. Already asking himself a million question that whether or not your joking.

"Is it pretty atleast?" you asked, your voice laced with pure concern over his quietness.

"It's alright?" he responded in a question like tone.

You playfully rolled your eyes. "Alright? Babe i've got them done for an hour and all you said was alright."

Oscar shrugged not wanting to say his real thoughts on it.

"I mean it's pretty just don't like who picked it is all."

He looked so unbothered, you don't know whether or not be scared or be okay about it. Even after telling him that it was just a joke he still responded the same, but you didn't know that he was relief to know that you were only joking. You didn't see the small smile that appeared on his face the second you say that you were joking.

Oscar brought it up tho every second he got along with a joke that made you cack a smile.

CHARLES LECLERC

⤿ Soft hurt vibes, overthinking silently.

After telling Charles that Yuki helped choosing your nail set, his face instantly frowned. He kept asking a million question as to why Yuki picked it and not him. He tried complementing it but it just came as a dry adoration.

"The important thing is you like it right?" he spoke, his eyes glint with sadness as he stare down your nails and softly held it.

You hummed in response, regretting it immediately as soon as you saw his sadden look.

"Yeah it's pretty." Charles said with genuine hurt in his voice.

He's trying so hard not to overthink things and played it off but you knew him so well that you could see how hurt he was.

"Maybe i should change them? You know now that i look at it" you said half joking and half serious.

His face instantly lit up from your words and nodding agreeably.

"If that's what you want my love" he smiled, acting as if it didn't just made him happier than ever.

"I mean i love it but if you don't then i'll just help you pick a new one." he said all giddy inside.

He tried to contain the happiness from his voice but his expression says it all.

After telling him it was a joke he was both relief and happy at the same time. Though he was still hurt by the thought of it but nonetheless it cleared all his overthinking.

[jo-com]

. ݁₊ ⊹ 🥐. ݁˖ ➛ Five More Minutes

Kimi Antonelli x Fem!Reader

୨ৎ Summary: A pre-race makeout to set the pace.

୨ৎ Genre: Short drabble/oneshot slightly suggestive, Heavy making out, MDNI!

୨ৎ Note: First time writing stuffs like this again, kinda nervous but hope you still liked it! Also if you guys are uncomfortable please don’t read this

ARCHIVES ⭑.ᐟ

Your breathing hitched with every teasing brush of his lips, each ghosting touch sending shivers down your spine. A soft, needy whine slipped past your lips before you could stop it. Kimi gazed at you, eyes dark and glittering with affection, his lips kiss-swollen and curved in that smug little smirk he wore so well—like he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

"You look so pretty like this amore" he whispered to your ears, his breath hot and heavy.

You breathlessly chuckled—caressing his side and snaking your arms around his neck. "You made me like this."

His head dipped low to your shoulder, lips parting as he resumed trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. Each one lingered, warm and wanting, like he was trying to memorize the taste of you.

A low whine rolled of your mouth so naturally as if you guys were starved with one another.

You seized both sides of his face, dragging him closer until your lips crashed into his—rough, hungry, and full of fire. The kiss was all passion and no patience, a desperate tangle of breath and want that left you both reeling.

He kissed back as eager. His hand grips your waist; pulling you in closer to feel him. All of him.

The kiss left you both breathless, your chest heaving up and down. You looked at him, but he was already staring back down at you— a smile on his face and a swollen lips.

Before you could comment on his state, one of the staffs knocked. "The race is starting at 15."

Kimi groaned, his head lowered while he brush his upper head, "Yeah, five more minutes."

The staff quickly answered with a small response. Kimi then stared back at you— you were already smiling, a slight pout formed.

"One more quick, kiss before I go?"

You playfully rolled your eyes, but didn’t waste a second—grabbing him and pulling him in until your lips crashed into his. The kiss was sudden and electric, all heat and impulse. You could feel his breath hitch, his body pressing closer like he couldn’t get enough.

Kimi pulled away, the smile on his face never leaving. "God you drive me crazy."

You smirked, eyes flicking downward. “Hmm, do I? Because it looks like someone’s having a little... situation.” A mischievous giggle slipped out as your gaze lingered on his obvious arousal.

He let out a low, frustrated groan. “This is entirely your fault, you know that, right?”

Leaning in, you pressed a teasing kiss to his cheek and turned to leave. “Good luck, my love,” you purred, tossing him one last flirty wink over your shoulder.

Kimi sighed happily— smiling to himself as he saw you leave. Leaving him questioning himself on what he'll do with his hard on.