#Palm reader in Melbourne

[astrologermurthyji]

Astrologer Murthy Ji is a renowned Palm Reader in Melbourne, offering detailed palmistry consultations to unveil your life's journey and potential. With expert knowledge in astrology and palm reading, Murthy Ji provides personalized insights into your past, present, and future, helping you make informed decisions. Experience the wisdom of palmistry and enhance your life with Astrologer Murthy Ji today.

[f1withespresso]

after the win, before the fall | pt. 1

✎ — oscar piastri x fem!teammate!reader

✎ — series summary: They were teammates. Friends. Maybe lovers. But McLaren lets their drivers race, and as the championship slips into chaos, ambition corrodes everything. Two rising stars, one world title, and a rivalry so personal it bleeds. Love isn’t gone. It’s just buried under throttle, heartbreak, and the will to win.

✎ — chapter word count: +4.2k

✎ — radio: first chapter out! This is the first time I'm doing this and I'm still very uncertain about a lot of things, therefore all feedback is highly encouraged (pls be kind tho). Also at the end of the chapter you will find a selection of songs that (in my books at least) capture the vibe of this chapter!

series masterlist

The air in Melbourne smells like warm champagne and fresh beginnings. It’s buzzing with the anticipation that the start of a new campaign holds. Everyone is excited to see what has been built over the winter break. Not only meaning the cars, to say the least. There’s something decadent in the way the sun kisses the asphalt — golden and sticky, almost cinematic. You feel it on your cheeks as you stand at the edge of the grid, an almost black helmet tucked under your arm, the orange McLaren logo catching the light just so. This is Oscar’s city. His crowd. His day. But somehow, the moment feels like it belongs to both of you.

Maybe it’s the car. Maybe it’s what you have already felt in Testing — that low hum beneath your palms, the way the MCL39 dances around the corners like it was begging to be pushed to its limits. For the first time in years, the paddock whispers about someone other than Max Verstappen. The Dutch lion might still prowl the front rows, but there's a glint in the media's eyes now — the kind of glint reserved for prophecy. McLaren. Fast again. Competitive. Dangerous. And you? You’re part of that danger. You and Oscar are almost equally quick on track. And definitely equally hungry.

The Race – Are Piastri and [Y/LN] Championship Contenders in 2025? Pre-season testing is notoriously unreliable for predicting a championship winner for both the drivers championship and the constructor's championship. But it’s hard to ignore what McLaren just pulled off in the Bahrain pre-season testing. The Woking-based team topped the time sheets on two of the three days, ran the highest mileage after Mercedes, and reportedly impressed rivals with both low-fuel pace and long-run consistency. After a strong 2024 campaign that saw them finish first in the Constructors’ standings, McLaren now looks poised to make a serious title push again. And they’ve got the driver lineup to do it. Oscar Piastri enters his third full season in Formula 1 after an outstanding 2024 campaign, which included four race wins and multiple podiums. Alongside him is [Y/N][Y/LN], whose multiple podium positions and two Grand Prix wins in her rookie season earned her a reputation as one of the most promising drivers on the grid. “I think they’re the best pairing on the grid right now,” says former Red Bull driver Mark Webber. “Oscar is ice-cold, he doesn’t crack under pressure, and [Y/N] proved she can put together a campaign under the weight of expectation.” While Max Verstappen remains the one to beat and is chasing a fifth consecutive title, the paddock’s buzz is unmistakable: McLaren might just be the ones to break the streak.

The McLaren hospitality hums with a tension that doesn’t speak — it vibrates. A heartbeat tucked beneath polished countertops and bright papaya surfaces. You had gone here after the debrief of FP3, trying to get into a decent headspace for Qualifying. Outside, the noise of anticipation roars through the paddock, the city’s energy folding in on itself. But in here? It’s quiet-ish. You’re sitting on the edge of one of the armchairs, legs bouncing slightly. Your fireproofs itch a little at your wrists, your chest feels tight, and you’re not sure if it’s the adrenaline creeping up on you or the fact that Oscar Piastri is walking toward you with a paper cup in each hand and a half-smile that’s not quite smug.

Without a word, he sets one brown paper cup down in front of you. Your coffee order. Exactly how you like it. No explanation for it, just a small act of knowing. You glance up, skeptical, “Stalking me now?” He shrugs and takes the chair next to you, his own cup cradled loosely between long fingers. “You had this exact order before anything every single day last season. You’re rather predictable.” “Mm. Is that so? I get told the opposite.” He smirks, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. There’s something sharper under the surface. Something pulled taut. 

“You ready?” You pause and take a sip. It’s exactly how you like it. Sweet, but not overly sweet. “As I’ll ever be.” The moment hangs full of unsaid things. Of everything qualifying means, and everything this season might become. And then, without preamble, Oscar leans forward slightly and tugs a single white AirPod from his ear. Holds it out to you. You take it without hesitation. Slip it in. A low synth beat kicks in — something moody, almost cinematic and building slow. You glance at him. He doesn’t look back, but you see the edge of a grin creep in. “I thought you didn’t listen to any music before races,” you say, tilting your head. “Well I am today, aren’t I.” There’s a beat of silence as the music fills the space between you, wrapping around the nerves like gauze. You lean your head back and close your eyes. “You had a really good last practice session,” he says after a moment. Quiet. Measured. “So did you,“ you pull your head back up trying to find his eyes. “I mean it.” He finally looks at you, and the weight of it makes your breath catch. “You could take pole.” You snort, looking away. He thinks it’s cute. “So could you. You should as a matter of fact. It being your home race and everything,” you fire back at him.

“Yeah, well.” He leans back casually and takes a long sip of coffee. “Either way, it’s gonna be us. Front row. No question.” You nod, slowly. There’s something deeply comforting about his certainty. The way he doesn’t say it like a hope — but a fact. A guarantee. Like the sun will set, and the MCL39 is a rocket ship, and it’s you and him against the world — until it isn’t. A knock on the glass door jolts you both. One of the engineers gives a quick ten-minute warning. Time to suit up. You hand him back his AirPod. Oscar takes it and stands up first. Runs a hand through his hair. Looks at you like he wants to say something else — but doesn’t. Instead, he walks around the small coffee table. Pauses. And then he reaches out and offers you a fist bump. You hit it. Like you do every time. “Go kill it out there,” he murmurs. “You too.” And then he’s gone, footsteps disappearing down the hall, leaving you with a racing heart and half a cup of coffee going cold. 

You beat Max in qualifiying, both of you do. Front row lockout. McLaren 1-2. The roar in the garage pulls you almost back — last year, that same thunder after beating Ferrari for the constructors. After qualifying Oscar throws an arm around your shoulders on the way to the press pen and pulls you in, just a short gesture. Just long enough that no one could call it unprofessional — but long enough that you feel it linger. You don’t talk about it. Not what’s been growing between you since last season. Not what it’ll mean when the points actually matter and the gap between the first and second starts to cut. But you both know. This season won’t be easy. It’ll be electric. Bitter. Brilliant. And probably fatal to whatever this is. But for now? For now, it’s you and him. The same car. The same goal. The same secret. If the world knew how badly you want to win — and how badly you want each other — it might just tear it all apart.

You stand with a Sky Sports mic in your hand in the press pen. The Sky Sports F1 camera is rolling. Rachel Brookes smiles politely at you, earpiece already buzzing. “So, [Y/N], first race of the season — how are you feeling heading into the weekend?” You exhale through your nose, settling into the rhythm. “Excited, honestly. It’s always special to start the season here. Melbourne’s a fast track, and the atmosphere’s unbeatable. I’m just ready to race.” Rachel nods, voice smooth. “McLaren had an excellent 2024 — Constructors’ Champions. How are you feeling about the MCL39 after winter testing?” You glance toward the direction where the garages are briefly, “The car feels good. Balanced, quick through the corners. We’ve made improvements where we needed to — especially high-speed stability and tyre degradation. I think we’re in a strong position to defend the title.” She lifts an eyebrow. “And how about your teammate? Oscar had a fantastic season last year — plenty of podiums, a couple wins. Do you see him as a serious contender for the Drivers’ Championship this year?” There’s a pause. The sun catches on the lens of the camera just as you glance sideways — and there he is. Oscar. In his race suit unzipped and hanging at his waist, papaya and black, hair slightly damp and tousled like he just ran a hand through it. He’s talking to someone from Channel 4 just a few feet away, but his eyes are already on you. Always are. There’s an unreadable look in them — something soft. Familiar. You shift, mic still in your hand. “Absolutely,” you say. “Oscar’s one of the most consistent drivers on the grid. I see how hard he works. How technical he is. How much he wants it. If the car holds up and he keeps his head down — he’s in the title fight. No doubt about it.” Rachel smiles. “And what will you do to help him win it?” That makes you laugh, and you shrug with the kind of charm that gets clipped into every Sky montage. “Well, I’m not planning on making it easy for him, if that’s what you mean. I think I have a fair shot at the championship just like everybody else does. I am very much planning on being as competitive for the title as Oscar, as Charles, or as Max." “Fair enough—” But she doesn’t get to finish. You feel it before you see him. A hand — warm, light, careful — rests against your waist. Just a touch. Friendly, even casual. But it’s his hand. Oscar steps in just behind you, not even facing the camera, just leaning in slightly like it’s second nature. His palm lingers there for the briefest second, thumb brushing over the curve of your fireproofs — right where your ribs end — before he speaks. “You alright?” His voice is low. Just for you. Not the mic. Not the cameras. You turn your head, meet his eyes. They’re impossibly warm. Brighter than the Melbourne sun. “I’m good,” you say softly, almost caught off guard by how true it is. That smile. The one that’s all bunny teeth and pride and something else unspoken. He nods once, a quiet understanding in the gesture. “Cool. See you in a bit.” Then he’s gone — back into the swirl of journalists, his own interview queue waiting. Like it was nothing. Like it didn’t just short-circuit every nerve in your body. You take a slow breath. Rachel — ever the professional — raises a brow and grins like she knows exactly what just happened. “So… where were we?” You clear your throat, eyes still slightly glazed, but the corners of your mouth twitch up into something half-defiant, half-giddy. “Right — helping Oscar win the championship.” She snorts. “Should we read into that moment just now?” You lift a brow, professional mask slipping perfectly back into place. “What moment?” The interview wraps not long after. But the blush at the tips of your ears doesn’t fade until you’re back in the motorhome, hiding behind your PR rep and the coffee machine. And somewhere, buried in the mass of cameras and phones, a Sky Sports intern is already marking the timestamp. The clip is gold. Twitter will lose its mind in approximately six minutes.

username1 me pretending not to see oscar touch [Y/N]’s waist and then walk away with the SMUGGEST little smile i’ve ever seen in my life 👁️👄👁️ username2 oscar piastri touching [Y/N]’s waist mid-interview >>>> any romcom moment i’ve ever seen i am NOT well username3 i see they took off where they left in 2024 username4 he touched her waist like he comes home to it 😭😭😭 username5 this is so lovers in denial coded username6 how does he look at her like that and still claim they're just teammates 😐

The next day before the race you glance over at him, a few paces away, talking to his engineer Tom. He’s looking focused, as he usually does — relaxed, brows a little furrowed together, but never worried. And then, as if sensing your stare, his eyes flick to yours. There’s a tiny smirk, somewhat of an acknowledgment. His look is charged. Sharp enough to slice through fireproofs. You know what it means — the race is on.

You finish second. It’s a clean drive. One of your best, probably. But Oscar is better. Not by much — only three-tenths of a second. A blip in time. A blink on the timing screens. But he earns it. He wins. You cross the finish line with your hands clenched so tight around the wheel your knuckles throb. The radio crackles with your engineer’s voice — cheerful, congratulatory — but it’s all static in your ears. You’re not mad about second place. At least better than Verstappen, you think. In parc fermé, Oscar’s already pulled himself out of the car, helmet off, curls damp with sweat. He waits for you. Not on purpose, of course. But you find him there, standing in the low haze of sunlight and glory, and when you remove your helmet, your eyes lock again. This time, he grins. Wide. Honest. You hate how much you like it. And then he’s walking toward you, lifting a hand, pulling you into that half-hug drivers do when the cameras are close and the world is watching. Your suit’s still vibrating with adrenaline when you feel his breath near your ear. “Nice drive,�� he murmurs, quiet enough that only you hear. You want to say something clever. Maybe smug. But it dies on your tongue. Because when he pulls back, his fingers graze the small of your back for a beat too long. And it lingers — that touch, that heat — all through the cooldown room and onto the podium.

📍Albert Park Circuit

liked by oscarpiastri, yourusername and 8.046.250 others

mclaren Double podium, double trouble 🧡🧡 Great to start the season off strong! Congratulations to @/oscarpiastri for winning his home Grand Prix — you made us and the crowd very happy today, mate 👏🇦🇺 And hats off to @/yourusername for an incredible drive to P2! You both gave it everything today and walked away with the rewards 🏆🥈 Let’s keep this momentum going! 🔥

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oscarpiastri best way to start the season! cheers team 🧡🇦🇺

yourusername couldn’t ask for a better start 🥈🧡

zakbrownceo Proud of the whole team and both our drivers 👏👏👏

username1 i’m never recovering from [Y/N] hugging Oscar in parc fermé… THE CHEMISTRY IS CHEMISTRYINGGGG

username2 double podium and double heart eyes from oscar towards [Y/N]… is this the golden era of mclaren? i think YES

username3 way to start a season! This year it's gonna be papaya!

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The press conference is a blur of camera shutters and questions that feel like recycled soundbites. You sit next to Oscar, microphones angled like weapons, trying not to sound too breathless. "It’s amazing to start the season like this," you say when asked about the team. "The car feels phenomenal. McLaren’s done an incredible job, and having Oscar as a teammate… it pushes me to get the best out of me and the car.“ Oscar turns his head slightly — just enough for the corner of your mouth to twitch into a smirk. You pretend not to notice. You pretend you don’t hear the journalists catching it, scribbling notes like vultures over a carcass. He says something similar, a PR-friendly version of the truth. That you’re fast. Sharp. Competitive. That you are good for the team. No one mentions the way your knees brush for a second as you adjust your seating position.

After the press conference the McLaren motorhome is quiet, well except for the soft hiss of the A/C and the distant murmur of the paddock winding down. Your race suit hangs half-zipped at your waist, sweat drying against your skin in patches, adrenaline still humming beneath the surface. You’re rinsing out your water bottle at the tiny kitchenette when you hear footsteps — light, deliberate. Oscar doesn’t say anything right away. He just leans against the counter opposite you, arms folded, expression unreadable but not unfriendly. “Hell of a race,” he says after a moment, voice low and casual. “You were quick.” You offer a dry laugh, “You were quicker.” There’s a small pause. He fiddles with the straw of his water bottle. Then, without looking at you: “Hey, uh. So… my family’s heading out to dinner tonight. Restaurant by the river. Nothing fancy — just this small Italian place. You know, to celebrate my win and everything.” You raise a brow, catching the shift in his tone. It’s the kind of half-mumbled awkwardness that only appears when he’s off-script, no media, no engineers, just Oscar being… human. Oscar. Your teammate, perhaps a bit more from time to time. He shrugs, still not meeting your eyes. “Figured I’d ask if you wanted to come. Join us. No pressure.” You blink. “Dinner with the Piastris?” A small, crooked smile. “Yeah. You’ve survived the race with me, the entire last season actually, dinner’s not that much worse.” You pause for a beat, letting the moment stretch just enough to tease. “Are you inviting me as your teammate or… something else?“ Oscar’s jaw tightens — not defensively, but like he’s weighing the risk of honesty. “As someone who I like to have around,” he says finally. “Whatever that counts for.” The words hit softly, without grand gesture or performance. That’s the thing about him — he’s not loud with affection. He just lets it settle, quiet and warm, like dusk over Albert Park. You bite back a smile, nodding. “Alright. I’m in.” And when his shoulders relax — just barely — you realize he’d been holding tension there for minutes. Maybe longer. Maybe since before the checkered flag. You don't say anything else. But the silence between you feels like an answer anyway.

The Dinner with his family is soft in all the ways race weekends aren’t. They adore you — of course they would. You’re polite, funny when it counts, just edgy enough to pass as charming. His mum makes a toast to the both of you, glass lifted, voice warm. You feel yourself flush when she calls you “a brilliant pair.” You make yourself believe she meant teammates. Oscar laughs. You look away. No one is saying anything, but you can feel it in the air — the knowing. The way his sister Hattie watches you with an amused glint, the way his dad raises a brow when Oscar pulls your chair out for you. You don’t confirm anything. You don’t even have anything to confirm. When Oscar’s knee bumps yours under the table accidentally, you don’t move away.

Later, when the sky’s gone indigo and the city is noisy with the electric nightlife, you find yourself in a club with Oscar and a few of his old friends. Locals. People who call him “mate” and hug you like they’ve known you for years just because he brought you along. The bass is loud. Everything else is louder — the drinks, the laughter, the way Oscar watches you across the room as gravity itself bends toward you. You’re drunk. Not messy, not out of control, but maybe almost there. Definitely up for a bad decision or two. The liquor had gone to your head already as the blinking lights in the club started to blur. And when he finally makes his way over to you — hand sliding around your waist, mouth against your ear — it feels like gravity is bending. “You staying at the Hilton, right?” he asks, low. You nod. He pulls you closer. His hand settles on your hip as if it belongs there. It’s not the first time. Not even the third. But it feels different. Sweeter. Meaner. Dangerous in that way you only notice after the fall. Your hotel room is quiet and dim. The city outside glows through the windows, but here, it’s just you and him. No noise. No cameras. No knowing glances. His mouth finds yours with the kind of desperation that only comes after restraint. Weeks of thinking about it. Of tension. Of pretending. You don’t pretend now. There’s no poetry to it, no slow undressing. It’s messy — clothes coming off as they need to, kisses too deep, breathless laughter between tangled limbs. You don’t say anything, but it’s all there, pressed into skin: the win, the loss, the way he touched you after the race like he meant it. You fall asleep with his hand on your naked waist.

📍Melbourne, Australia

liked by username1, username2 and 23.845 others

f1gossipcentral 💥 EXCLUSIVE: Late night, blurred lines, and sparks flying. Rumors swirl as [Y/N][Y/LN] and Oscar Piastri hit the local scene together — McLaren’s hottest driver duo caught off-guard in what insiders are calling the start of something explosive. Is this what they call friendship, or are paddock politics about to get a whole lot messier?

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username1 wait wait wait — this is some serious off-track chemistry 👀🔥

username2 these blurry pics got me like 🥵 That hand on the waist tho… What’s going on here???

username3 club scenes with drivers? This is the dirt we LIVE for. Someone’s about to make headlines 👀

username4 blur or not, you can feel the electricity through the screen. This season is about to get VERY interesting

username5 it's kinda unprofessional to date your teammate ?! is there not something in their contract not allowing this kind of behavior???

username6 kinda not surprising after how comfortable they were with each other all race weekend

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You wake up to light bleeding through the curtains and your phone buzzing against the nightstand. Three notifications. Then five. Then twelve. You regret not putting your phone into silent mode. Oscar stirs behind you, arm tightening slightly before he exhales and shifts away. You blink blearily at your screen. Twitter. Instagram. WhatsApp. You open one. Then another. And then the third. It hits like a slap. A photo: your bodies pressed together in the club, his lips at your jaw, your eyes half-lidded. Another one — kissing. Your hands in his hair, his on your waist. And then a blurry video, shaky but unmistakable — the two of you stumbling into the hotel lobby, laughing. His hand sliding down your back. Yours gripping his jacket. The headlines are already rolling in: "McLaren Teammates or F1’s New Power Couple?“ "Piastri + [Y/LN] = Trouble or Triumph?“ "From Podium to Pillow Talk?“ You scroll numbly, pulse picking up. Behind you, Oscar groans. Sits up. Rubs his eyes. Sees your face. “What?” You just turn the screen toward him. His jaw tightens slightly. Not angry. Not surprised. Just… processing. You expect a joke. A smirk. Some snide, flippant comment to break the tension. But he just exhales. “So,” he says, voice flat, “that’s going to be a thing now.” You don’t say anything. There’s nothing to say. Because he’s right. It is a thing now. He shifts closer, the mattress creaking softly beneath the weight. You feel the ghost of his warmth before his fingers brush your arm, light—like a question, not a claim. “But I mean we can’t,” he says quietly, “not like this. Not with the press breathing down our necks.” You nod, the words sticking somewhere deep in your throat. You want to tell him that you know, that you don’t want to hide. But it’s a game you both have to play. Publicly, at least. “I’m not about to have journalists twisting every glance, every smile into a headline,” you whisper. “We need to be... professional. Teammates.” His eyes find yours—sharp and tired and somehow still hopeful. “Yeah. Professional. On the surface.” You let the silence grow between you, thick and suffocating, the kind that only happens when you’re both fully aware of what you’re not saying. “Whatever the situation between us is right now… we’re… not just teammates,” you say finally. “Not to me.” He bites his lip, the faintest tremble betraying the calm mask he wears in the garage. “Same,” he admits, voice low. “But it’s not a secret I can afford to have.” You both know the stakes. The fine line between comfort and chaos. The ache of proximity without permission. “So,” he sighs, “we pretend. Play it cool. And keep the rest—whatever that is—locked away.” You squeeze his hand, steady and quiet. “Locked away, but not lost.“ Oscar lets out a breath you can almost hear him swallow down. “For now.” Because underneath the carefully crafted professionalism, beneath the practiced smiles and rehearsed answers, there’s something raw and real between you. Something that doesn’t fit neatly into press releases or team statements. But it’s there. And it’s there to stay. At least for now.

📍Melbourne, Australia

liked by oscarpiastri, mclaren and 306.256 others

yourusername What an awesome start to the season in Melbourne! 🇦🇺 Thanks for having me! 🦘🧡 (also Oscar told me he is already tired of winning so he's letting me have the next one :)

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oscarpiastri i didn't say that stop spreading lies! 🙂

mclaren one race down and we are already obsessed 😮‍💨🧡

lewishamilton That’s how you start a season 🔥 congrats!

username1 the caption… the 3rd pic… THE ATTITUDE she’s not clearing rumors she’s fueling them and we love her for it

username2 pic 3 is giving “I took that photo of him” energy and i fear it’s making me delusional

username3 she said “no comments, just vibes” and then posted pic 3 I SEE YOU [Y/N]

username4 why is oscar looking at her like he just won the whole damn world and not just the first race

now playing:

back to friends by sombr chemtrails over the the country club by Lana Del Rey touch by Cigarettes After Sex just like heaven by The Cure glory box by Portishead sweater weather by The Neighbourhood the louvre by Lorde

© f1withespresso

[queen-of-diamonds-xo]

That Night (OP81)

Oscar Piastri x Reader! smut

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Summary:

It was a fling, a one night stand;

A drunken mistake made in a moment of weakness.

But did he regret it?

Fuck. No.

Where Oscar Piastri, the hometown hero, sneaks his way to the end of your bar. No words spoken as he drinks his sorrows away after royally screwing up his home gran Prix. Oh, and to top it off his girlfriend left him.

Warnings: Smut! Alcohol consumption, p in v, unprotected sex (seriously wrap it before you tap it, who can afford kids in this economy?) slight!dom Oscar, angry sex, swearing

word count: 2k

A/N: Okay y’all here is a little Oscar smut for you all, written in my anxious state as I'm holding out for Monaco quali (i'm so nervous i'm gonna throw up). This is my first time writing smut in years, I hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think, and what I should write next :)

Masterlist

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Oscar thinks about that night, more than he will ever admit. His (ex) and him had decided to take a break- that’s what the media team told the press anyways.

In truth Oscar was crumbling under the weight of expectation, the ever growing pressure that comes with a growing career in formula one. He was acting out, pushing away anyone and everyone he could, cornering himself in a continuous cycle of sleep, wake, eat, simulator testing, data checking, press interview- you get the idea.

He stopped answering her texts and calls, stopped reaching out.

So, she told him she needed time, and space. Oscar respected her decision of course, knowing how self destructive his behaviour had been.

Oscar hated himself, disgusted in the idea of the man he had become. He had lost the one girl who had stood by his side through it all. He let her slip through his fingers as his world titled on his axis.

And to top it all off, he has just royally fucked up his home race, the first race of the season.

Fuck.

So, he drank.

Melbourne Australia, a dingy pub on the corner of a random street in some rundown and no doubt sketchy neighbourhood;

He sat alone, the time on the clock reading 1:15 am, last call had been announced and patrons slowly shuffled outside into the unknowing night. He had shuffled into he doors sometime past ten, sat there with his black hoodie pulled up over a hunched frame, eyes cast down on his shaking hands.

Hours ticked by on the clock as he ordered drink after drink, a polite yet taught exchange with the bartender, not once meeting her eye.

You had recognised him instantly as he made his way into the dimly lit room. His hood pulled up and hands stuffed deep in his pockets. Situating himself at the far end of the bar, sitting his phone, wallet and keys on the sticky surface without a care.

You watched as he breathed a deep sign, shoulder slumping and his rests his elbows on the bar, palms cupping over his tired and sore face. His rough hands cupping the dry and sensitive skin under his bloodshot eyes, the area red raw and stained with hot and heavy tears.

You heart skipped looking over at the man, his broken demeanour only accurately described as a sick puppy that had just been kicked.

You had watched the race- heartbreaking and shouts angering your neighbours as Oscar Piastri, the home hero, loses control and ends up stuck in the mud. You cheered for him, in your shittiy mould infested apartment as he reversed his McLaren out of the mud, and cried as he crossed the finish line.

Okay.

Be cool.

This. Is. Totally. Fine.

You walked over to him slowly, he clearly didn’t want to be recognised. So you weren’t about to go ask for his autograph or number or anything like that.

“Hi, my name is-“ he raises his hand to stop you. He huffs a deep sign and swallows harshly, biting back the sting of a sob in his throat.

“Just a vodka soda. Please-“ he stops, hand retreating back to his side, pulling out a stack of cash.

“I don’t want to talk, just keep my glass full.” His words weren’t harsh, or snobby like other guys you have had to deal with. He wasn’t here to flaunt his cash or try to pick up- he just wanted to drink.

And we’ll; it is sort of your job to comply.

And he is tipping so very generously.

So, as the night went on and the crowd got rowdy, demanding your attention. You continuously checked in on the man at the end of the bar. Filling his drink silently and stuffing his tips into your bra.

You flirted with the men around you, drinking in their attention. Low cut shirt revealing just enough to keep their money flowing your way. You weren't ashamed of your job. Flashing a bit of skin and doing shots while flirting with hot guys- all the while paying off your shitting apartment- not much to hate.

But as the night carried on, you couldn’t help the nagging feeling pulling on your chest. Dragging you towards the driver hiding at the end of your bar.

You never cared about the guys you meet, never paying much mind to their comments. Never wanting to know more.

But, you couldn't drag your mind away from him. Wanting to know his every thought, his every feeling.

As the night slowed to a crawl and last call was announced, you studied Oscar as he sat unmoving in his chair. You coworkers whispered, questing if they should get security or not. You wave them away, sending them home and closing up shop yourself.

As your coworkers shuffle out the door- kowling smiles on their faces- you lock it behind them, cussing out a good buy before latching the door closed.

You shuffled behind the bar, humming low to yourself as you cleaned away the mess of a busy night.

Oscar eyes peer at you through hooded lids. Dragging slowly up your frame as you lean over the bar. Tight jeans hugging your hips as you stand on your tiptoes, arm raising as you put away fresh glasses.

Your top raises with your movement, exposing the smooth skin on your side, Oscar’s eyes catching a brief glimpse of the soft black lace of your bra. He swallows and shifts in his chair as he watches you cautiously. Pulling his lip between his teeth unknowingly, unable to tear his eyes away.

You knew he was watching you, and could feel his hearted gaze burning into your skin. your body is warming under his watch. shaking off a shiver as it crawls its way up your spine, your stomach dropping and core tightening.

You shake your head, not missing the low chuckle rumbling from Oscar. Continuing your closing routine as you desperately tried to ignore the broad shouldered man. The air in the room seemed to thicken, a heavy blanket on your already warm skin. Oscar's demeanour seemed to change as he leaned back slightly- eyeing you up like a predator to prey.

The old bar stool croaked in protest as Oscar slowly rose to his feet, hands placed firmly on the bar- leading forward just slightly. The deep blue veins of his forearms presenting themselves under the strain of his body. A slight tilt to his head as his jaw clenched, tongue sliding over his teeth. His eyes were wild, breath escaping his nose in forced puffs.

Adrenaline spiked in your blood, stopping still. Hands growing clammy as you watched the man close, a wicked smile forming on your lips.

“You know-“ you started, slowly making your way towards him.

His face contorts in surprise, as he leaned back. The action sending gives you a boost of confidence.

“I know who you are.”

A sharp, manicured nail reaching forward. Lightly grazing Oscar's cheek. His skin flushing deep and eyes falling closed at the contact.

“And I’ve felt you staring at me all night.”

Your voice grew hushed as you leant across the bar. Oscars eyes falling unapologetically down to the hanging neckline of your stretched shirt. His cock jumping at the sight of your black lace bra, staffed and overflowing with cash. The sight awakens an unknown and hungry desire within him as a low groan rumbles in the back of his throat.

He was panting now, mind focused on nothing but the woman in front of him as he lifted his head to meet your sharp eyes.

“you going to keep staring at me Piastri or are you going to do something?”

In an instant he was in front of you, hopping with ease over the worn bar. His arm snaked around your waist as he pulled your body to his in an electric hold.

A gasp escaping your parted lips as his hardened cock presses into your thigh. One hand coming up to grasp your jaw, his grip firm but not uncomfortable. He titled your head, leaning forward slightly as his lips brushed yours. Stopping short, his gaze softening as he blinked at you.

“I need you to tell me what you want sweetheart.”

His voice was gruff as he spoke, his accent thickened as the words flowed from his mouth like honey.

“I want you to fuck me. Please Oscar.”

Your words dragging a feral growl from the man as he attacked your lips. His kiss burning with passion and anger- all Teeth and tongue as he swallowed the moan bubbling in your throat. Histhigh coming to rest between your legs, lifting to apply pressure to your soaked cunt. He rushed hands exploring your body, igniting your every nerve. Grabbing and clawing over your every curve, ripping the frail fabric of your worn tee.

His large palms come to rest on the rounds of your breasts. Tearing his mouth from yours as he kneaded the soft tissue, a small whimper escaping you as the rough edges of the notes stuffed in your bra scratched the sensitive skin.

“God, look at you.’ Oscar spat.

A huff coming from the man as he spins you in his arms, forcing your body down onto the cold bar. Yours hips tilting upwards as you stand on your tiptoes. arms coming forward to grip the edge of the counter, a soft whine escaping your lips.

”You want me to fuck you like thus huh?”

His hand coming down to strike your ass, the sound echoing through the crowded room. A sinister chuckled on Oscars lips as he leaned forward into you, his hard cock pushed against your hot core. His hand winding around your throat as he pulls your head back, his teeth grazing your ear as he whispered

”I need words pretty thing. Come on. Tell me how bad you want it.”

His emphasised his point with a teasing movement of his hips, drinking his hips into your core.

Your mind had gone blank, tongue tied and unable to form a sentence.

he hasn’t even touched you yet.

another pathetic whine escaping you as his free hand planting firmly on your waist- effortlessly stopping your desperate attempts to grind your hips into his.

“Please Oscar, need you. Please”

The last part stretching into a strangled moan as Oscar makes quick work of your jeans and panties, tearing the fabric down your legs. A teasing finger running over your desperate heat. Your body shuddering.

“Fuck your soaked. Okay baby girl. Give me a second here.”

He placed a firm hand on your back as he made work of his belt. Freeing his erection and hissing slightly as he pumped himself slow. His other hand leaves your back to land on your heat.

His fingers ghosting over your dripping slit, teasing you as he spreads your arousal over your folds. His thumb coming down over your clit in soft, precise motions. Watching as you shake and stutter under him. A shocked gasp escaping you as he prodded two fingers into your desperate heat.

“Fuck baby. So tight. You think you can take me huh? Gonna be a good girl for me?”

he drew his hand away, replacing it with the angry, leaking tip of his cock. Dragging it over your folds as you whisper his name in a silent plea, all the permission he needed to push into your dripping walls.

Moaning in unison as Oscars cock stretched the walls of your tight heat, his painstakingly slow pace driving you wild as your body is ablaze. Your mind is hazing as Oscar’s hips reach your ass, thrusting deep as he bottoms out inside of you.

He shakes behind you as his hand grips your hips, applying pressure that will sure blossom a bruise or two in its wake- not that you will complain.

Hes gasping, breathing heavily as he desperately clings to any sense of self control he can muster.

He holds you there for a moment, allowing your body to adjust to him. His resolve quickly crumbling as you jerk your hips back into him. A quick thrust sending you toppling forwards, his arm holding you in place.

his pace if battling, rough thrusts snapping his hips into you. The slapping of skin and dragged out moans filling the room.

The sounds coming from the man were anamalastic as buries his cock deep inside you. Grunts and moans falling from his lips as he fucked away all his anger and frustration.

”fuck yeah baby- thats it. Take it.” He speaks through clenched teeth, his hand winding in your hair.

You were completely powerless, body overcome with pleasure as Oscar pounded into you. Your mind fuzzy as you focus on the forming knot in your stomach.

“I can feel you clenching around me. Your gonna cum- huh?”

You could only moan in response, body falling limp as Oscar’s fingers find their way to your pleading clit. His movements sending you toppling over the edge unexpectedly as your came around Oscar’s cock, pussy gushing. The knot forming in your stomach unraveling as Hot tears spilling from your eyes

He didn’t stop, his hands coming down to grab your hips once more. Fingers burying deep in in your skin as dragged your hips into his, desperately chasing his own high.

his head thrown back as moans tumbled from his swollen lips, his eyes blown wide with lust, reveling in the way your body was spamming around him.

“Fuck pretty girl. Gonna cum.”

Oscar pulled himself out of you, pumping his cock in his fist as explodes onto your back.

He didn't kiss you, he couldn’t even meet your gaze as you offered to drive him home. He refused, shoving his hoodie in your hands as he made his way towards the door. Stoping once to turn and look at you one more time, before slipping into the night.

[doujindungeon]

Hello! I hope i’m not too late to request something, but could you write a little something for carlos sainz where the reader is pregnant and he has a lactation kink? i LOVED your recent carlos fic😮‍💨🔥

AHHHH ANON UR FINE UR ACTUALLY MY FIRST F1 REQUEST EVER AND I'M SO THANKFUL TO YOU!!! 🥹🩷🙇‍♀️ I'm glad to see another mama milk enthusiast so I'm going to make sure your prompt gets its proper Carloscium!!! 🥛🌶️

You should have known something was up when Carlos insisted on having breakfast via room service.

Your husband's love for feasting in the morning knew no bounds with stacks of pancakes, piles of bacon and ham, and a hearty helping of hollandaise sauce.

And a drink to wash it all down, of course.

But with him mentioning that he didn't want to over-exert you with a walk to and from the hotel buffet--especially since you just recently arrived at Melbourne to support his first race of the season--along with the splendid spread of breakfast delights meant for three set out on the table of the living room of your grand hotel suite, you didn't think too much on any ulterior motives.

Up until you heard him sigh out loud in lament.

"Damn, I forgot to order a drink."

At first, you thought his remark was borne out of innocence but as you bit into a forkful of a strawberry, one look at your husband's darkened stare and his extremely weak attempt at hiding the grin that was forming on his lips practically shouted out his wicked scheme.

"Carlos..." You eyed him warily.

Bringing a hand up to his throat, Carlos began to cough aggressively, his voice taking on a raspier effect. "Ahh mi amor, how parched I am. I don't think I can go through another day this season without some sweet mama milk--"

Another strawberry was plunged into your mouth, your lips forming into a pout as you chewed. "At least let me finish breakfast first."

His coughing immediately halted as he smiled toothily from ear to ear. "Of course, of course."

And while you proceeded on with finishing up your food, it did not escape you that your husband was much too busy watching you eat with both adoration and a certain kind of hunger in his eyes to even bother picking up his fork.

You knew by the time he got around to actually partaking in his pancakes, they would undoubtedly be cold.

After all, Carlos opted to have the warmth of his mouth envelop the plump softness of your breasts instead once he eventually hauled you back to bed.

Cushioned comfortably against a stack of pillows, you were left to sigh in pleasured relief by the ravenous eagerness of your husband's lips.

Noisily and messily, he drank from your nipple, milk spilling down his chin with every greedy suckle, the bristles of his stubble scratching over the skin of your breast. With him nestled so close by, you could also feel the stiff, rigid bulge of his cock press against your side, furthered by him continually rutting his hips over and over.

"Do you know how much you've been driving me crazy lately, princessa?" was the muffled question he posed to you in-between gulps and slurps.

How difficult it was to keep a steady, composed tone.

"How so, Carlos?"

The hand that he affectionately had resting on top of your rounded belly moved to cup your other breast, his large palm kneading gently against your leaky nipple, your milk staining his skin.

"These big pretty tits of yours. When I woke up this morning and saw them spilling out of your nightgown--" He drew back away from your chest to stare right into your eyes as he declared lowly, "I've been dying to have them spill in my mouth."

You found yourself trembling in delight at his words, your thighs squeezing together as you felt heat shoot straight down to your core.

The last time you saw such a feral look in his eyes was the very night of your honeymoon as he resolved to get you pregnant after he carried you into your hotel suite and kicking the door firmly behind him shut.

It was then that he brought his hand to his mouth, his gaze remaining locked with yours as he began to lick his palm clean of your milk.

"Our baby's so lucky--they're going to be spoiled with such a delicious drink," he purred, his lips cracking into a smile as he dragged his tongue right over his middle and index fingers over and over until they were slick with his spit.

It was an action that left you curious, but the answer would soon reveal itself as Carlos planted his mouth right on your breast once again while his hand flew beneath the hem of your nightgown to delve straight between your thighs, his calloused fingertips seeking the slick heat of your cunt.

Savoring the taste of your milk once again along with precious whines he quickly elicited from your lips, he hummed out with bliss, "Meanwhile I get to spoil their mama and give her what she wants and needs anytime. How lucky I am, yeah?"

Needless to say, Carlos's forgetfulness during breakfast--and eventually lunch and dinner--became a reoccurring matter all throughout the rest of your pregnancy.

-----------------

thank you sweet anon for your prompt!!! 🥹❤️🥰 i'm still open for requests btw so to anyone interested, please feel free!!!

[lovelytsunoda]

one night love affair | oscar piastri

summary: a dimly-lit warehouse on the edge of town holds the communities biggest and worst kept secret: a hidden dance hall. or, the footloose au

pairing: oscar piastri x sherriff's daughter! reader

warnings: based on 'footloose' 1984, set in the '80s, dancing is illegal in this fuckass town, very small age gap (oscar is 23, reader is 21), suggestive but no smut

author's notes: divers are by cafekitsune!

The Chrysler Sebring came to a full stop just outside the warehouse. The parking lot was full, but the building was dark and derelict. The driver threw the convertible into reverse, silently backing up between a Dodge Charger and a Volvo station wagon.

"Dude, what are we doing here?"

"You ask what people in this town did for fun." Lando shrugged. "This is it?"

Oscar raised an eyebrow, looking over at the building. Surely there was more to it than that.

"Come inside." Lando grinned. "You'll love it."

Since Oscar Piastri had come to Bomont, Utah from Australia, he had been quite surprised at the morose nature of the town. There was no music, only talk radio, and one of his Quiet Riot tapes had been confiscated from him during his first week in town. Everybody was fiercely religious, and never seemed to have any fun.

Sighing, he got out of the car and followed Lando towards the building. Lando rapped on the heavy door three times, waiting for it to be pulled open by a white guy in chinos and a linen shirt.

"Password."

"For fuck's sake, Charles. You know me."

Charles frowned. "Password."

"Fine. Purple rain."

Charles grinned, opening the door. "Come inside, my friends."

The inside of the warehouse must have been twice as big as the outside, lit up in disco lighting as speakers hung from the rafters thrummed with energy, pumping out the latest Bryan Adams tune. Girls wore tight shorts and short skirts, and boys wore tight shirts, or sometimes no shirt at all.

"Still think Bomont is no fun?" Lando laughed, looking at Oscar's shocked face. "Just because dancin' is illegal doesn't mean we don't find our own damn way."

In the middle of it all was a tall girl in cowboy boots and itty-bitty shorts, her long hair cascading down her back and a can of Bud Light in her hand as she swayed to the music with a group of girls.

"Who is that?" Oscar asked, cocking his head towards her.

"YN YLN." Charles answered, coming to stand with the two young men. "Sherriff's daughter. She's just turned twenty-one and I don't think I've seen her without a beer in her hands since."

"She's beautiful."

Lando shook his head. "She's trouble."

"Trouble don't matter much, Lando. Often, trouble is better."

Rubbing his palms together, Oscar headed for the group, grabbing a beer from the cooler by the door. Charles and Lando hung back, watching as the Aussie went to go talk to YN.

"He's going to get eaten alive." Charles mumbled.

"Damn straight." Lando agreed.

As he got closer, the song changed, albeit to another track from the same album. She was dancing with two other girls, head thrown back with glee. She wore a tight pink baby tee that read DANCE YOUR ASS OFF in big letters.

It seemed to Oscar like the Sherriff's daughter was quite the lawbreaker.

"May I have this dance?" Oscar asked, extending a hand. "I'm new here."

YN stopped , hair tumbling around her shoulders as she looked at him. "You're a long way from home. Australia?"

He nodded. "Melbourne."

"How the fuck did you end up in Utah?"

"Bad luck."

She took a sip from her beer, looking at him appraisingly. "I like you. They dance much in Melbourne?"

"All the time."

"Show me."

Grinning, Oscar took her by the hand, allowing her to pass her beer off to a friend before pulling her in by the belt buckles and starting to sway seductively to the pop rock track. Within a few beats, Oscar had spun her body around, her behind pressed to his groin, no space between her back and his chest as he gently grinded against her.

From across the warehouse, Charles and Lando couldn't believe their eyes.

"That son of a bitch." Charles muttered.

"I've been trying to get in her pants for months and Bon Scott over there does it in one night."

They watched in dismay as Oscar spun her around and dipped her towards the grimy floor, her hair just dusting the tiles before he pulled her back up into a complicated twirl.

Over the music, she shouted so that Oscar could hear her. "You wanna go somewhere private, Melbourne?"

Oscar grinned. "Thought you'd never ask."

Charles face-palmed as he watched the pair slink off towards a staircase in the back corner, and Lando fell to his knees.

"What does he have that we don't?"

"An exotic accent, probably."

YN lead Oscar up the back staircase, to a lofted balcony where they could see the whole dance floor below them. YN took of her boots, sitting on a suede couch covered in a thin layer of dust. She patted a cushion, urging Oscar to come sit next to her.

"For a Sheriff's daughter, you don't seem to like following rules very much."

She laughed in response. "Rules are for squares. You see that Dodge Shelby Charger in the parking lot?"

Oscar nodded.

"That one's mine. Nicest car in town."

Oscar was unsure what the point of this line of questioning was.

"Got caught drag racing it last week. All I had to do to avoid getting charged was tell my Daddy how bored I was. Now Bomont is getting a race track."

"Think you could bat your pretty little eyelashes and get me my Quiet Riot tape back?" Oscar joked, running his fingers through her hair.

She winked at him. "Let me see what I can do. But if I do that for you, what are you going to do for me, Melbourne?"

Oscar didn't immediately answer, choosing instead to lean in for a deep kiss, running his tongue over her lips as he did so, and then gently biting on her lower lip.

"You want a sneak preview tonight?"

"The back seat in a Charger ain't very big. But Daddy Dearest is working late tonight, and I always leave my bedroom window unlocked. It's the big farmhouse on Station Street, you can't miss it."

Oscar grinned. "Lando gave me a ride here, so unless you want me hitchhiking to our little playdate, riding in your Charger is my only option."

"I'll get you to the top of the street. You have to walk the rest of the way, just in case."

"I can do that." Oscar breathed, kissing her again. Her lips were plump, and they tasted like cherries. She smelled like vanilla, and together the two were a dangerous combination.

"Good. Because there's something I want to ride tonight, and it ain't got nothing to do with horses or cars."

She got up from the couch, and Oscar watched slightly dazed as her ass moved underneath her shorts. At the top of the landing, she turned back to look at him.

"You coming, Melbourne? Or is Melbourne Jr. too hard for you to walk right now?"

[xoln04f1xo]

Dark Fic

Oscar Piastri x Reader

WARNINGS: Emotional manipulation, obsessive behaviour, surveillance, kidnapping?, captivity, gaslighting, and psychological abuse, mentions of drugging

WC: 3.1k

Y/N POV

There was a time when you loved mornings.

They started slow with the smell of clean sheets and the low hum of the ocean behind double-glazed windows. When Monaco was still just a dream - when he was still just a boy with a bright future and a gentle voice - mornings meant croissants, cracked knuckles over sudoku, and sunlight kissing the side of his jaw. You used to trace it with your eyes. Memorize it.

Oscar.

At first, he was quiet in the way that made you curious. Still water, you told your best friend once. “But I don’t think he runs deep. I think he runs cold.” You were wrong. He wasn’t cold. He was calculating. But back then, it was easy to mistake that for control. Discipline. Precision.

The kind of man who measured his words like lap times.

Your first trip with him was to Melbourne - a Grand Prix weekend wrapped in jetlag and adrenaline. You stayed in a high-rise suite where everything smelled like leather and lemon cleaner. He let you wear one of his team hoodies, snapped a photo when you weren’t looking, and later posted it with a soft caption:

"My favourite part of the track isn't on it."

Thousands of likes. You remember how your phone exploded. Friends congratulating you, joking about marrying rich. But there was something in Oscar’s eyes when you laughed at the comments. Like a flicker. A shutter snapping closed.

“You like that attention?” he asked that night.

You thought he was teasing.

You kissed him on the shoulder. “It’s harmless.”

He didn’t smile.

Two weeks later, you noticed your DMs had been cleared. No more message requests. Even your best friend's old photos had disappeared from your tagged feed. You asked him, offhandedly, if he’d seen anything weird on your phone.

“Probably just a bug,” he said, eyes not leaving his screen. “iOS has been trash lately.”

You told yourself it didn’t matter. You weren’t hiding anything. Maybe it was good he cared enough to look. Most men didn't. Most men forgot anniversaries, birthdays, everything. Oscar remembered it all.

Even your dentist appointment.

He called you after it ended - before you even texted him. “So? Did it hurt?”

You laughed nervously. “You have my calendar notifications?”

A pause. “Just making sure you’re okay.”

It was easy to let it slide, because being with Oscar felt like being in a parallel world. Where everything was faster, brighter, but somehow… smaller. Your social circle narrowed. Nights out turned into quiet evenings in. Messages from friends were always “forgotten,” plans always postponed. You convinced yourself it was just the nature of dating someone famous.

He needed privacy. You were just protecting him.

Right?

The first time you noticed the lock on your apartment door had been changed without asking, Oscar handed you a new key before you could even open your mouth.

“Upgraded the security,” he said, brushing your hair back behind your ear. “Don’t want anyone sneaking in.”

You stared at the old key in your palm.

“And you... didn’t think to tell me?”

He blinked, as if confused by your question. Then smiled. “Telling you now, aren’t I?”

It escalated slowly. The way thunder rolls in before a storm.

At first, he asked about your day. Then who you saw. Then why you saw them. Eventually, it became easier not to go anywhere. Easier to let him track your phone, check your DMs, read your texts.

“It’s not control,” he once said. “It’s trust. You wouldn’t hide anything if you weren’t doing anything wrong.”

And the worst part?

A small part of you agreed.

You’re not sure when exactly things changed.

Not really.

You just remember waking up one morning, wrapped in Egyptian cotton sheets, in an apartment you didn’t recognize - with windows that didn’t open, and doors that only locked from the outside.

Oscar was already dressed. Black t-shirt, watch glinting on his wrist. Calm as ever.

“Morning,” he said, placing a coffee by your bedside. “Welcome home.”

The coffee is your favourite kind - hazelnut roast, one sugar, oat milk - but it’s cold.

You sit up slowly, blanket falling from your shoulders, heart pounding before you know why. There’s a hum beneath your skin, like your body knows something your mind hasn’t caught up to yet. Your phone’s on the nightstand, but it’s face down. That’s not how you left it.

You glance at Oscar.

He’s standing by the window, looking out at the harbor with the sort of quiet intensity that used to feel elegant. Now, it feels like silence before a verdict.

“Where are we?” you ask.

He turns. Smiles. “Our place.”

You shake your head. “This isn’t your flat. It’s - this is… new. When did we come here?”

“Last night.”

You don’t remember last night.

You remember a conversation. You remember saying you needed space - not in an angry way, not even in a final way. Just clarity. Time. He had nodded, like he understood. Said he’d be patient. Said he’d take care of things in the meantime.

Apparently, this is what he meant.

“Oscar,” your voice cracks slightly, “I want to leave.”

He doesn’t react. Just tilts his head.

“You are home.”

The words land like weights.

You slide your feet to the floor, test the edge of the room. The door is shut. Not locked - not obviously - but something about the way he watches you makes you feel like a mouse eyeing the trap.

“Where are my keys?” you try. “My stuff?”

“It’s all here,” he says, like that solves everything. “You don’t need to worry about those things anymore.”

You stare at him.

His calmness is unbearable.

“Why would you do this?”

He finally turns to you, arms crossed. “Because you’re not thinking clearly. You say you want space, but you don’t mean it. Not really. You’re confused, and the world out there - it feeds on that confusion. I’m the only one who knows how to protect you from yourself.”

You blink. “That’s not protection. That’s prison.”

Oscar exhales through his nose. “You always say the most dramatic things when you’re overwhelmed.”

The first 48 hours blur.

You learn the apartment has no physical address. No working intercom. The windows are made of reinforced glass and don’t open - you try, of course. The locks on every external door have electronic access, fingerprint-only.

Yours doesn’t work.

You can move through the apartment freely. Kitchen, bedroom, bathroom. But that’s it.

No balcony.

No outside line.

He brings you meals. Watches you eat. Talks to you like nothing is wrong - asks about your sleep, offers to put on movies, gives you “little projects” to stay occupied. Once, he brings a jigsaw puzzle. A thousand pieces. You stare at the cover image for an hour before opening it.

It’s a photo of you two.

You don’t remember it being taken.

He gives you your phone back on the third day.

You stare at it, hesitant. “It’s been wiped.”

“No,” he says evenly, “it’s been cleaned.”

You open the messages. Every contact is gone except one.

Oscar 💖

Your heart races. “What did you do?”

“I backed up everything,” he says. “Sorted through the stuff that didn’t matter. Cleared the noise. It’s better this way. You only need one person.”

You almost scream. Instead, you speak through clenched teeth.

“You’re insane.”

He doesn’t flinch.

He walks to you, kneels in front of the couch, and looks you dead in the eyes.

“No,” he says. “I’m focused. And the world calls people like me insane because they can’t understand loyalty like this.”

So...insane... you thought

Later, when you’re alone, you test the bathroom for privacy.

There are no visible cameras. But you know better. You take a glass from the sink and hold it up to the walls, listening.

Nothing.

Still, when you whisper, you do it directly into the drain.

“If anyone can hear me… I need help.”

Every time he leaves, you check the door. Still locked.

The only other way out is the guest bathroom window - too narrow, but you measure it anyway. He notices the bruises on your arms the next morning.

“Don’t do that again,” he says, voice flat.

“You’re hurting me,” you whisper.

His eyes soften — not with guilt, but something worse. Pity.

“I’m saving you.”

You start to unravel differently after that. Less like breaking, more like… peeling. Each day strips away another layer of resistance. Not because you want to give in, but because you can’t afford to feel anymore. Emotions are too loud. Too risky.

So you fake it.

You let him read to you at night. Let him hold your hand. Let him tuck your hair behind your ear like nothing’s wrong.

You wait.

And watch.

Because the only way to escape is to make him think you never wanted to.

It happens on the eleventh day.

You stop counting them on purpose. Let time dissolve into quiet rituals - eat when he eats, smile when he smiles. Let him believe you’ve softened. Let him think the edges have dulled.

You start asking for things. Small, domestic, harmless.

A book here. A specific kind of tea there. Music.

He obliges, pleased. Always so pleased when you ask. It reinforces the idea that you're dependent. That he's essential. It’s exactly what he wants.

So you let him believe it.

But while he scrolls through his phone on the couch, you trace the layout of the apartment in your head. Memorize his routines. When he showers. When he charges his phone. When he paces on the balcony that only he can access.

He never locks the guest bathroom door from the inside.

You begin testing the window more aggressively now, bruising your shoulders, your ribs. It’s tight, but you can almost get through - if you turn sideways and push hard. It opens onto a sheer wall, no ledge. But there’s a drainage pipe, two meters to the left.

It’s stupid. It’s dangerous.

But it’s a way out.

The opportunity comes after midnight. You feign a migraine, lock the bathroom door, turn on the faucet. Let it run as cover.

You open the window slowly, silently.

Pull yourself up.

You don’t look down.

Your ribs scrape the frame. You stifle a cry. You’re halfway through when your shirt catches on the hinge. You panic and twist...

Then you hear the click.

The bathroom door opens behind you.

You don’t turn around.

“Don’t,” he says.

You freeze. His voice is calm. Flat. Not angry.

Worse.

“Come down,” he says. “You’ll fall.”

You stay still.

“I said...” There’s a pause. You hear him take a breath. “If you jump, I won’t catch you.”

That gets you. A tremble runs down your back.

He steps forward slowly, but not too close. He knows better than to spook you now.

“I built this place for us,” he says. “I picked the tiles in this bathroom because you told me once you liked the way sunlight reflects off pale green. You don’t remember that, do you?”

You say nothing.

“I remember everything,” he whispers.

Then, softly, so softly it nearly shatters you:

“You don’t want to die like this.”

You close your eyes.

And for one split second... you believe him.

You let yourself slide back down into the bathroom, knees hitting tile.

Oscar doesn’t say anything. He just kneels in front of you, wraps a blanket around your shoulders, and holds you.

As if you’re the one who broke something.

The next morning, the window is sealed.

Bolted. Painted over.

He brings you breakfast and says nothing about it.

But there’s a new camera in the hallway.

You notice it. He wants you to.

That night, he sits across from you at dinner. The mood is quiet, but not tense. Oscar carves into his food like nothing’s changed. Like you didn’t almost run. Like he didn’t have to lock you in tighter.

“You’re not ready,” he says, finally.

You keep your eyes down.

He sets his fork down carefully. His voice is gentle. Controlled.

“I didn’t want it to be like this.”

You blink. He waits.

Then he leans forward, elbows on the table, head tilted like he’s studying you.

“But now you’ve proven I can’t trust your judgment. You understand that, don’t you?”

You nod slowly.

Because what else can you do?

He shows you a box the next morning.

Inside it: a ring.

Simple. Silver. Understated.

Your heart nearly stops.

“We’re already something better than married,” he says. “But this is for you. To help you remember.”

You want to throw it at him.

Instead, you slide it on your finger.

You have to survive.

You can’t afford defiance.

Not yet.

Later that night, you lie awake in the bed you used to share with him. Now, he sleeps in the room next door. Says you need “space” again, like it’s a kindness.

There’s a sliver of light under the door.

You stare at the ceiling and begin counting again.

One day.

Two days.

Three.

There will be another chance.

You just have to wait.

You wait two weeks.

Fourteen days of smiling at the right moments, of wearing the ring, of letting him believe that you’ve settled. That his warped version of love is finally working.

Fourteen days of pretending to be his.

During that time, he returns small freedoms to you like tokens of trust. Your favourite playlist. A softer blanket. A journal - with every page numbered. You notice that. Just like you notice the faint scratch across the spine of the hallway camera. You hadn’t touched it.

Which means he had. Probably testing. Probably watching how often you look at it.

You look often.

You make him think you care about being watched.

So that when the real plan begins - he won’t see it coming.

The plan isn’t elegant. It isn’t clever.

It’s just human.

You make him believe he’s won.

That’s the real trick.

On the fourteenth night, you set the dinner table yourself.

You wear the softest thing you can find. You tell him he’s right. That you’re sorry for the fear. For the resistance. That maybe you did need this - time, safety, him.

You say it all with your hands flat on the table so he sees there’s nothing to hide.

He watches you with narrowed eyes at first.

Then he smiles.

It’s almost heart-breaking. Because for one moment, you see the boy he used to be - the one who quoted lap times and made you tea during late-night race weekends.

Then he takes your hand and says:

“I knew you'd come around. I always knew.”

You drug him that night.

Not with anything dramatic.

Just a slow dose. Benadryl dissolved in wine. Enough to pull him into something heavy. Enough to stall his reflexes. The glass trembles in your hand as you pour it. You’re careful not to overdo it. You don’t want him unconscious - you want him slow.

He downs the wine with a quiet sigh and pulls you close on the couch. You feel his breath against your neck, the weight of his arm draped over your shoulders.

He falls asleep with his hand still tangled in your hair.

It takes everything not to scream.

You wait until his breathing shifts.

Then you move.

Softly. Quietly. Every step rehearsed a thousand times in your mind.

You retrieve the screwdriver hidden in the lining of the hallway lamp - taken apart and reassembled over a week of quiet hours while he thought you were “healing.”

You head to the security panel in the utility room. The one you spotted him using through a cracked door three days ago. The keypad glows. You enter the numbers.

6… 2… 7…

He uses racing numbers as codes. Always has. You try his F2 championship date next.

It works.

The front lock disengages with a dull thunk.

For the first time in weeks, you breathe like air matters.

You move to the door. It opens silently.

Beyond it... a hallway. No guards. No traps.

Just freedom.

You run.

You make it as far as the second-floor stairwell.

That’s when the lights go out.

And his voice returns...

Not angry. Not yelling.

Just steady.

“I thought we were past this.”

Your blood runs cold.

You turn - and he’s already there, barefoot, calm, breathing a little heavier than usual.

His eyes are glassy. He’s still groggy.

But he’s awake.

And the worst part?

He’s smiling.

“You waited so long,” he says. “I thought you really meant it this time.”

You back away, heart slamming against your ribs.

“I did mean it,” you whisper. “I meant to survive you.”

Oscar nods.

Then, like it's nothing: “I could let you go. You know that.”

You stare at him, hope flaring.

But he steps forward.

“I could… but I won’t.”

You fight him.

For the first time, really fight him.

Fingernails, elbows, teeth - anything to make him let go. He doesn’t expect it. You knock him back against the wall hard enough to hear the breath punch from his lungs.

You run again.

This time faster. Down the stairwell. Barefoot. You scream - once - just to hear your own voice echo in the real world. Just to know it still works.

The front lobby opens up like a dream.

You hit the last set of doors—and they’re open.

Unlocked.

You stumble into the street.

You’re in a quiet neighborhood.

Industrial. Empty.

But not far from the city. There are people.

And someone sees you.

The hospital room is white.

Clean.

Free.

You stare at the window for a long time before speaking to anyone. You tell the nurses your name. Tell the police your story. They listen. Some of them don’t believe you at first - who would? A Formula 1 driver, kidnapping a woman?

But they see the bruises.

They read the journal.

They watch the security footage pulled from hidden drives in Oscar’s apartment.

He never deletes anything.

Control, you realize, is its own undoing.

He’s arrested four days later.

Not publicly. Not yet.

The team releases a statement about “mental health leave” and “ongoing investigation.” The internet buzzes, but no one really knows. You don’t care.

You’re out.

One month later, you walk barefoot through a real field of grass and cry.

You feel the sun.

The actual sun.

You start to remember how to feel hungry. How to trust the time on a clock. How to look at a door and not measure how fast you could get through it.

You’re not healed.

Not yet.

But you’re you again.

And that’s enough.

For now.

A/N: Okay this one is like.. EXTREMELY fucked up i cant lie, but i hope you enjoyed it

Click here for more!

[futfemfantasies]

New year, new beginnings ~ Leah Williamson x Catley!reader

The days between Christmas and New Years always felt strange. The Christmas tree still stood with lights twinkling faintly, but the excitement of the season had dimmed. For Leah, the quiet wasn’t restful, but unnerving. Mainly because it was filled with thoughts of you.

You’re Steph’s younger sister. You transferred to Arsenal in the last transfer window and you have come into Leah‘s life like a whirlwind. Over the past few months, Leah has learned so much about you – your laugh, quirks, the way you tilted your head when you were concentrating. You two weren’t officially together. Friends. yes. Maybe more, but in Leah’s heart though you were already hers.

Well, you were in Melbourne, spending the holiday break with your family, Leah was back in London. Leah was missing you more than she thought possible. She sat in her mum‘s recliner, cuddled into a blanket looking at photos Steph had sent over the past few days. You were laughing in most of them, your eyes bright with happiness. Leah‘s thumb hovered over Steph‘s contact for several minutes, going back-and-forth in her head whether to call. She finally pressed it, bringing the phone up to her ear before moving out of the room,

“Leah!” Steph answered a little too cheery. “Shouldn’t you be recovering from all those mince pies?”

Leah let out a nervous laugh. “I’ve had my fair share of Christmas goodies thank you but that’s not why I’m calling.”

“Oh? It’s about my sister isn’t it?”

Leah‘s pulse quickens. “Yeah, it is.”

Steph chuckled knowingly. “What’s going on? She hasn’t stopped talking about you since we got here.”

“She hasn’t?” Leah’s voice softened.

“Leah, she misses you. She’s been moping around all week since she opened your present.”

“I can’t start the New Year like this Steph, I need to see her. No more tiptoeing around it, I need to ask her to be my girlfriend,”

“Finally!” Steph exclaimed. “When are you flying in? You can stay with us, obviously. We’ll figure out the minor details later.”

Relief washed over Leah. “You’re amazing Steph, thank you, I owe you.”

“Just make sure my sister says yes, that’s payment enough.”

Two days later, Leah is greeted by the warm summer sun in Melbourne. The plane ride was long, especially with a delay in the layover. After collecting her bag, Leah scanned the arrivals area and spotted Steph waving at her with a grin stretching across her face.

“Welcome to Australia!” Steph greeted, giving Leah a quick hug. “How was the flight?”

“Long, but worth every mile,” Leah replied nervously. “But I’m too nervous to think about it.”

Steph smirked, nudging Leah playfully on their way to the car. “You’re going to be fine. Honestly, she will probably faint when she sees you. Y/N’s been unbearable, by the way. Keeps asking if I’ve heard from you, like you two don’t talk all the time.”

The thought made Leah smile. You missed her too.

During the drive, Steph filled Leah in on the plan. She would pretend to go to the shops. Not really a lie, she did get some food to cover the surprise.

“So I’ll go in and call Y/N out of her room then I’ll give you a signal and you’ll come through the door.” Leah nodded, her palms clammy.

As Steph pulled up to the house, Leah thought she was going to die of nervousness. You’d be going crazy with no responses to texts or missed calls, Leah thought. Steph sneakily poked her head inside to see you chilling in the lounge room watching re-runs of your favourite tv show. Steph signalled Leah to come up the stairs but wait outside.

“Hey, I got your favourite.” Steph called out casually. Leah peaked inside, you didn’t move from the couch.

Your voice carried through the living room, curious and playful. “What did you get?”

“Come see for yourself.” Steph replied, barely containing her excitement. Leah moved more into view as you slowly rolled off the couch.

Moments later, you appeared in the doorway. The sight of Leah standing in your family’s kitchen looking nervous and out of place made you freeze.

“Leah?” You whispered.

“Hi love.” Leah said softly, her smile tentative.

You didn’t move for a second. Then something snapped and you ran towards her, throwing yourself in her arms. Leah caught you easily, her laugh mixing with yours.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” You murmured, your voice thick with emotion.

“I couldn’t stay away any longer,” Leah admitted as her arms tightened around you. “I missed you”

“I missed you too. So much”

That night, you both decided to go into the city to watch the New Years Eve fireworks. You luckily found a spot along the Yarra River, the crowds around you buzzing with excitement. Leah moved close, her fingers brushing against yours as the countdown begins.

“Ten…nine”

Leah turned to you, her smile soft. “Y/N?”

“Eight…seven”

Leah swallowed hard, her heart pounding against her chest. “I need to tell you something.”

“Six…five”

You tilted your head, waiting. “What is it?”

“Four…three”

Leah held your hands, her voice slightly trembling. “I don’t want to go into next year without you being mine, officially. Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Two…one”

As the fireworks exploded above, you leaned in and kissed Leah. When you pulled back, your eyes filled with tears but your smile was radiant.

“Yes Leah,” you whispered. “I’ll be yours, always.”

Leah couldn’t stop staring at you, her mind capturing every detail - the way the colours of the fireworks illuminated your face, the way your eyes sparkled with emotion, and the way your lips curled into a smile just for her.

She cupped your cheek, her thumb brushing ever so gently on your skin as she murmured, “you’ve made this the best New Year’s Eve ever.”

“You’ve outdone yourself. Showing up like this? You’ve set the bar impossibly high for next year.”

Leah grinned, her arms around your waist pulling you somewhat closer. “Don’t worry. I plan on being by your side for all the New Year’s Eves to come.”

Your heart swelled at her admission, and you felt the urge to pull her into another kiss. But the crowd around you erupted in chairs as another round of fireworks filled the sky.

“Did you plan all this on your own?” You asked, your voice barely audible over the distant booms.

“ I had some help. Steph might’ve been a little too enthusiastic about the whole thing.” Leah chuckled.

You grown playfully. “ That explains why she’s been acting so smug the past few days. She can’t keep a secret to save her life.”

“She kept this one,” Leah pointed out, smirking. “Barely.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Well, I’ll forgive her, just this once.”

When the fireworks ended the two of you lying by the river, watching as a crowd began to disperse. It was quiet now except for the occasional burst of laughter or distant car horn.

“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” you said, your fingers lacing with hers.

Leah looked at you, her expression soft. “Neither can I, honestly. But the thought of not being here, not asking you to be mine, didn’t sit right. I couldn’t imagine starting the year without you.”

“Leah… I don’t think you realise how much this means to me. You being here, doing all of this… I’ve never felt so-“

“Loved?” Leah finished for you, her voice tender.

You nodded, blinking back tears. “Yeah. Loved”

Leah stepped closer, her free hand coming up to tuck strand of hair behind your ear. “Yhat’s because you are. And I’m going to spend every day proving it to you.”

You leaned into her touch, your eyes searching hers. “You already have.”

When you finally returned to your family home, it was late. The house was quiet, with the faint of the air-conditioning in the background. Steph was waiting in the living room, knowing green on her face as you and Leah walked in hand-in-hand.

“Well?” Steph asked, sitting up straighter. “How’d it go?”

You shot her a mock glare. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

Steph raised an eyebrow. “Is that a ‘thank you,’ or…?”

Leah laughed, squeezing your hand. “It went perfectly. Thanks for everything, Steph.”

Steph waved her hand dismissively. “Please. I’m just glad you finally sorted yourselves out. It was painful to watch.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile didn’t fade. “I’ll deal with you tomorrow.” You said teasingly, tingly towards the stairs. “We’re calling it a night.”

“Good night, lovebirds.” Steph called after you, her laughed echoing as you disappeared down the hallway.

Later, as you and Leah lay in bed, tangled together beneath the sheets, you couldn’t help it feel a sense of peace wash over you. The weight of the past year, the uncertainty, and the longing had all melted away, leaving only the warmth of Leah’s presence.

“Leah?” You mermaid, your head resting against her chest.

“Hmm?” She replied sleepily, her fingers tracing idle patterns on your back.

“I’m really glad you came.”

Leah smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Me too. I couldn’t let another year pass without making sure you knew how I felt.”

You tilted your head up to look at her, your heart swelling with affection. “Well, now you’re stuck with me.”

“Good,” Leah whispered, her eyes shining with love. “Because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

[requiemforthepoets]

broadway darling 𖦹 LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x sainz!reader

SUMMARY: you and lando never met each other in person despite him being best friends with your brother, but when carlos had dragged him to your opening night, he hated to admit it but he was charmed by you.

REMINDERS: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not repost or copy my work in any way.

WARNINGS: no use of y/n in the narrations, photo do not belong to me and all photos are taken from pinterest, inconsistencies of photos, use of y/n on the smau, not proofread, magui, profanities, mean comments, and typos

WORD COUNT: 696

FACE CLAIMS: taken from pinterest

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i missed writing for lando 😭 i made this one shot/smau to appease my broadway x f1 racer agenda in my mind, and since i’m a big fan of les miz and hamilton. though let me know if you want part 2 lol i hope you’ll enjoy this one as much as i enjoyed writing it! this one’s for all the theatre girlies out there (i hope i did you justice 🥹)

It was an unspoken rule that opening nights were sacred in your family. The excitement, nerves, and anticipation of the curtain rising for the first time in Melbourne—it was all part of the magic you had fallen in love with since your broadway debut at sixteen. Tonight was no different, the backstage bustle surrounded you, but you remained calm, dressed in your costume for Fantine, the tragic heroine of Les Misérables.

The makeup team finished their final touches, ensuring every detail conveyed the pain and hope of the character. You took a deep breath, whispering a quiet prayer as the stage manager gave the fifteen-minute warning.

In the plush velvet seats of the packed theater, your family had taken their places. Carlos was flanked by your parents on one side and, to your surprise, his best friend, Lando Norris, by his side. You had heard of Lando countless times through Carlos’ stories, seen him in the occasional instagram post or race weekend interview, but never met him in person. Lando was not exactly the type you imagined sitting through a three-hour musical, but there he was, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, looking slightly out of place but undeniably intrigued.

“I still don’t understand why you brought me with you.” Lando murmured to Carlos as they flipped through the program.

“Because you need culture in your life,” Carlos teased, his voice low to avoid drawing attention. “Besides, it’s my sister. I’m always there to support her.”

Lando just nodded, unsure what to really expect. He had heard of you, of course, Carlos never stopped talking about his little sister’s accomplishments, but he had never seen you perform. Lando wasn’t even sure how someone who belted out ballads for a living would compare to the thrill of racing, but as the curtains rose and you stepped onto the stage, he felt something shift.

When you sang I Dreamed a Dream, the theatre fell silent, and Lando forgot to breathe. He didn’t know much about broadways and musicals, but even he could tell this was something special. There was a rawness in your voice, an honesty that made him feel like you were baring your soul to every person in the audience, him included.

“You good?” Carlos asked, his tone laced with curiosity.

Lando blinked and sat up straighter. “She's…really good.”

“Told you,” Carlos smirked, “she’s a broadway darling for a reason.”

Lando did not respond, his eyes fixed on you as you poured your heart into the performance, and by the time the curtain fell and the audience erupted into applause, he was on his feet, clapping so hard his palms stung. Carlos laughed as he nudged him.

“I think you liked it more than me, mate.” Carlos chuckled.

“She’s, uh, really talented.” Lando flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. Carlos raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Backstage, you were surrounded by castmates and well-wishers when Carlos arrived, with a bouquet of flowers in hand.

“You killed it out there!” He said, pulling you into a bear hug. “Mamá and Papá are so proud, they couldn’t even stop crying.”

“Thank you,” you smiled, wiping a bit of makeup from your cheek. “It felt good tonight.” You admitted, though your eyes flicked curiously to the familiar figure a few steps behind Carlos.

Carlos caught your glance and stepped aside. “Oh, right, this is Lando. You know him, my best friend.”

“Hello.” You said warmly, extending a hand.

Lando stared at you for a second too long before quickly shaking your hand. “Hey, uh, you were amazing. Like, really amazing.”

“Thank you,” you said, smiling at his slightly awkward demeanor. “I’m glad that you enjoyed it. I never pegged you for a theatre type.”

Carlos snorted. “Oh, he’s not. He didn’t even know who Fantine was before tonight.”

“Hey, I know now.” Lando muttered as he shot Carlos a look, which made you laugh.

“Well, it’s nice to finally meet you, Lando,” you said. “Thank you for coming.”

As you turned your attention back to Carlos to discuss dinner plans, Lando just stood there, hands shoved into his trouser pockets, feeling like he had just been hit by a train.

ynsainz

liked by carlossainz55, yourbestfriend, lesmizofficial, iamrebeccad, landonorris and 456,736 others

tagged: lesmizofficial

ynsainz do you hear the people sing? 🇫🇷❤️

opening night of les misérables in melbourne was nothing short of magical. i’m so grateful for the chance to bring fantine’s story to life again and share it with the people i love the most. a night that i’ll never forget! ❤️✨

view 78,837 comments below

carlossainz55 incredible, hermanita! Proud doesn’t even begin to cover it ❤️

ynsainz AAAAAHHH LOVE YOU 🥺❤️

iamrebeccad you.are.amazing! GIRL THOSE PIPES YOU HAVE!!

ynsainz rebeccaaa, thank you so much!! i’m glad that you were able to come 🥺❤️

iamrebeccad of course! wouldn’t miss it for the world!!! 🥰

landonorris amazing show last night! first theatre experience and definitely won’t be the last 👏🏻🙌🏻

ynsainz thank you lando! glad that les miz was your first theatre experience. well, hoping to see you again soon! 😆

lesmizofficial opening night couldn’t have been more better, it was unforgettable! you’ve brought fantine to life in a way that will resonate for years to come. the team couldn’t be prouder of you! ❤️

ynsainz thank you, les misérables! 🥺❤️

username1 PERFECTION PERFECTION PERFECTION

username2 carlos wasn’t lying when he said he’s sister a star 🥹 i came for the sainz connection and left absolutely blown away by your TALENT!!!!

username3 an icon, a legend, a queen!!!!!!

username4 I STILL CANT BELIEVE THAT I WATCHED YOU LIVE 😭😭😭😭

username4 I NEED TO SEE YOU ON LES MIZ TOUR I CANT LET THIS PASS BY 😭😭😭

username5 THE MEMES 😭😭😭

username6 THEATRE KIDS UNITE!!!

twitter posts

f1gossip

liked by username1, username2, username3, username4 and 20,837 others

tagged: ynsainz, carlossainz55, landonorris

f1gossip is there something more than just racing between lando norris and the sainz family?

spotted: lando norris attending the opening night of les miserables in melbourne with none other than carlos sainz and his family just days before the aussie grand prix weekend.

the mclaren driver, who’s usually more focused on the track than the theatre, seemed to be all flirty and smiles as he mingled with carlos’ little sister, ynsainz—the broadway darling herself! rumors have been swirling around ever since lando was seen front and center at the opening night, and now, it’s got us wondering…is there something between the two off-track?

while lando’s always kept his private life under the wraps, this cozy night with the sainz fam is raising some eyebrows. could les miserables be just the beginning? are we seeing a new f1 power couple in the making?

drop your thoughts below! ❤️

view all 18,636 comments below

username7 okay, but if lando is really into her, can we talk about what an upgrade this is from his usual dating rumors? she’s a literal goddess. broadway, west end, and disney??? ma’am.

username8 so lando’s in attendance at les miz in melbourne? okay, that’s cool, but is it bad that i care more about her perfomance than this so-called gossip? priorities, people!

username9 not at all!! everyone here in the comsec acting like they personally know lando or y/n lmao what a bunch of losers

username10 this is a bit of stretch, don’t you guys think? maybe he’s genuinely wanted to be there for support. he’s literally best friends with carlos and close with the sainz, is it now bad to support a best friend’s family member? not every guy and girl showing support or hanging out equates to dating.

username9 SPEAK YOUR TRUTH!!!

username1 finally, someone saying relevant here for once!!!

username11 can we please stop making everything a love story? maybe she’s just being nice and lando’s just being lando

username12 oh you are so sick for tagging the people involved in your nonsense gossip!!! leave them alone!!!!

username13 now why us, broadway fans, suddenly being dragged into an f1 drama? can we just stay away from this and focus on supporting her and appreciating her talent? we don’t need this kind of drama

username14 lol lando is just tagging along with carlos like they usually do! NOT EVERYTHING HAS TO BE A SHIP NOR A DATING RUMOR!

username15 she’s just probably using him for clout lmfao

username16 i don’t ship it, but if carlos approves, i guess it’s fine

username2 ????? weirdo

username17 she’s been killing it on broadway since she was young. why do people always have to reduce talented women to ‘who they’re dating/involved’ with? do better people, you all are really embarrassing

username18 honestly, i don’t really care who she’s dating. just give me tickets to see her next performance 😭

username3 oh you’re so really for this

username4 why do broadway tickets have to be so expensive 😭😭😭

username5 bank heist plan meeting at my house at 8pm, pull up

username6 time to sell feet pics 😔💔

username19 she’s just gonna use lando for fame just like *coughs* magui *coughs* and besides, she wouldn’t be famous if it weren’t for carlos LMAO what a nepo baby

username7 DON’T YOU EVER COMPARED THAT VILE AND WRETCHED WOMAN TO Y/N! THE BLANTANT DISRESPECT. SHES BEEN SELLING OUT THEATRE BEFORE YOU COULD SPELL BROADWAY. CARLOS MAY BE HER BROTHER BUT HER TALENT GOT WHERE SHE IS RIGHT NOW. SIT THE FUCK DOWN. I HOPE YOU CHOKE ON THAT COUGH OF YOURS.

username8 username7 SLAYED, ATE, DEVOURED, LEFT NO CRUMBS

username20 yeah, i don’t really trust her. she’s probs only interested in lando bc of the clout that comes with being an f1 wag

username9 you DISGUST me. clout? clout??? mary, she’s the one with standing ovations every night. meanwhile, you’re hating from your couch. maybe try again.

username21 LANDO IN SPECS 😭😭😭 HES SO DREAMY 🥺🥺🥺

username10 people out here are tearing each other apart and so close in inciting civil war, while you’re out here commenting lando looks good in specs is so REAL 😭😭😭

username11 the vibe i bring to the function:

username22 the whole comsec got me laughing my ass off 😭 y’all are really bursting your nerves over this gossip that is completely baseless 😭😭😭 it’s NORMAL for him to hang out with carlos’ family and show support to carlos’ family member. like what the other commenter said, not everything has to be a dating rumor 😭😭😭

username12 EXACTLY.

username22 these people need to unclench their asshole. like omfg relax, brenda!

username23 if this is true, i don’t like it. lando needs someone who understands his world, not some theatre diva who’s only there for the spotlight

username13 ???? theatre diva ???? she’s literally been called the voice of this generation, a generational talent. she DOESNT need lando or his world, she has her own. stay bitter, though

username24 why are people so mean? she’s insanely talented and gorgeous.

username14 some people are just really fucking opinionated, like they know lando personally and that their opinions would matter. well news flash, lando wouldn’t even bat an eyelash at you nor date you all. fucking weirdos

username25 welp, this isn’t the comment section that i was expecting at all 🧍🏻‍♀️

username26 is this a civil war between f1 stans and broadway stans? 😭😭😭😭

username27 vroom vroom kids vs. theatre kids

username28 this post alone had incited a civil war between f1 stans and broadway stans 😭

[cocoaandco]

Wildflower - George Russell x f!reader [prologue]

You and Delilah have been friends for years. When Delilah finds out the boy she loves has fallen for someone else, she seeks refuge in your arms. Little does she know you are the very reason for her undoing.

PROLOGUE

You smile as you shut the door to your apartment. The warmth that spread through your body was unmatched. In fact, you began to wonder if you had ever felt such a way before. The grin that was plastered on your face failed to dissipate, as if it had been stretched and glued that way.

You touch your cheeks, feeling how warm they were. How rosy they must have been the entire night, an evening where the blushing was endless. It was the middle of August in Melbourne, most nights had you spending countless dollars on the gas bill in order to heat the house. But tonight was different. No, not tonight. Your body was warm. Like you had been wrapped in an electric blanket and fed the best soup made by your Nonna. That just wasn’t true, though.

Your warmth was a direct result of your happiness. It’s crazy how a man you barely know could make you feel things that men you had allowed into your life and trusted in long term relationships had never come close to creating. You close your eyes, press your back against the, now closed door, and slide down. You bring a hand to your mouth, feeling the smile on your lips and pressing them against your palm before giggling.

God, I must look like a teenage girl! The giggling continues as you bring your hands from your mouth and look down at them, seeing that your lip gloss had smudged itself on your palm. You are startled when you hear a low chuckle sound from the other side of the door, before footsteps boom, growing softer as they moved away from the door and down the hallway. Oh my goodness, you thought to yourself, he just heard my fucking giddy laugh.

Springing to your feet, you move away from the doorway in embarrassment, and head to your kitchen. You switch on the kettle and pull out a stool from under your island bench. You sigh as you finally sit down, you must have walked around Church street for hours. As you wait for the kettle to boil, you think back to the past 24 hours and how the string of events followed through as a result.

————

36 hours prior. Thursday 9.30am

“Dan, I really don’t care about the bullshit corporate boxes. If you don’t release more upper ground seating to the public, we’re gonna have half empty stands to answer for!” You exclaim into your phone, gripping it tighter as if that would sway Dan into agreement.

You worked for the MCG, Melbourne’s biggest sporting venue, and had multiple blockbuster AFL matches to plan for that weekend, the biggest being Friday night’s class between Carlton and Essendon. The two teams are historical rivals that always draw large crowds and today was Thursday, the day before. Supporters from around the state were going nuts on every radio station and media outlet spraying the league for its lack of seating for the match. The problem? The large corporations hoarding the seats for businesses and international clients that had no real interest in the match, taking away from die hard fans.

Who has to deal with this problem? Why of course, it’s you. And the fact that you had gotten the train this morning made your venture that much more aggravating as the quiet roads were filled with electric scooters rather than cars. This probably seems like a boring and rather complex issue, so don’t worry, it is not pivotal to your story, Y/N.

“Y/N, listen. We can’t release those seats, we anticipate a large turnout from the upper tiers-”

“You’re telling me 8,000 seats are being put aside for Melbourne Demons supporters for a Bombers v Blues match?”

“Come on, Y/L/N. You know Demons supporters aren’t the only MCC members.”

“No but they make up the majority. I am doing your job- Shit!” All of a sudden something pushes into your back and you are sprung from the pavement and onto the road. You squeeze your eyes shut as you see a single vehicle plummet towards you. A large black car swerves before jolting to a stop just beside where you have fallen on your face.

You press your palms into the road, and push yourself up. You snap your head in the direction of an electric scooter which has zoomed off after screaming a “Sorry!”

“Fucking idiot!” You scream out. “Ugh!” You kneel down and locate your phone which is actually just a scrap of metal as it has been completely squashed by the wheel on the black car.

“Well, I guess thats a ‘no’ from Dan.” You mutter to yourself. Dusting your skirt off, you examine your outfit for any rips or pulls before returning to the sidewalk. You lift your head to notice the black car has not moved. Shrugging you continue to walk and wave off the car to let it know your alright.

Immediately, the rear passenger door swings open and a tall fair headed man hops out before approaching you. “Are you alright there?” He calls.

You laugh at his accent and continue to walk away from him, towards your office. “I’ll be alright mate, don’t worry about me!”

He frowns down and jogs lightly to catch up. “No seriously, are you okay? You were pushed and fell pretty hard.” You shrug.

“Im alive aren’t I?” He raises an eyebrow, “well you didn’t hit me, your car is alright, I’m in one piece.” He walks with you and motions to your hand, holding what was once your functioning phone.

“I’ll get work to get me a new one, it’s not a big deal.” Thats a lie, your work will not get you a new one.

“No, no. I almost ran you over, let me buy you a new one.” You furrow your eyebrows at him before shaking your head with a chuckle.

“Thats really not necessary, I need to get to work so I’ll just-”

“Well then what about a coffee? Tomorrow perhaps?” He quizzed. This brought you to a halt, which also stopped the tall man. You fold your arms over your chest before looking up to his face. This is the first time you’re able to take in his appearance.

He has wide bright blue eyes and fluffy eyebrows. His nose is large and pointed and he has defined cheekbones with a sharp jawline. His lips are full and pink, complimenting his soft cool brown hair. A gorgeously defined man, he does not look British at all. He wears a classically smart casual outfit that looks like it came straight from an R.M Williams catalogue; refined and sleek.

“Who are you?”

“Erm.” He coughs, “my name is George.”

You raise an eyebrow again, more whimsical this time. He really is quite attractive. “Well, George” you emphasise, “I am now well and truly late for work, and have a very busy couple of days, so if you would excuse me-”

“I’m sorry, I just-” he cuts his own sentence off this time, “I feel really bad, when I saw you fall, immediately felt awful for you and then I watched you get up and you looked so lovely, I felt even worse!”

He concludes and you look at him dumbfounded, quite literally with your mouth parted. You pause for a second. “Alright, so you have only checked on how I’m doing,” you pause again to recollect, “because you think I’m attractive and want to ask me out?”

Without hesitation he grins widely and responds “Precisely.”

This is ridiculous! You think to yourself about how completely absurd this is. You quite literally had almost died five minutes ago. But something inside you felt excited, felt warm. And so, the better part of you prevailed and entertained the idea.

“Alright.” You hum, “walk me to work then, George.”

“Uhh.” He turns back to his car which still is stopped in its same position. He motions for the car to go on with his hand and the car slowly pulls away and drives off without hesitation. Weird. “Okay then, where is work?”

“Just up here! About a five minute walk.”

“Only five minutes?” He smirks down at you as you both begin walking. A smile creeps onto your face before you respond.

“Yes, any longer and I may not have a job or a head if my boss has a say.” He laughs at your sadistic remark.

“What is your name?” He asks.

“Y/N.”

“Y/N.” He tests out, “suits you perfectly.”

You smile in response.

“So what do you do for work, Y/N.”

You explain to him your role with the MCG, particularly how your responsibilities are spread across ticketing and media which somehow meshes into one title. He seems impressed with your extensive knowledge of sporting and passion for fan experiences.

He listens to you talk like you are giving the most captivating speech in world. His eyes peer into yours, you feel heard and understood. Not an ounce of judgement clouding his expression. He was so easy to talk to, you never wanted him to leave.

You quickly learn that your suspicions were correct and that George is, in fact, from the UK. As well as the fact that he has never been to an AFL match in his life. It was even more shocking that he had never even heard of the sport.

“What!” You shriek as you arrive out the front of your office, which is actually inside the MCG. “You’re telling me, you’ve never heard of the AFL?”

He laughs at your hysteria and nods “nope!” He pops his ‘P’.

“Oh my gosh, we have to go to a game!” ‘We’? Pull it together, Y/N! “Let’s um- oh shoot!” You look at your watch. It’s almost 10am. You may be hung when you get inside. “Ok, ok. If you’d like, we can hang out tomorrow.”

George’s eyes light up in excitement. “Really?”

“Yes, yes! If you’re keen.” You double guess yourself, of course he wants to hang out you freak. “If you meet me here, tomorrow night at 7.30, I’ll take you to your first AFL match.

He grins widely, “That would be wonderful.”

“Alright, so I’ll see you then?” You confirm, “I really have to go now, I am sorry.”

“Yes, I’ll meet you here.” You begin to walk away from George, backwards. And towards the sliding doors.

“I would give you my number, but I don’t currently have a phone!” You exclaim.

“Don’t worry, Ill see you tomorrow.” He waved.

“Bye George.” You wave before spinning and speeding inside.

You can’t help but peer over your shoulder one last time to see him watching you walk away with a slight smile on his face.

This is absolutely crazy.

————

You sip on the last of your tea, an hour later, cozied up in bed. The memory of yesterday makes you shiver, but in a good way. George was incredible. You had never known a human to be so welcoming and friendly. He was truly lovely.

As you set your tea aside, and push your supporting pillows off the bed, your body begins to drift into a heavy state of tiredness. Just as your eyes begin to droop close you hear a loud knocking on the door.

What the hell?

You slip out of bed and walk out of your bedroom. As you approach the kitchen you grow nervous. Oh my goodness, George must be a serial killer. You shake your head at your ridiculous conspiracy. You look through the peephole to see a familiar face, with tears streaming down it.

Instinctively, you quickly unlock the door and swing it open. “Delilah!” You exclaim.

She quickly moves inside and engulfs you in a hug as she lets out soft sobs. What has happened to your poor friend? More importantly, why was she here and not back at home in London?

————

[astrologerinmelbourne]

Palm reading in Melbourne: What does your hands reveal about you

Palm reading in Melbourne is a unique way to gain your personality, strength and future insights. Experienced palm readers explain lines and shapes in your hands to understand your way of life.

[ironmakers]

Alzheimer’s & Dementia Care | Melbourne, FL | Aqua Home Care | Aqua Home Care

Dementia is a progressive condition that affects memory, cognition, and behavior, and can significantly impact a person’s ability to carry out daily activities. In Palm Bay, Florida, as in many other communities, dementia is a growing concern, particularly with the aging population. For families and individuals facing the challenges of dementia, it's crucial to understand the various types of dementia, the symptoms, and the care options available to provide the best support.

This blog will offer an in-depth look at Dementia Palm Bay, focusing on the resources, support services, and care options available to help individuals live well with dementia, as well as ways to assist family caregivers in managing their loved one's care. Whether you are concerned about a loved one’s memory loss, dealing with early symptoms, or managing the later stages of dementia, Palm Bay offers a variety of services designed to improve the quality of life for both those diagnosed with dementia and their families.

We will explore the following key topics:

What Is Dementia? We will start by explaining dementia as a group of symptoms related to cognitive decline, including Alzheimer’s disease, vascular dementia, and other less common forms. Understanding the different types of dementia is important for getting the right care and support.

Signs and Symptoms of Dementia: Dementia manifests through various symptoms like memory loss, confusion, difficulty with language, and changes in behavior. Recognizing early signs is critical for early intervention and planning.

Dementia Care in Palm Bay: Palm Bay has a range of specialized dementia care services to help individuals maintain their independence as much as possible. From memory care facilities and adult day care programs to home care services, the area offers options to cater to various stages of dementia. We will cover the benefits and features of each care service, helping families understand what choices are best for their loved ones.

Support for Family Caregivers: Caring for someone with Dementia Palm Bay can be physically and emotionally draining. Support services are available to help caregivers, including respite care, caregiver training, and local support groups. This blog will highlight resources available in Palm Bay that provide respite and guidance for caregivers, helping them manage their stress and maintain their own health.

Health and Wellness Programs for Dementia: In Palm Bay, various health programs are available to individuals living with dementia, focusing on improving physical, cognitive, and emotional well-being. These may include specialized therapies, exercise programs, and nutrition counseling designed to slow the progression of symptoms.

Legal and Financial Considerations: For families in Palm Bay, navigating the legal and financial aspects of dementia care can be complex. We will discuss important legal matters such as power of attorney, advanced care planning, and financial resources that can help families plan for the future.

Living with Dementia Palm Bay: Palm Bay is a vibrant community with parks, social groups, and activities that cater to seniors, including those living with dementia. We will explore how staying active and engaged in the community can help improve mental and emotional health for individuals with dementia.

As the demand for dementia care continues to rise in Palm Bay, understanding the available options is more important than ever. With the right care and support, individuals with dementia can continue to live fulfilling lives, and families can feel more confident in their caregiving roles. By the end of this blog, readers will have a clear understanding of Dementia Palm Bay, the local resources available, and how to provide the best care for their loved ones in Palm Bay.

[alexanderking]

Another Top 20 Albums of 2024:

"...And have I left anything out?" – Albums of 2023:

Kiefer – It's Ok, B U: 'Some strong instrumentals on here. I enjoy this project more each time I come back to it. Maybe I heard this too late in the year to make the list...

Robert Glasper – In December: Glasper adds his signature playing style to take on a number of classic Christmas standards, while giving us new music with scenarios relevant to how many of us experience the holiday season. 'Make it Home' and 'Memories with Mama' are fantastic examples of this. The second half of 'Little Drummer Boy' is also a very welcome arrangement...

Corinne Bailey Rae – Black Rainbows: Corinne Bailey Rae revisits her punk roots with 'Black Rainbows'. So a fair few bursts of electric guitar with messages of rebellion, as well more modal production from previous collaborators We Are KING. This is another one I hadn't listened to enough to make last year's list...

Mac Ayres – Comfortable Enough: 'A more stripped down collection of songs this time around. I can't say this project elevated anywhere above 'pleasant' for me...'Still worth a listen for 'Ayres fans though...

Janelle Monáe – The Age of Pleasure: The departure from the 'Metropolis Suite' continues with an ode to joy and self-acceptance. The music takes a foray into the modern R'n'B sounds, Afrobeats and Reggae while somehow keeping that signature Wondaland production that we know and love. 'A great listen for the summer months. 'Short and sweet I suppose (frequent readers of these posts know how I feel about short albums)...

Jean-Luc Ponty – Enigmatic Ocean: It came out in 1977...

Logic – College Park: 'Another retired emcee who couldn't stay away from the booth. 'College Park' serves as a prequel to Logic's career. 'Some pretty good production on here, but I found the lyrical subject matter a bit forgettable. 'Better than the 'Everybody'/'Sinatra IV' era though...

Masego – Masego: I hadn't quite gelled with a Masego record until this one. 'Some strong Lo-fi R'n'B melodies. 'Generally relatable lyrics. 'Another one I enjoy more when I go back to it...

Shokazulu – Earth is not for Humans: 'Some nice broken beat offerings. 'Not one I've repeated very often but enjoy enough when I revisit it...

2024:

20) musclecars – Sugar Honey Ice Tea:

This project leans very heavily into the Soulful House realm, beginning and ending with more prominent soul melodies, while the middle tends to contain lengthy (at times repetitive) instrumentals, often with a welcome musical shift to keep things interesting. Tracks like 'Dream Boy', 'Tonight', 'Ha Ya! (Eternal Life)' and 'Water' keep ,e coming back to this project...

19) JPEGMAFIA – I LAY DOWN MY LIFE FOR YOU:

While I thoroughly enjoyed 'Scaring the'...errrm 'Startling the Maidens', I hadn't quite got on board with much of JPEGMAFIA's music. Shawn Cee's listening video had my ears prick up a number of times, particularly with tracks like 'I'll Be Right There', 'it's dark and hell is hot', 'Don't Put Anything On The Bible' and the grandiose 'JPEGULTRA!'. Musically, JPEGMAFIA only further hones his craft of creating avant garde instrumentals, borrowing influences from Grunge Rock, Drum 'n' Bass, Soul and Jazz. Subject matter-wise, we continue to receive rant-like flows, often which contain that random thought you've had not too long ago, causing you to laugh out loud...

18) Hiatus Kaiyote – Love Heart Cheat Code:

The Future-Soul band from Melbourne, Australia returns with a collection of songs that length-wise, stay in the vein of their previous effort 'Mood Valiant'. Musically, the band seem to be straying further into experimental territory. The hip-hop influence on Hiatus Kaiyote's music is clearer than ever in my opinion. It's also great to see the Nai Palm lean more into her electric guitar playing, particularly on the closing tracks. Adversely, while there are a number of great pieces of music on here, as a collection, it often feels disjointed...

17) Doechii – Alligator Bites Never Heal:

Doechii has compared the process of creating this body of work while dealing with label politics to a series of Alligator attacks, specifically referencing their death roll when attacking prey. Heaven forbid we can simply receive an honest, vulnerable hip-hop mixtape with a series of bangers, some more thoughtful pieces and some satire thrown in, without some fat cat throwing a hissy fit!! The first half is more straight forward, nostalgic, head-nodding hip-hop while the second half contains a more modern take on the genre, the occasional singing and all. I'm glad to see Doechii getting her flowers!...

16) Robert Glasper – Code Derivation:

I consider this Glasper's best solo project since 'Double Booked'. 'Code Derivation' pays a great homage to 90s 'Boom-Bap Era' hip-hop, where many jazz samples were instrumental (see what I did there?) to a lot of the production. We get Glasper's straight ahead jazz pieces, accompanied by a hip-hop flip of said piece, even a couple by his own son Riley Glasper. Favourites include 'Say Less', 'AJ's Vibe' and the 'Waiting on Arrival' flip...

15) Common & Pete Rock – The Auditorium Vol. 1:

'The emcee/producer collaboration we didn't know we needed! Well...I didn't know we needed...Much like his extensive work with a No I.D. or a Kanye West, Pete Rock's production compliments Common's thoughtfulness and bragging writes splendidly! My only flaw is that I would have liked a few more rap verses from Pete Rock...

14) Rapsody – Please Don't Cry:

Somehow, Rapsody presents us with her most personal work to date. This is one a lot of people can relate to as it details the importance of alone time ('DND'), the need to express emotions in all of their many shades ('A Ballad for Homegirls', 'Lonely Women' and 'Diary of a Mad...' to name a few), joy and fear in relationships ('3:AM' and 'Loose Rocks') and good old perseverance (in tracks like 'Stand Tall', 'Raw' and 'Faith'). Musically this album flows really well, starting with the kick heavy beats we've come to expect from Rapsody, going into the smoother, slower melodies and even having a reggae influenced section to start off the second half of the project, all while bringing the energy back by having those hard hitting instrumentals and rhymes every so often. My biggest gripe with 'Please Don't Cry' is how short so many of these tracks are...I actually blame MF Doom...

13) Blue Lab Beats – Blue Eclipse:

David Mrakpor and NK-OK continue to hone their craft of finely produced hip-hop/jazz inspired...music...The envelope hasn't been pushed here I don't feel, but I enjoyed this project enough for it to be this high up on the list. 'Favourites include 'Never Doubt', 'Sky Paradise (Interlude)', 'Take Time' and the title track...

12) Resolution 88 – Vortex:

Tom O'Grady's Jazz Fusion outfit venture away from the more Herbie Hancock 'HeadHunters' to 'Mr. Hands' era inspired sound...to the Mizell Brothers 'Sky High' era inspired sound, going as far as having a track that pays direct homage to Larry and Fonce's once-living imprint. This is something I personally have a lot of time for! even while clearly taking influence from these times, the band are only becoming more assured in their writing and playing in pieces like 'Never Ever Ever' and both versions of 'Love Will Come Around'...

11) ScHoolboy Q – Blue Lips:

Strong beats. Strong flows. Some nice lyrics. A consistent quality of tracks. A welcome return collab with 'Black Hippy' cohort Ab-Soul. I'd argue that this is groovy Q's best project to date...

10) Tyler, the Creator – CHROMAKOPIA:

Tyler's creative winning streak continues! On 'CHROMAKOPIA', we get a glimpse into what Tyler has been up to, enjoying and what challenges he's been facing in the past few years. The more vocal opening to the album harks back to 2019's 'IGOR', but a closing rap verse and the braggadocio that follows let us know that there is still more rapping this time around. The lead single 'Noid' takes on live instrumentation, drums and electric guitar front and centre. That being said, there is still way more piano featured throughout than anything (this is evident on tracks like 'Like Him' and 'Judge Judy'). The posse cut 'Sticky' surprised me as well as it plays more like a roll call than a cypher. I enjoyed this more than 'IGOR', but less than 'CALL ME IF YOU GET LOST'...

9) Quiet Dawn – Celebrate:

'A strong collection of broken beat rhythms reminiscent of Kaidi Tatham's more experimental years; syncopated drum patterns, the blast of Moog synths, video game-esque chords and a lively mood throughout most of the 39 minute runtime...

8) Nathan Haines – Notes:

This was a fairly highly anticipated release for me, after hearing the hip-hop tinged 'Just Holding' On', rhymes, beats and keys interwoven with Haines's distinctive sax playing. That being said, 'Notes' is primarily a Soulful House affair. Mellow chords over thumping drums with the occasional foray into modal, percussive moments like 'Storm' and the title track, as well as more frantic rhythms like 'Don't Think' or the bonus track 'Get Up to Get Down'. My favourites on here are the shining, string laden 'Journey to the Peak', the aforementioned 'Storm' and the slightly melancholy 'Belo Dia'...

7) Lalah Hathaway – VANTABLACK:

I personally believe' this is Lalah Hathaway's strongest project since 2008's 'Self Portrait'. As the title suggests, some of the subject matter does touch on daring to exist as a black person. The opening track speaks on what's still happening regarding race relations in the US and how much more needs to be done, the defiant blast of horns during the songs breakdown signifying the determination to do so. Romantic love and self-love are also key themes on 'VANTABLACK'. The shiny 'No Lie' will probably become a classic somewhere down the line. 'Returning' is another beautiful slow(ish) jam, maintaining the general untarnished reputation of an album's 'Track 6' (seriously, check your favourites on almost any project 🤷‍♂️). Also, I dare you to not belt out "I'm the #BITMFW!!" after hearing that track...

Side note: It's also pretty cool that musician and friend C R O W N has writing credits on this project 😁...

6) Bruk Rogers – Loopholes:

'Another Dan recommendation (he comes up a lot in these breakdowns). As he predicted, I did enjoy this project...WAY MORE than I realised after going back to it a few times. Albums like 'Loopholes' not only cement broken beat's influence on current UK music, but also keeps it alive. More syncopated drums, keys and accompanying vocals aplenty!! Most of the pieces here can easily be floor fillers at a 'Room 4 Movement' or 'CoOperation' night. Favourites are 'Lalela', 'Gravity', 'Jelly Head' and 'Gravity'...

5) Daniel Casimir – Balance:

'Balance' picks up where Casimir's 2021 album 'Boxed In' dropped off. The scattered busy energy the string and horn sections provided are only more focused, creating some truly head-nodding, "stink-face activated" moments. No matter the mood, the musical arrangements are all held together by Daniel Casimir's bass playing. Clocking in at only 37 minutes, this is a short but sweet listen...

4) Logic – Ultra 85:

I'm surprised this ended up as high on the list as it did. 'EASILY my favourite Logic project! 'Ultra 85' serves as a prequel to 2015's 'The Incredible True Story' and so has a lot of the radio play-type skits that featured on that album. This time, they detail Kai and Thomas's first space exploration mission together, using the narrative to weave in a present day Logic's perspective on his life. Consequently (in the best way possible), there is a lot of self-reflection and back-to-basics rhyming (departing from the multi-syllable rhyming of Logic's 'EVERYBODY' era), which offers a lot of clarity sonically as well as emotionally. I can also safely say that many of the beats are on point!...

3) Marquis Hill – Composers Collective: Beyond the Jukebox:

I'd consider this a bit of a 'Modern Flows 2.5'. The hip-hop and Neo-soul elements present on this record makes this peak contemporary Jazz for me. Hill's horn playing gives us (or at least me) easy to hum along to arrangements that are very easy to revisit. 'Favourites include the opening two-parter in 'A Star is Born' and 'Joseph Beat', the vibraphone lead 'Shorter Days (Longer Nights) and spiralling descent that is 'I Remembered You'...

2) Ashley Henry – Who we Are:

Fantastic piano playing and ever-growing confident vocals. The modern influences are obvious but this still plays as a straight ahead jazz album. I don't have a lot to say except that I thoroughly enjoyed to be honest...'Favourites are 'Same Ole Song', 'Take It Higher', 'Oh La' and the title track...

1)

Sy Smith – Until We Meet Again:

Nearly six years after what I'd considered to be Smith's Magnum Opus comes this beauty of an album, which may possibly have taken that mantle. With FE+ cohorts Zo! & Tall Black Guy on music production, Sy Smith takes the time to remember those no longer in her life, both living and transitioned. The first half of the project takes on a more reflective, emotional approach to this subject matter, particularly with tracks like the lush, delicate 'Photograph' and the absolutely heart breaking ballad 'Always Pick Up For You'. The second half allows us to celebrate those no longer with us by upping the tempo with the party-starting 'Slide', the house-influenced 'Masterclass' and the slightly scandalous 'Summer of '93', a track of which I wouldn't have been surprised if Smith started rapping her 16s. The title track closer serves as the penny drop and allows us to remember those no longer in our lives. I got this in January of last year and it remains as my 'number one' of the year...

Honourable Mentions:

Boreal Sun – Dawn: 'My non-official #1 of 2024. This 20 minute EP clearly pays homage to the former Broken Beat duo 'Brotherly', going as far as sampling their 4/4 shuffle from the anthem 'System'. The music and message stays uplifting, tying in with how we often feel when first waking up or catching a sunrise at dawn...I was fortunate to attend Powne's release party to see the many earthly melodies and enchanting vocals that adorn this project. I haven't revisited this enough, hence why it's here...

Tess Hirst – HERStory: Hirst takes centre stage while still working with longtime collaborator Daniel Casimir. I did enjoy a lot of the music on here, but again, I didn't revisit' enough...

Ghetts – On Purpose, With Purpose: Strong rhymes. Complimentary beats. Generally strong features, particularly on the second track 'Mount Rushmore'. The mood remains grimy despite covering a wide range of subject matter...

Kev Choice – All My Love: 'Ushered in my spring beautifully. Lush keys and strings accompany honest and thoughtful lyrics...This would have easily made the list were it not an EP...

Brown Penny – Brown Penny: A UK Jazz all-stars collaboration (I'll leave it to you to check the line up). The music and glorious imagery conveys adventure and wistfulness. 'Makes me think of 'Steven Universe' or 'Craig of the Creek'. 'Looking forward to more from this group...

Elmiene – Anyway I Can: The third EP from the already established but still growing R'n'B singer/songwriter. Coming across Elmiene was an example of 'Law of Attraction' for me; a woman I was speaking to on a hike bigged up his music and a couple of days later my sister was suggesting we take Dad to go see him live. Fabulous vocals. Ear worms for melodies. Due to him keeping sentimental R'n'B alive, this had to get a shout...

BeMyFiasco – Pretty Little Love: The FE+ camp rarely disappoint'. Some fantastic Neo soul as usual. I just heard this too late...and it was too short...

Darien Brockington – Where Love Grows: This is the first solo Brockington project I've thoroughly enjoyed. 'More splendid music from the FE+ team...too short again!!...

Redman – Muddy Waters Too: My man's been promising this album for SEVENTEEN YEARS!!!! I only heard that this was out due to a round table discussion I was watching on YouTube! Rodman and his roster of longtime producers still have it!!...

Javier Santiago – Warrior Energy: I have time for ANYTHING this musician releases! The explosive energy that permeates much of this album justifies the title with ease! Check the title track and the preceding single 'Nocturne Du Romare (ReBirth)'...

[astrologyganesh]

Palm Reader in Melbourne – Pandit Shiva Raj

If you’re searching for a trusted Palm Reader in Melbourne, look no further than Pandit Shiva Raj. Renowned for his expertise in palmistry and spiritual guidance, Pandit Shiva Raj has helped countless individuals find clarity and solutions to life’s most pressing concerns.

Who Is Pandit Shiva Raj?

Pandit Shiva Raj is a celebrated Palm Reader in Melbourne with years of experience in the ancient art of palmistry. He has dedicated his life to providing accurate and insightful readings, helping his clients uncover the secrets hidden in the lines of their hands. His unique approach combines traditional Vedic wisdom with modern insights to address the challenges people face today.

Why Choose Palmistry?

Palmistry, or the study of palm lines, is an age-old practice that reveals critical information about an individual’s life, personality, and future. As a leading Palm Reader in Melbourne, Pandit Shiva Raj uses this art to help people gain clarity in various aspects of their lives:

Career and Financial Growth: Discover your professional potential and identify opportunities for success.

Relationships and Compatibility: Gain insights into your love life and family dynamics.

Health and Well-Being: Understand health-related concerns and receive guidance on how to improve your overall wellness.

Spiritual Growth: Explore your life purpose and achieve inner peace.

Why Pandit Shiva Raj Is the Best Palm Reader in Melbourne

Accurate Predictions: Pandit Shiva Raj is known for his precise readings that resonate deeply with his clients.

Customized Solutions: His advice and remedies are tailored to each individual’s unique needs and challenges.

Compassionate Approach: Clients appreciate his warm and empathetic demeanor, which creates a safe space for open conversations.

Holistic Services: In addition to palmistry, Pandit Shiva Raj offers astrology, spiritual cleansing, and personalized rituals to address life’s difficulties.

Services Offered by Pandit Shiva Raj

As a trusted Palm Reader in Melbourne, Pandit Shiva Raj provides a wide array of services, including:

Detailed Palm Readings: Analyze the lines, shapes, and mounts on your palm to uncover your destiny.

Astrological Consultations: Understand how planetary influences shape your life.

Negative Energy Removal: Perform rituals to cleanse your aura and remove obstacles.

Customized Remedies: Receive mantras and spiritual guidance tailored to your challenges.

How to Book an Appointment

Booking a session with Pandit Shiva Raj is simple. He offers both in-person consultations at his Melbourne center and virtual sessions for those who prefer remote guidance. To schedule an appointment, you can reach him via phone, email, or his official website.

Experience the Best Palm Reader in Melbourne

Pandit Shiva Raj has earned his reputation as a leading Palm Reader in Melbourne by delivering transformative results for his clients. Whether you’re facing challenges in your personal life, career, or relationships, his expertise in palmistry provides the clarity and direction you need to move forward with confidence.

Your palms hold the secrets to your destiny—unlock them today with Pandit Shiva Raj. Contact him to book your session and take the first step toward a brighter and more fulfilling future.

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Best Spiritual Healing in Melbourne

Master Jai Dev is the Most Famous and Best Indian Spiritual Healing in Melbourne Australian. Astrologer Master Jai Dev is Expert in Black Magic Removal Specialist, Spiritual Healing, Voodoo Specialist, Witchcraft Cleansing, Palm Reader, Spirit Removal, Curse Removal, Vashikaran Specialist, Evil Spirit Removal, Face Reading, Ex-Back Expert, Love Back Expert, Negative energy removal, Palm Reading, Attraction Spells, Future Reading, Love Spells, Love Spell Caster, Fortune Teller, Spiritual Healer, Get your ex back, Love problem solutions, Psychic medium, Psychic Reader, Psychic Reading, Relationship Problem solutions.