#and he has me do it and he said i had it???? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cheftsunoda · 3 days ago

Note

Would you consider doing something with a quiet/ reserved reader. I love the idea of a reader who's an up and coming driver but isn't about the press or media at ALL. Like dodging cameras and running away from interviews, and maybe a boy (I don't mind who you pick) misunderstands and thinks that she's running away from them? Maybe add some drama from f1 update twt accounts escalating the situation and painting the reader in a negative light for being "rude" or "impolite".

Thx!! (Sorry for any confusion, English is not my first language but I hope you get what I mean)

miss misunderstood— op81

smau + blurbs

oscar piastri x !quiet/shy driver reader

yn has a lot of pressure on her shoulders— she is the only female driver in f1 and that leads to her consistently having to prove herself to not only her team, who took a chance on her, but the press who are constantly there hounding her. she has always been very shy and reserved— especially around people she does not know. when fans notice how she skips out on interviews and hides from big crowds, the hate pours in, especially after she is seen avoiding a conversation with the grids other most quiet individual— but he is persistent and wont give up on her.

(a/n) : such a cute idea anon! i understood you perfectly fine my love. i hope you enjoy this. i thought it would be fun to pair reader with someone who is also rather quiet and reserved.

fc : amna al qubaisi

—

f1gossipgirls

257,087 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Almost all of our favorite drivers have touched down in Barcelona for media day. Some of our first arrivals include YN LN, Charles Leclerc, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Lando Norris and George Russell.

—

view 32,057 other comments.

username0 : george not dressed properly for the weather pt 899

liked by f1gossipgirls

username10 : yn always looks like she doesn’t want to be there. why is she even in f1 if she hates to do the job??

username15 : everyone is smiling, waiving, talking to fans and press and then there is yn who immediately books it to the paddock and ignores everyone

username22 : ill say it once and i will say it again— f1 is not a silent film. she either needs to speak up and play the role or step aside. good driver or not. that job comes with more responsibilities than just driving around the track.

username5 : she gives off “im better than everyone else” energy and im sick of her.

username00 : every time i try and like her, she gives us absolutely nothing. cold and awkward isn’t a personality, babe.

↳ username9 : yet you guys eat it up when oscar does it. the double standard is insane.

liked by f1gossipgirls

username11 : its always the quiet ones y’all tear apart for not being loud enough. she’s there to drive. not entertain you.

liked by f1gossipgirls

username17 : you guys are extra hard on her because she is a female. and it is sick.

username101 : she minds her business, she’s fast, and she is unproblematic. you guys are just finding reasons to hate her. jealousy is a disease.

liked by f1gossipgirls

—

They say I’m cold. Unfriendly. Standoffish. Like I’m trying too hard to be mysterious or above it all. But they don’t know me. Not really. Because if they did, they’d know I used to be warm. I used to talk too much. Laugh too loud. Hug people without thinking twice. But that was before. Before the phone call. Before the hospital room. Before the person who knew me better than anyone else—who loved me without needing me to be anything but myself—was just… gone.

Losing a parent is something people talk about like it’s a passage. A sad inevitability. But they don’t talk about what it does to you when it’s sudden. When it’s brutal. When the last words you said were something stupid because you thought you had more time. My dad was my safe place. The only person I could fall apart around. He was the reason I started racing. The reason I believed I could do anything. And when I lost him, I didn’t just lose a person—I lost myself. I haven’t spoken about it. Not to anyone.

Not to my engineers. Not to my teammates. Not to the drivers who think I’m just “shy” or “quiet” or “moody.” Because once I say it out loud, it becomes real in a way I’m not ready for. It becomes the thing people pity me for instead of the thing I’ve survived. So I stay quiet. I keep the noise out. I protect the stillness inside me. People don’t understand it, and that’s fine. They think I’m emotionless when really, I’m overflowing and just trying not to drown. I hear what they say. The fans. The media. That I don’t engage. That I don’t give enough. But I didn’t come here to be their favorite. I came here to race. I came here to honor my father. To survive something else. To find moments of peace between the chaos and the grief that still sits like stone in my chest.

They’ll never understand why I am the way I am. Because they never saw me before. Before the silence felt safer than the world ever did. And I don’t owe them an explanation for that.

—

The air in Barcelona is thick with heat and noise—press cameras clicking, fans shouting driver names like spells, a thousand voices layered on top of each other. I keep my head down but offer a small smile, lifting my hand in a quiet wave. They cheer anyway. Some scream my name. Others don’t. Some just stare, waiting for me to trip or ignore them or give them proof I’m “as cold as they say.”

I smile again, even if it doesn’t reach my eyes. It’s not fake—it’s just not loud.

Security walks with me as I cross the paddock. My eyes flicker over the cameras stationed outside team motorhomes, the reporters already calling out names, hoping for a quote. I tighten my grip on the strap of my bag. Just a few more steps.

I keep walking. Fast, but not suspiciously fast. Just enough to dodge the press circling like hawks, waiting for a moment of weakness, a headline, a clipped quote that can be turned into whatever version of me they want to sell this week.

Finally, I step inside Red Bull. The air conditioning kisses my skin. The silence—relative silence—is heaven. I make it to my driver room, push the door shut with my shoulder, and lean against it for a second. Eyes closed. Deep breath. The chaos is muffled now, like a storm just beyond the walls. Then the door opens again without a knock.

“Nice escape,” Max says, completely unfazed. He shuts the door behind him like he owns the building. “You only almost ran over two photographers. New record?”

I huff out a laugh—quiet but real. “Felt like twenty.”

He drops into the chair across from me like he’s been doing this his whole life. Which, to be fair, he basically has.

Max studies me for a second, unreadable as always. “You look like you’re about to vomit. That your media day face?”

“Shut up,” I mutter, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth.

He shrugs. “Just saying. You do realize they can’t eat you alive on camera, right? Legally.”

“I don’t know. I think one of the Sky guys has sharp enough teeth.”

He chuckles, dry and quiet. “You’ll be fine. Say as little as possible. Give one-word answers. Scowl a little. That’s what I do.”

“You give plenty of one-word answers.”

“Exactly,” he says, proud. “It’s an art.”

He leans forward, resting his arms on his knees, face softening just slightly.

“They don’t matter, you know. The journalists. The fans who think they know you. The Twitter freaks. You’re fast. That’s what counts. That’s what wins. Let them think you’re a robot or a villain or a Bond girl or whatever mood they’re in this week.”

I nod. A slow exhale.

“Thanks, Max.”

He shrugs again. “Just don’t cry on camera. I already have a reputation for being emotionally unavailable. Don’t need yours adding to the Verstappen Cold Front.”

This time, I laugh out loud. He grins. Mission accomplished.

“Go be scary,” he says, pushing himself up. “And if you panic, just pretend they’re all standing in front of your car at turn one.”

“I’d drive through them.”

“Exactly.”

He leaves without another word, and for the first time all morning, I feel like I can breathe.

—

I answer with the same even tone I always do. I deflect, redirect, smile where I’m supposed to. I’ve trained myself not to flinch. But it still chips away at me, a little at a time. I finally escape outside, tucked behind one of the Red Bull displays near the fan zone—close enough to be seen, far enough to feel like I’m not drowning. I sip from a water bottle, hoping the air might settle in my lungs again. That’s when I see her.

A girl, maybe twelve, in a handmade cap with my number scribbled on it in glitter glue. She’s holding a small notebook and a marker, standing with her dad and hesitating like she doesn’t want to bother me. I almost keep walking. I’m tired. Overheated. Ready to shut down for the rest of the day. But something in her eyes stops me. She doesn’t look like the others—she looks like she’s trying to be brave. So I walk over.

Her eyes go wide when I stop in front of her. “Hi,” I offer, voice soft.

She blinks. Then holds out the notebook with slightly trembling hands. “Um—sorry, I just—could you sign this? I know you don’t really like talking to people a lot, but you’re my favorite. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want.”

My chest tightens. Not in a bad way—in the way it does when something hits a nerve you didn’t know was still exposed. I take the notebook and sign it carefully.

“You know,” she says, voice quiet, “I get nervous talking to people too. But I think you’re really brave. I like that you don’t try to be loud just to fit in. You make me feel like that’s okay.”

I blink fast. It’s not the kind of compliment I get. It’s not about speed or podiums or stats. It’s about me. The parts I’ve always kept hidden because the world made me feel like they were wrong. I smile—genuinely this time—and crouch a little so we’re eye level.

“Thank you,” I say softly. “That means more than you know.”

Her face lights up like I just handed her a trophy. We take a photo. I sign her hat. She hugs me before I even have time to react—but I don’t mind. Not even a little. As I walk away, I feel lighter. Like the weight pressing on my shoulders loosened just a little. Maybe I’ll always be the quiet one. The misunderstood one. But to that one girl? I was seen. And that’s enough.

—

The moment I cross the line, the radio explodes.

“P1, YN! That’s P1! You did it! You absolutely nailed that last stint—what a drive!”

I don’t say much. I can’t. My throat is tight and my hands are shaking around the wheel. The pit wall is screaming, my engineer shouting through the static. The grandstands blur into one giant roar. I slow the car down and guide it into parc fermé, P1 board waiting. The marshals are waving, cameras already turned in my direction like hungry mouths. I sit still for a beat. The engine is off, the world is loud, but in my cockpit it’s just… quiet. Then I hear it—Max’s car pulling into P2.

“Let’s go,” I murmur to myself and start the slow climb out.

But my limbs feel heavy. Every emotion I’ve buried all year starts clawing its way to the surface, and I’m suddenly not sure if I’ll make it over the halo without falling flat on my face. And then—there’s a hand. Max, already out of his car, standing beside mine like it’s the most casual thing in the world. He holds his hand out without a word. Just a look that says, Yeah, I know. Take it. I take it. He helps me out of the car, firm but unshowy. As soon as I hit the ground, I sway a little, overwhelmed—but I don’t fall.

He leans in, dry as ever. “You know you’re supposed to breathe when you win, right?”

I huff out something between a laugh and a sob. “I’ll try next time.”

Our helmets clink together briefly as we hug—quick, tight, familiar—and then he nudges me toward my team. They’re already there—Red Bull crew surrounding me, cheering, hugging, spraying water. I let myself fall into it for a moment. I smile, genuinely. I hug back. One of the engineers lifts me off the ground and spins me, and I let them. Because this is theirs, too. Ours. But just as the broadcasters and press start pushing through the sea of mechanics, I slip away—ducking behind the barrier, walking briskly toward the cooldown room before they can catch me.

I hear a few voices behind me—“YN, one word for Sky? Just a few seconds?”

I keep walking. The cooldown room is blissfully empty. Cold, quiet, white walls and a table with water and towels. I sit, press the bottle to my forehead, and finally breathe. No cameras. No questions. No pretending. Just silence. Just peace. Just… me. And for the first time in a long time, it feels like enough.

—

The water bottle sweats in my hands, condensation dripping slowly onto my race suit. I haven’t said much since sitting down, and Max hasn’t asked me to. He’s lounging across from me on the other bench, head tilted back, eyes closed like he owns the room. His suit is halfway peeled down and his hair’s a sweaty mess, but he looks… content. Neither of us are fans of the overexposed post-race routine. The lights. The forced questions. The soundbites that get twisted a dozen ways before the sun even sets. So we sit here, in the eye of the storm, letting the world knock on the door without answering.

Max finally cracks an eye open. “You going to do the interviews?”

I lean my head back against the cool wall and sigh. “Eventually. Maybe. If they don’t forget I exist by then.”

He grins slightly. “You just won. They’ll send a SWAT team if you don’t come out soon.”

Before I can answer, the door opens — fast but tentative — and in walks Camille, my press secretary. She’s breathless. Her clipboard’s half tucked under her arm, and she looks like she’s been fighting off wolves outside.

“YN,” she starts, trying for calm but clearly begging on the inside, “I hate to interrupt, but they’re getting antsy. Sky, F1TV, everyone’s lining up. They want quotes, a soundbite—anything.”

I nod slowly. I expected this. It doesn’t make it any easier.

“I’m not doing the scrum,” I say. “Not the pen. Not the mixed zone.”

Camille looks like she wants to scream into a pillow. “Okay. Fine. What will you do?”

I glance at Max, who’s watching like it’s the most entertaining episode of Drive to Survive he’s seen all year.

“One interview,” I finally say. “That’s it.”

Camille’s already flipping through her mental rolodex. “Okay. Sky? F1TV? Maybe something for social? Martin Brundle is waiting and—”

“No,” I cut her off, gently but firm. “If I do one, it’s with Lissie. No one else.”

Camille blinks. “Lissie—Lissie Mackintosh from Sky?”

I nod.

“She’s the only one who doesn’t make me feel like I’m under a microscope,” I explain. “She’s kind. And she actually listens.”

Camille softens a little. “Okay. I can work with that. But they’ll push back.”

“Let them,” I shrug. “I don’t owe them anything else today.”

She studies me for a moment, then exhales and heads out, already dialing her phone as she goes.

The door shuts again, and I fall back into the silence like it’s a blanket.

Max raises a brow. “Lissie, huh?”

“She doesn’t try to make me a headline,” I reply.

Max gives a nod of respect. “Smart. Wish we all had a Lissie.”

I glance down at my fingers, still slightly trembling from adrenaline. “I just need someone who sees me.”

“You just won a damn Grand Prix,” Max says, standing and nudging my foot with his. “They’re gonna have to see you now, whether they like it or not.”

—

yn's post race interview with lissie mackintosh- barcelona

—

third person pov

YN steps down from the small stage, fingers tugging at the collar of her suit as if she’s trying to breathe easier now that the lights are off. She’s walking fast, already focused on making it back to the safety of the garage. She doesn’t see Oscar until she turns the corner, he is halfway through his own interview with a different outlet. He’s smiling—tired, but still upbeat—and when he spots her, his expression brightens like he’s been waiting for a chance to say something. Oscar turned to YN as she passed by.

“You should really be talking to the winner, huh?”

His voice is friendly. Joking. The kind of throwaway line that’s meant to show camaraderie, not pressure. YN pauses just for a second. She offers a small, polite smile—closed-lipped and barely there. No laugh. No response. Just a nod. And then she’s gone. Quiet steps, fast retreat.

Oscar watches her disappear down the corridor, his smile faltering slightly. His interviewer says something, but he doesn’t really register it.

“…Did I say something weird?”

He turns back to the camera, eyes a little more unsure. In the back of his mind, the question settles in— Does she just not like me? But the truth is simpler. And sadder. She doesn’t dislike him. She just doesn’t have room for warmth in the places where the world watches too closely.

—

twitter!

f1gossipgirls : Race Winner, YN LN, only gave 1 two minute interview with @/skysports Lissie Mackintosh. Oscar Piastri who was P3 today, was also doing an interview when LN happened to walk by and made a joke to which YN just walked off. He then asked the interviewer if he said something wrong. Thoughts?

view 120,004 comments.

username00 : imagine winning a race and still managing to have the personality of dry toast 😭 poor oscar was just being NICE

username22 : as someone who watched the full interview with Lissie — she was genuine and soft spoken. maybe what she needs is respect, not attention.

username08 : i love Oscar but this isn’t that deep. she clearly has boundaries and isn’t fake about it. that’s kind of refreshing.

username09 : she didn’t even thank the fans today. one interview and vanishes? okay ice queen 🧊

username17 : not her making Oscar second guess himself when he was literally just being sweet? i would NEVER recover.

username20 : this is why she’s boring. no charisma, no interviews, no interaction. i said what i said. 🥱

username30 : are y’all ignoring the interaction she had with a younger fan today?? she is such a sweetie, she is just camera shy.

—

ynfromredbull

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, redbullracing and 1,7005,002 others.

ynfromredbull : good shit.

—

view 74,032 other comments.

lissiemackintosh : Honored to have been the one to share part of this day with you. Congratulations again, YN! ✨

liked by ynfromredbull

username0 : i feel like max is the only one that understands her.

maxverstappen1 : good shit indeed.

liked by ynfromredbull and redbullracing

oscarpiastri : Insane drive today, YN. 💪🏻

liked by ynfromredbull

↳ username0 : oscar is much better than me bc id be a hater rn

alexalbon : can someone pls nerf the redbull team. i am tired.

liked by maxverstappen1, ynfromredbull and redbullracing

username10 : can y'all shut up now- she is literally taking pictures with fans.

↳ username0 : wowww one time in her whole career.

carlossainz55 : such a beast. congratulations yn

liked by ynfromredbull

—

I don’t like nights like this. Too many people. Too many lights. Too many eyes that don’t know me but swear they do. I don’t stop for cameras, I don’t pose, I don’t even slow down when someone calls my name. I just head straight inside the theater like I’m late for something, even though I’m not. I keep my eyes low, find the row I asked Max to save for me, and drop into the seat beside him with a quiet exhale. He glances at me, unimpressed but amused.

“Nice entrance. Scared three PR people on the way in.”

I almost smile. “Was aiming for five.”

He snorts, and just like that, I feel a little more human. Max has always understood the value of silence. He never pushes, never demands more than I can give. We talk a little—about the ridiculousness of the event, the car updates, the championship—but mostly, we just sit. It’s enough. Until I feel a shift. I don’t even have to look up. I can sense someone walking toward us with too much hesitation, like they’ve already decided I’m going to run. When I do glance up, I’m met with wide brown eyes and a nervous smile. Oscar.

“Hey. Sorry—YN? Can I talk to you for a second?”

Max raises a brow. I pause, heart twitching in my chest for reasons I don’t fully understand, and then I nod. I follow Oscar into the hallway, the noise of the event fading behind me like static. The lighting is dimmer here. Softer. Still too bright. He turns to face me, shifting on his feet like he’s rehearsed this five times already.

“I, um—did I do something to upset you?”

My stomach drops.

“What?”

“After the race. I made that joke and you just… walked off. And I get it if you’re not a fan of me or something, I just—” He laughs nervously. “I keep thinking I said something wrong.”

I blink. I want to laugh, but I don’t. Instead, I look down, ashamed.

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong.” My voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. “It’s not you. It’s just… me.”

He looks confused. Still gentle, though. Waiting. I don’t know why, but I want to explain—just a little.

“When I was younger, I lost someone. My dad. He was… my person. The one who made the noise of the world feel a little less loud. And after it happened, I kind of… shut off. I don’t like being watched. I don’t like being asked to smile when I don’t feel like it. I just… exist better in the quiet.”

Oscar doesn’t speak for a long moment. But his expression softens in a way that makes my chest ache.

“You don’t have to explain,” he says eventually. “But thank you for trusting me.”

I nod, throat tight. Then, a flicker of guilt. “And I’m sorry for walking off like that. You didn’t deserve it.”

He smiles, shy and genuine.

“So… you don’t hate me?”

That makes me laugh. Just once, but it’s real.

“No,” I say softly. “I don’t.”

There’s a pause, and for the first time since I got here, I feel something shift in my chest. A crack of light.

He nudges me lightly with his shoulder. “Cool. Friends, then?”

I think about it. About how hard it is to let people in. About how much it scares me.

Then I nod. “Yeah. Friends.”

—

3 month time skip

ynfromredbull

liked by oscarpiastri, maxverstappen1, lando & 2,409,001 others.

ynfromredbull : as my counterpart @/maxverstappen1 would say— these last few months have been simply lovely. 🏆💪🏻

—

view 127,002 other comments.

username0 : this caption is the most personality i’ve seen from her all season.

username14 : i can’t believe she is leading the wdc rn

maxverstappen1 : id sue for copyright infringement if i wasn’t so proud

liked by ynfromredbull

oscarpiastri : very artistic post yn

liked by ynfromredbull

↳ ynfromredbull : thank you mr. piastri

liked by oscarpiastri

↳ lando : OMG SHE SPEAKS

liked by ynfromredbull

↳ lando : yn i didn’t mean that in a bad way pls don’t drive me off the track

liked by ynfromredbull

georgerussell63 : it is against fia regulations to have a teddy bear in the car. RACE BAN (she is still destroying all of us— it would not help save the season)

liked by ynfromredbull

—

f1gossipgirls

428,023 likes.

f1gossipgirls : For the first time in her F1 career, YN LN has not walked into the paddock alone. She walked in with none other than Oscar Piastri himself. Not only did she walk in with him but the two stopped for the press multiple times and stopped to talk with fans. Many people say that this is the most they’ve seen her smile in her whole career. Thoughts?

—

view 15,539 other comments.

username00 : from Oscar “did I do something wrong?” to Oscar walking her in and making her smile… the arc is so insane

username15 : f1gossipgirls is finally being NICE about her. this is how powerful love is

username17 : i haven’t seen her this relaxed since she debuted. i’d cry if i wasn’t already crying.

username22 : this is NOT a drill. she SMILED. she TALKED. she STOOD STILL for the PRESS. what is happening

username0 : So now she wants the attention? Pick a side. Either be private or don’t.

username14 : she’s literally only tolerable when she’s standing next to a man. that’s so sad lol

username20 : i’m sorry but this whole “she’s just shy” thing got old last season. f1 drivers are public figures. she knew what she signed up for.

—

It happens slowly. Like sunlight through tinted glass — warm but filtered, creeping in without permission. Oscar’s been around a lot lately. Not just in the paddock, where we’re both supposed to be, but everywhere in between. Track walks, post-race debriefs, long flights, short layovers, dinners in quiet towns we don’t name on social media. He’s become part of the background noise of my life, and for once, that doesn’t scare me.

I notice it when we’re sitting side by side in the sim room, not speaking, just existing. The silence between us feels easy now. Familiar. Like I don’t have to earn my space — I just have it. I notice it when he hands me a coffee before I’ve even asked, the way he always remembers I take it black with a splash of oat milk, no sugar. Or when he throws a hoodie at me because I always forget I get cold before FP3.

I notice it most on the plane ride. He’s asleep beside me, his head tilted toward me, headphones slipping. I’m staring at the clouds and thinking about how close I am to the title. Closer than I’ve ever been. I should be terrified. But I’m not. Because he’s here. And for some reason, that grounds me.

He mumbles something in his sleep and leans slightly toward my shoulder. I freeze. Not because I’m uncomfortable — but because I’m suddenly too comfortable. My heart stutters. It’s a dangerous thing, comfort. I’ve avoided it for years, convinced it would disappear the moment I reached for it. But Oscar—he never asked me to reach. He just stayed.

Now I’m sitting in row 8F of some transatlantic flight with a soft-voiced Aussie curled up next to me and a World Championship lead in my lap — and all I can think is... God, I might actually be in love with him. And that’s scarier than any press conference I’ve ever dodged.

—

I could already feel the heat of the Monaco sun pressing down as we stepped out of the car. The walk to the paddock always felt long, even when it wasn’t. My palms were tucked into my jacket pockets, nerves dancing beneath my skin like they always did. But this time, I wasn’t alone.

Oscar walked beside me, chatting softly about absolutely nothing — the weather, the coffee at the hotel, the chaos of the Monte Carlo grid. I appreciated it. His voice was grounding. I didn’t have to say anything, and he didn’t expect me to.

I kept my eyes low, used to the flashes of phones and the buzz of people trying to get my attention. Normally, I’d keep walking. Fast. Direct. No room for error. But then I heard it.

“YN!”

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t aggressive. Just… hopeful. I slowed down without thinking. Oscar noticed instantly and stilled beside me.

“You good?” he asked quietly.

I nodded. “Yeah. Just… give me a sec.”

I turned toward the barricade. A young fan was holding a poster of my car from Australia. I’d won that race. My name was scrawled across the sidepod in sharp lettering — a moment frozen in time I’d barely let myself process. I took the marker from their hand, signed it quickly but neatly.

“Thank you for today,” the fan said, eyes wide. “You’re… amazing. You’ve always been amazing.”

The words hit me somewhere in the chest I didn’t know was sore.

“…Thanks,” I said, almost too quietly. Then louder: “Thanks for saying that.”

They smiled like I’d handed them gold. I took one photo — just one. And then I stepped back beside Oscar, who gave me a subtle smile. Not too proud. Not too over-the-top. Just there. Solid. Steady. We weren’t even halfway through the paddock before a Sky Sports reporter called out.

“YN! Oscar! Over here?”

I froze.

Oscar looked at me. “Wanna skip it?”

I shook my head. “Just one.”

We walked over together. I didn’t say much — I never do — but I stood there. Present. Listening. And when they asked how I was feeling going into the weekend, the words came before I could edit them.

“Focused,” I said. Then, after a breath: “And a little less alone today.”

Oscar glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. There was a flicker of something soft there, something understanding. It felt… safe. When we finally reached the Red Bull garage, I exhaled for what felt like the first time in twenty minutes. I peeled off my jacket, tugged at the brim of my cap, and tried to disappear through the back. But Max was already leaning on the pit wall, headset half-on, watching me with that unreadable Verstappen face.

“You smiled,” he said, completely monotone. “Terrifying.”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t start.”

He smirked just slightly. “I’m just saying… if you become media friendly, I’m going to have to be the difficult one now.”

“You already are,” I deadpanned.

Max laughed under his breath and tossed me a bottle of water. “You did good, LN.”

And for once, I let myself believe it.

—

The world was quiet around us. The kind of hush that only existed in moments like this — between heartbeats, between stares. Monaco’s lights flickered just beyond the windows, gold threads pulling through navy silk. I could hear the sea in the distance. Oscar lay beside me, legs stretched across my duvet like he belonged here. He wasn’t touching me, not yet, but he was close enough that I could feel every inch of space between us — and it made my chest ache.

“You’re quieter than usual,” he said softly, barely above a whisper.

I turned my head toward him. “That’s saying something.”

He smiled, tired and tender. “Fair. Still true.”

I didn’t answer. Because truthfully, I was scared. This was all new. The closeness. The comfort. The way he looked at me like I wasn’t hard to figure out. Then he said it — no fanfare, no buildup, just a simple truth.

“I think I’m falling for you.”

It should’ve terrified me. But it didn’t. Not really. It cracked something open.

I stared at him, eyes burning, heart folding in on itself. “I think I already have,” I breathed, voice barely there.

The silence that followed was thick — not heavy, not awkward. Just real. He reached over, his fingers grazing mine so gently it made my skin buzz. It wasn’t a grab. It was an invitation. And for once in my life, I accepted. I laced my fingers through his and sat up, pulling open the drawer next to my bed. There was only one thing inside — an envelope. Worn at the edges, the flap taped down three times because I’d opened and closed it more than I should have. I handed it to him. His brows furrowed as he opened it slowly. The photo slipped into his hand.

Me, at six. All tiny teeth and wild hair, grinning up like the sun had never set. Standing next to a man in a racing suit. His hand was on my shoulder. The same eyes. The same smirk. My father. Oscar looked between the photo and me, and I saw the shift happen in real time — confusion to understanding to quiet reverence.

“That’s… is that who I think it is?” His voice cracked just slightly.

I nodded, swallowing hard. “My dad.”

I didn’t say his name. I didn’t need to.

“He died when I was eight. It was… it was violent. Sudden. One second he was there, and then he wasn’t. He was my safest place. My everything. After that, I… broke. I stopped talking for months. And when I started again, it was never the same.”

He didn’t move. Just stared at me like I was something delicate, like if he breathed too loudly I might fold in on myself.

“I never told anyone,” I continued, voice barely holding. “I didn’t want pity. I didn’t want to be treated like some ghost of his shadow. I wanted to be me. Just me.”

Oscar’s fingers tightened around mine — not too much, just enough to remind me I wasn’t alone anymore.

“You are,” he whispered. “You’re everything.”

I looked at him then, and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel like hiding.

“I think he’d like you,” I said, smiling through the burn in my throat.

Oscar leaned in, resting his forehead against mine, and whispered back, “I like you more than I should.”

And in the soft glow of the Monaco skyline, wrapped in the quiet I used to fear, I finally let myself feel it all. Love. Safety. Peace. Him.

—

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, ynfromredbull & 8,029,003 others.

f1 : Your 2025 World Champion, YN LN! Incredible drive this season, YN. This is well deserved.

tagged : ynfromredbull

—

view 239,492 other comments.

username00 : MY QUEEN! CONGRATULATIONS YN.

username15 : gonna be insufferable about this for the next 40 years ok????

susie_wolff : YN has made history. I am forever proud of her.

liked by ynfromredbull and f1

username30 : people doubted her, the press dragged her, and she STILL smoked them all. cold-blooded. we love a quiet assassin 💅

lissiemackintosh : I’ve seen your journey up close. You are everything this sport needs. Congratulations, champion. 💫

liked by ynfromredbull

oscarpiastri : No one more worthy. What a season, YN. 🏆🤍

liked by ynfromredbull

lando : MY GOATTTTTT LFGGGG

liked by ynfromredbull

lewishamilton : It’s been inspiring watching you come into your own. World Champion sounds good on you. 🔥

liked by ynfromredbull

maxverstappen1 : Couldn’t be more proud. YN deserved this more than anyone.

liked by ynfromredbull

—

ynfromredbull

liked by maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, lando and 12,037,024 others.

ynfromredbull : this is what it is all about. thank you all. it is an honor to be your 2025 world champ. i hope you grow to love me as much as i love all of you.

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

We were far from everything — the noise, the cameras, the endless headlines. Just a small coastal town somewhere in Portugal, sun-drunk and slow, the kind of place where people didn’t care about championship points or last names. Oscar and I had spent the day walking through sleepy markets, eating too much gelato, and laughing at nothing. Now, the two of us lay tangled together on the bed in the little apartment we rented, the linen sheets kicked down to our ankles and the windows cracked open to let in the salt-kissed night air. His hand rested on my stomach, thumb drawing slow circles over the hem of my shirt. The world outside our window was quiet, but my mind wasn’t. Not tonight.

“I want to do it,” I said into the stillness.

He turned his head, his voice a low murmur against my temple. “Do what?”

I hesitated, even though I already knew he’d understand. He always did.

“The interview. I want to finally say it. Talk about… him. All of it.”

Oscar sat up slightly, enough to look at me properly. “You’re sure?”

I nodded, throat tight. “It’s time. I’ve hidden behind the silence for so long. And I don’t want to anymore.”

He searched my eyes, then gently tucked a piece of hair behind my ear. “You don’t owe anyone your pain, you know. You don’t have to justify who you are.”

“I know,” I whispered. “But I want to tell the story. My story. People have made it for me for so long — all the gossip, the assumptions. I’ve let them believe I’m cold or arrogant or just awkward. But the truth is…” I swallowed. “The truth is, I’m just someone who lost the one person that made the world feel safe.”

Oscar’s hand found mine under the sheets, his fingers warm and steady.

“I think he’d be proud of you,” he said softly. “For everything. For surviving. For being brave enough to do this now.”

I blinked hard, staring up at the ceiling to stop the tears from spilling.

“I miss him so much, still. Every day. Sometimes I think that little girl in the paddock died with him — the one who used to talk to everyone, who smiled without thinking about it.”

He pulled me into his chest, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. “That girl’s still in there. I see her every time you light up after a race. Every time you laugh when you think no one’s listening. You’re still her. Just… grown, and stronger.”

I breathed him in — the cologne I’d come to associate with safety and something close to peace.

“Will you be there? When I do it?” I asked quietly. “When I finally say his name?”

“Every step,” he said without hesitation. “Always.”

And in that moment, with his arms around me and the stars blinking somewhere above the rooftops, I knew I wasn’t alone anymore.

Not in the silence. Not in the truth. Not ever again.

—

‘hey lissie— its yn. i want to do an exclusive interview with you. if you’re willing.’

’omg hey champ— obviously id be willing to. where do you need me?’

’my house. next week? i can send a plane your way.’

’ill be there. i am honored, yn. truly.’.

—

world champion, yn, sharing her truths from her home in monaco with lissie mackintosh - 1/2/2026

—

ynsenna

liked by maxverstappen1, redbullracing, oscarpiastri & 17,023,004 others.

ynsenna : i’ve spent most of my life trying to be quiet enough not to be noticed. not because i didn’t have anything to say—but because grief took the words from me before i ever had the chance to speak.

this season changed my life. not just because of the results, but because i finally stopped running from the part of me that hurt the most. my father was everything to me. and losing him the way i did shattered something i didn’t know how to rebuild—until recently. the truth is- i’m proud to be his daughter. but i’m also proud of the woman i’ve become, entirely on my own.

to those who’ve seen me when i couldn’t see myself—thank you. to the ones who stayed kind even when i stayed quiet—you mean more than you know.

and to the person who reminded me i’m allowed to be loved, messy and whole—i love you.

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

twitter!

f1gossipgirl : YN just did an interview from her home with Lissie Mackintosh going into detail about her childhood and revealed that Ayrton Senna is in fact her father. She spoke about how her father’s tragic death left her emotionally shut her down for most of her life— and she chose silence as form of self protection. She led Lissie through a room in her house which held a large collection of her father’s helmets and trophy’s and she shared a few photos of them on her instagram today— which her new instagram handle is @/ynsenna. She also revealed in this interview that she is indeed dating Oscar Piastri. Oscar was behind the camera silently supporting her during the interview. Thoughts?

—

view 802,482 comments.

username0 : i’m crying real tears. she carried the weight of that legacy in complete silence. absolute warrior.

username14 : Oscar being behind the camera and just silently supporting her???? marriage. immediately.

username20 : now it all makes sense. the silence, the eyes that always looked a little sad. she’s been carrying so much. proud doesn’t even begin to cover it.

username15 : she didn’t win the championship for the world. she won it for her dad and for the little girl who lost her dad. i’m not okay.

username17 : everything about this interview was raw and honest. we don’t deserve her but god do we respect her.

username30 : the fact she said nothing for years and let people think the worst of her, just to protect herself?? she’s not cold. she’s human. and she deserves peace.

—

oscarpiastri

liked by ynsenna, maxverstappen1, lando & 10,273,005 others.

oscarpiastri : proud to know you. proud to love you. you are the strongest human i know. you made him proud, sweetheart.

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

The interview with Lissie had gone live less than twelve hours ago. I’d barely blinked since then. I was curled up on my couch, hoodie three sizes too big, hair in a bun, face completely bare. Oscar sat on the floor in front of the coffee table, his back leaning against the couch between my legs. I absentmindedly ran my fingers through his hair while he scrolled through TikTok with the volume low. My phone buzzed every five seconds on the table, but I ignored it. Oscar didn’t ask questions. He just stayed. And he was quiet in that way that felt like peace.

The soft hum of city traffic below filled the silence until—

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Someone was knocking on my door like it owed them money. Oscar and I both jolted.

“Are you expecting someone?” he asked, twisting to look at me.

“No—wait. Shhh. Listen.”

BANG BANG BANG.

Then—“YN! OPEN UP! YOU OWE US A DAMN EXPLANATION!”

That voice. That unhinged tone.

“Oh my god,” I whispered. “Is that—Max?”

Oscar looked up at me. “Should I get the bat?”

I was still laughing as I padded to the door, the sound of voices growing louder.

“Carlos, stop pressing the buzzer, it’s annoying.”

“She’s probably ignoring us—”

“She probably moved to Brazil, bro.”

“Shut up, George.”

“YN, IF YOU DON’T OPEN THIS DOOR I’M GETTING THE SPARE FROM CHRISTIAN!”

I opened the door. And immediately got hit with a wave of chaos. Max was at the front like the ringleader. Behind him stood Charles, Lando, Carlos, Pierre, Yuki, Lewis, George, and Alex, all staring at me like I’d just casually announced I was royalty.

“Hi,” I said blandly.

“‘Hi’?! That’s all we get?” George sputtered.

Max shouldered his way in first, eyes wide. “You—YOU—” He pointed at me. “Are Senna’s daughter and you didn’t tell anyone?!”

“I told Oscar,” I mumbled, leaning against the door frame.

“Yeah, okay, Oscar gets a free pass,” Lando said dramatically, waving a hand as he walked in. “Since he is the boyfriend.”

“I can’t believe you’re his,” Pierre said, mouth open as he stared around the apartment.

Yuki beelined for my kitchen. “Do you have snacks?”

Carlos gave me a look that was half stern, half soft. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

Lewis stepped forward, eyes kind. “You didn’t have to. But… damn. That was powerful, YN.”

“Yeah,” Charles agreed, nodding slowly. “I cried, but that might’ve been the wine.”

The room was buzzing. Full of movement, questions, half-jokes, too much cologne, and disbelief so thick I could feel it crackling in the air like electricity. And yet, through it all, I just… Chuckled. I mean — this was my life now? Eight world-class athletes pacing my apartment like it was a race strategy debrief while Oscar, my boyfriend, my soulmate, looked like he wanted to protect me from the emotional onslaught with nothing but a throw pillow.

Max stared at me. “What’s funny?”

I smiled — wide and honest. “You guys are all losing your minds in my living room. Like I’m a unicorn or something.”

George raised a finger. “To be fair, you are. We just didn’t know it.”

Lando turned toward Oscar. “You knew. You absolute sneaky bastard.”

Oscar held up his hands, all innocence. “She told me. I didn’t say anything. Not even in the group chat.”

“I’m so proud of you, and also I hate you,” Pierre muttered, clapping Oscar’s shoulder.

And then — without warning — Max said, “Alright, that’s it. Everyone shut up.”

I blinked. “What—”

He lunged. Then Lando. Then Charles. Then George. Before I could even think to protest, I was being dragged into a ridiculous, suffocating, all-limbs, too-many-colognes, full team group hug. My face was squished between Max’s shoulder and Pierre’s head. Oscar laughed and wrapped his arms around all of us from the outside.

Someone yelled, “We’re proud of you!”

Someone else yelled, “She’s a Senna but she’s our YN!”

And I think it was Alex who shouted, “WE LOVE YOU, WORLD CHAMP!”

I couldn’t breathe. Not from the pressure of the hug — from the feeling of it all. Acceptance. Support. Love. After years of walls, of silence, of solitude, it all rushed in like the wave I didn’t know I’d been bracing for. And I let myself sink into it. Maybe, just maybe, I didn’t have to carry the legacy alone anymore.

—

1K notes · View notes

moonlightwritingf1 · 2 days ago

Text

Breaking Point | LN4

ꕤ* summary ━━━━━━━ Y/N’s Friday night goes from frustrating to electrifying when her car dies in a downpour and she has to swallow her pride and call Lando Norris—the one guy she can’t stand—to come to her rescue. He shows up soaked and irritated, but quickly becomes her savior. Trapped together in the warmth of his car, all their old arguments and jealous glances melt into a raw, unexpected confession of desire.

ꕤ* pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

ꕤ* word count ━━━━━━━ 6.3k

ꕤ* warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content, enemies to lovers, creampie, fingering, rough sex?, aftercare, use of 'baby', multiple orgasms

The rain hammered against Y/N's windshield as her car sputtered to a pathetic stop on the desolate stretch of highway just outside the city. Of course. Of fucking course this would happen tonight.

She slammed her palm against the steering wheel, cursing under her breath as she scrolled through her contacts. Everyone she called went straight to voicemail—probably out enjoying their Friday nights like normal people who didn't have cars that betrayed them at the worst possible moments.

Her thumb hovered over his name. Lando Norris. The last person on earth she wanted to call. The mere thought of his smug face made her blood boil.

But as another car zoomed past, spraying water across her already-fogged windows, she had no choice. She pressed call, each ring feeling like a personal defeat.

"Well, well," his voice drawled through the speaker, already dripping with that infuriating smugness. "Y/N calling me on a Friday night? Did hell freeze over, or are you finally admitting you can't resist me?"

"My car broke down," she bit out through clenched teeth. "I need—" The words physically hurt to say. "I need your help."

The silence on the other end stretched just long enough to make her want to hang up.

"Where are you?" His voice had shifted, losing some of its teasing edge.

"Highway outside the city. Mile marker 47."

"Don't move." The line went dead.

Thirty minutes later, headlights cut through the rain, and his McLaren pulled up behind her car. Y/N watched in the rearview mirror as he emerged, not even bothering with an umbrella. The rain immediately plastered his white shirt to his chest, outlining every muscle as he jogged toward her car.

She rolled down her window a fraction. "Took you long enough."

"You're welcome for coming to rescue your ungrateful ass," he shot back, rain dripping from his dark curls. "Pop the hood."

"I already tried—"

"Just do it, Y/N. Unless you'd prefer to sit here all night arguing in the rain."

She yanked the hood release with more force than necessary. Through the windshield, she watched him work, trying not to notice how his soaked shirt clung to his shoulders, how his jaw clenched in concentration. She hated him. Hated how he always looked so effortlessly good, even drenched and annoyed.

After a few minutes, he appeared at her window again. "Battery's completely dead. You're not going anywhere tonight."

"Fantastic," she muttered.

"Get in my car. I'll drive you home."

"I'd rather walk."

His eyes flashed dangerously. "It's fifteen miles to the city in a downpour. Stop being so fucking stubborn and get in the car, Y/N."

The way he said her name—low and commanding—sent an unwanted shiver down her spine. She grabbed her bag and stepped out into the rain, immediately regretting not taking his earlier offer of waiting in his car.

The rain soaked through her dress in seconds, the thin fabric clinging to every curve. She caught Lando's eyes tracking down her body before he quickly looked away, his jaw tightening. They tumbled into Lando’s car, slamming the door shut against the downpour. Once inside, he glanced over his shoulder, reached back, and pulled a jacket from the back seat.

“Here,” he said, holding it out to her.

“I don’t want—”

“Take the damn jacket before you freeze to death and I have to explain to everyone why I left you hypothermic on the side of the road.”

She snatched it from him, their fingers brushing. The contact sent electricity shooting up her arm, and from the way his breath hitched, he felt it too.

The interior of his car was warm and smelled like his cologne—something expensive and masculine that made her stomach flip traitorously. They drove in tense silence for several minutes, the only sound the rain pelting the windshield and the swoosh of the wipers.

"Why do you hate me so much?" he asked suddenly, his knuckles white on the steering wheel.

"I don't hate you," she replied automatically.

He let out a harsh laugh. "Could've fooled me. Every time we're in the same room, you look at me like you want to strangle me."

"That's because you're insufferable," she snapped. "You walk around like you own the world, with that stupid smirk and your stupid perfect hair and—"

"My stupid perfect hair?" He glanced at her, one eyebrow raised. "That's what bothers you?"

Heat flooded her cheeks. "That's not—you know what I mean."

"No, I really don't." His voice dropped lower, rougher. "Explain it to me, Y/N. What is it about me that gets under your skin so badly?"

Everything, she wanted to scream. The way you look at me. The way you make me feel completely out of control. The way I think about you when I shouldn't.

"You really want to do this now?" she deflected.

"Yeah, I do." He suddenly pulled over to the side of the road, throwing the car in park and turning to face her fully. "I'm sick of this dance we do. The fighting, the tension, the way you can barely stand to be in the same room as me."

"Lando—"

"Do you know what it's like?" he interrupted, his eyes blazing. "To want someone who looks at you like you're dirt beneath their shoe? To spend every interaction wondering what you did wrong, why you're not good enough?"

The raw honesty in his voice stole her breath. "That's not—I don't think you're not good enough."

"Then what is it?" He leaned closer, close enough that she could see the rain droplets still clinging to his eyelashes. "Because I'm going insane trying to figure you out."

"Maybe that's the point," she whispered, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Maybe I don't want you to figure me out."

"Why?" His hand came up to cup her jaw, his thumb brushing over her cheek. "What are you so afraid of?"

This. She was afraid of this—the way her body betrayed her the moment he touched her, the way every cell screamed to close the distance between them.

"I'm not afraid," she lied.

His thumb traced her bottom lip, and her breath caught. "Liar."

The air between them crackled with electricity. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, could see his chest rising and falling rapidly. His eyes dropped to her mouth, and she unconsciously licked her lips.

"Fuck," he breathed, and then his mouth was on hers.

The kiss was nothing like she'd imagined—and she had imagined it, late at night when her defenses were down. It was fierce, almost angry, years of frustration and want poured into the clash of lips and teeth and tongue. His hand tangled in her wet hair, pulling her closer, and she moaned into his mouth.

That small sound seemed to snap something in him. He hauled her over the center console and into his lap, her dress riding up her thighs as she straddled him. His hands were everywhere—her hair, her waist, her hips—like he couldn't decide where to touch first.

"Is this what you wanted?" he growled against her mouth, his hands sliding up her bare thighs. "To drive me absolutely fucking insane?"

"Yes," she gasped, grinding down against him and feeling him hard beneath her. "God, yes."

He groaned, capturing her mouth again, his kiss brutal and demanding. She gave as good as she got, biting his bottom lip and swallowing his resulting hiss. His hands found the zipper of her dress, but he paused, pulling back to look at her.

"Tell me to stop," he said, his voice wrecked. "Tell me this is a mistake."

She should. This was Lando—the man who infuriated her more than anyone else on the planet. But he was also the man looking at her like she was everything he'd ever wanted, his hands trembling slightly where they rested on her skin.

"Don't stop," she whispered.

His control shattered. The zipper came down, and he pushed the wet fabric off her shoulders, his mouth following the path of exposed skin. She arched into him, her hands fisting in his hair as he found that spot where her neck met her shoulder that made her see stars.

"Fuck, Y/N," he groaned against her skin. "Do you know how long I've wanted this? How many times I've thought about you like this?"

"Show me," she challenged, rolling her hips against him.

The windows were completely fogged now, creating their own private world as the storm raged outside. Every touch felt electric, every kiss more desperate than the last. When his hands found the clasp of her bra, she helped him remove it, too far gone to care about anything but the feeling of his hands on her.

"You're perfect," he breathed, his touch reverent even as his eyes burned with hunger. "So fucking perfect it makes me crazy."

She kissed him to shut him up, but also because she needed his mouth on hers like she needed air. Everything about this was intense, overwhelming, like a dam had finally burst after holding back a flood.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, reality started to creep back in. She was half-naked in Lando's lap, in his car, on the side of the road. This was insane.

"We should—" she started.

"Yeah," he agreed, but neither of them moved. His hands stayed on her waist, his thumbs tracing small circles on her skin.

"This doesn't change anything," she said weakly.

He laughed, the sound dark and knowing. "This changes everything, and you know it."

She did know it. There was no going back from this, no pretending the explosive chemistry between them didn't exist.

"Take me home," she whispered.

"Yours or mine?"

The question hung in the air between them, loaded with promise and possibility.

"Yours," she decided, consequences be damned.

His eyes darkened. "You sure?"

Instead of answering, she kissed him again, pouring all her certainty into the contact. When she pulled back, his pupils were blown wide.

"Drive," she commanded, climbing back into her seat and attempting to fix her dress with shaking hands.

He drove faster than was probably safe given the weather, one hand on the wheel and the other tangled with hers across the console. The silence wasn't awkward now—it was charged, full of anticipation.

When they finally pulled into his garage, he was around to her side before she could even unbuckle, pulling her out and pressing her against the car.

"Last chance," he murmured against her lips. "Tell me to take you home. Tell me this was just adrenaline, or the rain, or temporary insanity."

"Lando," she said, framing his face with her hands. "Shut up and take me inside."

He grinned—not his usual smirk, but something genuine and almost boyish. "Yes ma'am."

As he led her inside, her hand in his, Y/N realized the truth she'd been fighting for so long. She didn't hate Lando Norris.

She was completely, utterly, irrevocably falling for him.

And judging by the way he looked at her—like she'd hung the moon and stars—he was falling just as hard.

The storm outside had nothing on the one they'd created between them. And for once, Y/N didn't want to run from it.

She wanted to dance in the rain.

The elevator ride to Lando's apartment stretched like an eternity compressed into seconds. Y/N stood beside him, hyperaware of every breath, every slight movement, the space between them crackling with unspoken promises. Her dress still clung damply to her skin, his jacket draped over her shoulders like armor she no longer needed.

Neither spoke. Words had become obsolete, replaced by something more primal, more honest—a language written in glances and trembling hands, in the way he kept looking at her like she might disappear if he blinked.

The elevator doors opened with a soft chime that seemed to echo through her bones. Lando's hand found hers, his touch both question and answer, and she let him lead her down the hallway to his door. His fingers fumbled with the keys, a vulnerability in that simple struggle that made her heart clench.

"I can't get the—" he started, frustration coloring his voice.

She took his face in her hands, turning him to look at her. "Breathe."

He did, his eyes closing for a moment, and when they opened again, the raw need in them stole her breath. The lock clicked open.

The apartment was dark, illuminated only by the city lights streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. The storm continued its assault outside, rain painting abstract patterns on the glass, but inside, a different kind of tempest was building.

"Y/N," he said her name like a prayer, like a question, like an answer to something he'd been asking his whole life.

She stepped into him, her hands sliding up his chest, feeling his heartbeat thundering beneath her palms. "I know," she whispered. "I know."

Their mouths met with the inevitability of tides meeting shore—not gentle, but necessary, fundamental. His hands tangled in her still-damp hair, angling her head to deepen the kiss, and she melted into him, years of resistance crumbling like sandcastles before a wave.

They moved together, a dance neither had choreographed but both knew by heart, until her back met the wall. His hands braced on either side of her head, caging her in, but she'd never felt less trapped. This was where she wanted to be—had always wanted to be, if she was honest.

"Do you know," he murmured against her neck, his breath hot against her skin, "how many times I've imagined this? Imagined you here?"

She arched into him, her nails scraping lightly down his back through his wet shirt. "Tell me."

He pulled back to look at her, his eyes dark with something that went deeper than desire. "Every night. Every time you looked at me with fire in your eyes. Every time you walked away and I wanted to follow."

The confession hung between them, heavy with truth. She saw herself reflected in his eyes—not the careful construction she showed the world, but something raw and real and utterly exposed.

"I hated how much I wanted you," she admitted, the words scraping her throat. "Hated how you could look at me and make me forget why I was supposed to keep my distance."

"Why did you?" His thumb traced her jawline with devastating gentleness. "Keep your distance?"

"Because this," she gestured between them, "this terrifies me. You terrify me."

"Why?"

"Because you see me." The words came out broken, honest. "Really see me. And I don't know what to do with that."

He kissed her again, softer this time, like he was trying to tell her something words couldn't capture. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers.

"I see you," he confirmed. "The real you. The one who's brilliant and stubborn and passionate. The one who fights me because it's easier than admitting we're the same."

"We're not the same," she protested weakly.

"No?" His hand slid down to where her pulse hammered in her throat. "Then why does your heart race when I touch you? Why do you look at me like I'm both your salvation and your damnation?"

She couldn't answer, because he was right. They were two sides of the same coin, two storms destined to collide.

"I'm tired of pretending," he said, his voice rough with emotion. "Tired of acting like I don't think about you every moment. Tired of this dance we do."

"Then stop," she challenged, her hands fisting in his shirt. "Stop pretending."

Something shifted in his expression, a wall finally crumbling, and suddenly they were moving again. He lifted her easily, her legs wrapping around his waist as he carried her deeper into the apartment. She expected him to head for what she assumed was his bedroom, but instead, he stopped at the sofa, setting her down gently.

"I need to see you," he said, his hands framing her face. "In the light. Need to know this is real."

The city lights painted them in silver and shadow, the storm outside providing a percussion to their heavy breathing. She reached for the hem of his soaked shirt, helping him pull it over his head, her hands mapping the planes of his chest like she was trying to memorize him by touch.

"It's real," she assured him, pressing a kiss to the hollow of his throat. "We're real."

He shuddered beneath her touch, his hands tangling in her hair again. "Say it again."

"We're real," she repeated, punctuating each word with a kiss. "This is real. I'm here."

"Finally," he breathed, the word holding years of longing.

He sat down on the sofa and pulled her onto his lap, the cushions creaking beneath their weight as his mouth crashed into hers with a hunger that left her breathless.His lips were soft yet demanding, and she couldn’t help but moan into the kiss, her hands tangling in his messy curls. The kiss was wet, messy, and fucking perfect, their tongues sliding together in a rhythm that felt like they were trying to consume each other. His hands immediately found her waist, gripping her like he couldn’t believe she was real, like he needed to anchor himself to her.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he growled against her mouth, his voice rough with lust. “You’ve been driving me fucking crazy. You know that, don’t you?” His hands slid up her body, fingers skimming the sides of her breasts before he palmed them through her dress and lace bra, and she arched into his touch with a gasp. Her nipples were already hard, aching for his attention, and he didn’t waste any time. He pinched them through the fabric, making her cry out, her hips bucking up against him.

Lando pulled back just enough to unzip her dress and take it off in one smooth move, his eyes darkening as he took in the sight of her tits. They were fucking perfect—full and round, spilling out of her black lace bra like they were begging for his touch. His hands came up to cup them, squeezing gently before his thumbs brushed over her nipples, and she whimpered, her back arching off the sofa.

“These are fucking incredible,” he muttered, his voice low and gravelly. “I’ve been staring at them all this time, all these years, imagining how they’d feel in my hands. And fuck, Y/N, they’re even better than I dreamed.” He leaned down, capturing one nipple in his mouth through the lace, sucking hard as his hands kneaded the soft flesh. She gasped, her hands fisting in his hair as he gave her other nipple the same treatment, his teeth grazing the peak through the fabric. It was almost too much, the sensation so intense it felt like he was sucking directly on her clit.

He pulled the cups of her bra down, and her tits spilled out, her nipples already hard and begging for his mouth. He didn’t disappoint, his lips wrapping around one nipple again while his fingers pinched and rolled the other. She cried out, her hips grinding against his thigh, her hands clutching at his shoulders. He sucked harder, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud, and she felt like she was on fire, every nerve in her body alight with need.

“Lando, please,” she begged, her voice trembling. “I need you. I need you inside me.” He pulled back just enough to look up at her, his eyes full of promise.

“Not yet, baby,” he murmured, his hands still kneading her tits. “I’m not done with these yet.” He leaned down again, this time taking both nipples between his fingers and rolling them roughly, making her cry out. His mouth moved to her neck, sucking and biting as he continued to torture her tits, and she could feel her pussy getting wetter with every touch.

“Lando, please,” she whimpered, her hips moving frantically. “I need you to fuck me. I need you to fill me up.” He groaned, his hands moving to her hips as he pulled her closer, his cock hard and pressing against her thigh.

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re so fucking wet,” he growled, his fingers slipping under the waistband of her panties. He found her clit, rubbing it in fast, tight circles, and she cried out, her hips bucking against his hand. “You want me to fill you up, baby? You want me to give you my fucking cream?” His voice was rough, almost guttural, and it sent shivers down her spine.

“Yes, please, Lando,” she begged, her voice breaking, each word trembling with need. “I need it. I need it so bad.” His response was a low, guttural groan, one that sent shivers down her spine. His fingers slid inside her, slow and deliberate, as if he wanted to savor every inch of her tight, wet heat. When he crooked them against her g-spot, she gasped, her back arching as pleasure shot through her like a live wire. “Oh god, Lando,” she cried out, her hands gripping his shoulders so hard she might’ve left marks. Her pussy clenched around his fingers, the sensation so intense it felt like she was being pulled apart and put back together all at once.

He didn’t stop, didn’t give her a moment to catch her breath. Instead, he fucked her through her climax, his fingers moving in and out of her with a rhythm that had her crying out his name over and over. She could feel herself unraveling, her body trembling with aftershocks as he pushed her higher, driving her toward another peak before she’d even come down from the first. “That’s it, baby,” he murmured against her neck, his voice rough and full of admiration. “Let go for me. Let me feel how much you need this.” His words, so filthy and tender at the same time, made her whimper, her hips bucking against his hand as if begging for more.

Her hands tangled in his hair, tugging him closer as she gasped for air, her body completely overwhelmed by the sensations he was wringing from her. His lips found hers, and the kiss was wild, desperate, his tongue sliding against hers as he continued to fuck her with his fingers. He swallowed every sound she made, his free hand gripping her hip so tightly she knew she’d bruise, and the thought of his marks on her skin only made her wetter.

“You’re so fucking perfect, Y/N,” he growled against her mouth, his voice ragged with need. “The way you’re clenching around my fingers—fuck, I can’t wait to feel you around my cock.” His words sent a fresh wave of heat through her, her pussy tightening around his fingers as her orgasm built again, faster this time, more intense. “Please,” she whimpered, her voice breaking as she clung to him. “Please, Lando, don’t stop. Make me come again. I need it. I need you.”

He didn’t disappoint, his fingers moving faster now, harder, his thumb brushing against her clit as he fucked her relentlessly. She could feel her orgasm building, a coiled tension in her belly that threatened to snap. “That’s it, baby,” he murmured, his voice low and full of promise. “Come for me. Let me see how much you need this.” And then she was there, her body convulsing as she came with a scream, her pussy clenching around his fingers like a vice. He didn’t stop, didn’t let her catch her breath, just kept pushing her higher, until she was gasping for air, her body trembling with the force of her release.

He pulled his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean, his eyes never leaving hers. “You taste so fucking good, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low and full of desire.

“But I’m not done with you yet.” He stood up, pulling her with him, and she felt his cock press against her stomach, hard and thick and ready. “I’m going to fuck you so hard, baby. I’m going to fill you up until you’re dripping with my cum.”

She whimpered, her hands gripping his shoulders as he pushed her panties down and kicked them aside. He spun her around, bending her over the back of the sofa, and she felt his cock press against her entrance, the tip already slick with her wetness.

“Please, Lando,” she begged, her voice trembling. “Please fuck me. I need you so bad.” He groaned, his hands gripping her hips as he pushed inside her, inch by agonizing inch, until he was buried to the hilt. She cried out, her nails digging into the sofa as he bottomed out, the stretch almost too much.

“Fuck, Y/N, you’re so fucking tight,” he growled, his hands tightening on her hips as he started to move, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. She gasped, her pussy clenching around him as he set a brutal pace, his cock hitting her g-spot with every thrust.

“Oh god, Lando,” she moaned, her head falling forward as he fucked her harder, faster, his cock filling her up so perfectly she thought she might come again just from the feel of him inside her.

“You feel so fucking good. Please don’t stop. Please don’t ever stop.” He groaned, his hands moving to her tits, squeezing and kneading them as he fucked her, his hips slamming against her ass with a force that made her see stars.

“You’re so fucking perfect, Y/N,” he growled, his voice rough with need. “You take my cock so fucking good. I’m going to fill you up, baby. I’m going to give you every fucking drop.” His words sent a thrill through her, her pussy clenching around him as she felt her third orgasm building.

“Please, Lando, I’m so close,” she whimpered, her voice breaking as her hands gripped the back of the sofa, her knuckles turning white. His cock slammed into her relentlessly, hitting that perfect spot inside her with every thrust, making her see stars. Her pussy clenched around him, so tight it was almost unbearable, and she could feel her orgasm building, coiling in her belly like a spring ready to snap.

“I need you to fill me up,” she begged, her voice trembling with desperation. “I need to feel you come inside me.”

His response was a low growl, his hips driving into her with even more force, his hands gripping her hips so tightly she knew there’d be marks. “Fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, his voice rough and full of need. “You’re so fucking tight. I can feel you milking my cock already, baby. You want my cum that bad?” His words were filthy, so raw they sent shivers down her spine, and she whimpered, her pussy clenching around him as if to answer.

“Yes, yes, Lando, please,” she gasped, her body trembling as she hovered on the edge of climax.

“I need it. I need you to fill me up. I want to feel you spilling inside me, marking me as yours.” Her words seemed to unleash something in him, because he fucked her even harder, his cock driving in and out of her with a desperation that matched her own. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with their ragged breaths and her broken cries.

“You’re mine, Y/N,” he growled, his voice guttural, almost primal. “You’re always going to be mine.” His words, so possessive, so full of raw emotion, pushed her over the edge. Her orgasm hit her like a tidal wave, her body convulsing around him as she screamed his name, her pussy clamping down on his cock like a vice. He didn’t stop, didn’t give her a moment to catch her breath, just kept fucking her through her climax.

“That’s it, baby, come for me,” he murmured, his voice rough with admiration.

“Let me feel how much you need this.” His hands moved to her tits, squeezing and kneading them as he continued to thrust into her, his cock hitting her g-spot with unerring precision. She could feel him swelling inside her, his release so close she could almost taste it.

“I’m going to fill you up,” he promised, his voice low and full of intent. “I’m going to give you every fucking drop.”

“Please, Lando,” she cried, her voice breaking as she clung to the sofa, her body shaking with the force of her pleasure.

“I need it. I need you.” He groaned, his hips slamming into her one last time before he buried himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he came deep inside her. She could feel him spilling into her, hot and thick, and she moaned, her pussy clenching around him as her own orgasm peaked again, drawing every last drop from him.

Lando stayed buried inside her, his cock still pulsing softly as their bodies remained locked together. The air around them was thick with the scent of sex and sweat, their breaths ragged and mingling in the stillness. Her back was still arched over the sofa, her hands gripping the edge for support, but now his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close, anchoring her to him. He pressed his chest to her back, his lips finding the curve of her neck, and the tenderness of the gesture made her shiver.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice raw and husky, yet so full of affection it made her heart ache. His fingers traced delicate patterns along her hips, and she could feel the way he trembled against her, his own body still catching up with the intensity of what they’d shared.

“You don’t even know, do you? What you do to me?” His words were soft, almost reverent, and they sent a warmth spreading through her chest.

She tried to speak, but the words caught in her throat, replaced by a soft, breathless moan. It was part plea, part prayer, and he seemed to understand, his grip tightening ever so slightly.

“I know,” he whispered against her skin, his lips brushing her shoulder. “I know, baby. I’ve got you.”

The endearment, tender amidst the raw passion they’d just shared, nearly undid her. This was Lando—her obsession, her undoing—holding her like she was something fragile and sacred, even as his body still pulsed inside hers. His hands moved to her stomach, splaying across her skin like he wanted to memorize every inch of her.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he breathed, his voice rough with admiration. “I could stay like this forever, just... feeling you. Being inside you.”

She turned her head slightly, seeking his gaze, and when their eyes met, she saw herself reflected in his—wild, free, utterly transformed. “Don’t look away,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm.

“I need to see you. Need to know you’re still here with me.” His hand moved to her cheek, brushing away a strand of hair, and she leaned into his touch, her eyes never leaving his.

“There you are,” he said, his voice so tender it made her chest tighten.

“There’s my girl.” The possessive endearment should have made her bristle, but instead, it settled something in her soul, a piece she hadn’t realized was missing. She felt claimed, yes, but also cherished, like she was his in a way that went beyond the physical.

“Yours,” she whispered, the word slipping out like a secret, a promise. And it was—a surrender and a claim all at once.

He kissed her then, his lips soft against hers, and she melted into it, her body still trembling with aftershocks. His hands moved to her hips, gripping her gently, and she could feel him hardening inside her again, his cock stirring as if it couldn’t bear to be separated from her.

She gasped softly, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of their passion. "That was..." she started, her voice breathless and unsteady, her hands still gripping the edge of the sofa for support as she tried to find the right words. But nothing seemed adequate, nothing could capture the intensity of what they’d just shared.

"Yeah," Lando murmured, his voice low and rough, his chest still pressed to her back, his hands splayed possessively over her hips. His breath was warm against her neck as he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her hair. His hips shifted slightly, still buried deep inside her, and she felt a shiver run through her.

"It was, baby." His words were soft, but they carried a weight that made her chest tighten.

Her fingers traced idle patterns across his forearm, marveling at the way his skin felt against hers, at the way he held her like she was something precious. The walls between them had crumbled, and she was still trying to process it—the raw vulnerability, the honesty, the way he had claimed her body and soul.

"What happens now?" she whispered, her voice so quiet it was almost lost in the stillness of the room. Her body was still pressed against his, their connection unbroken, and she wasn’t sure if she was ready to let go of this moment—of him.

His arms tightened around her, pulling her even closer, as if he could sense her uncertainty. "Now," he said, his voice firm but gentle, "we stop pretending. No more games, no more dancing around this. We stop wasting time." His lips brushed her shoulder, his breath warm against her skin. "Unless," he added, a teasing edge creeping into his voice, "you’re planning to hate me again tomorrow?"

She almost laughed at the absurdity of it. How could she hate him when he held her like this? When his touch made her feel more alive than she’d ever been? When she could still feel him inside her, their bodies utterly entwined? "I never hated you," she admitted softly, the words spilling out before she could stop them.

"I hated how you made me feel. Out of control. Vulnerable." Her voice wavered slightly, and she felt his hands tighten on her hips, grounding her.

"And now?" he asked, his voice smooth and low, his lips trailing up her neck to press a kiss just below her ear.

She hesitated, taking stock of her scattered defenses, the walls she’d spent so long building now lying in ruins around them. "Now," she said, her voice steadier this time, "I think maybe control is overrated."

He chuckled, the sound low and warm, and she felt it vibrate through her. "There she is," he murmured, his voice full of admiration. "The Y/N I fell for. The one brave enough to admit what she wants."

Her breath caught in her throat, and she turned her head slightly, trying to catch his gaze. "You fell for me?" Her voice was soft, almost hesitant, and she hated how vulnerable she sounded.

He tilted her chin up, forcing her to meet his eyes, and the intensity in his gaze made her heart stutter. "Sweetheart," he said, the endearment rolling off his tongue like he’d been saying it for years, "I’ve been falling for you since the day we met. I just got tired of hitting the ground alone."

Her eyes burned with unshed tears, and she blinked them back, but he noticed, his thumb catching one that escaped. "Hey," he said softly, his voice gentle, "what’s this?"

"I wasted so much time," she whispered, her voice breaking. "Fighting this. Fighting you."

"No," he corrected, his voice firm but tender. He pulled her closer, his hands moving to wrap around her waist, his body still pressed against hers. "We both did what we needed to do. Maybe we weren’t ready before. Maybe we needed the fire to forge us into something stronger."

She shifted slightly, her body still connected to his, and with a soft, almost reluctant push, she eased him out of her. The sensation of his cock sliding free made her breath catch, her pussy feeling suddenly empty, as if it already missed the heat and fullness of him. He groaned softly, his hands gripping her hips as if he didn’t want to let go, but she turned in his arms, settling back against the sofa until his now-softening cock rested lightly on her lower belly, the weight of it a reminder of what they’d just shared. Her hand trailed down his chest, fingers brushing over the damp skin, before she cupped his face and kissed him—slowly, deeply, pouring everything she couldn’t say into the contact. When they broke apart, she felt something settle in her chest, a rightness she’d never experienced before. His breath was warm against her lips, his eyes searching hers, and in that moment, she knew she was exactly where she was meant to be.

When they broke apart, she felt something settle in her chest, a rightness she’d never experienced before.

"I want to try," she said, her voice steady now. "No more games, no more pretending."

"Good," he said, his voice low and full of promise. His hands moved to cup her face, his eyes locked on hers. "Because I’m not letting you go now. You’re stuck with me, Y/N."

"Promises, promises," she teased, but her heart was in her throat.

He smiled, that boyish grin she’d seen glimpses of before, but now it was directed at her with such open affection that it made her chest ache. "I don’t make promises I can’t keep," he said seriously, his thumb brushing her cheek. "And I promise you this—I’m going to spend every day showing you that this was worth the wait. That we were worth the wait."

She believed him. For the first time in her life, she let herself believe in something as dangerous and beautiful as love.

819 notes · View notes

blueberrybirdsworld · 2 days ago

Text

Out of frame 3/4

Summary : Y/N and Lando Norris have been together for three years. Their relationship is real, steady, and full of quiet love but always behind the scenes. While fans know they’re a couple, Lando has never posted about her, avoids public displays of affection, and never mentions her in interviews. At first, Y/N understood. She believed it was about privacy, about protecting what they had. But over time, being constantly left out of frame has started to hurt.

Genre : angst, SMAU

Pairing : Lando Norris x reader

Faceclaim : @suanbeiii

Main Masterlist

Serie Masterlist

@your_username 📍Côte d’Azur

A very special photoshoot, thanks @your_photograph 🌸

@_user1 she’s literally the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. like??? how is this even real??

@_user2 Lando must be the dumbest man alive I fear 😭

@_user3 girl you’re glowing like someone who deleted his number ✨

@_user4 he said “which gf?” and she said “not me then.” ICONIC.

@_user5 this is exactly what peace looks like after you stop begging a man for the bare minimum

@_user6 no because if they break up for real, I’m shooting my shot 🫡

@_user7 soft girl era activated. and he’s nowhere in sight? suspicious 🧐

@_user8 I just know Lando’s watching this through his tears

@_user9 the flower, the pearls, the PINK , yeah no, he lost

@_user10 if he doesn’t come crawling back after this… I WILL. give me a chance queen 😭❤️

@_user11 she didn’t need to mention him to completely obliterate him

@_user12 you mean to tell me he left this to go party with his friends in Japan? okay clown

@_user13 this looks like a breakup shoot and a Vogue cover at the same time

@_user14 soooo when are you free for dinner? asking for literally all of us

Texts messages :

Lando I saw the photos You look… breathtaking

Lando I don’t even have the words How do you manage to look like that and I act like you’re not the most beautiful person in the world?

Lando Y/N please. You know I’m sorry I’ve been sorry since the second we started fighting

Lando I messed up, okay? I was defensive, I didn’t listen, I didn’t take in how much it mattered to you I thought I was protecting something private and sacred, but I see now I was just hiding

Lando I was scared. And I pushed you away because I didn’t know how to be vulnerable in front of everyone

Lando I see the comments I know what people are saying I know I look like the dumbest man alive Because I was.

Lando I’m not partying, I’m not happy, I’m not okay. I miss you. I miss your voice, your laugh, your constant humming when you cook, the way you curl your fingers in my sleeve when you’re cold

Lando I sent the flowers because I didn’t know what else to do And yeah, anyone can send flowers. But no one can love you the way I do

Lando I’m sorry. For every time I made you feel small, or hidden, or unloved You weren’t. Not even for a second You are everything

Lando Please talk to me. Please. Even if you’re mad. Yell at me. Swear at me. Just… don’t go silent on me

Lando I don’t want to lose you because I didn’t know how to show I was proud of you I am, I’m so proud. Of everything you are

Lando I love you. More than ever

Lando Please come back. Or let me come to you Just say something Anything ?

@_F1Gossip 📍Tokyo, Japan

Spotted: Lando Norris seen out partying in Tokyo after the Japan Grand Prix last night. No Y/N in sight.

@_user1 not him clubbing while she’s not here, be serious lando

@_user2 he’s out here drinking and dancing while the rest of us are grieving their relation??

@_user3 how are you gonna party when you clearly hurt your girl and she’s getting love letters in her comments?? GET IT TOGETHER.

@_user5 I’ve defended him for years but… I can’t do this anymore. she deserved better and we all know it.

@_user6 I know PR team is sweating.

@_user7 he parties like he didn’t just lose the most beautiful woman alive and humiliate her on live TV. delusion.

@_user8 idc what the drama is, I’m just waiting for Y/N to post again. SHE’S the star now

@_user9 literally everyone: “Lando please fix it” Lando: goes clubbing with his shirt unbuttoned

@_user10 “which girlfriend” got him feeling single I guess 😭

@your_usurname

Needed a drink and have the best friends ever for that🥂

@_user1 She’s in her IDGAF era and I’m here for it 🔥👑

@_user2 Oh she’s DONE done. 😮‍💨

@_user3 the crown. the girls. the middle finger. this is the official breakup tour

@_user4 Y/N said “cry about it, I’m busy glowing.”

@_user5 your glow-up is legally blinding. teach us your ways

@_user6 she’s heartbroken but make it sexy

@_user7 I know Lando’s watching this post on repeat 😭

@_user10 She’s too fine to be sad. Lando who???

@_user11 Not to be dramatic but I’d jump in front of a train for her

@_user12 Her friends deserve a raise. Crowned their queen and gave her the world tonight.

@_user13 this is what it looks like when the pretty girl realizes she deserves better 😭👏

@_user15 tell me your bf fumbled without telling me 💅🏽

3:02 AM Texts messages : Lando babe babeee bbabyyy i mean not baby i mean. ugh whatever why u so pretty huh?? like??? WHYYYY

Lando saw ur post n now i’m lying on the floor face down sad pathetic loser man vibes

Lando u look like a literal goddess like Aphro… aphroditty… aphrotiddy?? idk u know what i mean

Lando not even mad just confused hurting too mostly sad after seeing your post

Lando did ur friend give u that crown? tell her i said thanks for crowning the queen of my whole life also tell her to stop commenting “he fumbled” i knooooow

Lando i miss ur laugh ur hands ur eyes ur frown when i’m being annoying miss all of it even ur cold feet under the covers

Lando i shud have posted u every day every hooour every millimillisecond u soooo pretty i wanna scream

Lando come back plsss or lemme come back i’ll be so good. i’ll buy u flowers every hour i’ll post u. tag u

Lando can i call uuuu i wanna hear ur voice just wanna know ur real and not like. a hallucination from my own stupidity

Lando ok gonna go cry in the shower now

Lando iloveyou babyyyy answer plssss i'm not drunk just ok i'm drunk plssss answer fuck i miss u

@landonorris

Mmyyy loove

@_user1 wait… WHO is this girl??? where is Y/N??? 😭

@_user2 why this man do a post at 4 a.m, is he not in a club ??

@_user3 so let me get this straight. he couldn’t tag Y/N, never posted her, but now he’s posting mystery girl like this???

@_user4 he really said “which gf?” and then proved it 😐

@_user5 the audacity of this man is actually insane. like. Y/N was literally still watching his races

@_user6 did they break up and he already moved on?? and posting about it?? bold

@_user7 3 years of silence and now THIS. lando norris you will pay for your crimes

@_user8 hope Y/N is living her best life far away from this nonsense

@_user9 he’s just soft launching a whole new girl while Y/N gets silence. bro what

@_user10 if this is a new gf… he better never talk about privacy again cause this is messy 😵‍💫

@_user11 no way you were gifted the most elegant woman and fumbled her like this

@_user12 someone go check on Y/N cause this?? this is COLD.

5:02 AM Texts messages

Y/N who the fuck is she?

Y/N you seriously meet some random girl ?

Y/N you CHEATED on me??? you really cheated on me and then posted it for the world to see?

Y/N lando what the hell you disappear on me, ignore everything I said, and now THIS?

Y/N you couldn’t post me for THREE YEARS

Y/N is this why you didn’t tag me? because you still flirt with girls in clubs and you didn’t want me to find out?

Y/N you didn’t even have the decency to end things before doing this we weren’t okay, but I still loved you. I will have still showed up for you and this is how you repay me?

Y/N this is LOW. even for you.

Y/N say something SAY. SOMETHING. LANDO !!!!! Answer your phone I'm trying to call you rn

Y/N I swear to god, we’re DONE.

Taglist (closed) : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie, @linneaguriii, @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek, @actuallyazriel, @sofs16, @thulior, @sltwins, @henna006, @stylesmoonlight12, @lilaissa, @sideboobrry11, @l3thal-l0lita, @lorena-mv33, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @lesliiieeeee, @sageskiesf1, @adynorris, @curlylando, @rebelliousneferut, @justcharlotte, @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies, @emneedshelp, @lando-505, @yukimaniac, @sashisuslover, @f1norris04, @hi26loveie, @bunnisplayground, @nina481, @reallifemermaidprincess, @cars-and-frogs, @delululeclerc, @txmhxllqnd, @lydia-demarek, @destinyg237, @rhaenyrasversion, @sarascabiosa, @readz4u, @tvdtw4ever, @mynameisangeloflife, @teti-menchon0604, @suns3treading, @op814kitty, @prettyboyroseberg, @willowsnook, @ariesandwolves, @clarksgf, @knivesdoingcartwheels, @pinklemonade34, @fat-meh, @tiaajosephin, @landosbabe4, @easy4, @jule239, @mercrussell, @skylandori, @ryuucollapse, @nickie-amore, @fairyjinn, @seonaw, @strawberrylov-er, @linnygirl09, @dilflover44, @bell1a, @f1fantasys, @sillyfreakfanparty, @janonymus0, @taetae-armyyyyy, @charlesgirl16, @angstynasty, @jules-bea2308, @afternoonarchive, @itsbieberxholland, @rexit-mo, @chlmtfilms, @vampgege, @mochimommy2002, @budgetcupid, @lemon-stvrrr, @bell1a, @taebearyoongs, @hazzasmunchkin, @sainz0fthetimes, @didaaa4, @madelyn2000, @il0vereadingstuff, @march32nd, @chlmtfilms, @literallysza, @cheapdocmartens, @wolfstarsimpxx, @pretzelcat4-blog, @larya810, @6-noir, @urfavftoomie, @ficr3ccs, @strawberrylov-er, @wosof1, @behindmygreyeyes, @justheretoreadthxxs, @pinklemonade34, @ninass-world, @landosbabe4, @leclercdream, @perfectsuitcasegardenpie, @flowersandalll, @sagestack, @angxedxtz, @fangirl125reader, @mimisweetz, @mattslovelygf, @taetae-armyyyyy, @guacala, @gothicwidowsworld, @chezmardybum, @virtualperfectioncat, @cherryhazee,@bubble012, @teti-menchon0604

706 notes · View notes

whatsverstappeningnow · 2 days ago

Text

how f1 drivers react

when they want you back after you break up with them (part two to this fic)

drivers mentioned: MV33, LN4, OP81, AA23, CS55, CL16, LH44, GR63

max verstappen

Weeks pass in painful silence. For days after the sudden breakup, Max tried to call, to text, to contact you. But the longer you ignored him, thinking it was for the best, the more it hurt. Eventually, the phone calls stopped, and the texts too. Your world descended into self-inflicted silence and loneliness.

You knew it would be hard without him, but the loneliness was worse than you could have ever imagined. It settled deep in your bones, carved into your soul and invaded every aspect of your life. Every moment of silence was a reminder of what you had given up.

Every second of silence was a reminder of how alone you were.

Friends tried to comfort you, tried to tell you that you had made the right choice. But in the middle of the night, with nothing but the cold emptiness of your apartment to hold you, you could only spiral into darker thoughts: you had done the wrong thing. But it was too late. What was done was done. Max had stopped calling, moved on likely. You needed to as well.

You couldn't bring yourself to watch his races. You told yourself that it was for the better. You needed to let go completely. It was the only way you could move on and build a life without Max.

But when you see him again, finally, it’s not at a race. It's not some flashy paddock media day or high-stakes press event, things you used to loathe and love so much. It’s on your doorstep, hoodie pulled up, eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion.

“I keep waiting for you. Every night. I keep thinking you'll call, you'll turn up at my house. You never do,” he says quietly, holding your gaze for the first time in forever. “Look me in the eye and say it again. Tell me our love isn't worth it. Tell me you don't love me anymore. C'mon. Tell me to leave and I will.”

You open your mouth to reply, not even sure what you could possibly say in response beyond what you'd already said that infamous night, but Max just holds up one hand to quiet you. Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out his phone and taps it a few times before a sound starts to play out of it quietly.

It's you.

Your voice echoes back to you, happy, laughing, talking about something stupid. You hadn't realized he’d saved it. You're not sure why he would until the sound of you hanging up echoes around you both.

I'll talk to you later, ok? Bye Maxie. I love you!

“That’s the last time you said you loved me,” he says, voice low, pure exhaustion dripping from his words. “And I’velistened to it every single night.”

Tears sting your eyes and threaten to fall. Max finally steps closer but still doesn't reach out for you.

“I haven’t driven better. I'm getting worse, I'm making stupid mistakes. I haven’t focused more. I’ve just... missed you. Every day. Every night. You think you were holding me back? I'm scared every time I drive, scared of winning and still going home alone. Scared of doing well and you thinking that it proves you right when I know I'm fucking miserable. I'msorry I told you to leave. I shouldn't have... fuck, I'm just scared, and tired, and I want you. Please.”

Behind him, thundering clouds threaten to erupt and pour down over the city. Dark storms brew with forbearing gloom.

“You want to protect me? You want to make me a better driver? Then stay. Let me love you again. Because losing you has nearly fucking destroyed me."

His hands finally reach out for yours, holding them tightly. His hands are cold, but you find that you don't mind. You need to feel him so desperately that you're willing to endure the torture of the weather on your fingertips. Within you, a deep desire to keep Max warm and safe resurfaces with renewed conviction.

“You are the only thing I’ve ever wanted outside of racing. Please. I love you. I've only ever loved you.”

Despite the tears welling in your eyes, a small smile spreads across your face.

"It's cold. Come inside." You whisper the words, tugging slightly on his hands.

"Only... only if you mean this. I can't come inside if you're just going to turn me away again."

Swallowing guilt, swallowing your hurt and fears, swallowing everything you thought was right that turned out to be so wrong, you say, "Come inside, Max. Please."

Love you think, is the sound of Max closing the door behind him and knowing he is here to stay.

lando norris

You know you shouldn't watch it, but when the clip comes up on your instagram you can't help but pause and watch. It's instinct: you see Lando, you watch. Despite everything, all you said, all that happened and tore you two apart, you still care deeply for him.

It’s a post-race interview. Lando’s just gotten a podium, according to the video's caption anyway. He looks as he always does after a tough drive: hair stuck to his forehead from sweat, eyes wide, adrenaline high as he slowly calms down and takes deep breaths inwards. His smile is wide, until the journalist makes a passing comment...

"Must be nice having all the distractions out of the way now."

Something shifts in his expression. It’s barely a flicker, but if you know him—really know him—you can see it. You know what the interviewer means, the media, the sprint, the free practices, quali, it's all out of the way now. He only has to think about starting P1 tomorrow. All the distractions are gone. Almost all the opsticals of the week have been passed. But the joke doesn’t land. His smile falters, then falls completely. His eyes are hollow with want, tinged with a hint of fear.

And then he says it.

“Not all distractions are bad.”

The interviewer laughs, confused, asks him to elaborate, and he seems all too happy to comply. But he keeps going. The world around you seems stuck, you can't take your eyes away from the screen. If you listened carefully, you swear you can hear your life caving in around you.

“Sometimes the things everyone else thinks are a distraction are actually what keeps you grounded. What keeps you… you.”

He looks down, clears his throat, doesn’t continue. What's said is said. When he finally looks up again, staring into the camera lens, it feels like he is looking right at you. His eyes meet yours for the first time in weeks, even if it's just through the screen. The familiarity of his gaze burns. Your heart cracks. You miss him. God, you miss you.

The video cuts off and you are stuck again in the quiet abyss of your empty apartment. Everything is quiet again. But later that night, you get a text.

I didn’t mean to say that. but I meant it.

Before you can question yourself, second guess your instincts, you reply.

congrats on P1 I didn't see quali but I saw the interview

Then, after a moment of consideration, you add:

I miss you too, btw

It's a few minutes of dead silence, eerie uncomfortable nothingness, before he responds again.

can i call you? please

You think of his words earlier, of the way he looked as you walked out of his life and shattered all you had built together. You call him without thinking of the alternative.

"Hey," his voice rings out through your speaker.

"Hi."

There’s a pause. The kind that aches. You can hear his breath, unsteady, shallow, like he’s been holding it since the second your name lit up his screen.

“I didn’t think you’d reply,” he admits quietly.

“You didn’t leave much room not to,” you say, your voice almost a whisper. “You're not the only one who feels alone right now, Lando.”

“I know I can’t take back how I made you feel," he murmurs, "I just… I need you to know none of this, none of the podiums, none of the wins, means anything when I’m not coming home to you.”

Your throat tightens. You try to swallow it down, but his words eat at the fear in your heart...

“I thought I was doing the right thing,” you say softly. “Giving you space. Taking myself out of the equation. I didn’t want to be the reason you—”

“You were never the problem,” he cuts in, firm but gentle. “You were the only thing that made the rest of it bearable.”

Another pause. This one is softer. He exhales.

“I want to fix this. I don’t care how long it takes.”

And maybe you should hesitate. Maybe you should ask for more time, time to think it over. But you’ve already spent weeks apart, feeling the ache of a life half-lived. And now, hearing his voice, hearing the tremble he’s trying to hide, something in you unclenches.

“Okay,” you whisper.

“Yeah?” He sounds like he doesn’t quite believe it.

You smile, a little cracked, a little shaky, but real for the first time in days. “Yeah. Win your race, Lan, then come home to me.”

oscar piastri

The past few weeks had dragged by you in a dull, confusing haze. The sun felt dimmer, the rain less harsh, the breeze not so calming. Everything was just... off. You knew adjusting to being alone again would be difficult, but you never imagined it would feel like this. So helpless, so cold.

Without Oscar, someone you relied upon and loved so completely, your life felt empty. You spent your days going through the motions. You woke up, ate, slept, worked. It all felt so monotone. It was impossible to do something without wondering where you would be if you were still with Oscar.

A seed of doubt planted itself in your mind. Maybe, just maybe, you think, you were wrong. Maybe things would have been better if you were still together. But you cut the sapling before it could grow into a full thought.

Dwelling on the past was killing you. Dwelling on the past was leaving you tired. Not the kind of tired that sleep could fix, but the kind that left you feeling nothing at all. Heaviness hung in your bones.

Sleep seemed to abandon you these days, leaving you alone in the moonlight hours. The howl of the wind was your only companion in the night.

It’s past midnight when your phone buzzes. With nothing better to do, and no inclining that sleep would find you anytime soon, you reach for it from where it is charging on your bedside table.

Oscar's name stares back at you through the bright light of your phone, blinding you momentarily in the darkness of your bedroom.

You hesitate before opening it, his name on the screen still does something awful to your chest. Memories of past late night calls, tired giggles and intimate words, swirl around you in a haze of regret. But, to your unexpected surprise, it’s not a text. It’s a voice note.

You press play. The second you hear his voice, the pounding in your heart seems to double in speed. And yet, the comforting familiar sound also puts you completely at ease.

Hey. Sorry, I know it’s late where you are. I shouldn't— I know— I just got back from dinner with the team. Everyone was laughing about something, and I almost turned to tell you about it. As if you would be there, next to me.

He exhales sharply, so suddenly that it shocks you out of the trance you're in. Hearing his voice again, speaking directly to you, feels like a delusion after all this time. There’s silence for a few seconds, just the quiet rustle of fabric, the unmistakable sound of him rubbing his hands against his clothes that way he always does when he’s nervous.

You can imagine it as if he’s standing right in front of you. But you know that if he was here, standing close and looking you in the eyes, you wouldn’t know what to say, how to act, to look him in the eyes and not admit all the regrets you’d been having.

Missing him feels like longing for a lost childhood toy, something you remember so fondly and yet is so resolutely out of reach. But loving him is something you can never let go of.

It’s stupid, I know. It's been weeks. We haven't even talked once since. I know. I should know better. But I just… I don’t think I’ve gone one day without reaching for my phone to text you, call you. And I haven’t sent anything, 'cause I didn't want to hurt you more than I already have. But tonight it kind of hit me that maybe I should. Text you, I mean. Reach out. So, I guess that's what I'm trying to do. I don't even know if you'll listen to this. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. I should have fought harder. Should have told you more often how much you mean to me, how much you still mean to me. You were never a distraction. You were my balance. My constant. My love.

You wouldn't hear me then, but I have to make you hear me now. I love you. I love you. I'll say it as many times as you need to believe it again. And I miss you. Every day. I just want to try again. Please, let me show you how much I need you, how much I love you.

You lie there, staring at the ceiling. When the recording stops, you drag the audio back to the beginning and listen through it again. Over and over, you replay the section where he tells you he loves you.

He sounds just as truthful, just as honest, as the first night he said it to you. The night he held you so close, kissed you so slow and carefully that you wanted to melt into the floor and never touch anyone but him ever again. The night you felt whole, and loved, and so at peace with your life. The night you had remembered over and over through the past few weeks with a longing dread. Suddenly, yet slowly, in small thoughts, then all at once, it feels like you have no option but one.

You don’t text him back. No.

You press call. He picks up immediately.

carlos sainz

You probably should have expected this, should have seen it coming from a mile away. Carlos is not one to let something, or rather someone, he loves slip through his fingers like spring water. He's built his life around the people he cares about, painstakingly carved out a space for each of them in his chaotic, fast-paced life… he wouldn't let you think so lowly of yourself for long.

It’s only been a few weeks, but it’s felt like a lifetime.

You open the door of your apartment, dressed in pyjamas and an oversized hoodie that was likely his, once upon a time, to find him standing there. Hair slightly messy. Hoodie zipped halfway.

His eyes drift over you, slowly, taking every inch of your appearance. It doesn’t feel crude though, or intrusive, his gaze is so familiar, so kind, it fills your heart with joy just to be seen by him again. A small pit of guilt sinks in your stomach, you are the reason you haven’t seen him. This was your choice, after all, one you made for him.

He holds a takeout bag in one hand, your favourite food from the place you always used to order from together when it rained. It was the food that comforted you in your worst moments and excited you when you were feeling your best.

You haven’t seen him in weeks. Yet here he was.

He offers the bag, holding it out in one hand while the other settles on his hip. But he doesn’t move closer. He looks stuck in place, unsure of what moves to make and yet so confident in his presence at your front door.

“I’m not here to fix anything. Not if you don’t want me to,” he says softly, a tone of admittance colouring his words. “I just thought… you probably haven’t eaten. You always forget when you are stressed, or tired.”

You take it. Hands brush. He pulls away first. You find yourself immediately missing his touch.

Carlos looks down, then back up, eyes dark and earnest.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think. And I’ve been telling myself to let you go if that’s what you need, what you really want. But I also know you pushed me away thinking it was helping me. That it was the unselfish thing.”

He pauses, breathes deeply as if centring himself. He speaks with a tone that tells you he has been thinking of the right words to say for days, and is still afraid of driving you away.

“But cariño… you were the thing keeping me sane. I didn’t need saving from you. I needed saving with you. I need you to save me. Every day I need you to save me.”

You bite your lip and look down at the bag. The familiar smell fills your nostrils.

“My house is so empty,” you admit, and it feels like exposing the deepest part of your soul. “I’ve still been watching you drive. You’re doing well. I’m happy for you.”

“I’m driving well, maybe. But I’m not happy, cariño. You have known me long enough to know that is the truth.”

You can’t find it in your to meet his eyes, he keeps speaking anyway.

“I’m not driving well because you are gone. I’m driving well despite it. Because my life is nothing but racing now and I am miserable. Every day I think of you. There is no one else for me, and you must let me show you again. Without you... without you I am no one. You make me whole.”

His words are sweet, and so painfully honest that they burn into your heart.

“I’ve missed you. More than I should. Even though I feel like I shouldn’t. I want you to become everything you’ve ever dreamed of. But watching you do that without me…” you trail off, unable to explain the hurt you have inflicted on yourself by forcing him to go. Doing this, this conversation, out in the open feels too exposed. You want to tell him you love him in the comfort of your home. The home you want to share again.

“Do you want to come in?” You ask it in a hushed whisper, like saying it loud will frighten him away again

He smiles faintly. “Only if you want me to stay this time.”

“Will you? Please? I think... I think we need to talk.”

His smile is soft, understanding, filled with hope, “Of course, my love.”

That night, he holds you close. He doesn't leave, you don't ask him to.

alex albon

You don’t pick up the first time he calls.

Or the second.

But the third? You answer.

“…Hey,” he says, voice gentle and soft, but cautious. He's holding something back. Like he is afraid of scaring you off.

You don’t say anything at first. Just breathe. Just listen. You half expect him to hang up, regret his decision to contact you and disappear again. After all, you were the one who walked away, who could blame him for holding onto resentment and anger and just... hanging up?

The,n quietly, you say, “Alex.” His name feels like the only thing you could possibly say.

He lets the silence stretch out. It doesn’t feel awkward, just heavy. Shared. Weighted with everything that’s been left unsaid for too long. Everything you didn't explain that day, everything you struggled to say. The silence reminds you not of the emptiness of your apartment, but of the comforting quiet of lying in each other's arms. Everything, even silence, feels better with him around. Even if it's just his voice.

“I don’t want anything from you,” he says, finally. “Not really. I’m not calling to change your mind. I just—” He sighs, shaky and unsure. “I just wanted you to know I think about you. Still. Every day.”

You close your eyes and press your forehead to your knee, trying too hard to not let your thoughts spiral away from you. You’re sitting on the floor of your apartment, hoodie sleeves tugged over your hands, and your heart somewhere between breaking and blooming at the sound of his voice.

“I’ve been driving ok, not great, not badly,” he continues. “Doing the media stuff. Smiling for the cameras. Saying the right things when they ask. Everyone keeps saying I look happy.”

Happy, just like you wanted him to be. That's the reason you did all of this. For him. To help him, even if it hurt your soul to do it.

There’s a pause. Then a quiet, dry chuckle.

“But I’m faking it. All of it.”

Your breath catches, stuck in your throat. No.

“I catch myself thinking about you in the stupidest moments,” he says, softer now. “Like... I’ll be walking out of the paddock and I’ll reach for my phone to text you something dumb. Just muscle memory. Or I’ll hear a song you used to sing in the shower and it’ll hit me like I’ve run out of road.”

You stay quiet, swallowing hard and fiddling with your jumper sleeves. Against your better instincts to run, to hang up and hide yourself from the truth that maybe breaking up wasn't saving him, you stay.

“You remember how you used to tease me for holding my breath when I’m nervous?” he says, voice roughening just a little, like he's holding in a hollow laugh that is bubbling in his chest. “Like, properly holding it—like I’m underwater?”

You smile, just a little. Of course, you remember.

"Yeah..."

“I keep catching myself doing it again. A lot. I didn’t even realise until Carlos pointed it out during a sim session... said I looked like I was about to pass out.”

Another small pause.

“Anyway,” he says, trying to collect himself. “If this is really what you want, I'm not here to yell at you. But I need you to know. I just... I hope you’re okay. I really do. But if you’re not, if there’s ever a day you want to talk, about anything, bout everything.... I'm here. I'm always here”

You don't hang up.

"I'm sorry," you whisper into the phone. "I ruined this. All of this."

"No, baby, no. Please don't apologise. You were doing what you thought was right." His voice cracks a little, rushed and urgent, like he’s terrified you’ll disappear again.

“I miss you,” you say. Simple. Honest. Like breathing.

“I miss you so much it makes my chest hurt,” he says. "I know I can’t go back in time, but I want to move forward. With you. If there’s any part of you that wants that too…”

You wipe your eyes again and sit up straighter.

“I want that,” you whisper. “I’m scared. But I want that.” And that's all it takes.

charles leclerc

After weeks of moping around your apartment, mourning your own decisions and cursing yourself, your friends had put their feet down and ordered you to have a night out. Something to take your mind off of him. Despite the fact that you had no desire to go out, you agreed. More for their peace of mind than your own.

You're dressed in your favourite dress, make-up done, hair perfectly in place. At any other point in your life, you would feel beautiful, but for some reason, you don't feel much of anything at all. From the second you enter the party, some rooftop bar event your friends had heard of through word of mouth, you want to go home. But you don't want to let them down, so you try and stick it out, try to pretend you feel ok.

Time passes by you, and it's hours before you notice it. Notice him. Because of course he is here. Why wouldn't he be?

Charles walks through the dancing crowd and it's like the sea parts for him, people move effortlessly out of his way despite the lack of room on the dance floor. His eyes scan the room and then, as if on instinct, they land on you.

He walks over without any dramatics, but there is a speed in his step. He's afraid if he's too slow you'll disappear into the crowd again. He's barely a metre away when he starts speaking. You can only just hear his voice over the booming music, but the heartbreak in his voice is unmistakable.

“Every time I win, I wish you were there. Every time I lose, I need you.”

You inhale sharply. He's suddenly right in front of you. He looks down at you with tired, hurting eyes.

“You said you didn’t want to hold me back. But love doesn’t hold me back—it grounds me. Keeps me from getting lost in all of this. Cheri, how could you ever believe your love was hurting me? Without it, I am nothing.”

You’re frozen in place, drink in hand, heart in your throat. You thought this night couldn’t possibly get worse... you never imagined it might get better. You never thought you'd get the chance to explain yourself to him again.

“Charles…” you say, barely audible, unsure if he even hears it over the bassline of the song thumping through the bar the screams of joy that pervade around the room, the sound of dancing feet shaking the building.

But he does. Of course he does.

“I know I should have said something earlier,” he continues, closer now, lips practically against your cheek so you can hear him clearly. His hands hold yours, keeping you close with a grounding grasp. His eyes flick briefly to your friends standing behind you, watching from the edge of the crowd, unsure whether to swoop in and save you or stay back and let this moment unfold. You hope they stay away, you couldn't stand to lose this moment because of well-meaning friends. His gaze returns to yours, and it’s the same one you’ve seen a hundred times before.

“But I wanted to give you space. I thought… if I gave you time, you’d come back when you were ready.”

You laugh softly, but there’s no humour in it. “I wasn’t going to come back.”

“I know,” he says, voice strained and tired. “That’s why I’m here. One of my friends saw you in the crowd, I had to come. I'm sorry. I had to try one last time.”

The music shifts suddenly to something slower, softer. You glance over your shoulder as the crowd shifts to accommodate the new rhythm, but Charles doesn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he doesn’t care. He only sees you. The rest of the room fades into the background for him.

“I didn’t think I deserved you,” you admit. “I didn’t think I could watch you go out there every weekend, chasing something so dangerous and demanding, and not become the thing that dragged you down.”

“You were never the weight,” he says, without hesitation. “You were the anchor. There’s a difference.”

You don’t speak for a moment, letting his words settle over the noise, the lights, the blur of people around you. You’ve imagined this moment a hundred ways over the past few weeks, some louder, some messier, but none quite like this. There is something so soft about this, despite the noise.

“You look beautiful,” he adds quietly. “But you don’t look like yourself.”

That’s what undoes you. That sentence. The gentle truth in it.

“I haven’t felt like myself.”

“Then let me take you home.”

“Charles—”

“Not like that,” he says gently, quick to clarify. “Not unless you want that. I just… I want to talk. Or sit in silence. Or be there while you fall asleep on the couch watching something terrible. I don’t care what it is, just... let me come with you this time.”

You look at him, really look. And for the first time in weeks, the ache in your chest loosens, just a little.

“Okay,” you whisper. “Let’s go home.”

lewis hamilton

You’re alone on a walk, one headphone in and hands stuffed into the pocket of your hoodie, desperately trying to shield yourself from the cold wind of the mid-afternoon, when a familiar voice calls your name. The sound of the voice, so comfortingly recognisable, causes you to stumble over your own feet. He's here.

It's Lewis. Hoodie on, hood up, looking just as surprised as you feel seeing him out in the world. He stops a few steps away from you. The distance feels like a gorge you could fall into if you take a wrong step. The fall would go on for ages, you can't risk slipping now.

“I’ve been writing, texting you, then deleting it all before I send it,” he says quietly. “Trying to find the right words to say. Honestly, I don't think they exist. Every time I think I've figured out what to say, it just feels wrong.”

You just stare, hands fidgeting in your pocket as you feel stuck to the concrete sidewalk.

"I'm sorry. I know you probably want me to walk away, but if I don't say this now, in person, I never will."

Before you can stop yourself, you say softly, "I never want you to walk away, Lew." The truth of your own words surprises you. Lewis can only smile slightly at the sudden interjection. But he knows, just as well as you do, that you didn't leave him because you fell out of love. It was fear that drove you away.

“I thought I could prove something by letting you go. That I could be strong. But the truth is, I’ve felt lost without you.”

"Lew—"

“I miss you,” he adds, and it’s almost a whisper. “God, I miss you so much. I've stayed up at night just thinking about what you said. I can't believe I let you believe all those things about yourself. I can't believe I didn't fight harder to prove how much I love you.”

You stare at him. This is the version of him that you always knew. The one who cares so deeply, it scares him. The one who never walks away unless he thinks he has to.

“You could’ve sent any of those texts,” you manage to say, voice uneven and slow. “I probably would’ve answered, no matter what you said.”

“I didn’t want to reach for you until I knew I could be what you needed. You need someone who can show you that you aren't a burden. You need someone who can prove how loved you are. You deserve perfection.”

You let the silence linger a beat longer. Then you take a slow, steady step forward.

“I didn’t need perfect,” you say. “I just needed you.”

Lewis reaches out, gently, finally closing the gap between the two of you. “Let’s start again. Somewhere quiet. Just us.”

You nod before your voice catches up.

george russell

It’s been raining all day, light, misty showers that make the city feel cold. The world is sad, you want to say to your friends, but you don't think they'd understand what you mean. Maybe you just mean you are sad. But even that feels wrong.

You’ve left the windows open just a crack, a small sliver of room to let in the crisp storm air as you curl up on the couch. There's a cup of tea in your hand that's slowly going cold, but you don't drink it. It's more for the company than for taste. The TV plays something you aren’t watching. It's just background noise to keep your thoughts from drifting back to him.

It’s been weeks. Long enough that you’ve memorized the silence his missing presence has left behind. You miss him, but it was all for good reason.

You don’t hear the footsteps outside your apartment, you don’t hear his car as it arrives at your building. But when the doorbell rings, something deep inside you seizes up.

You freeze.

You haven’t seen George in weeks. But when you open the door, he’s there, suitcase by his side, hair messy, expression shaken. You realise suddenly that he must have come straight from the airport. His race ended only 15 hours ago. He's come straight to you.

“I’m not here to argue,” he says softly. “I just want to talk. Please.”

Against your better instincts, you hold the door open and step aside, welcoming him in in silence. He walks in slowly. His eyes scan your apartment like he doesn't recognise it, like he hasn't been there a hundred times before. Seeing him feel so out of place feels like a punch to the gut. It's a reminder of what you said to him, the way you pushed him away so suddenly, so cruelly.

Eventually, after a moment of quiet contemplation and awkward insection, he sits on your couch, wringing his hands in his lap. When he speaks, finally, his voice holds with it a tone of practised care. He's been thinking about what to say for days, you're sure of it.

“You said I needed to focus. That I needed to be selfish.”

He looks up.

“Well, this is me being selfish. I need you to hear me, let me speak before you turn me away again. Please."

You swallow the lump in your throat and settle yourself down across from him on the couch. You keep a bit of distance from him, not trusting yourself to be able to not fall apart if you sit within arm's reach. You missed him more than words could explain, but you owed him the chance to speak. You know you do.

After a deep breath, long and slow, he starts to speak again.

"I need you. Not just the good parts. I want the hard days. The fears. The panic at 2 am. I want all of it. I’ve spent every day since you left wondering if I could’ve... should've... done more. So here I am. Doing more.”

You press your hands into the couch cushion beneath you to stop them from shaking, trying desperately to listen to every intonation and shake of his voice, as if you could uncover every thought he's had for the past few weeks if you just listen close enough.

You aren’t sure what to say. You thought you were protecting him by leaving, giving him an out to finally focus. But now, here he is, telling you the absence of you is the only thing that’s really hurt him. The truth hurts more than your fears ever did.

“I kept thinking… maybe if I just left you alone, gave you time and space, you’d feel free again. Feel more like yourself again. ” His voice dips. “But I think about you constantly. Every second since you walked away. And I don’t feel free... I feel hollow. And you're right, I should be more selfish with my career, my life. So this is me being selfish about what I want: I want you. I want you next to me all the time. Every day. Every night.”

He swallows, hard. Like saying all he's feeling out loud is hurting him. But he keeps going despite it.

“If you don’t want this anymore, truly don't, not because of what you think is best for my career, for me, but because you don't want it, I’ll go. But I had to try. I had to tell you that you weren’t a distraction. You were my calm in the chaos. You still are.”

You stare at him, heart caught in your throat and eyes glued to his sombre gaze. Your voice breaks when you speak.

“I've missed you so much, George.”

His shoulders sag with relief. “I know I'm not perfect. I know I wasn’t always good at balancing it all. But I never stopped loving you. That has never changed. Not for a second.”

He shifts, adjusting his posture sat upright on your couch. After a moment's hesitation, he asks, “Can I hold you?”

When you nod he moves slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid he’ll wake you from some fragile dream. But when his arms wrap around you, it’s like the weight of everything you've ever feared has finally lifted off your shoulder.

You melt into him.

And for the first time in weeks, you breathe easy.

taglist: @fastandcurious16 @coolpeanutchaos @hangingwiththestars

-> ree here! I'm sorry for the length inconsitancy and any mistakes! I tried to just do what felt right for each set up and I have editted this very sleep deprived from uni study... send help for my incoming essay due dates i am avoiding by writing imagines instead...

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yeagersss · 3 days ago

Text

Sukuna x Blind!Reader (Part 1)

tw: implied sexual assault (not by Sukuna dw)

Next ->

He met you in the forest after one of his usual massacres. Blood smeared across his hands, the gruesome mouth on his stomach and his face.

You stumbled through the trees and bumped into him, breathing heavily, your kimono hanging loose against your body.

You did the unthinkable. Your hands patted around his strong abdomen before desperately gripping his haori.

Sukuna was about to kill you. For daring to touch the likes of him. For even standing in his presence for this long.

But he stopped when you meekly sobbed: "Please help me."

How interesting. No one has ever asked for his help the way you just did. There was no reverence behind your tone like a mortal begging their god for divine intervention. Not even fear for him— which was strange considering his aura bleeds everywhere.

No, you asked him like a desperate woman who genuinely thought he could help you because he seemed safe to you.

Foolish.

But then you lifted your head. Your clouded, lifeless eyes fixated on his chest. Unable to find his gaze.

Blind.

He heard rustling. His gaze lazily landed on the two men who emerged through the trees. Their lips stretched into crooked grins. Sukuna didn't even bother acknowledging how their attires were half undone.

Instead, he smirked when their faces twisted into pure shock and fear. They stumbled back.

"T-The Disgraced One...!"

"You seem to be holding your heads far too high."

And with a simple slash their heads were cleanly off their shoulders.

The forest was quiet now.

"Get off me." He growled, pushing you off of him. You stumbled back and fell down with a pained gasped.

"You're lucky I'm in a good mood today. Consider yourself spared." He said and started walking away, only to stop when you meekly whispered.

"Thank you."

He frowned and turned to you. You were staring at nothingness but there was grateful smile on your face. "You saved me."

"Do you know who I am?" He had to ask.

"You are... Ryomen Sukuna, aren't you? The Disgraced One. As one of those men had said—"

"And yet you are not cowering in fear of me. Your blindness isn't an excuse. People can feel who I am."

You huffed softly, fixing your kimono until you looked presentable. You felt around until to realized you were next to a tree and used it to hoist yourself up to your feet. Your smile wasn't leaving your face for some reason.

"Why should I fear you when you didn't give me a reason to?"

That got him to laugh.

"You think I am some sort of a saint because I decided to entertain you, woman? Fine. Which limp would you like to lose first? Or shall I gauge out your eyes considering you don't need them already." He grinned, wide and feral.

You bowed your head apologetically. "Please, forgive me. I was simply stating my first impression of you."

He snorted. "Your first impression of me?"

"Yes... You... Truly did not give me any reason to be afraid." You said, honestly.

Sukuna took a moment to reflect on your answer. He remembered questioning Uraume about such a thing too, when he first met them.

"You came with me willingly. Why?"

Uraume blinked up at him from the fire they were using to prepare the meat skewers. "Um... Well... I had nowhere else to go and you were offering..."

"You know that's not what I meant, child. You have heard of me have you not?"

Uraume nodded, shifting on the dirt floor to find a comfortable position. "Yes, I have. I don't think anyone hasn't. But, my lord, you never gave me a reason to fear you."

The child sniffed, looking on at the fire shyly. "You simply seemed like a curious man passing by and nothing more."

Sukuna looked away from you. "You truly are a blind woman." He muttered and started walking away.

"Oh... Wait, please...!"

"What now?" He narrowed his eyes at you, considering to kill you again.

"Are you... heading towards the river north from here?"

He frowned, looking down at the blood on his body, in desperate need of a wash. "What if I am?"

"May I... accompany you? My home is right there and I lost my walking stick when I encountered those men—"

"—No."

You sighed. "You're welcome to stay in my home. You can spend the night—"

"—No."

"—And I shall make you dinner. I caught a lot of fish yesterday."

He snorted. "You? I highly doubt that."

But you smiled and your eyes glinted playfully. "It's true! I have a system. You learn a few tricks when you're a blind woman living in the forest." You giggled.

Sukuna blinked slowly at you with a neutral expression. Truth be told, he was curious to see how you were even managing to live. Humans are already utterly weak in his eyes and yet you, a fragile woman with lack of sight is somehow managing in this world.

Curse his thirst for knowledge because the next thing he knew he turned around and said, "If you get lost on the way, I will not bother to find you." Then he started walking.

You beamed at his direction and slowly started walking. "It's fine! I can tell where you're going from the sound of your footsteps. Don't worry, I can manage." But you sighed and tapped the ground in front of you with your foot before taking a step. "I think."

Sukuna didn't say anything, only glancing back at you once but continued walking.

His steps slower than they usually are.

#sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #jjk sukuna #sukuna x you #sukuna x y/n #mine

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strnilolover · 1 day ago

Text

⌗ . . . FIVE MINUTES AND A HAIR TIE

WARNINGS : SMUT. ORAL (m & f receiving). SUB!BSF!CHRIS. SWITCH!BSF!READER. TEASING. BEGGING. and more?

you and chris had been best friends for years—it getting to the point where your parents started keeping chris’ favorite snacks stocked in the kitchen. and chris having his own whole drawer in your bedroom full of his things. and vice versa.

today was no different from any other—or that’s what you had thought.

chris was sprawled across the edge of your bed—his back against the mattress as his legs were sprawled out around. it was a quiet evening, just the two of you. your lights were dimmed and your shared playlist hummed low in the background. you were curled up at the head of your bed in an old hoodie, scrolling mindlessly, and he was doing the same, phone held over his chest as he kept yawning but refused to go home.

it was comfortable silence. that rare kind that only came from years of being close and being able to just do your own thing in the presence of someone else. it was the kind that made you wonder sometimes what was going on in his head when he looked deep in thought.

chris suddenly snorted loud—drawing you from your spacey thoughts as you just stared at your phone. your brows furrowed and you looked up, curious. “what?” you said, a little breathless from being startled.

he just grinned and flipped his phone around, showing you a screenshot of a tweet. It was a picture of some jawline-blessed actor, captioned:

“Give me five minutes and a hair tie PLEASE.”

and you couldn’t help but crack a grin, letting your head fall back slightly. “that’s like a universal girl language right there.” chris snickered, shaking his head at your words. “it’s such a lie though. like—c’mon, there’s no way half of y’all could make a guy cum in five minutes. and definitely not just with your mouth.” he said, continuing to shake his head in disbelief.

You raised a brow, quirking a smirk and tilting your head at him. “oh yeah?” you mused, watching the way the thought about it for a second before nodding his head. “yeah,” he said, full of himself now. “you act like just putting your hair up makes you dangerous. please. most of y’all couldn’t even handle it.”

that sentence got your attention. you pursed your lips—locking your phone and setting it aside. chris blinked when you started to sit up straighter, now starting to notice the way your attitude has changed. “what?—why..why’re you looking at me like that?”

you tsked softly, shaking your head. “you really think that?” you asked, almost curious. “you think I wouldn’t know how to handle it? hm?” and he scoffed, though it wavered a little when your legs swung off the bed and carried you to kneel on the floor down between his own.

“wait, wait—what are you doing?” he asked, his phone now forgotten beside him—your actions getting his full attention. slowly you reached down, grabbed the hair tie from around your wrist, and started pulling your hair up into a messy ponytail. eyes locked hard onto his.

“give me five minutes and a hair tie,” you murmured. “that’s all I need.”

chris’ body went still—you could see his throat bob as he swallowed, the cocky smirk flickering like a faulty light. “wait—are you—are you serious right now?” you leaned up swiftly, your lips barely brushing against his ear. “only if you want me to be.”

there was silence—like the situation had finally caught up to his brain. you guys were best friends—this was something that you shouldn’t be doing. but god—there’s been times he’s thought about how your mouth would feel against him. always whispering apologies to your name when he’d jerk off in his bedroom.

and now?

now he’d have the chance since you were offering—he just hopes it doesn’t ruin anything.

the silence stretched before chris began to speak. “yeah,” he breathed, voice cracking just a little. “yes, okay. please.” he let himself relax slowly to your touch on his thighs, body melting. his sweatpants were already betraying him, his bulge heavy and obvious through the fabric.

you smiled up at him, giving him a small nod before your hand slowly trailed along his thigh before you reached his bulge, palming him through the fabric and laughing under your breath. “y’so easy.” you taunt, tucking your bottom lip between your teeth as you watched him.

he whimpered as your hand snatched into the waistband of his sweats. you gently gave chris a few taps, telling him to lift his hips. which he quickly obliged to. slowly, you tugged them down and his cock sprang free—tip already flushed and leaking like he’d been thinking about this way longer than he really should’ve.

before you went any further though, you leaned up and snatched his phone—the screen still opened to that stupid little post. you smirked at it before swiping the app away and opening the clock app.

your fingers worked quick to open the stopwatch, placing his phone back down next to him on the bed before you pressed the start button.

you didn’t waste time—your other hand came up and wrapped around his length, giving him a few small pumps that already had his head kicking back. you watched him with hungry eyes, keeping them connected to his as you lowered yourself. your tongue poked out and licked a slow stripe up his shaft—starting from the bottom. when you reached the top, you flicked your tongue against the slit, and smirked when his hips jerked.

chris was wide-eyed, one hand clutching the sheets on the bed next to him, and the other was gripping the base of your ponytail before he even realized he was doing it. “f-fuck.” he whispered, his head tipping forward—eyes quickly connecting with your own.

and that’s when you sank down to the base of him with out warning—his cock completely filling your mouth.

his whole body tensed, eyes rolling into the back of his head as you bobbed your head up and down on him. the hand in your hair tightened just slightly, and you could feel the way he twitched in your mouth. “mmf—fuckfuckfuck.” he whimpered.

you kept the pace slow at first—enjoying the power shift between the two of you. he’d been so smug, so sure of himself. but now he was trembling, his lips parted like he couldn’t decide whether to curse or cry. your hand was wrapped around what you couldn’t fit, twisting in rhythm with your mouth.

you couldn’t help how wet you were becoming just from his reactions to your mouth. you were content having him in your mouth, letting yourself get lost in the feeling. chris choked out a gasp when you moaned around him—the vibrations making his high approach quicker. “jesus—shit—you’re good at this.” he breaths, trying not to sound so whiny and desperate.

you liked how easily he was giving into it—letting the pleasure take over him. gently you pulled off with a pop, your eyes gleaming up at him.

“y’still think we can’t do it in five?” you asked teasingly, letting yourself hand give his cock a small squeeze, the action making his moan. he shook his head, his hips slowly starting to fuck his cock into your fist. his voice was barely a whisper. “i was wrong—fuck—I was so wrong.”

you hummed in approval to his confession, leaning down and spitting on his tip—watching the way it trailed down before you licked it up. when you reached his tip, you wasted no time in taking him deep again, rougher this time. faster. you let him feel your teeth just barely—just enough to make him twitch. his hand tightened in your hair again and his hips bucked up, trying to fuck your throat. but you weren’t having none of that, so you pinned him with a warning glare and he froze.

you pulled away from his length just long enough to speak. “don’t move unless I say so.” you murmured. he nodded fast, breathing ragged. “okay. okay, i—i won’t. please don’t stop.”

“good boy.” and with that, you kept going. sucking, slurping, making it so fucking messy. his cock was red and slick, and the little noises he was making were insane—tiny whines, like he was embarrassed to be enjoying it that much.

“fuck, i’m gonna—i’m gonna cum—” he gasped, trying his hardest not to move his hips from up off the bed.

you didn’t stop.

“can i—” he whimpered. “please, can i cum in your mouth? please let me, i’m so close, pleaseplease—” you moaned at that, nodding your head the best you could with it stuffed full of him. chris sighed in relief before you felt him twitch more in the back of your throat—his body tensing under yours before he let himself go.

he came hard—his whole body was shaking as he spilled into your mouth. thick, white ropes of cum hit the back of your throat. but you didn’t pull away. you sucked him through it, tongue swirling around his cock as he cried out from how sensitive he quickly became.

when you finally did pull off, you looked up at him with wet lips and a smug smile. you broke eye contact with him after that, your hand reaching for his phone on the bed and pressing stop on the stopwatch.

you grinned, turning your gaze back to him as you held up the phone for him to see. “four minutes and seventeen seconds.” you said, licking a drop from the corner of your mouth.

chris stared at you like you were a fucking goddess. “I hate you.” he groaned—but really—he didn’t. it was the best head of his life, but he wasn’t gonna tell you that.

you giggled, rolling your eyes slightly as you reached for a tissue. “you’re welcome.” you said as you brought the tissue to his spent cock, slowly wiping up whatever was left over, listening to the way he hissed and whined when your touch was too firm.

when you were finished, you threw the tissue in the trash can next to your bed—quickly helping him get his sweats back into place on his body before you climbed up onto the bed yourself again.

it was silent for a long while—surprisingly it was comfortable, like you just didn’t give your best friend head in your bedroom for the first time. you both sat there on the bed next to one another, you were staring at your phone now and chris was laying back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

he was finally the one to break the silence. “let me do it too.” he muttered, and you looked at him, arching a brow. “what?”

“i said let me do it too.” this time he was louder, turning over onto his side to face you. “I’m saying,” he said, crawling over the bed now, sitting next to you. “that if i went down on you, i could beat your record.”

you blinked at him slowly—like you weren’t sure if you were hearing him right. but then you grinned. “you wanna try? on me?” and chris suddenly looked nervous, like he couldn’t believe he had actually said it to you. but under it—there was something deeper. determined. and hungry. “only if you’ll let me.” he muttered, watching you.

you leaned forward in his direction a little, watching the way his throat bobbed as you got closer. “alright, baby. let’s see what you can do hm?”

and so you moved yourself, letting your body lay flat on your bed, practically laying on chris’ body before he moved himself. with your phone in hand, you opened the stopwatch just like you did earlier. you let yourself get comfy, your eyes peering up at chris as he just stood there for a moment.

you arched a brow. “gonna come here or what pretty boy?” you teased, lifting your other head to beckon him closer. he breathed out a shaky laugh, shaking his head as he came closer to you. he knelt between your legs almost like it was instinct now before his hands wrapped around your thighs and pulled you closer to the edge of the bed.

chris peered up at you with his big blue eyes, almost looking a little embarrassed. “i don’t have a hair tie.” he muttered. and you couldn’t help but to smirk at him. “that’s okay. i’ll hold your hair back for you. maybe even give it a little tug.” you said, tugging his hair gently.

he whimpered softly at that.

you chuckled, tugging his hair again to get him to look at you. when his eyes met yours, you made a gesture down, and it didn’t take him long to get the hint. so he quickly leaned forward, his fingers coming up to undo your shorts before hooking his fingers into the loops. he tugged them down quickly, discarding them on the floor by him.

you smiled down at him, and slowly let your legs spread, showing off your pretty pink panties. you threaded your hand back into his hair, giving it yet another small tug. “you can start when I press this, okay? and you held the phone in front of him.

chris just nodded eagerly, his body already leaning forward—his nerves from just a moment ago already seeming to disappear.

and so you took that as your queue to hit start. and when you did? oh he was already gone. it was like his brain autopiloted to what he wanted most—you.

chris leaned forward, one hand coming out to rest on your thigh, opening you more as the other moved your panties to the side. and when he finally saw the sight of your bare pussy in front of him?—he leaned forward and licked a long, teasing stripe up your folds—just enough to make you gasp—then he got serious. his tongue flattening, dragging up and down, slowly. the pressure was perfect, his mouth so messy and wet against you.

your free hand gripped the sheets, the other gripping his hair tighter. “fuck, chris.” you moaned, letting your head tip back at the feeling. he couldn’t help but moan against you like that was praise.

suddenly, he pulled away—you both whining at the loss of one another. you were confused, tipping your head back up to watch him, to say something. but chris quickly reached up and grabbed the waistband to your panties before you could say anything and began to tug them down your legs until they were completely off of you. he threw them somewhere—he wasn’t really sure, he was just too eager to have his face buried in your pussy again.

when he dove back down, one of his hands came up to press on your lower stomach to hold you still, while the other gripped your thigh again to keep you spread open. and that’s when he started using his tongue in tiny maddening circles on your clit and you threw your head back once more.

though at some point he began to stray, moving his head lower and lower, wanting to fuck you with his tongue. so you put your hand on his head to get his attention. “c’mere—hold your tongue right there—” you said breathlessly, now threading your fingers into his hair and tugging him into the exact angle you wanted. and when his tongue met that spot, you moaned softly. “yeah, baby. just like that.”

he whined. it was the kind of sound that let you know he loved being told what to do—being bossed around.

he was so messy and sloppy with how he ate you out—but you didn’t care. it felt so good. his tongue stayed right where you wanted him, his fingers digging into your skin wherever they were planted at on your body as he lost himself in you.

you could feel the way your body began to tense, the band in your stomach beginning to grow tighter the longer he works you.

you started gasping when your release got closer and closer. your hips twitching, trying not to grind too much on his face. chris was switching between slow drags and fast flicks of his tongue, practically drooling all over you. and when you glanced down and saw the shine all over his mouth and chin, you almost lost it.

your thighs started to shake, trying to close around him but they couldn’t, not with his grip on one of them. “chris—baby—fuck, m’so close!” you cried out. he grunted into you, his tongue beginning to move even faster than before.

you guys had lost track of the time by now, not even sure how long it has been since you started. had it been long? or not at all?

you didn’t know—your brain was mush, not focusing on anything else except for the way chris’ mouth felt against you. your body began to arch—voice cracking as you suddenly came when he gently sucked your clit into his mouth. your thighs trembled more around his head as wave after wave came crashing over you.

but he didn’t stop—he slowed down and kept his tongue moving through it. moaning into your soaked folds like he was addicted to you and the way you tased. sucking your clit softly into his mouth over and over against as your back pressed to the mattress.

when you finally came down, your body began to twitch at the oversensitivity of his mouth attached to your clit. slowly sucking on it and running slow flicks at the nerve. you hissed, grabbing his hair and pulling him away. he whined at the loss of your taste, his face absolutely soaked with your release and juices.

you just grinned down at him, your body now beginning to feel tired before you looked over at your phone next to you. though, chris eyes must’ve followed yours.

the stopwatch ticked : 4:01

you turned your gaze back to chris, watching the way he smirked, letting his own eyes flick to you as his hand came up to wipe his mouth with the back of his hand. “told you.”

a/n : i’ll be nice now and give you guys this :)

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mingapace · 2 days ago

Note

May I request the reader being just as pathetic as Remmick? Like, both of them crying during sex because they love each other a lot and they're so overwhelmed by their feelings, and being equally obsessed with him as he's with her? I apologize if you do not write for readers who are also pathetic little meow meows but since you didn't mention anything about that in your rules I thought it was worth a try.

Ye! It takes me a lot cause I'm not good with sub!reader but I found it very fun to write. Since you didn't specify any other kinks, I took the liberty of handling the matter myself. I hope you like it.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴘᴏʀɴ ��ɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴘʟᴏᴛ, ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ᴅᴏᴍ!ʀᴇᴍᴍɪᴄᴋ, ꜱᴜʙ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ꜰᴇᴍᴀʟᴇ ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ, ᴄᴏᴄᴋᴡᴀʀᴍɪɴɢ, ᴘ ɪɴ ᴠ, ᴍᴏᴀɴɪɴɢ, ᴡʜɪɴɪɴɢ, ᴘʀᴀɪꜱɪɴɢ, ᴛᴇᴀꜱɪɴɢ, ᴇᴅɢɪɴɢ, ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛ ꜱᴇx, ᴇxᴘʟɪᴄɪᴛ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ, ᴇxᴄᴇꜱꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴜꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴇᴛ ɴᴀᴍᴇꜱ.

ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ: 1,4ᴋ

You lost track of how long you’d been like this — impaled on him, your thighs shaking faintly, the burn of held-in need spreading like a fever through your bloodstream.

Remmick hadn’t moved in what felt like hours.

No thrust. No grinding. No friction.

Just the unbearable fullness of him inside you, hot and still, while his lips lazily traced the curve of your shoulder, the edge of your throat, the delicate shell of your ear.

His hands weren’t idle.

One rested low on your back, fingers splayed, pressing you down against him like he owned every inch of you — which, right now, he did.

The other was crueler in its patience. Gliding up your side, teasing your ribs, stroking the underside of your breast with just the edge of a long sharp nail. Not enough to satisfy. Just enough to torment.

You couldn’t help it.

You whimpered, softly — a sound he had undoubtedly been waiting for.

His laugh was low and dark against your neck. “There y'are now,” he murmured, teeth grazing skin. “Was startin' to think you’d gone and passed out, sittin' so bloody still like that.”

You shift your hips — just slightly. Barely enough to qualify as a movement. But even that is a mistake.

His fingers tighten on your hip instantly, bruising in their precision. His voice drops, honeyed and mocking.

“Ah ah ah,” he purrs. “Not so fast now, darlin'.” He tilts his head back to look at you, fangs catching the light. “You told me you could take it. Said you were well able to sit pretty for me. Hours, you said. Remember that, do ya?”

You glare at him, but it’s weak, trembly — a lost cause.

“Remmick,” you breathe, “please. It’s— I can’t—”

“You can,” he interrupts smoothly, voice like silk dragged over stone. “You just don’t want to anymore. There’s a difference.”

His thumb slides up to brush the corner of your mouth, tracing your lips. “You were bold as brass earlier,” he muses. “So sure of yourself. Where’s all that arrogance now, hm?” He tilts your chin up. “Melted away just because I made you wait? How fragile your pride is.”

You whimper again — not from pain, not even from the pressure building low in your belly like a storm about to break — but from the unbearable need. The intimacy. The weight of his gaze, the deliberate control in every motion.

“Remmick,” you whisper. “I’m begging you.”

His expression softens — just slightly. A cruel softness.

“Y'think I don’t want to fuck you 'til you forget your own name?” he growls low, voice suddenly darker. “You think I’m not burnin' to ruin you right now, love?”

You gasp softly at the change in tone. There’s hunger in his eyes — real, dangerous. The kind only a vampire can carry: ageless, starved, barely restrained.

“But this?” He shifts — just a little, enough to make you keen. “This is more intimate than fucking. This is ownin' you, body and soul.”

He licks a slow stripe up your neck.

You want to cry from how turned on you are.

He leans back just enough to look at you fully now. His white shirt is undone halfway, sleeves rolled to the elbows.

His pale hands are elegant and cruel. His nails, long and sharp, trace slow paths down your back. Every motion is precise, patient, like a man who has lived too long to rush anything.

“Drippin' for me, look at you” he murmurs, glancing down between your bodies. “Feel that?” He flexes his hips just slightly — again, barely — and the sensation makes you choke on a moan. “And I've not even fucked ya yet.”

You’re shaking now, trembling from restraint. Your walls flutter around him, desperate for movement, for release, for anything.

He notices. Of course, he does.

He leans close again, whispering against your lips, “Say it.”

You breathe, “Please.”

“Nah, c'mon. Say it proper.”

“I want you to fuck me.”

A long silence. His red eyes gleam. Then—

“No.”

It lands like a slap.

Your breath catches on a sob you can’t stop in time. It trembles up from your chest, raw and helpless, and before you can turn your face away — ashamed of it — he’s already there, watching.

Remmick freezes.

Then his expression shifts. The slow unraveling of something old and cold inside him, cracking apart under the weight of your tears.

“Ah, fuck,” he breathes, and it’s not sarcastic this time. Not mocking. Just wrecked.

He cups your face so gently it shatters you all over again. His thumbs brush your cheeks, catching the tears. He kisses you — soft, desperate, trembling with restraint — like he wants to take the hurt into his own mouth and swallow it whole.

“Oh, my poor sweet thing,” he whispers into your lips. “You’ve been so good for me. So fucking good. I didn’t mean to break you.”

You gasp when he finally moves — hips rolling up into you in one slow, thick stroke, and you sob again, this time from the flood of overwhelming relief.

“Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, that’s it. Take it. I’ve got you.”

The pace is steady at first — deep, controlled thrusts, his hands anchoring you in place. One at your hip. One tangled in your hair.

He kisses your neck again, open-mouthed, letting a fang scrape gently along your pulse. His breath is ragged now, hot and reverent.

“You’re perfect like this,” he groans. “All warm 'n' wet, takin' me so deep like your cunt was built for it.”

You moan brokenly into his shoulder, clutching at his shirt, nails digging into the fabric as he finally, finally gives you what you need.

“I couldn’t—” he chokes. “I couldn’t move, dear. You were so bloody gorgeous sittin' there, patient as a saint. I just wanted to see how long you'd last for me. I didn’t think it’d hurt you.”

You shake your head — no, no, it’s not pain, not like that. It’s the want, the hunger, the way he fills every part of you, body and mind, until you can’t tell where you end and he begins.

And now that he’s moving, now that he’s inside you, with you — it’s everything.

His mouth finds your ear again.

“You’re mine,” he growls. “Y'hear? Mine to touch. Mine to fill. Mine to keep.”

“Yes,” you sob, clenching around him. “Yours, Remmick. Yours.”

He moans — a sound low and guttural, his control fraying.

“I’d set the fucking world on fire for you,” he whine. “Drain kingdoms if you asked. I’d kill for your pleasure. And you’re crying just because I made you wait. Fuckin' hell, I love you.”

Your whole body jolts at the words.

He doesn’t stop.

“I love you when you’re proud. I love you when you’re begging. I love you like it’s eating me alive.”

You cry harder, and he kisses the tears away as he drives into you now — harder, deeper, not holding back.

His hips snap up into you with filthy sounds, slick and desperate. His hands are everywhere — gripping your waist, fisting your hair, cradling your jaw.

“I’ve got you, darlin',” he murmurs over and over. “I’ve got you. Let go, baby. Come for me now.”

You do — with a scream muffled against his throat, every nerve ending detonating into light. You convulse around him, clutching him like salvation as he fucks you through it, murmuring praise into your skin:

“That’s it, gorgeous. So good.”

His pace falters — a sudden sharp thrust, then a shudder — and he follows you over the edge with a snarl of your name, sinking his fangs into your shoulder as he comes, spilling into you in hot, pulsing waves.

The bite is sharp — pleasure laced with pain — and your body clenches again, aftershocks wracking through you.

You collapse against him, breath hitching, heart pounding wildly against his cold chest.

He licks the wound gently. Kisses it. Wraps his arms around you like a coffin.

“You’re everythin' to me,” he whispers into your hair. “Don’t you ever doubt that, not for a second.”

You’re too spent to answer, but your arms tighten around his shoulders, and he feels it — your answer in the way you hold him, not like a lover but like a lifeline.

And for once, Remmick doesn’t tease. Doesn’t gloat.

He just holds you, and trembles.

#remmick #sinners #ryan coogler #jack o'connell #remmick fanfic #remmick x reader #remmick smut #remmick x you #remmick request #dom remmick #cuddle fuck #sub reader #dividers by cafekitsune

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sqgeism · 23 hours ago

Text

love mail — 🍒 ⨾ short thing, i js like phainon he's cool.. reqs r gonna get done like next week i think sorry everyone (ノ゜ー゜)ノ

the nameless hero stands at your door, bouquet in hand, and his broken heart in the other.

he's hurt, he's badly hurt. his clothes are tattered, his face is scarred beyond recognition, and eyes lack the glow you always said you loved.

would you still love him like this, a shell of a man he used to be? just a boy who has done nothing but mourn the happiness he's lived?

phainon doesn't know. he's honestly been afraid of the answer.

though he would never choose to live afraid, and be haunted for the rest of his life, knowing he walked away from the greatest thing he's ever had. the best person who has ever chosen him.

and it was never to be saved, it wasn't for his strength, it wasn't for the fact he was phainon, the nameless hero.

he was so sure you saw past all of it. he was a little afraid of it, actually. that you'd see how pathetic he truly was behind a face of heroism and self sacrifice.

he almost flinches at the door clicking, and he's wondering if he can somehow run away and be out of sight in the same time it takes to fully open that door.

but how could he dare to move his feet if you're right there?

the face he's dreamed of every single night, that haunted him in every corner, and wished upon on every star.

you.

and all he had was a painfully half assed bouquet of your favorite flowers. your favorites—but still half assed. making a handmade bouquet isn't easy with an injured arm, after all.

"phainon, my love?"

oh.. how he's waited to hear those words again, feeling your hand slowly caress his cheek, biting back the wince just to feel your loving touch for just a moment longer.

he hopes you'd yell, that you'd be angry for him being gone for so long. that just one glance into his eyes and you'd see a stranger.

but all you do is smile, the way you always have. the way he was so afraid that he'd never see again.

and the greatest warrior amphoreus has ever seen crumbles in your hand, chuckling with tears in his eyes as you say; "are those for me?"

it would be for nobody else.

#ㅤ 𐔌᭥ᩙ༉ㅤnew flower bloomed ! :ೃ࿔𔓘 #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #phainon x reader #phainon x you #phainon hsr x reader

442 notes · View notes

whenstarsundress · 3 days ago

Note

hello! i wanted to ask if you could write a scenario where the boys find the reader's self harm scars that the reader has been hiding for years? i know it's a difficult subject and feel free to ignore this ask or change up the request however you wish if it's something you're not comfortable with. no pressure at all! my favorites are zayne and sylus but i'm not picky, you can write the prompt for someone else if you'd rather! your writing is amazing and i really appreciate you sharing your work! :)

an: thank you for trusting me with this request, wherever you are, I’m sending you love.

sylus – protective, soft but quietly wrecked

he didn’t mean to see. he was tracing your skin with those featherlight touches. his usual calm reverence written into every movement.

but then his fingers stilled. “…angel,” he murmured.

you froze. he didn’t ask what it was. he already knew. his jaw clenched and for a second his fingers tightened around you. but when you tried to move, tried to hide, he caught your hand and kissed the scar instead. then another, and each that he could find.

“this… this doesn’t scare me,” he said thickly. “but it hurts that you went through something like that alone.”

he held you all night and whispered that he was proud of you. that you were still here. that he’d protect you from every shadow, including the ones in your own heart.

zayne – devastated, gentle, desperately wants to understand

he spotted it when you were changing. your shirt had barely lifted before he saw the marks. his entire expression dropped, his entire body went rigid.

“…baby?” his voice cracked. “can i… ask you something?”

you turned away, but he rushed to you. not to demand answers or to see, but to wrap you in his hoodie, pressing his forehead to yours.

“i’m not mad,” he whispered. “i just… i wish i’d known. i could’ve held you when it was bad. i still can. please don’t hide from me.”

that night, he made you hot cocoa and wrapped you in his clothes, in his blanket, in his arms. and let you talk or cry or say nothing at all. he sat beside you on the floor, lacing your fingers together, as if to silently say, “you’re not alone anymore.”

caleb – quietly fierce, immediate emotional anchor

he noticed the scars when you reached to grab something. you didn’t even realize until you saw his eyes on your wrist. he didn’t speak right away, because what do you say when the love of your life was hurting and you didn’t know?

“tell me who hurt you,” he said. “and if it was you… tell me what made it feel like the only choice.”

his voice didn’t carry judgment. just fury that something in this world—something in your past, or even right now—could carve that pain into someone he loved. he kissed the skin gently and said, “scars don’t scare me. but not knowing what you’re carrying does. so talk to me. or let me hold it with you.”

and he did. whatever you need, caleb would give it to you. forever.

xavier – emotional, deeply shaken, poetic and present

you didn’t think he’d notice. not through the long sleeves, but xavier always noticed everything about you. one night, curled in bed, you shifted, and your sleeve rode up. he saw. his heart dropped before beating so fast, like it tried to claw out of his chest, and to yours. to surround you with love, warmth and protection.

his fingers ghosted over the mark. “was this pain?” he asked, his voice hollow. “or… silence?”

you didn’t answer right away. but your eyes brimmed with tears and that was enough. he took your wrist in both hands, kissed every inch with reverence, like he could rewrite what had happened with softness.

“these scars,” he whispered, “don’t define you. but they’re part of your story. and i’m not afraid of your shadows. i love all of you. even the aching parts.”

rafayel – surprisingly serious, stays with you through every emotion

he usually makes everything lighthearted until he saw the faint scars on your thighs. his voice dropped to a serious low. “you did this to yourself?”

you nodded, too scared to look at him. he didn’t joke or tease. he stepped forward and knelt in front of you, resting his cheek gently against your leg, as a quiet act of devotion.

“i’ve made mistakes, too,” he said softly. “you don’t have to hide the hurting from me. i want the real you, even the parts you think are unlovable.”

he pressed a soft kiss to the scar before he got up again, and wrapped you tightly into his arms. “i got you. no matter how heavy the pain is, we’ll carry it together. okay?”

final words - you are not your scars. you are not broken. you are worthy of gentle love, understanding hands and unwavering presence.

and my dear? you’re so strong for being here.

these boys—sylus, zayne, caleb, xavier & rafayel—they wouldn’t run from your past. they’d stay, heart first.

644 notes · View notes

nanamisgirly · 2 days ago

Text

Body hair?? not stopping him from his meal! ྀི

CW oral (f. receiving), kento calls her 'greedy thing' & honey, he's eating wellll, hairy reader!, college au., once spitting, I had young nanami in mind with his pretty blonde bang, established relationship, pussy drunk!, a bit of plot ig either we're diving right in 😼

you're kissing

messily, hungrily—your lips part with a wet pop as you gasp for breath. kento's full weight is pressed against your body, his thigh slotted between your legs, his lower stomach grinding hard against your core. one of his hands cups your jaw roughly, angling you where he wants it.

“i didn’t know we would go further…i didn’t shave and uh..im quite hairy. even my stomach” you mumble shyly. “i didn’t even shave my armpits. or down there.” your fingers threading through the long strands of his blonde bangs—trying to get his attention.

you gently push them back, letting your hand slide into his hair until you’re gripping a handful at the nape of his neck—a deep groan escapes his throat at the tug.

doubt is creeping in you…

“i didn't know we were gonna go this far tonight…” you repeat. “i didn't shave. like, anywhere...”

kento pulls away from where he was attacking lovely your neck with wet kisses. his eyes met yours—heavy-lidded, pupils blown so wide they almost eclipse the warm brown of his irises. his brows furrow, not in judgment, but because he genuinely has no idea what you just said.

“honey, i quite literally have no idea what the problem is,” he says, and then drags his fat tongue sloooowly, obscenely, all the way from your collarbone to your jaw. as he feels his glasses slide down his nose, he adds : “actually, take my glasses off. . don't want them in the way while i’m tasting you.”

“but kento—”

“i said. remove. them.”

“it's probably not hygienic,” you whisper. “i mean—body hair and, like… going down on me?”

kento's lips curl slightly. “who said that?” he mutters, then sinks his teeth a bit harshly into the crook of your neck. “society?” he continues, words muffled against your skin. “tell me this, do you wash your pussy properly?”

“y-yes—” you gasp.

“then where the heck is the problem?” his voice dips into something dark so sure of itself, it turns your whole body to liquid. one of his hands slip under your shirt and slides up, palm pressing against your stomach—and when he feels the soft trail of hair leading down…

“fuuuuck,” he breathes in the soft hair of your neck. “you smell like soap and lavender, your skin's clean and soft. i don't shave either, by the way. i'm not exactly hairless under this button-up.��

he presses down harder, strong abs pressing deliciously against your heated core.

“now stop worrying.” his teeth graze the skin above your waistband as he mouths hungrily at your stomach.

he's already undoing your pants with one hand, the other braced beside your head like he needs leverage to keep himself from just tearing them apart. he doesn't even slide them down—he rips them past your hips in one desperate motion, underwear bunched and clinging wet to your center.

there's a split second where he just stare—jaw slack, lips parted.

the soft dark hair above your slit glistens with the damp warmth beneath it, “fuck. fuck—fuck..” he spreads your legs wide—too wide that they ache instantly. he loses no time to bury his face between your legs, nose hitting your dripping folds and sniffing. he swipes his tongue devastatingly precisely, from your clit to your entrance and back again, groaning into the slick mess he's creating.

as your hips jerk up violently, he brings his hands to your hips and pin you down, keeping you in place. his tongue works in filthy little circles, mouthing and sucking enthusiastically your clit. when he pauses to speak, his voice is hoarse and soaked in spit. “this…this hair—” he pants, dragging his tongue right through where you have them the most. “don't you dare wax this pretty pussy. you taste divine, honey.”

he presses two fingers to your puffy hairy lips, spreads them open, and spits—watching it drip down between your folds. he dives back in, slurping so loudly it’s the only thing you can hear in the room.

kento can't help but grind onto the mattress—his hips rutting in rhythm with his tongue that trusts into your hole. The friction against his huge cock, trapped tight in his slacks, is maddening. he's not even trying to hold back the pleasure he’s having from this—choked and whining noises leaving his lips :(

“kento, please—” you sob, pleasure crackling up your spine.

“mm-mmmhh” he hums against you, tongue getting sloppier. to have better access, he lifts your hips, tilts them just right and devours you from underneath, tongue circling your clit only to drop and lap at your dripping hole again, wide flat strokes followed by desperate, suckling kisses.

he moans loudly as his rough fingers part your folds once again, exposing that sensitive bundle slick and twitching for him. “greedy little thing,” he grins.

“ken—ken…i—t-too much,” you whines.

“too bad,” he growls, voice deeper than usual. he bites into your inner thigh, rough and claiming, then licks over the sting. “thought i'd care about some hair…?” he shakes his head in disapproval. “i want it messy. sooo messy, you have no idea.”

he’s glassy-eyed when he looks up at you—dazed. drunk on taste and scent.

“i’m gonna fuckin’ lose my mind if i don’t stay down here,” he mumbles, voice hoarse, tongue darting back out to drag one more slow, obscene stripe through you. “look at this. look at this mess. it’s all mine.”

“you're just so pretty, honey. i need more.”

˶‾᷄ ⁻̫ ‾᷅˵

#I just know he's a nasty eater #i want him between my legs it's not funny :(((#jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #nanami kento #jjk drabbles #drabbles #kento smut #jjk kento #nanami smut #nanami x reader #nanami x y/n #jujutsu kaisen nanami #x reader smut #jjk x reader smut

890 notes · View notes

cheftsunoda · 1 day ago

Note

Hi lovely!! If you open to the idea, would you be able to do something where leclerc sister (maybe like 16/18) is adopted, but they were waiting to tell her. Then somehow a gossip page leaks it, which makes everyone go crazy. Reader is basically paddock princess so she has multiple people backing her up and protecting her?

paddock princess — ob87

smau + blurbs

charles leclerc x !adopted sister reader

ollie bearman x !leclerc sister

yn leclerc is loved by all— especially her family. however, they have been keeping a secret from her. what happens when a gossip page gets their hands on this and yn learns that she is adopted? will she run? will she stay?

fc : julia knezevic

(a/n) : love love love this idea. i made the reader 19 for just story purposes and i’ve had quite a few requests to write about ollie so i just added him as a comfort to the reader and love interest. thank you. hope you loveeeee

extra long my bad

—

yn_leclerc

monaco 📍

liked by arthur_leclerc, maxverstappen1, carlossainz55 & 3,090,002 others.

yn_leclerc : nasty 19 ft alex (the loml) and the cake she made me 🥺

tagged : alexandrasaintmleux

—

view 175,394 other comments.

alexandrasaintmleux : always my baby. im so glad you loved the cake — i love you!! happy birthday mon ange 🤍

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : i love you to the moon and back.

arthur_leclerc : all the love for alex but no love for your brothers?? 🙄 (i love you sm)

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : did you make me a jellycat cake???

↳ arthur_leclerc : no but i have given you unconditional love your whole life.

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : letting it slide because you promised a shopping spree tomorrow.

liked by arthur_leclerc

↳ arthur_leclerc : i am going to be POOR.

lewishamilton : Happy Birthday, little one. Keep shining the way you do. Proud of you always. 🤍

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : love you lew🥺

↳ arthur_leclerc : what is it like having THE lewis hamilton in the comments on your bday post? i never got this kind of treatment.

↳ yn_leclerc : he does not love you as much as he loves me

liked by lewishamilton

lando : happy birthday little leclerc! love you 🧡

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : love you sm lan. thank you for my gift !!

liked by lando

carlossainz55 : Mi dulce pequeño— there are not enough words to tell you how proud I am of you. Happy Birthday. Love you always.

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : mi carlitos!!!! love you forever n ever

liked by carlossainz55

lorenzotl : le plus joyeux des anniversaires à ma petite sœur! je t’aime!

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : je vous aime tellement!

lilymhe : alexandra deserves an award for the cake, you deserve one for being so cute! happy birthday lovely

liked by yn_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

↳ yn_leclerc : love you sm 🥺 thank you for all the jelly’s sent to my door this morning. (tell alex i said thank you as well)

liked by lilymhe and alexalbon

↳ alexalbon : anything for the princess

maxverstappen1 : i blinked and you grew up. i absolutely hate that. but i love you. happy birthday, kleintje. (little one)

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : love you always maxie 🤍

liked by maxverstappen1

scuderiaferrari : Happy Birthday YN!! We love you!💛❤️🎂

liked by yn_leclerc

username0 : oh to have the grid in my comment section

username10 : happy bday queen!

olliebearman : happy birthday, yn! ❤️

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : thank u bearrr🤍

liked by olliebearman

isackhadjar : joyeux anniversarie à toi!! 🎈

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : merci beaucoup, isack :)

liked by isackhadjar

—

If I ate one more bite of anything, I was going to spontaneously combust in front of my entire family. The small chocolate cake that was just placed in front of me was a lot, to say the least—complete with a sparkler that looked like it was about to set fire to the wine list. Maman clapped her hands together like it was the most magical thing she’d ever seen, Arthur was making explosion noises like a child, and Lorenzo was scolding him through laughter. I couldn’t even be mad. It was one of those rare nights where everything felt still and soft.

“I’m literally full,” I groaned, leaning back in my chair. “Like really full. I might explode.”

“You say that now,” Charles smirked, “but just wait until we bring out the gifts.”

“Oh no,” I groaned. “Charles, if you bought me another scooter like last year—”

“I said I was sorry about the scooter!” he interrupted. “You looked like you wanted to try one.”

“I wanted to try one, not watch you crash it into a bush,” I said giving him a playful glare.

That made everyone laugh—Alexandra almost choked on her wine and Charlotte covered her mouth mid-giggle. It was peaceful and perfect and mine. And then it wasn’t just us anymore. Because the double doors to the private dining room burst open without warning.

“IS THIS THE AFTERPARTY?!” Lando’s voice rang out first, carrying over the sound of chairs scraping and shocked gasps. I blinked in complete disbelief as Pierre, George, Carlos, Lewis, Alex, and Esteban followed behind him in various states of gift-carrying, tux-wearing madness.

“What—what the hell—” I started, but I was already being pulled into a hug by Pierre, who lifted me off the ground like I weighed nothing.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, PRINCESSE,” he shouted in my ear before promptly spinning me in a circle.

“Oh my god,” I laughed, tears already threatening. “You guys didn’t.”

“We did,” Lewis said with a warm grin, walking up and handing me a white Chanel shopping bag. “And this is just the beginning.”

I opened it with shaking hands—and my jaw dropped. It was the bag. The vintage, pearl-handle, mini Chanel bag I had drooled over in Paris two months ago. The one that had been sold out within hours. The one I thought I’d never even touch.

“I mentioned it once,” I whispered. “Once.”

“Lando tracked it down,” Lewis said casually, gesturing toward the Brit, who was smugly leaning against a wall and pretending to scroll through his phone.

“You’re kidding.”

“He begged a stylist in New York for it,” George added, not hiding the grin on his face.

Lando just shrugged. “Had to beat Verstappen to it somehow.”

I ran into his arms, bag clutched to my chest like a treasure. “You’re insane. I love you. You’re insane.”

“Happy birthday, princess,” he whispered into my hair.

And then came Carlos, cool and collected as always, dressed in black with a velvet box in hand.

“Oh, no,” I said, already emotional.

“Oh, yes,” he replied, opening it to reveal a dainty but breathtaking diamond necklace. The kind of necklace you’d see in Vogue editorials.

“Carlos,” I whispered. “That’s too much.”

“You’re worth more,” he said softly, and I suddenly understood what it meant to be speechless.

He stepped behind me and gently fastened it around my neck while I stood frozen, tears brimming in my eyes, trying not to break down in front of everyone.

“This is insane,” I finally croaked. “You guys didn’t have to—”

“We wanted to,” Charles interrupted, suddenly next to me with Arthur and Lorenzo behind him. “You make all of our lives better just by being in them, petite sœur. Of course we showed up.”

I couldn’t even argue. And as I looked down at the necklace on my collarbone, the bag clutched to my chest, and the grins surrounding me, I knew this was one birthday I’d never, ever forget.

—

By the time I made it back to my apartment, my feet were screaming, my necklace was slightly askew, and I was fairly certain I was still full from four courses and three desserts. All I wanted was to throw on sweatpants, wash the remaining makeup off my face, and sleep for fifteen years. But instead, I walked into yet another surprise. There, smack in the middle of my living room coffee table, was a massive bouquet—no, a floral fortress—of white hydrangeas, soft yellow peonies, and pale pink roses. It looked like something out of a royal wedding Pinterest board. Elegant. Expensive. Intentional. There was a tiny cream envelope nestled in the middle. I dropped my bag on the floor and blinked at it like it might explode. Before I could even touch the card, Charles’ voice rang from the hallway behind me.

“What is that?”

Oh no. I turned slowly. There they were—Charles, Arthur, and Lando—squished in the hallway, clearly having followed me home like nosy little puppies.

“It’s… flowers,” I offered weakly.

“From who?” Arthur asked immediately, stepping forward like an over-invested bodyguard.

“Why are there roses?” Lando added, already reaching for the card. I swatted his hand away.

“Back off, Norris.”

Charles narrowed his eyes. “Is it from someone we know? Someone we like?”

I sighed dramatically, plucked the card out of the arrangement, and read aloud.

“Happy Birthday, Princess. Sorry I couldn’t make it tonight—hope this makes up for it. x – Ollie”

Silence. Then— “Bearman?!” Arthur practically screeched, spinning around like he’d been personally betrayed.

“You let Ollie Bearman call you Princess?!” Charles demanded, face already morphing into Big Brother Mode.

“I didn’t let him—he just—it’s a nickname! Everyone calls me that!”

Lando was already flopped onto my couch, cackling. “Oh, you’re dead. You are so dead. Ollie’s never escaping this.”

“He sent roses,” Arthur said, pacing now. “He’s trying to flirt. That’s flirting. Is he trying to date you? Is this a date thing?!”

“He’s Twenty!” I protested.

“You’re nineteen!” Charles snapped.

“Exactly! It’s barely an age gap—”

“Oh my god,” Lando groaned from the couch. “You like him.”

“I never said that!”

“Which means you do,” Arthur concluded.

I buried my face in my hands. “I literally just wanted to go to sleep. That’s all I wanted.”

Charles grabbed his phone. “I’m calling Ollie.”

“You will do no such thing!”

Too late—Arthur was already speed-texting someone. Meanwhile, Lando was now examining the bouquet and the card up close.

“Okay, but… this is a really good arrangement. Like, props to him. He’s got taste.”

“Lando, you’re not helping.”

—

f1gossipgirls

1,283,009 likes.

f1gossipgirls : In a shocking turn of events, sources close to the Leclerc family have revealed that YN Leclerc—known as F1’s beloved “paddock princess” and younger sister to Ferrari’s Charles Leclerc—is not biologically related to the Monégasque driver. According to documents obtained, YN was adopted by the Leclerc family as a baby. While the Leclerc's have always presented a united and loving front, fans are now questioning why this detail was never made public—especially as YN’s popularity continues to skyrocket. Why was this kept a secret? Was YN ever told? Is there more to the story than meets the eye? Neither YN nor the Leclerc family has commented yet, but we expect the grid to go into protection mode fast. With half the paddock practically treating YN like royalty, this story is far from over. More updates soon.

—

view 350,384 other comments.

username0 : her and charles are literally identical— i never would’ve guessed this.

username15 : you’re telling me someone dug through adoption records to post this?? she’s literally 19. what is wrong with you people.

username30 : “not biologically related” and??? they are still her family. y’all are weird for this one.

username22 : the fact that this was leaked on her birthday week is so disgusting. someone really said “let me ruin a teenager’s day for clicks.” i’m sick.

username17 : i hope charles sues y’all into oblivion

username00 : so… she’s adopted. AND?? she’s still the paddock princess. still the sister of Charles, Arthur and Lorenzo. still our girl. NEXT.

username10 : y’all forgot she’s the grid’s little sister. max is about to say his first emotional thing ever.

username11 : it’s the way she literally brings joy to the paddock. she’s always hugging people, always cheering, always there. you really tried to knock her down? pathetic.

—

third person pov

Arthur was in the kitchen with Pascale and Alexandra, laughing as he scrolled through photos from YN’s birthday dinner the night before. The second Lorenzo’s voice broke—sharp, panicked—Arthur dropped his phone.

“They posted it.”

Pascale froze. “Posted what?”

Lorenzo’s voice was trembling. “The adoption. They leaked her adoption. It’s everywhere.”

Time stood still. Alexandra’s hand flew to her mouth. Arthur’s face drained of color. Pascale slowly took the phone from Lorenzo, her fingers shaking as she read the headline aloud in a whisper. The air left the room.

Pascale sank into a chair. “She doesn’t even know yet…”

Arthur was already pacing, muttering curses in French, furious in a way he hadn’t been in years. “How—how did they even find out? Who would do this to her?”

“She’s going to be devastated,” Alexandra whispered, blinking back tears.

Lorenzo was already dialing Charles. Charles didn’t even say hello when he answered—just, “I saw it.”

His voice was tight. Controlled. Scary calm.

“I’m going to her now.”

“Don’t let her see it yet,” Pascale said, standing up, voice firm despite the tears in her eyes. “Don’t let her read that article before she hears it from us.”

Charles’ voice cracked just slightly. “She trusted us.”

—

your pov

It’s crazy how much your life can change in twelve hours. Last night, I was blowing out candles. Laughing so hard I nearly choked on the cake Alexandra baked me. Lando handed me the bag I’d been dreaming about, Carlos gave me jewelry like I was royalty, and my brothers were annoyingly soft all evening. I felt so… loved. Safe. And now?

Now I’m sitting on my bedroom floor, phone in my lap, staring at an article that managed to make everything feel different. Like someone cracked open my world and spilled secrets I didn’t even know were mine. Adopted. The word is loud in my head. Foreign. Distant. Like it belongs to someone else. No one told me. Not Charles. Not Maman. Not Arthur. They all knew. And I didn’t. The silence in the house is deafening. I keep waiting to hear footsteps—his voice. Something. But it’s just me. Me, and a truth I never asked for.

—

I didn’t want to stay in my apartment anymore. The silence was suffocating, and every corner seemed to remind me of the secret I never wanted to know — that I was adopted, and somehow, that fact was now public. The leak felt like a knife twisting in my chest, and I just needed to get away. Without thinking much, I grabbed a bag — some clothes, my favorite hoodie, a journal I never leave behind — and headed straight to Max’s place. It was the one place that felt like home, no matter how chaotic the world got.

When I got there, Max opened the door before I even knocked. His face softened the moment he saw me, like he already knew something was wrong. Kelly was there, too, and she immediately wrapped me in a warm hug that felt like safety.

“Come in,” Max said quietly, guiding me inside. “You don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to.”

I just shook my head, sitting on the couch, my fingers trembling as I clutched my bag. Kelly sat nearby, giving me that quiet, calm support only she could. Max came over and wrapped me into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to my forehead. Just letting me cry, just letting me exist.

After some time, Max’s phone buzzed. He looked at me with a small smile. “Lando and Carlos are coming over. They insist on seeing you.”

When they arrived, Lando was first — his usual grin was softer, eyes full of concern. Carlos came in behind him, nodding at Max and Kelly.

Max left me in the guest bedroom to rest, but Lando and Carlos came in, settling next to me on the bed. Lando gently took my hand, fingers warm and steady, while Carlos wrapped an arm around my shoulders.

I closed my eyes for a moment, then started to speak, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t understand why they did this. Why they thought it was okay to tear open my life like this.”

Lando squeezed my hand. “Because they don’t understand what family means.”

Carlos nodded. “We do. You’re ours. Nothing changes that.”

I let the tears come, finally allowing myself to be vulnerable. They didn’t say much — just held me, letting me pour out my pain and confusion. For hours, we stayed like that. I talked, cried, and they listened. Their presence was something I didn’t know I needed, a reminder that no matter what the world said, I wasn’t alone.

—

third person pov

Charles arrived at YN’s apartment, his heart pounding with worry. He needed to see her — to explain, to fix whatever had been broken. But when he pushed the door open, it was slightly ajar, creaking softly as it swung inward.

“YN?” he called, his voice tight with concern. The apartment was eerily quiet.

He glanced around the living room and kitchen, then made his way to her bedroom. His eyes immediately landed on the nightstand, her journal was missing. A knot tightened in his stomach. She had packed up. She had left.

His hands trembled as he pulled out his phone and called Arthur. “Arthur, YN’s gone. She left her apartment — her journal’s missing too. I don’t know where she is.”

“Stay calm, Charles,” Arthur replied evenly. “Where do you think she went?”

Charles ran a hand through his hair, panic rising in his chest. “I don’t know. But I have to find her. I have to.”

He looked around once more, the weight of guilt pressing down. How had it come to this? And how could he make it right before it was too late?

—

your pov

After a while, Lando spoke softly, his voice almost a whisper. “YN, can I ask you something?”

I nodded, eyes still closed. “Anything.”

“Did you ever want to know?” His words caught me off guard.

“Want to know what?” I asked, my voice shaky.

“About being adopted. About your past.”

I took a deep breath. “I always felt like something was missing, like there was this part of me I wasn’t supposed to see. But honestly? I was scared. Scared that if I found out, everything I knew — my family, my life — would change.”

Carlos squeezed my shoulder. “But nothing about who you are changes because of that. You’re still YN, still the person we care about. Family isn’t just blood.”

“I know,” I whispered. “But it feels like my whole identity was a lie. Like I wasn’t real enough.”

Lando shook his head gently. “You’re more real than anyone I know. Being adopted doesn’t make you less than. It means you were chosen. And that’s powerful.”

Carlos smiled softly. “You belong with us. With all of us. And no gossip or secret can ever take that away.”

I blinked back tears, feeling the weight in my chest ease just a little. For the first time in hours, I felt seen truly seen and accepted. The fear was still there, but maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t alone in this.

“Thank you,” I whispered, clutching their hands tighter. “For staying. For reminding me who I am.”

—

The next morning came too fast. I hadn’t slept much — just drifted in and out of shallow dreams that always ended with the same knot in my stomach. The ache in my chest hadn’t eased either, even with Carlos’s steady breathing beside me and Lando still curled up at the foot of the bed like an overgrown golden retriever. I was staring at the ceiling when my phone buzzed on the nightstand.

(your bff) 💌 calling…

I sat up, quietly untangling myself from the warmth of my boys, and slipped into the hallway before answering.

“(your bff)?” My voice cracked a little.

“Oh, thank God. I was about to fly to Monaco myself,” she said immediately, her voice filled with the kind of love only someone who’s seen you through every awkward phase of your life could manage. “How are you, sweetheart?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Like I’m floating above myself? It doesn’t feel real. I haven’t really stopped moving since it happened.”

She sighed. “I hate this. I hate that it got taken from you like that. You deserved better than a headline.”

I bit the inside of my cheek. “Yeah, well. Headlines don’t wait for permission.”

She was quiet for a moment. “Come with me.”

“What?”

“I mean it,” she said firmly. “Come with me to the lake house. Just us. No noise. No social media. No press. Just trees, a fireplace, and the world leaving you alone for a minute. I’ll cook. You’ll cry. I’ll feed you again. We’ll yell into the void. It’ll be healing.”

I laughed softly, the sound surprising even me. “I don’t know…”

“You need air, baby. And space. And maybe wine and marshmallows and bad horror movies from 2005. Come hide with me.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I don’t even know what to pack.”

“Nothing. Just bring your hoodie and that one fuzzy blanket you refuse to wash because it ‘smells like childhood,’” she teased. “I’ll handle the rest.”

I blinked away tears. “Okay. I’ll come.”

“I’ll be there by the afternoon. No backing out. I’m kidnapping you.”

“I love you,” I whispered.

“I know,” she replied gently. “Let’s get you out of the storm.”

—

By late afternoon, I’d finally worked up the courage to get out of bed. My head was pounding from the constant swirl of thoughts, and the emotional whiplash of the last 24 hours had left my body aching like I’d run a marathon. I padded into the kitchen, where Max was chopping fruit like a domestic god, and Kelly was sitting at the counter scrolling through her phone with her glasses low on her nose. Carlos was half-asleep on the couch, and Lando was rummaging through the pantry like he hadn’t eaten in days. I cleared my throat, instantly grabbing everyone’s attention. Max turned first, eyes softening the second he saw me.

“Hey,” he said quietly, setting the knife down.

“Hey.” I paused, twisting my fingers together. “I, um… I just wanted to let you guys know (your bff) is on her way. She’s picking me up.”

Lando frowned, abandoning the bag of chips in his hand. “Picking you up?”

I nodded. “We’re going to her lake house. It’s out in the middle of nowhere — no press, no people, no internet unless we climb a tree. Just… quiet.”

Carlos sat up straighter. “You’re leaving?”

“Just for a while,” I said quickly. “I need space. A second to figure out what I’m even feeling. I’ve been kind of… drowning.”

Max walked over and pulled me into a hug without a word, holding me tight against his chest.

“Are you sure this is what you need?” Kelly asked gently from the stool.

“Yeah. I think so,” I whispered. “I love you guys so much, but right now, even being around people who love me hurts. It makes it real.”

Lando crossed the kitchen and stood in front of me, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. “Just say the word and we’ll be there. You know that, right?”

“I know,” I smiled weakly. “I feel safer because of you. I just need to remember how to feel like me again.”

Carlos came over, cupping my cheek briefly. “Call us. Even if you just need to hear someone breathe.”

I let out a watery laugh. “You’re so weird.”

“Still true though,” Max muttered, and we all laughed, just for a second. It felt good.

A knock on the door broke the moment. I moved to open it, and there she was — oversized hoodie, sunglasses, and a messy bun. “Are you ready for your dramatic escape from reality?”

“You have no idea,” I said, hugging her tightly.

Behind me, the boys stood at the doorway like I was heading off to war.

“I’ll be back,” I promised. “I just need some time.”

“You better come back,” Lando muttered. “Or we’re burning the lake house down.”

“Good luck finding it,” She called over her shoulder as we walked to her car. “GPS gives up halfway in.”

I looked back one last time. Max gave me a thumbs up. Carlos blew a kiss. Lando mouthed call me with way too much drama.

—

f1gossipgirls

325,037 likes.

f1gossipgirls : YN Leclerc was seen leaving Max Verstappen’s apartment complex with her best friend, @/yourbff. The two were later seen boarding a private jet at a local airport. Seems as if she maybe did not know about the adoption news.

—

view 52,974 other comments.

username0 : she went to max’s apartment… that’s her safe place. oh she really didn’t know 😭

username5 : if charles wasn’t the one who told her and she found out from the internet i’m gonna SCREAM

username8 : this whole situation is SICK. media needs to back OFF. she’s not a storyline, she’s a human.

username15 : the second max got involved i knew it was serious. he’s not the “let me comfort you” type unless it’s life-shattering.

username20 : i hope whoever leaked this steps on legos for eternity. she deserved to hear it from her family

—

third person pov

“Max, she’s with you?” Charles’s voice was sharp, disbelief mixed with panic. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

There was a brief pause before Max spoke calmly, carefully. “She was, yeah. But she left a little while ago. Said she needed to clear her head.”

Charles ran a hand through his hair, his voice cracking. “Clear her head? Max, she’s my sister. She’s been hit hard by all this. I should be the one helping her.”

Max took a steady breath. “I get that. But right now, she needs space from everyone—even us. She’s processing all of this in her own way. She’ll come back when she’s ready.”

Charles’s voice softened, desperation seeping in. “I just want to be there for her. She can’t go through this alone.”

“She’s not alone,” Max said firmly. “We’re all here, waiting. Trust me—when she’s ready, she’ll reach out.”

Charles exhaled slowly, trying to calm the storm inside. “Okay. I just hope she knows that.”

“She knows.”

—

yn_leclerc

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yn_leclerc : mind over matter.

tagged : yourbff & olliebearman

—

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—

I was curled up on the oversized couch in a hoodie that swallowed me whole, sipping lukewarm tea, when I heard the front door open.

Her voice rang out, sing-song and suspiciously cheerful. “I brought someone who’s guaranteed to cheer you up!”

I groaned into my cup. “Unless it’s a French bulldog or a bottle of wine, I do not care.”

“Nope,” she grinned, walking into the living room. “Better.”

Footsteps. A second pair. A familiar pair.

“Hey, sunshine.”

I looked up—and nearly dropped my mug.

“Ollie?!”

He was standing in the doorway with that crooked grin and warm eyes, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, looking like he belonged here more than I did.

Before I could say anything else, I was on my feet and running straight into his arms. He caught me easily, arms wrapping tightly around my waist as he lifted me off the ground and spun me once, laughing. “There she is,” he murmured into my hair.

I squeezed him tighter, trying to blink away the sudden sting in my eyes. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

“She bribed me with baked goods,” he said teasingly, setting me down but not letting go. “Also, you didn’t answer any of my texts, which was very rude.”

I laughed into his chest. “Sorry. Been a little busy having an identity crisis.”

“Well,” he said, gently pulling back to look at me, “you still look like my favorite person.”

I shoved his shoulder playfully. “You’re so annoying.”

“Still made you smile.”

(your bff) appeared in the doorway with two mugs and a proud little smirk. “I know my girl.”

And she really did.

—

The sun warmed my skin and the fresh lake breeze tangled through my hair as the boat cut smoothly through the calm water. I sat close to Ollie, his hand resting gently over mine, fingers lacing naturally like they’d known each other forever. Somehow, everything felt easy here — no pressure, no noise, just quiet moments that spoke louder than words.

Ollie’s smile was soft and a little shy, the kind that made my heart flutter without me even realizing. Every so often, his eyes would catch mine, and that quiet look between us said everything I needed to hear.

At one point, he reached out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. His touch was feather-light but sent warmth straight to my chest. I leaned into it without hesitation, resting my head against his shoulder. The steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek was the most comforting thing I’d felt in a long time.

“Perfect day, huh?” he whispered, voice low and steady.

I smiled against his skin. “The best.”

We spent the afternoon drifting in and out of conversation — silly jokes, quiet dreams, shared secrets. I loved how he listened like every word mattered, and how he made me laugh even when my chest still felt heavy.

As the sun started to dip lower, painting the sky with soft oranges and pinks, Ollie pulled me close, wrapping his arm around my shoulders. I curled in, feeling safe, warm, and more hopeful than I had in weeks.

“You’re amazing, you know that?” he said, voice barely above a whisper.

I smiled, heart swelling. “So are you.”

And in that golden light, with the water shimmering around us, it felt like maybe this was exactly where I was supposed to

—

Ollie and I stood at the edge of the boat, the water shimmering invitingly below us. I couldn’t resist — a sly grin spread across my face.

With a quick push, I tried to catch him off guard and send him splashing into the water. But instead of falling alone, Ollie grabbed me by the waist and pulled me down with him. We both tumbled beneath the surface, laughing as we surfaced together, water dripping from our hair.

He looked at me with that familiar, warm smile, eyes twinkling in the fading light. “Guess we’re both swimming now,” he said, brushing a strand of wet hair from my face.

Before I could answer, he leaned in, and our lips met — soft, warm, and perfect. The world around us disappeared, the only thing I could feel was him.

From the shore, I saw her watching us from the porch, a smile tugging at her lips. Knowing she was there, sharing this moment quietly, made it feel even more special.

—

After our swim and showers, I slipped into one of Ollie’s oversized sweatshirts. It was soft and warm, and still smelled faintly of him—like a little bubble of comfort I could hold onto. The sleeves swallowed my hands completely, making me feel small and safe, like a kid again.

I made my way back to the living room where Ollie was already waiting for me. His eyes softened when he saw me, and without saying a word, he reached out and pulled me gently into his arms. I leaned against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was the kind of calm I hadn’t felt in a long time.

We settled onto the couch, me resting my head on his shoulder while his fingers traced lazy, soothing circles on my arm. The silence between us was warm, like a quiet sanctuary from all the noise and chaos I’d been swimming through.

After a while, Ollie’s voice broke the stillness, quiet and gentle. “Hey… if you want to talk, I’m here. About everything. Whenever you’re ready.”

I hesitated for a moment, scared of what might come out, but looking up at him—so patient, so steady—I felt a crack in my walls. Maybe it was okay to open up.

“It’s just… everything’s different now,” I started, voice barely above a whisper. “I always thought I knew who I was—where I belonged. But now… this news, it feels like someone pulled the rug out from under me. Like the family I thought I had was just a story. I’m scared, Ollie. Scared of losing them, scared of losing myself.”

He tightened his arms around me as if to keep me from drifting away. “You’re not losing yourself. You’re just figuring out who you really are. And that’s okay.”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat growing. “I don’t even know how to be ‘me’ anymore. How do you keep going when everything you thought was true suddenly feels like a lie?”

Ollie brushed a damp strand of hair behind my ear and kissed my temple softly. “One step at a time. And you’re not alone in this. I’m here, and so are all the people who care about you. You’ll find your way, I promise.”

I closed my eyes and let his words sink in. For the first time in days, the panic in my chest eased, replaced by something like hope. Wrapped in his arms, with his steady warmth holding me together, I felt like maybe I could breathe again.

“Thank you,” I murmured.

He smiled against my hair. “Always.”

—

It had been a week and a half since we escaped to the quiet calm of my best friend’s lakeside house. The kind of place where the wind whispered instead of screamed, and the days bled into one another with the softness of a watercolor painting. It had been healing—slowly, painfully, but healing all the same.

Ollie and I were lying on the porch swing that overlooked the still, glittering water. My head was on his chest, and his fingers absentmindedly combed through my hair, lulling me into that rare space between peace and thought. The sun was starting to dip low behind the trees, casting everything in this golden, aching kind of light.

My phone buzzed on the table beside me. I thought about ignoring it. But something in my chest tugged at me.

When I saw her name—Alexandra—my heart twisted.

I sat up a little straighter and looked at Ollie. “It’s Alex.”

He didn’t say anything at first, just brushed his thumb across my knee and gave a gentle nod. “Answer it, love.”

With a breath I didn’t know I was holding, I picked up.

“Hello?”

“Hi, bébé.” Her voice was soft, tentative, but unmistakably her. “I didn’t want to push or intrude… but I just—God, I needed to hear your voice.”

The moment I heard her, really heard her, something in me cracked open. My eyes welled up before I even said a word.

“Hi,” I whispered back, my voice breaking slightly. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you so much.” She exhaled like she’d been waiting days just for this. “Are you okay? No pressure to answer that honestly.”

I laughed, watery and sad. “I don’t know. Some days I feel okay. Some days I feel like I’m just floating above myself.”

There was a beat of silence on the other end.

“I was wondering,” she said softly, “if maybe… you’d think about coming back. Just to talk. Not to fix everything, not unless you want to. But… I think your brothers would sleep again if they could just hug you. And I—” her voice cracked, “I want to hug you too. I hate not having you near.”

Tears spilled freely now, and I didn’t bother wiping them. “Did you know?” I asked, almost in a whisper. “About the adoption?”

The pause that followed felt like a century.

“…Yes,” she said quietly. “But not until after I’d already fallen in love with you as my little sister. And I didn’t say anything because it wasn’t mine to tell. God, YN, I wanted to so many times. But your family wanted to wait until the moment was right. They never wanted it to be like this. Never.”

I closed my eyes. I believed her. Somehow, it didn’t make it hurt less, but it made the ache a little less lonely.

“I don’t know if I can look them in the eyes,” I admitted. “Not yet. Maybe not ever.”

“You don’t have to decide that today,” she said. “But just know that you are still their sister. You are still loved beyond reason. And I love you. Always.”

I felt Ollie’s hand find mine, our fingers lacing together tightly. I glanced at him, and he gave me the softest look—patient, steady.

“I’ll come back,” I said finally. “Not today. But soon. I think I owe myself that much.”

“I’ll be there,” Alexandra said, her voice thick with emotion. “Whatever you need.”

After we hung up, I just sat there, the ache still swirling under my skin—but now there was warmth with it.

Ollie squeezed my hand. “When you go… if you want me there, I’ll be there. Right next to you.”

I turned to him, eyes glassy. “What did I do to deserve you?”

He smiled, brushing his thumb across my cheek. “Just being your perfect self.”

—

yn_leclerc added two posts to her story!

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{caption 1 : last day on the lake 😰} {caption 2 : when he knows your smoothie order by heart, he’s a keeper}

alexandrasaintmleux : i am so excited to see you. i will be there for whatever you need.

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↳ yn_leclerc : thank you love. see you soon.

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lando : literally bouncing off the walls because you are coming home. i love you i love you i love you.

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↳ yn_leclerc : love you more

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carlossainz55 : been practicing my big brother speech for a week now.

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↳ yn_leclerc : you are the best 😻

—

I don’t know how long I stood there in front of the door—my door, technically. My childhood home. The place where I took my first steps, where I spent holidays and birthdays and Sunday mornings in pajamas too big for me, dancing around to whatever song Maman had playing. And now it just… looked different. But Alexandra opened it before I had a chance to knock.

“Mon bébé,” she whispered, eyes already misting as she pulled me into the tightest hug. Her arms wrapped around me like a life jacket, like if she just held tight enough, everything would rewind and be okay again. I melted into her, head buried in her shoulder, her soft scent grounding me in a way I hadn’t realized I missed.

“You came back,” she murmured, brushing a hand through my hair. “I’m so proud of you.”

I swallowed. “I didn’t come alone.”

Behind me, Ollie stood close, his hand finding mine without hesitation. “She’s not doing this by herself,” he said gently, his thumb tracing soft circles over my knuckles.

And then came the footsteps. Lando, Carlos, and Max flanked us with a kind of quiet strength, each of them unreadable but exuding this palpable energy like: If anyone says the wrong thing, they’ll deal with us first. The house felt heavier with every step I took inside.

Charles stood in the living room, pacing. Arthur by the window, looking tense. Lorenzo and Maman were already seated on the couch, stiff and silent. I felt like a stranger in a house full of people who used to know me better than I knew myself. No one said anything for a moment. And then I spoke.

“You all knew,” I said, my voice somehow steady despite the tornado inside me. “All of you. And none of you told me.”

Charles took a step forward, but I held up a hand. “Let me finish.”

I looked around, taking in their faces.

“I don’t care about the fact that I’m adopted. That’s not what hurts. What hurts is that I had to find out from strangers. From a tabloid. I had to read about it, with the whole world watching me fall apart. And not one of you thought I deserved to know before that.”

“YN—” Arthur tried, but his voice cracked.

“I deserved the truth,” I said quietly. “I deserved that much.”

My voice broke on the last word, and Ollie’s grip on my hand tightened as he pulled me closer to him.

“I wanted to be angry,” I whispered. “I am angry. But I also love you. And that makes everything worse.”

Lorenzo’s voice came next. “We didn’t want to hurt you. We were waiting for… the right time.”

“There’s never a right time for something like this,” I replied. “You were just scared. And maybe I would’ve been, too. But I needed you to trust me with this part of my story. And now I don’t even know who I am when I look in the mirror.”

Max shifted behind me, clearing his throat. “She came to us because she didn’t feel safe. That’s not on her. That’s on you.”

Silence. Alexandra crossed the room and placed a hand on Charles’ arm. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days, eyes rimmed red. “I tried,” he said hoarsely. “So many times. But every time I looked at you, I saw the little girl who used to sneak cookies into my room and make up dances with Maman in the kitchen. I didn’t want to be the reason you stopped smiling like that.”

“You weren’t,” I told him softly. “Lying was.”

He winced like I’d hit him.

Carlos spoke gently from the side, “You can be mad. You should be. But you’re still loved, and you’re still you. Nothing changes that.”

Lando stepped forward, hand briefly on my shoulder. “We’ve got your back. No matter what.”

Arthur finally moved from the window, coming to kneel in front of me. “I know I’ve joked with you, teased you, been the dumb older brother… but I’ve always, always loved you like my own blood. That part was real. It still is.”

I couldn’t hold it in anymore. The tears came like a storm—hot, aching, full of everything I’d bottled up. I sank into Ollie’s arms as he held me, steady and quiet. No judgment. Just warmth. Familiar. Safe. And slowly, one by one, the others joined. Alexandra wrapped her arms around both of us. Then Charles. Arthur. Lorenzo. Maman. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t fixed. But for the first time since everything fell apart, I felt like maybe—just maybe—we could start putting the pieces back together.

—

I didn’t say anything when Maman gently reached for my hand and led me toward the garden. The sun was low, casting golden light across the patio where I used to sit with a juice box and coloring books. Everything looked the same. Except me. We sat down in the chairs across from each other. She didn’t let go of my hand.

“I used to sit here with you,” she said softly, “when you were so small I could still carry you up to bed after you fell asleep.”

I smiled faintly. “I remember.”

She sighed, eyes misty. “You were so full of light, ma chérie. Still are. And when you came into our lives, I thought I was prepared to love you. But what I didn’t know is that you’d teach me how to love differently. Fiercely. Selflessly. You didn’t come from me, but I chose you. Every day.”

Tears blurred my vision. “Then why didn’t you tell me?”

She looked at me, eyes wide with sadness and guilt. “Because I was scared that if you knew, even a small part of you might believe that you didn’t belong. That you weren’t a Leclerc. That you weren’t mine.”

I let out a shaky breath. “But I felt it anyway. I felt the distance growing for years. After Papa died… I didn’t feel like I had a place anymore.”

She squeezed my hand tightly, her voice cracking. “That was never my intention. I lost your father and I clung to your brothers, because I knew I had to keep the family together. And in doing so… I failed you. I let you feel alone in a house full of people who loved you.”

I stared down at our linked hands. “I think a part of me always knew. But I wanted someone to say it out loud.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I am so, so sorry.”

And when she leaned over and pulled me into her arms, I let myself collapse into her. For a moment, I wasn’t angry or confused or lost. I was just her daughter. That was enough.

—

Later, after Maman went inside, I found Charles and Arthur sitting quietly in the living room. They looked up like I was the only person in the world who could either break them or put them back together. And I felt it — that ache of being their little sister again. Of wanting to crawl onto the couch and be safe between them.

I sat down. Silence fell again.

“I always looked up to you two,” I said, my voice small. “I wanted to be like you. Brave like Arthur. Thoughtful like Charles. And when things got hard, I watched how the two of you carried each other through it. But I didn’t feel like I was allowed to be carried. Like I had to be strong on my own.”

Arthur looked like he wanted to cry. Charles already was.

“I thought if I worked hard enough, if I was quiet and impressive and good enough… I could belong, even if something about me always felt different.”

Charles reached for my hand first. “You never had to earn your place. You had it. Always.”

Arthur nodded, voice low. “And we should’ve told you. Fought harder. We were just—”

“Scared,” I whispered. “I know.”

A beat passed. Then Charles moved closer, pulling me gently into his side like he would when I’d fall asleep on the plane rides.

“I don’t care what anyone says,” he murmured, holding me close. “You’re my sister. Blood or not. You’re mine.”

Arthur wrapped an arm around my legs and rested his chin on my knee. “And you’re stuck with me, forever. Even if I annoy you. Especially then.”

I laughed through my tears. “You both annoy me.”

Charles kissed the side of my head. “Good. That means you’re feeling something again.”

And for the first time in weeks, I did.

—

yn_leclerc

liked by lando, charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc & 7,007,001 others.

yn_leclerc : happier than ever <3 (fuck everyone that had part in the leak) (you all will be hearing from my lawyers very soon)

tagged : arthur_leclerc, charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, charlotte2304, olliebearman, lando and carlosssainz55

–

view 425,023 other comments.

maxverstappen1 : my girl. so proud of you. also— ollie, care to come over for a chat? 😁

liked by yn_leclerc and olliebearman

↳ username0 : big brother max always gets me.

pierregasly : proud of you, ma belle. love you

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : love you pearrrr

carlossainz55 : can’t believe charles stole my thunder and gave the big brother speech on his own 🙄

liked by yn_leclerc and charles_leclerc

↳ charles_leclerc : you do realize she is my actual sister, right?

↳ yn_leclerc : charles he was so excited to act all big and mean and you stole it right out from under him.

liked by carlossainz55

↳ charles_leclerc : she is my sister????

↳ alexalbon : she is all of ours charles

↳ lando : what he said ^^

↳ pierregasly : mhm mhm

↳ arthur_leclerc : she is also my little sister

↳ lando : no shit sherlock

↳ olliebearman : so im going to have to endure a talk from each of you?

↳ lando : yes pretty much

olliebearman : strongest most beautiful girl ever. love you pretty 🤍

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : mymanmymanmyman i LOVE YOU MOREEEE

liked by olliebearman

↳ arthur_leclerc : gross

liked by yn_leclerc

alexandrasaintmleux : so happy you’re happy mon ange. love you forever and always

liked by yn_leclerc

↳ yn_leclerc : my girl for life

liked by alexandrasaintmleux

lando : ollie is over at yn’s rn lets go crash

↳ charles_leclerc : on my way

↳ maxverstappen1 : coming

↳ carlossainz55 : running

↳ arthur_leclerc : 🏃🏻

↳ yn_leclerc : changing the locks.

—

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thewitchblue · 1 day ago

Text

"You're so pretty."

Jason slurred. He just got back from patrol with multiple injuries, and you were patching him up. You were surprised he showed up to the Batcave at all, really. He was always the type who wanted to "tough it out." You hid a smile while saying,

"You have a concussion."

Jason winced when you ran your fingers through his hair. You frowned when you got his blood on your hands. You had thought you managed to get the blood mostly cleaned up, and his helmet was spotless. You called out,

"Alfre—mmh!"

Jason shut you up with a kiss. It wasn't thought out in the slightest, and he knows he'll regret it when his concussion goes away, but thinking hurts with the painkillers barely helping, and he wants to kiss you before potentially dying again.

Jason took your hand in his and slurred,

"Will you go on a date with me, pipsqueak?"

You blinked at the bleeding man. What do you even say to that? You were stunned. You watched Jason carefully. He looked serious, but can he really be serious when he has head trauma? Is it the blood loss talking? You gave him a half smile and said,

"When you're healed, Romeo."

Maybe he'll remember this. Maybe he won't. Either way, you agreed and you stand by your decision. He gave you a half-grin, his eyes clouded by pain and heavy.

He toyed with your hand like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. He played with your fingers and examined them like they were precious jewellery, comparing them to his own scarred and rough hands.

You really were pretty in his eyes. Gorgeous, even. He loved your eyerolls and sarcastic smiles. He loved that you smirk when you think of something particularly clever to respond back to his sass. He loved the way you laughed at his witty comebacks and how you snicker at his dramatic sentences. He appreciated the way you hold him when he feels like he's falling apart. You were a beautiful person in his eyes.

Call him corny, but he wants to wake up next to you. He wants to hear your sleepy groans when your alarm goes off in the morning. He wants to be the one to replace your cuddle pillow. Yes, you do have a cuddle pillow. Yes, it's a specific pillow in every house you crash at and most rooms you enter. No, you aren't aware of your cuddle pillows. He's likely the only one who has ever noticed that you cuddle a very specific pillow every time you are distracted and near one.

He stared at you as you packed a bullet wound in his thigh. Your quiet concentration gave him time to admire you. You were snarky with him at times, but you always came back to him to apologise, and he'd always laugh and rub the top of your head with his knuckles like you were a little kid.

He grabbed your hand and slurred,

"I love you."

He proceeded to promptly pass out while you stewed in silence. Maybe it was the painkillers barrelling through him, or maybe it was something more, but you'll only find out when he wakes up.

You had finished patching him up, but you wanted to sit with him longer. You looked him over with a smile and lovingly ran one of your hands along his bullet free arm before claiming his hand in yours and giving it a slight squeeze.

He was beautiful, too, in your opinion. You love him, scars and all. You loved how unapologetically himself that he can be.

He happily swings an arm around your shoulders and pulls you into his side when he has come up with a terrible idea and wants you to join for when things inevitably go wrong. You always call him an idiot, but join him regardless because someone has to save him from himself.

You adore that he loves to complain about his day because you feel a part of his heart. He doesn't complain to just anyone. He doesn't like to share his problems because he feels he can shoulder them himself when it's obvious he can't. You became his go-to person for his issues, and you are incredibly grateful he lets you in so easily.

You cherished the little moments when Jason allows you to trace his scars and murmur that he's a constellation and just as beautiful as one. He jokingly asked if he can be Orion's Belt because he doesn't know what to say to something so heart-warming, and you laughed because you knew if you didn't, he would have fallen apart and you wanted to make sure he stays held together.

Jason stirred awake when he felt the painkillers wear off, but you managed to coax him back to sleep. He murmured,

"I love you."

He was asleep before you could respond, and you were thankful for that because you had no idea how to respond. You don't think he'll remember any of this when he wakes up, but you certainly will. His eyes were so sincere before they closed. He's serious. You're sure of it. Jason doesn't joke about relationship related topics. The person becomes his everything when he dates them, and he makes sure everybody knows as much.

Alfred had walked in to witness the scene unfold and purposefully waited for Jason to pass out before revealing himself, holding medical supplies to restock the medical kit you used on him. How smooth, Jason. After months of contemplating and struggling to figure out the best way to ask you out, all the plans went out the window due to a little concussion and a lot of bullet wounds.

#gn reader #jason todd x reader #x reader #alfred pennyworth

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cressidagrey · 22 hours ago

Text

Aquatic Adventures

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Oscar is gone for a Double Header. Felicity builds a sanctuary.

Notes: Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂 I should have been writing something useful, that brings the plot forwards, but instead you get Felicity and one of. her "projects". It was very fun to write though. I am living vicariously through a character that has pretty much unlimited funds and is more productive than I could ever dream to be.

It started with Bee’s tears.

The kind that didn’t come with wailing or tantrums. No, those were easy. Manageable. A juice box, a cuddle, a nap.

But this was different.

This was the quiet, trembling-lip kind. The kind that crept up after hours of pretending she was fine. The kind that meant something had sunk deep — words or looks or loneliness that a three-year-old didn’t quite know how to explain.

Felicity sat cross-legged on the kitchen floor, Bee curled into her chest like she was trying to fold herself into her mother’s ribs, breath hitching in little bursts. She smelled like sunscreen and finger paint and exhaustion.

“They didn’t want to play with me,” Bee whispered.

Felicity closed her eyes. “Baby…”

“They said my lunch was weird. And I wasn’t funny. And one boy said I was bossy. But I wasn’t even talking to him.”

Felicity kissed the top of her daughter’s head and didn’t say anything for a long time. Just rocked her, slow and rhythmic, like it would fix the cracks.

She felt that slow, cold fury spread through her chest. The quiet kind. The dangerous kind. The kind that made her want to set fire to the entire concept of “socialization” if it meant protecting her daughter

Oscar was on a double header. Back to Back races. Italy, then Monaco. He’d FaceTime in a few hours, would listen and be gentle and say all the right things.

He always did.

But right now, there was just Felicity. And Bee. And the ache in her ribs where her daughter’s grief lived.

By the time she got Bee to bed — two stories, one lullaby, and a full-body cuddle that ended with Bee curled into the duvet like a sea otter — Felicity was pacing barefoot through the kitchen.

The house was silent. The kind of silence you only got in the countryside, where the world pulled back and left you alone with your thoughts.

That had been part of the appeal.

When she and Oscar first bought the farmhouse, it had been for the space. The privacy. The outbuildings — old structures lined up like forgotten train cars behind the main house, tucked among the trees. Oscar had called them “rustic.” Felicity had called them potential.

One became hers — a workspace-slash-garage-slash-creative bunker where she could weld, sand, build, and paint without anyone breathing down her neck.

The second was the gym-slash-ballet studio-slash-sim room, because apparently their household only functioned on wildly specific, multi-use spaces. Felicity had added the barre herself. A space for her to stretch, to remember what it was like to move for herself.

A third had been left alone. It had once housed horses, long before the property had been theirs. Now it was just empty, echoing structure of exposed beams, weathered wood, and potential.

Felicity already knew what she was going to do.

The pool wasn’t a new idea — just one she’d shelved while life took priority. But now… now it felt like something necessary. Not indulgent, not aesthetic, not Pinterest-fluff luxury. No, it felt like armor. A gift. A promise.

Warm water. Floating. Movement without pressure. Gentle light. No sharp echoes. No mean boys. No group dynamics to navigate.

Just Bee. Just peace.

Felicity would build it herself if she had to.

She’d already started the mosaic months ago, half by accident. Ceramic tiles, soft sea-glass colors, arranged in what would become a leaping dolphin. It was supposed to be for a backsplash or an outdoor table. But now she knew exactly where it belonged.

She padded into the spare room that doubled as storage and gently rolled out the canvas — the dolphin, tail sweeping upward, water droplets in pale aquamarine and cobalt. She touched one of the tiles absently, her fingers steady.

Bee would love this.

She always loved dolphins. Said they were the smartest. The kindest.

That night, Felicity opened the plans she’d drawn up nearly a year ago. A fantasy project. Something she hadn’t told anyone about. Not even Oscar.

It wasn’t going to be a sleek, marble-lined infinity pool. Not some Instagram-glossy wellness sanctuary.

It was going to be Bee’s.

Quiet. Safe. Warm all year round. A sanctuary with soft lighting and temperature-controlled floors. A place where she could float and splash and forget the world existed. A pool built like a hug.

It hadn’t been real until now. But that night, with Bee’s breath soft and even in the room beside her, Felicity started making calls.

Permits. Contractors. Heating systems. A specialist in skylights.

She didn’t tell Oscar.

Not yet.

Because this wasn’t about practicality, or budget, or even architectural ambition.

It was about Bee.

It was about building something so full of love that it drowned out the noise of the world.

***

Felicity Piastri did not throw tantrums.

She’d been raised not to.

She had been born a Leong.

She had been raised to wield silence like a scalpel, money like a weapon, and intellect like a blueprint.

Felicity did not raise her voice. She did not beg. She planned.

She might have stepped away from the world she was born into — from the emerald heirlooms, the art collction, the social calendars managed by secretaries — but that world had trained her.

And when she needed it, she still spoke its language fluently.

The pool was going to be built in ten days.

Not estimated. Not quoted.

Done.

She had the property. She had the design. She had the permits already prepped — half because she liked being prepared, half because, deep down, she’d known something like this might happen.

She started with one contractor.

He told her twelve weeks minimum.

She said, “No,” and called his boss.

The boss said the same thing.

So she called someone else. Then someone else. And then she made a few international calls — to a construction firm her aunt’s interior designer once used back in the day for a rooftop terrace in Dubai.

By 8 a.m. the next morning, there were three project managers in her driveway, holding reusable coffee cups and measuring tapes.

She wielded her iPad like a weapon. Spreadsheets color-coded. Timeline stacked. Materials sourced from three different suppliers. Overnight shipping arranged. When one contractor so much as suggested that “it might be more realistic to give it a few weeks,” Felicity smiled sweetly and said:

“Would you like me to call someone else?”

Felicity didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t threaten. She negotiated.

She offered more money up front.

She offered bonuses for every milestone completed ahead of time. She cross-referenced three local contractors to cover shifts in 24-hour rotations. She arranged permits to be processed at double speed — because it turns out, local councils moved very quickly when the right legal phrasing and legacy donations were involved.

She even hired a private catering service to feed the crew.

By the second day, the old concrete had been ripped up. On day three, the beams were reinforced. On day four, the heating system was being installed and a special-order shipment of light blue tiles had landed from Italy.

Oscar texted once from Monaco asking how things were going at home.

She sent back a photo of Bee asleep in her lap and didn’t mention the fact that there were currently four men digging a trench for the overflow piping system just outside the window.

Her phone never left her side.

She paced the hallways in socks and one of Oscar’s hoodies, laptop under one arm, toddler on her hip, telling one man where to reposition the skylight and another which grout colors were acceptable and which were absolutely not.

She FaceTimed a mosaicist in Vienna to double-check adhesive drying times and personally called a logistics company in Dublin to charter a truck for the filtration system.

On day seven, she brought in fresh pastries for the entire crew and reminded the night shift foreman about the performance bonus.

On day eight, she caught one worker trying to substitute the dolphin mosaic placement.

She handed him a cappuccino and then gently, systematically, explained why that dolphin was going exactly where she wanted it — because her daughter had once drawn a picture where the dolphin was jumping just there.

The man never argued again.

By day ten, the pool was done.

And not just finished. Perfect.

Temperature-controlled. Skylit. Lined with handmade mosaic tiles. Soundproofed. A shelf for toys. A warm rinse-off shower with custom water pressure controls. A soft corner bench where Felicity could read while Bee splashed.

An oasis.

A fortress.

A love letter carved in glass, water, and tile.

***

It was quiet.

Not silent — there was a hum from the heating system, the soft ripple of water against the tile, the occasional creak of timber beams overhead — but the kind of quiet that felt sacred. Like the world had taken a step back to let them breathe.

Bee stood on the edge of the shallow shelf, wrapped in a tiny robe with a dolphin embroidered over the heart. Her hair was pulled into a lopsided ponytail, still sleep-soft, and she was clutching her purple goggles like they were a magic talisman.

She blinked up at her mother.

“This is ours?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Felicity crouched beside her, brushing a curl from her daughter’s cheek. “All ours.”

Bee took another step closer to the pool, bare toes curling against the warm tile. She was still in awe, still trying to process it, eyes wide as saucers as she took in the soft blue tiles, the underwater lights casting golden ripples across the ceiling, the dolphin mosaic swimming in joyful motion across the far wall.

“He’s jumping,” she said, pointing to the dolphin. “Like in my drawing.”

Felicity smiled. “Exactly like your drawing.”

Bee looked down at the water. Then up at Felicity. Then back again.

“Can I go in?”

Felicity didn’t answer. She just held out her arms.

Bee squealed — a real, unburdened sound — and wriggled out of her robe, revealing a bright swimsuit with little yellow fish all over it. She clambered onto the first step, then the second, and then launched herself into her mother’s waiting arms like she’d never had a bad day in her life.

The water welcomed them. Warm, clean, still.

Felicity caught her easily, arms strong, body steady as she sank into the shallow end with Bee held against her chest. Her daughter’s giggles echoed gently off the walls — not loud, not wild, just happy.

The good kind. The healing kind.

“You made this,” Bee whispered after a long moment, eyes full of wonder. “For me.”

Felicity kissed her wet hair. “For us.”

Bee kicked gently, floating with Felicity’s hands under her back. The skylight above filtered in soft afternoon light, catching in the beads of water on her cheeks.

“I don’t think it’ll ever feel bad in here,” Bee said after a while.

Felicity blinked back something sharp behind her eyes. “That’s the point, sweetheart.”

Bee didn’t say anything after that. Just floated.

And Felicity, for the first time in days, let herself breathe.

She held her daughter close. She watched the light dance over the water. She ran one hand through the still-warm surface and felt the ripple carry all the way to the walls — like a promise.

They stayed there until the light changed.

Until Bee’s hair was damp and curling and her eyelids fluttered and she murmured “mama, carry” in a drowsy voice that made Felicity’s chest ache with love.

***

Oscar Piastri was used to coming home to chaos.

Not bad chaos — just the kind that came with Felicity and Bee. Small socks everywhere. A kitchen that looked like it had hosted a baking competition. Doodles taped to the fridge. A Sim rig covered in stickers. A house that was clearly lived in — loved in.

It was his favorite thing in the world.

But this time, the house was… quiet.

He rolled his suitcase down the hall and dropped his backpack by the bench in the entryway. “Fliss?”

No answer. Just the soft hum of the air vents and the smell of lavender and something faintly like salt. His brows furrowed.

He checked the kitchen — no one. The living room — empty, except for a plush dolphin wearing sunglasses.

Then he noticed it: the sliding doors at the back of the house, the ones that led toward the old stables.

One of them was slightly ajar.

Oscar stepped outside, following the faint sound of splashing water. The air was warm, windless. The gravel underfoot shifted as he walked across the path between the outbuildings.

He hadn’t been in the third one in months.

Last he checked, it was still full of unused storage crates and the old treadmill Felicity swore she’d list for pickup.

But the door was open.

He stepped inside.

Stopped.

And blinked.

The stable was gone.

In its place was a pool.

A full, glowing, indoor mosaic-lined oasis with warm lighting, soft acoustics, and — holy shit — was that a skylight!? The air was warm and damp in that gentle, spa-like way, and the walls looked like something out of an architecture magazine.

In the water, half-floating and curled together like sea otters, were his wife and daughter.

Felicity looked up first. She was sitting in the shallow end, hair braided over one shoulder, wearing one of his old t-shirts knotted at the waist and a black bikini bottom. Bee was curled into her lap, her damp curls sticking to her forehead.

Oscar blinked again. “I’ve been gone for two weeks.”

Felicity smiled. “Hi, love.”

Bee perked up immediately. “Papa!” she chirped, scrambling up and doggy-paddling to the edge like a very determined duck.

He dropped to his knees as she launched herself into his arms, wet and squealing and happy.

“We have a pool,” he said, slightly stunned.

Bee beamed. “Mama built it!”

Oscar looked past her, over her shoulder, toward Felicity — who had stood up, water lapping at her calves, and was walking over with that serene, slightly guilty expression she always wore when she’d pulled something massive off and hadn’t warned him first.

“You built a pool,” he said again, a little dazed, like repeating it might make it make more sense.

Felicity reached the edge and leaned her arms on the side, the water rippling around her. Her braid dripped onto the tiles. Her expression was unreadable — half sheepish, half composed, like she knew exactly what she’d done and was only 50% sorry.

“I had the plans ready,” she said. “And the permits. And the contractor contacts. It was going to happen eventually.”

“But you did it in… what, ten days?” Oscar looked around again, like the room might vanish. “There’s a skylight, Fliss.”

Bee, still wrapped around him like a koala, nodded helpfully. “And there’s dolphins!”

“There are dolphins,” Oscar repeated, mouth dry.

He caught sight of the mosaic — the dolphin mid-jump across the far wall, surrounded by sea-glass tiles that shimmered like actual sunlight on water.

Oscar blinked again. “Jesus Christ.”

Felicity’s smile curved slightly. “That’s not his name, love.”

Oscar just stared at her. At her damp hair, her flushed cheeks, the tiny tired lines at the corners of her eyes that only ever showed up when she’d done something monumental and wasn’t sure if she’d get away with it.

He looked at Bee, who was now patting his cheeks with both hands and saying, “It’s warm and it smells like clouds,” which made absolutely no scientific sense and somehow still felt like an accurate description.

He swallowed.

“You built a sanctuary,” he said quietly. “While I was gone.”

Felicity didn’t say anything for a moment. Just rested her chin on her arms, her eyes soft.

“She was having a hard week,” she murmured. “And I couldn’t fix the world. But I could do this.”

Oscar pressed his lips to Bee’s hair, held her closer, and closed his eyes for a second.

Then he looked back at his wife.

And said — with all the love and awe and overwhelmed, dizzy affection in the world:

“I love you so much.”

Felicity blinked. Her mouth twitched. “Even though I didn't warn you?”

“Fliss,” he said, laughing, “you built a pool. In secret. With heating and acoustics and mood lighting. For our three-year-old.”

She tilted her head. “That’s not a no.”

“It’s a hell yes,” he said. Then looked around again and added, “I mean, I thought the bathroom reno during a triple header was bold, but this…”

Bee tugged his sleeve. “Daddy? Can you come swim?”

Oscar kissed her forehead. “Absolutely, sweetheart. Just give me one second.”

He set her down gently, watched her paddle happily back to the steps, then turned to Felicity and offered a hand. She took it, confused — and he pulled her up, wet and blinking and surprised, straight into his arms.

He kissed her like they were back at Haileybury. Like she’d just walked into the common room in his hoodie and undone him with one look.

“I can’t believe you,” he said against her lips.

She smiled. “You always say that when I surprise you.”

“This isn’t a surprise. This is a Bond villain level plot twist.”

Felicity shrugged. “You married me.”

He shook his head, completely smitten. “Best decision I ever made.”

Behind them, Bee was making dolphin sounds and trying to do somersaults.

Oscar grinned, forehead resting against Felicity’s. “Next time you secretly build a swimming facility in ten days, just… I don’t know. Text me first?”

She laughed softly. “Deal.”

“Also—” He kissed her again, warm and slow. “I love you. Have I mentioned that?”

Felicity’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Not recently.”

“Right,” Oscar said. “I love you.”

Then he toed off his socks, pulled off his shirt, and cannonballed into the pool like a six-year-old.

Bee screamed with delight.

Felicity covered her face with both hands — but she was laughing.

And Oscar, floating on his back in the water she built with her bare hands and brain and fury-love, thought:

This is what home feels like.

Her. Bee. And everything they build together.

#formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #Oscar Piastri fic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #op81 fic #op81 imagine

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keirareidss · 2 days ago

Text

make you squirm - s.r

♡ summary: you decide to do a little teasing on your boyfriend in one of the most untimely setting pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader warnings: 18+ MDNI, bathroom quickie, penelope is a nosy little shit wc: 1.3k request here

The BAU was, once again, out to celebrate their latest win. The case had been successful, clearly, and you were all grabbing a drink at the local bar. You were grazing on the bowl of pretzels in the middle of the table when someone said your name.

"So when are you going to tell us about your secret boyfriend?" Penelope sing-songed as JJ and Emily grinned at you from beside her. Spencer's gaze snapped to you from across the table at the mention of, well, him.

"I don't know." You said coyly, hedging around the subject you knew you'd have to address at some point tonight. The eager look in your friends' eyes told you they weren't going to let this go.

"Come onnn! Tell us about him! Is he tall? Does he make a lot of money? Does he have a big di-"

"Penelope!" You balked at her inappropriate prying.

"What? You gotta give us something."

"Okay... yes, he's tall." You said and she scoffed.

"That's nothing."

"You asked." You raised your hands in defense, grinning.

"Well I wanted something more exciting like... is he packing?" Spencer choked on his drink, his face bright red. You glanced at him with a grin before looking back at Penelope inconspicuously.

"Biggest I've seen." You said before sipping your drink nonchalantly, as if you'd just made a comment on the weather while Penelope squealed like a schoolgirl.

"Do you have a picture of him?"

"Gross, Pen, I don't want to see that!" Emily said.

"Not that kind of picture! I wanna see his face."

"Sorry, girls. That's private." You winked, popping another pretzel into your mouth.

"Oh come on. Tell us more about him!" JJ urged.

"What do you want to know?"

"How's the sex?" Emily asked bluntly and Spencer nearly choked again.

"Derek- I need to- excuse me." He pawed at Morgan's arm until the man got up and he rushed off to the bathroom.

"Poor kid. Can't even hear the word 'sex' without freaking out." Morgan chuckled as he sat back in his seat.

"It's good." You said simply.

"You gotta give us more than that."

"Alright, fine." You leaned in, turning your back on the other men at the table and forming a small huddle with your girls. "Last night, we went three times and I literally couldn't walk this morning." You said in a hushed voice.

"Oh my god! I'm obsessed, tell me more." Penelope squeaked.

"I'll just say... he definitely knows how to use his tongue." You grin and the girls break into giggles. You catch a glimpse of Spencer hovering by the bathroom, checking to see if the 'sex talk' at the table has stopped. "I'll be right back." You said, getting up and heading to the bathroom. You walked right up to Spencer, grabbed him by the time and tugged him into the nearest single occupancy restroom.

"Hey, are you- what-" He nearly tripped over his feet, following you inside. "What are we doing?"

"We're getting some alone time." You said, pushing him up against the door, pressing your body against his.

"Alone time?"

"Yeah. I've been cooped up in a hotel room with two other people for the last week while my boyfriend's been in a completely different bed. I need some time with just you." You said, your seductive rant taking an unintended sweet turn at the end. His hands found your hips, gripping tightly.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Penelope's interrogation has got me thinking about something."

"About what?" He asks, blushing at the mentions of his bubbly friend's need to learn about your sex life. You slide your hand down from his chest, between his legs, cupping him through his trousers.

"About this." You grinned as he gasped.

"We- we shouldn't... the team-"

"Are all back at the table, drunk off their asses." You said, lifting your other hand to card through his hair. You fist your hand in the strands, tugging his head back so you could kiss and bite at his neck. He bites his lip to stifle a moan as his hips involuntarily jerk into your hand. "You can be quick, can't you?" You teased, unbuttoning his pants and sinking down to your knees.

"Don't, you- you'll get your pants dirty." Spencer protested weakly. You looked up at him through your lashes as you leaned forward, taking the zipper of his pants between your teeth and pulling it down. He shudders as he stares down at you.

You pull down his pants and underwear to mid thigh, his cock springing out. You immediately take it into your mouth, licking it like a lollipop. You swirl your tongue around the head before taking as much of him into your mouth as you can. Spencer whimpers as you start slowly bobbing your head. He threads a hand into your hair, his head falling back against the door with a thump.

"Shit, oh god." He moans and you pull off of him, a string of spit connecting your lips to him.

"You're gonna have to be quiet, Spence." He nodded, squeezing his eyes shut.

"I will. I will." He breathed, biting his lip as you take him into your mouth again, paying more attention to the head this time, using your hand to stroke the base, your other hand cupping his balls. He whimpers at the stimulation. "I'm close, I'm so close." He whines and you speed up your movements, wanting to bring him over the edge. He grips your hair tighter, trying to pull you off to release but you stay put, hallowing out your cheeks as you sucked him. He lets out a loud whine as he cums, letting you swallow it all down.

You pull off of his, your makeup smudged, your hair tousled, but Spencer thought you were the prettiest thing he'd ever seen. He reaches down, wiping the spit from your chin. You grin, standing up as he pulled up his pants, making himself look presentable. You make your way to the mirror, using the water and paper towels to fix your complexion.

"We should head back." Spencer said, doing up his pants. His face held a deep red hue as he avoided looking at you.

"Alright, well..." You strode over to him, putting a hand on his chest and leaning up to kiss his blushy cheek before slipping out the door. He let himself lean against the door for a minute before heading back to the table.

"Finally. Where were you?" Derek asks as Spencer approaches the table. He slides into his seat, trying to act casual but the second he makes eye contact with you across the table and feels your foot toying with his ankle, he breaks, the faint blush coming back and spreading further up his cheeks.

"Nowhere. Nothing. I was- bathroom." He stammers and Derek chuckled.

"Alright, man. Whatever you say." Spencer looked at you again, finding you chewing on your straw and looking at him through seductive eyes.

"Are you gonna tell us more about mystery man?" Emily asks and you spare another glance at Spencer who is deliberately looking away.

"I don't know, I think I gave you all enough information tonight already." You said, pulling your phone into your lap. You shoot off a text to Spencer and glance at him for his reaction. He takes his phone out, squinting at the small screen. What a little old man.

He looked up at you with a small smile before looking back at his phone and texting you back.

You: round two at my place after this?

♡ Pretty boy: Definitely :-)

Taglist: @superbeaglewitch, @perfectgoopfishuniversity-blog, totallynotabuckybarnessimp, @dramioneforevertilltheend. @cynbx, @diminombre

#criminal minds #♡ keira's fics #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid smut

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kenniesf1 · 2 days ago

Text

the people we meet on vacation | OP81

masterlist

pairing: oscar piastri x singer!reader (smau!)

summary: oscar and his childhood best friend, whose families always vacationed together, haven't seen each other in forever. maybe the f1 2025 season summer break is the time for them to rekindle?

tropes: friends to lovers, fluff, angst, social media, based loosely off of people we meet on vacation by emily henry

yn.jpg

liked by oscarpiastri, lizzymcalpine, and 441,955 others

yn.jpg panic on the streets of london

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user1 i'm her biggest fan, your honor

user2 can't be you bc oscar had this post liked within SECONDS

user1 i fear their fans know before they know ...

gracieabrams girl get out of london and INTO THE STUDIO liked by author

rolemodel hey there lover 😏

yn.jpg i heard you're SOBER now????

lilymhe silverstone is an hour and 35 by car, lovely!

yn.jpg i know what you're doing

alex_albon pls yn don't, if you're here, she'll forget all about me

lilymhe who is alex?

alex_albon IT'S COMMENCING

oscarpiastri name three smiths songs 🤓

yn.jpg name three people who like you (boom roasted)

oscarpiastri you do

yn.jpg I INTRODUCED YOU TO THEM

yn.jpq wait i thought you'd be much more aggressive

user3 yn in london, oscah at silverstone--let lily be right 🙏

yn.jpg

liked by inhaler, ediepiastri, and 603,687 others

yn.jpg yn and oscar reunion at the british grand prix!!! snuck that silly photo of osc before mclaren got mad at me for taking photos in the garage...

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mclaren you're off with a warning

yn.jpg 😅

user4 GUYS DID YOU SEE HOW CUTE THEY LOOK TOGETHER

user5 when yn was walking in and oscar just LEFT the convo w his engineers to say hello KILL ME

user4 they're my parents

user6 i need the oscar to my yn STAT

lando what a sofishticated post

yn.jpg we all miss danny 😓

alexandrasaintmleux pretty pretty girllll

yn.jpg lovely lovely lady

pierregasly can i get tickets for your next tour, kika wants to go

yn.jpg anything for kika 🤭

pierregasly hold your horses

user7 can they just kiss

user8 bro they're good friends, why does every boy-girl friendship have to become a relationship?

user9 not every but YNOSCAR??? yes it does

user8 weird

oscarpiastri missed you

yn.jpg you could make it more believable

oscarpiastri I MISSED YOU A LOT

yn.jpg that's more like it 😋

yn.jpg i wanna meet sebastian vettel

liked by georgerussell63, bestf1memes453, and 1,202,994 others

f1 Your drivers, enjoying their summer break, hope you enjoy yours!

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user10 AWW ALEX IS PROBABLY GOLFING WITH LILY

user11 i need to play paddel with lestappen

user12 they're just gonna be making love eyes at each other

lando yes. they will.

user12 ARIANA WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?

scuderiaferrari competitive on and off the track

georgerussell63 that's me and my girlfriend

user13 girl we've BEEN knowing

yn.jpg expect oscar on vacation pics 🫡

f1 🫡

user14 YNOSCAR ARE TOGETHER?!?!?!!?

user15 ya yn has said in interviews that she and oscar have gone on vacation together since they were kids

user14 hold me im gonna faint

yn.jpg

liked by oscarpiastri, billieeilish, and 583,023 others

yn.jpg greece agreed with me tagged oscarpiastri

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user1 THEY'RE IN GREECEEEEEE

user2 yn having a mamma mia summer

lilymhe couldn't you have taken me with you?

alex_albon im right next to you, at least PRETEND to care

lilymhe i can love two people

carlossainz55 buy me a house in mykonos! liked by author

mclaren don't let him eat too much gyro!!!!

yn.jpg too late, he's a fatty

oscarpiastri ☹️

user16 i can't w the people who say they're dating--THIS IS SO FRIENDSHIP CORE

oscarpiastri red journal is running out of space

olliebearman i'll buy her a new one, yn's feeding us

oscarpiastri oh who is you?

user3 i love him your honor

oscarpiastri

liked by opeightyone, kimiantonelli, and 1,030,199

oscarpiastri greece sounds like fleetwood mac, yn said. i said i didn't know fleetwood mac. hence, an hour of her playing the guitar. slide 3 👍

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user16 guys... it's not even funny anymore

user17 the FIRST slide totally confirms it

user8 yeah i was against it at first buuuuuuuut... slide 1 doesn't lie

user16 join us

lando did you see that reel i sent you

oscarpiastri no :p

user19 oscar = kimi raikonnen

charles_leclerc son, why was your father not invited?

oscarpiastri yn hates you 😰

yn.jpg stfu ugly ass hoe, i stan charles

lewishamilton nice

user19 that's the most you're ever getting out of lewis

liamlawson did you jetski?

oscarpiastri yes it was very good

yn.jpg oscar was holding on and he fell like five times

user20 GUYS HE WAS HOLDING HER!!!!

logansargeant i guess oscar hates me because I VISITED FOR A DAY #justiceforme #photographer

yn.jpg #don'tusehashtagsweirdo

oscarpiastri thank you for the photo logan :)

yn.jpg i look quite pretty, put it on my raya 🥰

oscarpiastri yes and no. in that order pls.

july 11th, 2025 - 23:08

oscar was sitting on the patio attached to their small cabin, poking the uncooperative fire. their campsite was full of young people, just like them, their hoots and hollers and fast pop music echoing throughout the area. parties were never oscar's ideal way of spending an otherwise perfect night, and, luckily, they weren't yn's. she was still inside, washing the salt water and sand from her hair--considering she was taking ages, oscar knew he'd be asked to help untangle the insistent strands later on. he'd help, but he didn't really want to.

since seeing yn at silverstone, something had felt... strange. he didn't dare to assume that it was strange in a bad way, or that, after two decades of knowing each other, they were falling out. but he didn't like the ambiguity either. he wished he could put his hand on the pulse of this change, learn its rhythms and find a way to ride the storm. however, it seemed that only he had noticed it. yn was still floating around, a dream in her hand and a smile on her face, oblivious to what was glaring for oscar.

their house was too small. he couldn't breathe. not air, anyway--yn's floral perfume wafted around, basically etching her name into his lungs. her clothes were found in every nook and cranny of the home, reminding him of her continuous presence. her humming--which she thought he couldn't hear, but he could--made its way into his mind, altering the way he thought and listened and even walked.

strange.

"hey," yn interrupted, stepping through the door onto the patio. she wore the funny capybara slippers he had bought her when they visited argentina, but apart from that, she looked too good for a random friday night. too good for just him to see. her hair hadn't been dried, sitting in natural curls and making her stripped quarter sleeve wet. her hands were holding two mugs, so her hairbrush was in between her teeth. oscar knew she'd ask. she dropped the brush onto the couch, "what are you thinking so hard about?"

his eyebrows furrowed. "do i look like i'm thinking hard?" he put the rod for the fire down, leaning back into his cushioned chair. this attempt at nonchalance was easily noticeable and a massive failure.

"you're always thinking," she commented, sitting down in the seat next to him. her hands naturally went to the ends of her hair, running through them. "you think a lot." seeing the look on oscar's face, she added, "not in a bad way."

his eyes stayed on her for a second longer before dropping it. "here," he said, extending his hand, "give me the brush. let me help." she shrugged, lightly chucking the hairbrush towards him. instead of going to sit in front of oscar, however, yn hopped up, walked over to the corner, and grabbed the rickety guitar she'd left there earlier.

"i'll compensate you with music," she stated, taking her place in front of him. oscar moved his legs to make space, and immediately yn's hands reached for the strings, playing a beautiful melody he found uncannily familiar. as he began to brush through her hair, oscar did his very best to be gentle--if he so much as pulled on one hair, the gorgeous music yn was playing would stop.

the brushing continued until the lyrics began, "all i knew, this morning when i woke, is i know something now, know something now, i didn't before," yn softly sang, so focused on her fingerpicking that she didn''t even notice oscar stopped brushing. just for a second. she kept going. "cause all i know is you said hello, and your eyes looked like coming home. all i know is a simple name, and everything has changed."

the song ended far too quickly. when it did, yn turned her head just a bit, making eye contact with oscar. her eyes were so wide, so vulnerable, that he almost felt bad that he'd listened to her sing. it was, again, strange. she sung for crowds of thousands, but was scared to for him?

everything really had to have changed, he thought.

yn.jpg

liked by lilymhe, chappelroan, and 541,111 others

yn.jpg eiffel when i was in paris

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maxverstappen1 terrible joke

user21 MAX YOU CAN'T DISRESPECT YN LN!!!!

user22 i'm getting tired of these games yn

yn.jpg 🙈

user23 i swear to god i will unfollow... this is ynoscarbaiting

user1 let's cancel them for not dating

user8 real

user1 you hated the ynoscar train literally 5 days ago

user8 i decided to be realistic 😐

reneerapp gorgeous girl and ... oscar

yn.jpg he's the gorgeous girl and i'm oscar

pierregasly fraNCe 🇫🇷

isackhadjar fraNCe 🥖

estebanocon fraNCe 🚬

alpine we love to see it yn liked by author

lando danny ric hath awakened with dad jokes like that

user23 lando bringing up danny all the time is so me

user24 haunting the narrative like jackie taylor

user9 he loves danny more than christian horner or netflix do

oscarpiastri at a loss for words with the first photo

yn.jpg diva, you took the photo?

user25 PLEASE STOP WITH THIS SHIT RIGHT NOW

user26 take away their instagram privileges

user27 on my roommate's wifi?

july 14th, 2025 - 13:42

yn had always had a crush on oscar. she wasn't afraid to admit it. in fact, it had lasted so long that the stage of denial that used to exist felt more like a hazy fever dream than a memory. she leaned into his touch too much, she saw him when she closed her eyes too much, she missed him too much. she tried being distant, she tried hinting, she tried. considering they were just friends, it hadn't worked.

yn had made her peace with only having oscar as a friend. but it was on days like this that she felt immense jealousy for the lucky girl who'd be able to see him fall asleep and hear his morning voice for the rest of her blessed days. right now, oscar was laying on their picnic blanket, flipping through a bukowski and occassionally taking a sip of his coffee. yn was supposed to be reading too--she planned this outing so she could binge read song of solomon. but right now, the convoluted story of milkman and guitar paled in comparison to the simple sight before her.

it was never difficult to know that oscar would never happen for her. it was always difficult for her to have to remind herself.

"can you pass the chocolate?" he asked, hazel eyes still glued to the pages. yn did as she was asked, doing so in a way that didn't intersect with her admiration of the man next to her. it was only when their hands brushed--a completely unimportant moment, one they had shared a million times over--that oscar's eyes left his novel and turned to yn. "what?"

yn pondered what to say, ashamed that she didn't feel ashamed. her best best friend caught her staring. she didn't mind. she should've. "have i ever told you how gorgeous you are?" she asked in a way that seemed genuinely shocked that she hadn't. "i feel like you should know."

his face softened, hands naturally lowering the book to shift his body towards her. "we don't usually talk like that," yn noted, running a hand through her hair in feigned casualness. "i know that. but it's true. and we say things that are true."

yn.jpg

liked by ediepiastri, ramiyoussef, and 509,187 others

yn.jpg came to copenhagen!!!! oscar has been enabling my tourist-y magnet addicition, send help in the form of money (so he isn't the enabler, you are!!!)

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user24 oscar liked this within 6 seconds, just putting it out there 🤷🏽‍♀️

user25 everyone but yn and oscar know what we know

user7 they're not in the room where it happens

user26 even though they ARE the room where it happens

iamrebeccad cutie!!!!!

yn.jpg 😏

user27 guys i fear yn is just flirty with everyone

user28 but it's MORE THAN FLIRTING it's psychological warfare

oscarpiastri i'll buy you even more magnets when we get to italy 🫶🇮🇹

yn.jpg i like shiny things BUT

user1 CHAT CHAT CHAT GUYS LOOK

user29 bro has her quoting taylor, she's cooked

gracieabrams i felt summoned by this post

yn.jpg i chanted "gracie ABrams" before posting

olivieblake hello!!!!!

yn.jpg send the arc for the new book over here 🫦

ediepiastri oscah got sad he wasn't featured, treat him kindly tonight, he's sensitive 🤧

oscarpiastri 🤡

maxverstappen1 have you been practicing paddel oscar?

yn.jpg mate, ask in private chat

maxverstappen1 ok

rasmus.hoejlund glad you visited liked by author

user30 getout

user31 DON'T PLAY WITH ME

user4 RED ALERT

yn.jpg i challenge arthur_leclerc to go on the amazing race w me

osarpiastri take me, i'm your best friend

user8 THE FRIEND ZONE NO

lando the things i could say

hattiepiastri yn text me rn

oscarpiastri i swear to our lord and savior julian casablancas

yn.jpg got something to hide, osc?

part two coming soon.......

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