#formula 1 imagine

[requiemforthepoets]

the story we won’t tell is my greatest fantasy ⟢ LN4

PAIRINGS: lando norris x female!reader

SUMMARY: seven years. you and lando had been together for seven years, but it all went down the drain the moment he decided to come clean about the mistake that he did.

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

WARNINGS: no use of y/n, breakup, cheating, cheater lando, pregnancy, secret child, mentions of nausea and vomiting, fainting, angst, open ending, math is not mathing (but i tried), some inaccuracies, named side characters (except for the reader), single!mom reader, and minor typographical errors

WORD COUNT: 7.2k

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this fic is inspired by niki’s song ‘apartment we won’t share,’ ik that we have diff interpretations for the songs, but i interpret it as the way how i wrote this fic. i’m not planning on doing a second part of this, and just leave it an open ending. but if someday i get inspired, i’ll try and make a part 2 for this, though for now, there will be no part 2 for this fic. i will be leaving the ending all up to you. you comments/reblogs is highly appreciated, and i hope that you’ll enjoy this one.

It had been a long and exhausting week. The lingering ache from your family emergency still tugged at your heart, so to keep off your mind from things, you had spent most of the day sorting through Lando’s things, folding clothes and making sure his suitcase was ready for his flight to another race weekend. It was the kind of task you had done so many times in the last seven years, but this time, it felt heavier, like there was something wrong that you couldn’t quite place.

When Lando returned to Monaco a few days later, you expected him to be his usual vibrant self, but something was off with him. Lando’s eyes seemed heavier, his posture slouched, and smile lacked the spark that you were used to.

“Hey, can we talk for a second?” he asked, voice unusually subdued.

You set down the shirt you had been folding, brows furrowing. “Sure, of course,” you replied, taking a seat on the couch. “What’s on your mind?”

Lando hesitated, hands fidgeting with the edge of his hoodie. He sat across from you, knees bouncing slightly as he stared at the floor. “You know I love you, right? More than anything.”

A faint smile crossed your lips. “I know, Lan, and you made sure to let me know everyday for seven years.”

He looked up briefly, gaze fleeting before dropping back to the floor. “I need to tell you something, I wanted to be completely honest with you…and it’s probably the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say.”

Your heart skipped a beat. Lando’s tone, demeanor—it was all wrong, and you were getting really nervous by now. “What is it?” you asked, voice quiet, wary.

Lando took a deep breath, his hands now gripping his knees as if to ground himself. “When I was out for a night with the guys a month ago…I messed up.”

Your stomach churned. You didn’t want to interrupt him, waiting for Lando to continue, though every fiber of your being wanted to scream at him, to demand some answers.

“There was…someone at the club that night,” he said, words slow and measured, like he was forcing them out of him. “It was stupid, an honest mistake. I was so drunk, caught up in everything, and I wasn’t thinking.”

You felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. “W-What are you saying?” you managed, voice barely above a whisper.

Lando finally looked at you, eyes glistening. “I accidentally slept with her. It was a one-time thing, I swear, then she called me last week—I don’t even know how she got my number, but she told me that she’s pregnant.

Pregnant.

The words hit you like a freight train. You stared at him, mind completely blank, unable to process what he had just said. Tears began to blur your vision, but you didn’t wipe them away.

“Lando…” you tried to speak up, but your voice cracked.

“I didn’t know how to tell you,” he said, voice shaking. “I didn’t know what to do. All I could think about was how much I’ve hurt you. But I can’t let my kid grow up without a family. I know how much family means to you, to me. I have to be there for them.”

Your heart shattered into pieces. You could see how much Lando was struggling, the guilt etched into every line of his face. But the pain of his betrayal was unbearable.

“I don’t…I don’t have anything to say anymore, honestly,” you said finally, voice trembling. “Because you had already made your decision—you’re choosing them.”

Lando shook his head vehemently. “No! No, I’m not choosing anyone over you. You’re the love of my life. That hasn’t changed and never will.”

“Lando, you can’t have both,” you said, tears streaming down your face. “I can’t stay here knowing all of these. I can’t be a part of this.”

He reached out as if to touch you, but you recoiled. You couldn’t bear his touch right now. “Please love,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I love you. I don’t ever want to lose you.”

“You already have,” you said softly, standing up and wiping your tears. “I won’t hold you back, Lando. You need to do what’s right for your child. They deserve a family, and I will not be the reason why they don’t have one.”

You walked to your shared bedroom, your movements mechanical as you began packing your things. Every item you placed in your suitcase felt like a dagger to your chest. This apartment had been your home, your safe haven, and now it was just a place you needed to escape from. Lando just stood in the doorway, watching you pack all of your things, his face pale and tear-streaked. He didn’t try to stop you—he knew that he couldn’t.

When you zipped up your suitcase and grabbed your bag, you turned to him one last time. “Take care of both of them,” you said, voice barely audible. “Be the father they need.

With that, you walked out of the apartment, out of the life you and Lando had built together. You had loved him for seven years, trusted him with every piece of your heart. But now, all you had was the emptiness of what could have been.

The crisp night air bit at your skin as you stood by the entrance of the apartment building, clutching the handle of your suitcase. Your ride to the airport was just a few minutes away, but the wait felt eternal. You stared blankly at the sidewalk, mind is a chaotic mess, the weight of everything that had happened tonight pressing heavily on your chest.

You heard familiar voices approaching before you saw them, their cheerful tones instantly recognizable. Quickly, you wiped at your cheeks, hoping your red-rimmed eyes wouldn’t give you away. Plastering on a smile, you turned towards Max and Kelly as they walked towards the entrance, hand in hand, their expressions bright despite the late hour.

“Hey! What are you doing out here so late?” Kelly asked, brows knitting in concern as she noticed the two large suitcases beside you.

You hesitated, forcing your smile to stay in place. “I, uh, have a family emergency,” you lied smoothly, voice steady even though your heart was pounding. “I need to head back home for a bit.”

Max tilted his head slightly, sharp blue eyes scanning you with the protective gaze you had come to know so well over the years. “Two large suitcases for just a quick trip? That seems a bit much,” he remarked lightly, though his tone carried a hint of suspicion.

You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. “It’s just…really complicated right now. I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone, so I packed extra, just in case.”

Kelly’s hand tightened on Max’s arm as she stepped closer to you, her concern evident. “Is Lando not home right now? Why didn’t you tell us earlier? We could’ve helped you pack, we can drive you to the airport.”

You shook your head quickly. “Lan’s already sleeping and I hate to wake him up, he just recently got back from his trip. I also didn’t want to bother you, I’ve already called a car, and it should be here any minute.”

They exchanged a look, clearly unconvinced but respectful enough not to press you further. “Well, we’re not leaving you out here alone,” Max said firmly. “We’ll wait with you until your ride gets here.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the determined set of his jaw told you it would all be just pointless. Instead, you nodded, grateful for their presence even as it made it harder to hold yourself together.

Kelly gave you a warm smile, trying to ease the tension. “It’s late, but P was asking about you earlier,” she said softly. “She’s been begging to have another day with her favorite Auntie.”

Your heart clenched at the mention of Penelope, and you forced your smile to widen. “I’ll miss her so much,” you said, voice thick despite your best efforts. “Tell her I’ll see her soon.”

Kelly’s brow furrowed slightly at your words, but before she could say anything, your ride had pulled up to the curb. Relief and dread washed over you in equal measure. Max then stepped forward immediately, grabbing your suitcases with ease.

“I’ll load these up for you,” he said, tone gruff but kind.

“Thank you,” you murmured, watching as he placed your suitcases in the trunk of the car.

When Max turned back, Kelly pulled you into a tight hug, her familiar perfume bringing a rush of bittersweet comfort. “Take care of yourself, okay?” she whispered. “Whatever’s going on, we’re here for you.”

You nodded against her shoulder, your throat too tight to respond. When she pulled away, Max had stepped forward, wrapping you in a hug that was strong and protective, just like he always was.

“Be back soon, okay? P will be missing her favorite Aunt.” he said, chuckling. “If you need anything, you call me or Kelly. No excuses.”

“I will,” you promised, though you knew that you wouldn’t.

As you stepped back, Kelly offered you a gentle smile. “When you get back, P will be so excited to see you again. You know how much she loves spending time with you.”

The lump in your throat grew, and you could only nod in response. You managed a faint smile as you climbed into the car, giving them one final wave.

“Safe travels,” Kelly called out as Max closed the door for you.

You watched them through the window, standing together on the curb, their figures illuminated by the soft glow of the streetlights. They waved as the car pulled away, but you couldn’t bring yourself to wave back again. Instead, you turned your gaze forward, the city lights blurring through the tears that silently slid down your cheeks.

You didn’t look back. You couldn’t.

When you finally arrived back home, the weight of the long hour of flight clung to you like a heavy fog. You dragged your suitcases through the familiar front door, exhaustion etched into every inch of your body. The warm, welcoming scent of your childhood home did little to comfort you, instead, it only amplified the ache in your chest. All you wanted was to collapse into your bed and wake up to a world where none of this had ever happened—a world where your heart wasn’t shattered into pieces. But this was your reality, as cruel as it was.

You definitely hadn’t anticipated seeing your older sister, Noelle, and her husband, Mike, in the living room, seated across from your mother, their laughter filling the space. The sound abruptly stopped when they noticed you standing in the doorway, your pale face and tired eyes a huge giveaway of the turmoil you tried so desperately to hide.

“What are you doing here?” Noelle asked, rising from her seatc brows knitting together in concern. “You didn’t tell us that you were coming home.”

Noelle’s brows knit together as she took in your disheveled appearance, her sharp eyes catching every detail—dark circles under your eyes, stiffness in your movements, and the forced smile you mustered.

“Yeah,” you replied quietly, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “I, uh, needed to come home for a bit.”

Your mother rose from her seat as well, concern etched into her features. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” she asked softly, gaze darting between you and the suitcases you had left by the door.

You hesitated, throat tightening. You had been dreading this moment, knowing full well how much your family adored Lando so much. They had welcomed him with open arms from the start, treating him as one of their own. Now, you were about to break their hearts almost as much as he had broken yours.

“It’s nothing,” you said, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. “I just needed a change of scenery, that’s all.”

Noelle stood, arms crossed as she gave you a pointed look. “Don’t give me that kind of excuse. You don’t just show up unannounced looking like this for no reason. What really happened?”

You swallowed hard, avoiding Noelle’s gaze. “Lando and I broke up,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

The whole room fell silent, the weight of your words sinking in. Your mother’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide with shock. “Oh, my darling sweetheart,” she breathed.

Noelle, however, was not so subdued. “What?” she exclaimed, voice rising. “What do you mean you broke up? What happened? Did he do something stupid?”

“No!” you said quickly, shaking your head. “No, it wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like?” she pressed, tone sharp.

You took a deep breath, willing yourself to stay composed. “We just…fell out of love. The both of us,” you said, hating the words even as you said then. “We’ve been together for so long, and I guess we just realized that we weren’t the same people years ago anymore. It didn’t make sense to keep on pretending, we’ll just end up hurting ourselves in the long run.”

Noelle’s eyes narrowed, clearly unconvinced. “That doesn’t sound like Lando at all. The man adores you so much, even worships the ground you walk on.”

“He did,” you said softly, chest tightening. “And I adored him too. But people change, feelings change.”

Your mother stepped closer, her hands reaching for yours. “Are you sure this is what you wanted?” she asked gently.

You nodded, the lump in your throat growing. “It’s for the best,” you lied, voice cracking slightly.

Mike, who had been silent until now, placed a hand on Noelle’s shoulder. “If this is what she’s decided, we should respect it,” he said quietly, giving you a small, understanding nod.

Noelle just sighed, clearly torn between pressing you for further information and letting it go. Finally, she relented, though her expression was still skeptical.

“I just don’t want you to regret this,” she said, voice more softer now. “You two were so good together.”

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep you from breaking down. “I’ll be okay, eventually,” you said, words hollow.

Your mother pulled you into a tight embrace, her warmth briefly soothing the ache in your chest. “Whatever happens, we’re always here for you,” she murmured.

“Thanks, mommy,” you whispered, blinking back tears.

As you pulled away, your sister gave you a long look, her expression unreadable. “If he hurt you—” she started, but you cut her off.

“He didn’t,” you said firmly, voice steady despite the storm inside you. “It just didn’t work out. That’s all.”

Noelle still didn’t look convinced, but she nodded, clearly sensing that there’s more to it, and you didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Alright,” she said quietly. “But if you ever want to talk, I’m here, okay? We’re all here.”

You gave her a small smile, though it didn’t reach your eyes like it used to. “Thank you,” you said, words barely audible.

Excusing yourself, you retreated to your old bedroom, closing the door behind you gently and sinking onto the comfort of your bed. The familiar surroundings brought no comfort, only a stark reminder of the life you had left behind. While you lay down, staring at the ceiling, the tears finally came, silent and unrelenting.

You had still protected Lando from your family’s anger, even though he did not deserve any of it, and now, you were left to pick up the pieces alone.

The Nausea hits you like clockwork every morning. You found yourself rushing to the bathroom, stomach twisting in protest against seemingly nothing. It had started a few weeks ago, and though you had initially dismissed it as a lingering flu or perhaps the stress with work finally catching up to you, it was becoming harder to ignore. Rest didn’t seem to help you, but you assured yourself that it wasn’t that serious. Besides, you have work to focus on, and that was enough to keep your mind occupied, most of the time.

Two months had already passed since you had left Monaco for good, and life had begun to settle into a new rhythm. Yes, the ache in your chest was still there, but it had been dulled into something manageable. You were slowly rebuilding yourself, piece by piece, though the nausea was an unwelcome distraction.

It was a normal afternoon, while you were curled up on the beanbag chair in your bedroom after a long and tiring day, your phone buzzed. The caller ID that was displayed on the screen made your breath catch for a moment—Kelly. You hesitated before answering, already bracing yourself for the conversation. Her face appeared on the screen, bright and concerned.

“Finally, I caught you!” she said with a smile, though her tone was tinged with worry. “I was starting to think you were avoiding me.”

You shook your head, chuckling and offered her a small smile. “I’m so sorry, Kelly. Things have been so busy with me lately.”

Kelly’s brow furrowed slightly as she studied your face. “You look tired. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, it’s just a silly flu,” you said quickly, but the faint edge in your voice didn’t go unnoticed.

“Don’t lie to me,” she said gently. “Max and I found out about it already, about you and Lando.”

Your chest tightened, but you forced yourself to stay calm. “Oh.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” she asked, expression softening. “We would’ve been there for you. You’ve been through this all alone.”

You sighed, your shoulders sagging. “I didn’t want to drag anyone else into the mess, and I didn’t even know what to say.”

Kelly’s voice grew firmer. “You didn’t have to say anything, we would’ve understood. Max is furious with Lando, you know. So is Carlos. I even have to break the two of them away from Lando.”

Your heart sank at the thought. “Please don’t be mad at him. It’s not worth it.”

Kelly shook her head, lips pressing into a thin line. “It is worth it. What Lando did to you was unforgivable. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

“It’s okay,” you murmured, though the words felt hollow. “I’ll move on, eventually.”

Kelly’s expression softened again, and she leaned closer to the camera. “I just wish you’d let us help you. You know we love you, right? You’ve always been family to us.”

“I know,” you whispered, tears pricking at your eyes.

Her face brightened slightly. “But speaking of family, someone’s been dying to talk to you!”

Before you could respond, the screen shifted, and Penelope’s little face appeared, her eyes lighting up when she saw you. “AUNTIE!” she exclaimed, voice high with excitement.

”Hi, P!” You said, heart aching at the sight of her.

“I miss you so much!” she said, pouting slightly. “When are you coming back? Mommy says you’re not in Monaco anymore.”

You hesitated, unsure of how to explain. “I miss you too, darling. I just…I had to be somewhere else for a while.”

“But you’ll come back, right?” she asked, her big eyes staring at you expectantly.

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile. “We’ll see, P. For now, you have to be good for your mommy and Maxie, okay?”

“I’m always good!” she declared, puffing out her chest.

Kelly’s voice chimed in from the background. “That’s debatable,” she teased, earning a giggle from Penelope.

You couldn’t help but smile, even as your chest tightened. “You’re the best, P. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Okay!” she said brightly before turning to Kelly. “Mommy, can we call Auntie again tomorrow?”

Kelly returned to the screen, giving you a knowing look. “We’ll let her rest for now, P. But yes, we’ll call Auntie again soon.”

“Promise?” Penelope asked, her eyes wide.

“Promise,” Kelly said, smiling before turning back to you. “Take care of yourself, okay? And if you need anything, anything, just call me.”

You nodded. “Thank you so much, Kelly. I will.”

After ending your facetime call with Kelly, you stumbled into the bathroom, your stomach churning violently. The moment you stepped inside, you collapsed in front of the toilet, heaving uncontrollably. It felt as though your insides were twisting, every muscle tensing in protest. When it finally subsided, you shakily wiped your mouth, staring at your reflection in the mirror. You looked pale—paler than usual, and eyes were bloodshot from the strain.

It took you a couple of minutes to compose yourself before heading to the kitchen, hoping the water would help settle your spinning head. Grabbing a glass from the cabinet, you poured the water, but as you lifted it to your lips, another wave of dizziness hit you. This time, it was stronger. Your grip faltered, and the glass slipped from your hand, shattering loudly as it hit the floor.

The sharp noise brought Noelle and Mike running into the kitchen. They froze when they saw you swaying on your feet, barely managing to stay upright. You blinked, trying to focus, but everything around you was growing hazier. Before you could say anything, your legs gave way beneath you, and you crumpled to the floor, your vision blackening as you began to lose consciousness. Noelle was by your side in an instant, her hands gentle but urgent as she checked your pulse.

“Don’t worry, she’s alive,” Noelle muttered, voice steady despite the fear in her eyes. “Mike, call an ambulance now!”

Mike didn’t hesitate, rushing to grab his phone and calling for help. You could hear Mike’s voice in the background, muffled and frantic as he spoke to the operator.

“Yes, we need an ambulance,” Mike said, tone clipped, almost too calm for the situation. “My sister-in-law collapsed, and we need help immediately.”

Noelle’s voice cut through your haze, trying to keep you steady. “Come on, stay with me, okay? Just hold on.”

You couldn’t respond, couldn’t even make a sound, but you could hear them both, voices blending with the rush of adrenaline in the air. Mike’s footsteps moved swiftly, his voice growing more distant as he spoke with the ambulance on the phone.

The minutes that followed felt like hours. The sound of the ambulance siren grew louder, and relief flooded Noelle’s face as the paramedics rushed into the house. They quickly assessed the situation, asking Noelle questions about your symptoms and recent health conditions.

“She’s been experiencing dizziness for weeks now,” Noelle explained. “She’s stubborn, didn’t want to see a doctor. This morning she was nauseous, and now she’s fainted.”

The paramedics nodded, lifting you onto the stretcher carefully. Noelle and Mike followed closely as they carried you out to the ambulance. “I’m coming with her to the hospital,” Noelle said firmly, climbing into the back of the ambulance without hesitation.

Mike stayed behind, watching the ambulance doors close with a worried expression. “Alright, I’ll be informing your mother when she arrives, but call me as soon as you know something,” he said to Noelle before they drove off.

Inside the ambulance, Noelle held your hand tightly, her fingers trembling against your own. “You’re going to be fine,” she said, though her voice was thick with concern. “Just breathe, okay? We’re almost there.”

You couldn’t focus on what Noelle was saying. The world had gone dark around you, only the pulse of your own heartbeat reminding you that you were still there, still fighting to stay conscious.

The steady beeping of the machines was the first thing you registered as you slowly opened your eyes, the sterile smell of the hospital room making everything feel surreal. Blinking against the harsh fluorescent light, your gaze landed on your sister, Noelle, sitting in one of the chairs beside your bed, her expression a mixture of worry and relief when she noticed you stirring.

“Noelle,” you croaked, voice hoarse from sleep and dryness.

She shot up almost instantly, coming to your side and helping you adjust into a sitting position in the hospital bed. Her hands were gentle but firm as she propped a pillow behind your back.

“Hey, take it easy, okay?” she said softly. She reached for a bottle of water on the bedside table, unscrewing the cap before handing it to you. “Here, drink up. Small sips.”

You followed her instructions, taking slow, careful sips, the cool water soothing your parched throat. “What happened? Why am I in the hospital?” you asked weakly, mind still foggy.

“You fainted in the kitchen,” Noelle explained, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. “You scared the hell out of us. Mike called the ambulance, and I came with you here. Mom and Mike are both on their way. They’ll be here soon.”

Before you could respond, there was a knock at the door, a doctor entered, her expression professional but kind. Noelle immediately stepped aside, letting her approach you.

“I’m glad that you’re awake now, my dear,” she began, smiling at you. “We’ve run some tests to determine the cause of your fainting and other symptoms.”

You nodded slowly, stomach churning with apprehension. Noelle moved closer to your side, her presence grounding you.

“We’ve reviewed your results,” she continued, glancing at her clipboard before meeting your eyes. “The dizziness, nausea, and vomiting you’ve been experiencing for the past weeks are all consistent with early pregnancy symptoms. Congratulations, you’re seven weeks pregnant!”

Pregnant. Pregnant.

For a moment, the words did not register. The hospital room seemed to grow impossibly still, the doctor’s voice fading into the background as you processed the news. Seven weeks. The timeline clicked into place, and your heart sank as realization hit. Seven weeks pregnant. You could hear the faint ringing in your ears, a sharp contrast to the quiet gasp from Noelle beside you.

“I…I’m sorry, what?” you managed to stammer, voice shaking.

“You’re pregnant, dear,” the doctor repeated gently. “Seven weeks along. Your vitals look good, but it’s important to start prenatal care as soon as possible. We’ve referred you to an OB-GYN who will guide you through the process and answer any questions you might have.”

You nodded numbly, unable to form any coherent response. The doctor continued to explain what you should expect in the coming weeks—dietary recommendations, plenty of rest, and the importance of regular check-ups. But her words felt very distant, as if you were hearing them through a fog.

When the doctor finally left, you were left staring blankly at the sterile white wall, the weight of the revelation crushing you. Seven weeks. You did the math in your head, mind racing. By now, you know that the woman Lando had gotten pregnant would be around three months into pregnancy.

Tears began to well up in your eyes, the enormity of the situation was starting to overwhelm you. You were carrying Lando’s child. That man had broken and shattered your heart into pieces, and who had chosen someone else, was now bound to you in a way that you could not escape.

“Noelle,” you whispered, voice breaking.

She knelt beside the bed, taking your trembling hands in hers. “I’m here. Don’t worry, I’m here, okay?” she said softly, her tone steady and reassuring.

“I don’t know what to do,” you cried, tears streaming down your face. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. How am I supposed to handle this?”

Noelle’s grip on your hands tightened slightly, eyes full of concern. “I don’t have all the answers,” she admitted, “but you don’t have to go through this alone. Whatever you decide to do, I’ll be here for you—Mom and Mike, too. We’ll all figure this out together, okay?”

Two years had already passed, and your life was a world away from where it had been. Astrid, your little ray of sunshine, was turning two today. She was the center of your universe, your whole life, her giggles filling every corner of the house you had worked so hard to call your own. It was a beautiful home, just three doors away from your mother’s home, ensuring that Astrid was always surrounded by the love and warmth of your family.

Noelle and Mike, ever the doting aunt and uncle, spoiled her endlessly. They brought over toys, books, and clothes—sometimes more than you thought Astrid needed, but you couldn’t deny the happiness on Astrid’s face when they arrived with surprise in hand.

It’s true that your pregnancy and the early days of motherhood had not been easy, but you were able to survive. More than that, you thrived. With a promotion to a top position at work and a comfortable life for you and Astrid, you finally felt at peace. The past—Lando, was no longer a wound, but now a distant memory you had learned to accept. Your family also had long stopped asking questions about the details of your breakup, and while they knew Lando was Astrid’s father, they never dwelled on it. Astrid had all the love she needed, and that was what mattered most.

But there was one part of your life you had not reconciled yet—Max and Kelly. Despite keeping in touch with Kelly through regular facetime calls, you had managed to keep Astrid a secret. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust them, it was just too complicated to explain everything. It was already enough that they found out what Lando had done that caused your breakup.

However, when Kelly had mentioned that they would be spending their vacation in your home country and would be arriving the day before Astrid’s second birthday, you had a window of opportunity. It was time to take a step forward. So you had invited them to what you described as a simple gathering at your home. You didn’t explicitly tell them that it would be Astrid’s birthday party—just that it would be a chance to catch up and spend time together.

As the day drew closer, you found yourself torn between excitement and anxiety. What would they say when they realized the gathering that you had talked about was actually a celebration for your daughter? Would they feel hurt that you had kept Astrid a secret for so long?

These thoughts lingered as you finalized the decorations, baked Astrid’s favorite cake, and prepared the house for your guests. But when you looked at Astrid, happily playing with her toys in the living room, the doubt began to fade. This was your life now—a life filled with love and laughter, even if it was different from what you had once imagined.

The backyard was a colorful dream, adorned with streamers, balloons, and a banner that read, Happy 2nd Birthday! and Astrid’s favorite colors painted every corner of the space, and the laughter of children filled the air as they played games and ran around laughing. Astrid herself was the picture of happiness, twirling in her pretty dress, a bright smile on her face as she clung to her grandmother’s hand.

You excused yourself from the backyard, your hands brushing against your dress nervously as you stepped back into the kitchen to double-check the desserts. Rows of cupcakes sat neatly on the counter, each one topped with swirls of frosting and sprinkles. You picked one up, turning it slightly to make sure everything was perfect. Then the doorbell rang.

Your heart skipped a beat, a wave of nerves rushing through you. It had to be Max, Kelly, and Penelope. You wiped your hands on a towel, took a deep breath, and walked to the front door, steadying yourself before opening it. The moment you opened the door, cheerful shouts of ‘surprise!’ had greeted you. Kelly was the first to throw her arms around you, pulling you into a warm hug.

“It’s so good to see you!” she exclaimed, stepping back as Max swooped in for a hug.

“You’ve been hiding!” Max teased lightly, squeezing your shoulder before stepping aside to let Penelope in.

“Hi Auntie!” Penelope chirped, small arms wrapping tightly around your waist as she hugged you with all her might.

You bent down to her level, pulling her into a proper hug. “Hi, darling. I missed you so much!”

Penelope pulled back, her face beaming. “I missed you too, Auntie! Can I see your house?”

Before you could respond, the sound of children’s laughter drifted in from the backyard, catching their attention. Kelly tilted her head curiously.

“What’s going on back there?” she asked, brows furrowed. “That sounds like a lot of kids.”

Max glanced at you, an eyebrow raised. “Is this the simple gathering you mentioned?”

A nervous smile tugged at your lips as you stepped back, gesturing for them to follow. “Come on, follow me.”

You led them through the hallway and out through the glass doors that lead to the backyard, where the yard was buzzing with activity. Children were playing games, some of them are having the time of their life on the bouncy castle, parents chatted near the tables of food, and Astrid was in the middle of it all, her laughter carrying above the noise.

Penelope gasped in delight. “Can I please go play?” she asked, bouncing on her toes as she looked up at Max and Kelly.

Kelly nodded with a smile. “Of course, go ahead.”

Penelope dashed off, her excitement blending seamlessly with the other children. Kelly and Max, however, stood frozen, their eyes scanning the scene. It wasn’t long before they realized that this was not just any gathering.

“Is this…” Kelly began, voice trailing off.

“A birthday party?” Max finished for her, tone laced with confusion.

You nodded slowly, your smile nervous. “Yes. Actually,” you glanced at Astrid, who was now in your mother’s arms, laughing as your mother tickled her sides. “It’s her birthday party.”

Their confusion deepened as they followed your gaze. Max opened his mouth to speak, but Kelly beat him to it. “Her?” she asked, voice soft, almost uncertain.

Taking a deep breath, you walked over to your mother and gently took Astrid from her arms. Astrid immediately snuggled into your shoulder, her tiny hands clutching at your dress as she peeked at the newcomers. Turning back to Max and Kelly, you smiled, though your heart was racing.

“Guys, this is Astrid,” you said softly. “My daughter.”

For a moment, there was only silence as Max and Kelly processed your words. Kelly’s hand flew to her mouth, eyes wide, while Max stared at you, his expression a mix of shock and something deeper.

“You have a daughter?” Kelly finally asked, voice trembling slightly.

You nodded, holding Astrid a little tighter. “I do.”

Max’s voice was careful, almost cautious. “Where’s her father?”

The question hung heavy in the air, heavy and unspoken truths lingering just beneath the surface. You looked down at Astrid, avoiding Max’s gaze as you shifted your weight uncomfortably.

“He’s…not in the picture anymore,” you said quietly.

Max’s eyes narrowed slightly, jaw tightening. It was clear he had pieced everything together, but decided not to press further. Instead, his gaze softened as he looked at Astrid, who was now peering curiously at him. Kelly stepped forward, her initial shock melting into warmth.

“Can I hold her?” she asked gently.

You nodded, carefully handing Astrid over. Kelly cradled her as if she had been waiting for this moment forever, her face lighting up as Astrid stared at her with wide, curious eyes.

“She’s so beautiful,” Kelly murmured, voice thick with emotion.

Max crouched down slightly to Astrid’s level, his serious expression softening. “Hey there, little one,” he said, playfully covering his eyes with his hands and then revealing them. “Peekaboo!”

Astrid blinked at him, tiny lips began curling into a smile as Max covered his face with his hand again and revealed it with a loud ‘boo!’ Astrid’s laughter was immediate and infectious, filling the air and making Max grin wider.

“She likes you,” Kelly said with a laugh, glancing at Max as she bounced Astrid gently.

Max looked up, his expression a mix of amusement and something more tender. “What can I say? Kids love me.”

Penelope had run up to you with little Astrid in tow, face glowing with excitement. “Auntie, can Astrid play with me? I promise that I’ll take care of her,” she said, her little hands clasped together as she gave you the most earnest look.

You smiled, crouching down to their level. “Alright,” you said gently, brushing a strand of hair out of Astrid’s face. “But remember, she’s still very small, so be careful with her, okay?”

“I promise!” Penelope chirped. “Come on Astrid, let’s play!” she took Astrid’s hand and led her back towards the group of children.

Once they were settled, you turned to Max and Kelly, who were waiting nearby, their expressions a mix of curiosity and seriousness. You gestured towards the patio table, and the three of you moved to sit down. For a brief moment, there was an awkward silence, only broken by the distant sound of children laughing.

It was Max who spoke first. “So,” he began, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, “are you going to tell Lando about Astrid?”

“No.” you said firmly, meeting his gaze.

Kelly’s brows furrowed. “No?” she repeated, voice a mix of confusion and concern. “You don’t plan on telling him that he has a daughter?”

“Telling him that he has a daughter is not included in my plans,” you said quietly, glancing briefly at Astrid, who was now sitting on the grass with Penelope, giggling as they played.

Max exhaled sharply, leaning back in his chair. “But why?” he asked, voice steady but tinged with disbelief. “Don’t you think he has the right to know?”

You looked at Max, expression calm but resolute. “He had already made his choice and I made mine,” you said softly. “By the time I found out that I was pregnant, he was already committed to building a life with someone else—for their child. I’m not that ignorant, I’ve seen the articles, Max. It’s clear as daylight that he’s happy with them, he’s being the father that the child needs.”

Max sighed. “This isn’t about the articles or public perception. It’s about Astrid. She has the right to know who her father is, and Lando has a right to know about her.”

Kelly nodded in agreement with what had Max just said. “And what happens when she grows up and starts asking questions?”

“I’ll tell Astrid,” you said. “I’ll tell her when the time is right, I’ll explain everything to her. But for now, I’m protecting her. I don’t want her to feel like she was a second thought or an obligation. I don’t want to make her feel unwanted.”

Max shook his head slightly. “It’s not fair to Astrid, or to Lando,” he said, voice low. “He deserves to know. He deserves the chance to be a part of her life.”

“And what if Lando doesn’t want to be a part of her life, Max?” you said, voice cracking slightly and gripping the edge of the table. “What if yes, I ended up telling him, and he rejected her? What if I ruin the good thing he has now, for nothing? I’m not going to be the person who will bring chaos to my daughter’s life by trying to force something that might not even work, and I most definitely won't be the one who will tear Lando’s life apart just to ease my conscience.”

Kelly reached out, placing a hand gently on yours. “I understand that you’re scared,” she said softly. “And I understand why you’ve made your choice. But you don’t have to do this alone. Whatever you decide, we’ll support you. But please, just think about it, okay?”

You nodded, though you knew that your decision was firm and wouldn’t change. “Thank you,” you said quietly, looking between Max and Kelly. “I just need you both to trust me on this one. Trust that I’m doing what’s best for Astrid.”

Max hesitated, then finally nodded. “We’ll be keeping this just between the three of us,” he said, though there was a note of reluctance in his voice. “But if you ever change your mind, you know where to find us.”

Kelly smiled faintly, her grip on your hand tightening briefly before she let go. “Astrid is lucky to have you as her mother,” she said, voice warm. “She’s amazing and gorgeous, you know. She’s already so full of life.”

You smiled softly at Kelly’s words. “She is,” you said. “She really is.”

Glancing back towards the yard, you watched Astrid and Penelope play together, the sound of Astrid’s uncontrollable laughter filled the air, warming your heart in a way that words could never even describe. Her happiness was infectious, an important reminder of everything good in your life despite the path it had taken to get where you are now. But as your eyes lingered on her, there was a familiar ache that settled deep in your chest.

You couldn’t deny it—Astrid’s features were very unmistakable. Her eyes, so full of wonder and innocence, were a mirror image of Lando’s. Every now and then, when she turned her head a certain way or smiled just so, it was like seeing a glimpse of Lando again. The resemblance was undeniable, and it only grew stronger as Astrid got older. It was a bittersweet reality you carried with you every day.

Yet, despite the pain that came with those reminders, you were happy. Truly, deeply happy. Astrid was surrounded by love—a love so abundant that it filled every corner of her little world. She didn’t need anything else, not when you, your whole family, and everyone who cherished her. That love was enough, it had to be enough.

Letting Lando go was not easy. It had taken every ounce of strength you had to accept that the life you once imagined with him was not meant to be. But you had done it, you had learned to let him go. You had made peace with the fact that you were not the one he chose, and the woman you would never be was the one who was not his.

Someday, you knew, the time might come when you were ready to tell Lando about Astrid, ready to introduce him to the child you both brought into this world. But that day was not today. For now, you would let him continue living the life he had chosen, with the person he had chosen. You wished him nothing but happiness, even if it wasn’t with you.

You also hoped that Lando would one day find everything he was searching for, that he would feel fulfilled and content in the life he was building. Even if it hurts, you wanted that for him, and while he was busy living that life, the daughter you both would not raise together would still be here—waiting for him, even if he didn’t know it yet.

The breakup, heartache, and the choices you made were not what you had wanted, but they were what you needed. Sometimes, it’s hard to accept the fact that love is not enough to keep two people together, and that’s okay. It didn’t make the love you once shared with Lando any less real.

But for now, everything else could wait.

[goldsbitch]

Blink Once

Lando thought taking care of his twin daughters would be the hard part. Turns out, he can manage. Now, figuring out which one is which - that's a whole different story.

2k word count warning: none - domestic, fluff, fun

The room is in a state one could describe as a battlefield. Tiny clothes, diapers, creams, powders and God knows what scattered everywhere. There is also an intense stare down happening between the two pairs of blue eyes and one set of greenish. The latter belong to Lando, the former to his dearest offspring. The most adorable duo of little girls that he had ever seen. Every since they were born, he's been getting random streaks of immense pride throughout the day. That is until now, when he is staring at the two little grinning demons, holding a green sock in one hand a purple one in the other. Normally, he'd be overjoyed that he had managed to keep the two happy and not crying for so long. Y/N has gone out to much needed and postponed catch up with another adult, that's not Lando or anyone they're related to. It was his first time alone with the kids. He needed to prove it to her, and himself, that he can do it.

One of their daughters was expected, the other one was a happy surprise. To say taking care of two, instead of one, was a challenge for the new parents would be an understatement. Sleep deprived Lando was begging silently for his daughters to give him at least a clue to solving his latest fuck up. Identical twins. Y/N was so terrified of mixing them up, that the color designated socks and clothes were established right from the beginning. Olivia has green, Maya purple. Right?

He sighs dramatically, standing in the middle of the nursery and trying to recall which one had which pairs of socks on.

"Oh, how great of you that you can sit on your own now," he proclaims to the two, who keep beaming back at him, blabbering and apparently finding this very amusing. "If you could just magically learn how to talk now and tell me which one is which, that would be a-mazing!"

Nothing. Obviously. They have a long way to go to be able to do that. He tries to retrace his steps one more time. He put one on the changing dresser, that must have been the one with the green socks and went on to grab the other one to put her -on the left? Or was it right? He curses himself in creative swear words for taking the socks off so mindlessly.

It might be humiliating, but Lando is self-aware enough to have somewhat expected something like this to happen. He checks the shared note he and Y/N have. Ok - so it's right, Olivia is green and Maya purple. Great. Now which one is which?

He decides to sit them down in the living room - most likely mixing them once again, but what difference does that make now, he thinks.

He holds the two socks in front of their faces. This works with dogs, it must work with children too. He tries to brush over the fact he just compared his heirs to an animal.

"So, which one do you like better? Hm? You must have developed some sort of notion of which colour is yours at this point, right?" he speaks is sarcastic baby voice as the girls keep on laughing. Lando frowns. "This is not some sort of game, ladies. For all I know this might be the grounds for a divorce and your villain origin story." Nothing. No reaction to the socks, they just keep looking at him. Adorably.

He starts to properly panic now. Calls himself a shit parent, immature dad and just plain stupid idiot. Y/N is gonna kill him. He has to fix it somehow.

He tries different approach. "Olivia? Olivia, is it you? Blink twice if you’re Olivia. I’ll settle for a burp!" he speaks to the one on the left. It's like this child has stopped needing to blink completely. "So you're Maya?" he asks and figures the response of her hand reaching up must be enough to confirm her identity. He turns to the daughter on the right. "So, you're Olivia? Does that sound familiar?"

He is going to explain this to them one day, it's going to be a very funny story of how their father fucked up their whole life. Mixed them up so much that they end up becoming drug addicts. Oh, God. He is truly spiraling. Were they born with a destiny he’s now sabotaging by switching them? Or not switching them?

"Okay, Team Chaos. Maya, blink once. Or just scream, because that’s your go-to answer for everything anyway." He watches them intently and finally sees a blink! And immediately another one from the other child. He groans and puts his head in his hands. After a moment spent in a pit of despair, he comes back to reality with new found determination. He is a father, their father. His instincts must work. He picks one up and in the air and examines her intently. Turning her left, right and upside down. And then the second one. He's got nothing. These kids are point to point exact copies of each other.

As a typical young parent, he turns to internet for help. And as per usual, he finds zero reliable advice to go with. No - there is no secret birthmark on one of them. No, they both have identical eye color. No, there is no difference in their teeth. In amidst of all of this, he panic buys a fingerprint kit and full on plans on preventing this from happening in the future.

He comes back to stare at his kids, who are uncharacteriscally quiet, calm and content. As if they know that for the first time in weeks, he does not need their help to achieve chaos in his mind.

He calls the one person who is smart, won't probably laugh too much in his face, won't tell Y/N on him and might understand his parent panic.

Max Verstappen picks up after third dial.

"Lando!" he greets him cheerfully. At least someone is having a good time. "What's up? How's the new parent life looking out for you?"

Lando gets to the point straight. He is after all running out of time. "I've mixed up the twins. Don't laugh. I don't know what to do."

"What do you mean, you’ve ‘mixed up’ the twins?" the Dutchman asks.

Lando rolls his eyes, how does one not understand the simple premise. "I mean, I was changing their diapers, I took their socks off, and now I don’t know which one is Olivia and which one is Maya. I’ve stared at them for an hour, and they’re just...Point to point the same."

Max bursts out laughing on the other end of the line, a loud, unfiltered laugh that makes Lando cringe. He waits for the inevitable to end and lets him speaks first.

"So I assume you're alone with them? Is Y/N out of the house?" Why is that important, Lando does not understand.

"Yes. I’m serious, Max! They’re identical. Identical! It’s like trying to tell apart two...marshmallows. Two tiny, giggling, adorable and judgmental marshmallows who know I’m losing it and find it hilarious."

It seems that Max is finally somewhat on board with the seriousness of it all. "Right. So what’s the plan? Are you just gonna call them ‘Baby One’ and ‘Baby Two’ until Y/N gets home?"

Lando pinches the top of his nose in frustration. "Max, I need to solve this. If I don’t figure this out, Y/N will kill me. She was already paranoid about this happening, and now I’ve gone and done it. I mean, what if I ruin their entire lives, Max? What if they grow up thinking they’re each other-"

Max is solution oriented. So he jumps into interrupting the young father, because he might have just got on forever.

"Okay, okay, calm down. Let’s think this through. Did you check for a birthmark? Sometimes one of them will have a birthmark or something small that’s different."

Lando groans loudly. "No birthmark, no physical difference, Max, my kids look identical and I can't recognize them apart at all!"

"Hm," he stops to think, Lando stops to think and hopefully the whole world stops for a moment so he can fix his cardinal mistake. "What about… I don’t know, their personalities? Isn’t one supposed to be louder than the other?"

Lando appreciates the idea, first good one. Sadly, not a helpful one. He keeps staring at menace his children are. "They’re both loud. And they both cry at the exact same time, like they’ve rehearsed it. I think they’re doing this on purpose to mess with me."

"At least you can be sure you're the father," Max rhetors and laughs again.

"Not funny," Lando gritts his teeth.

"Well, I’d mess with you too if you were my dad."

"MAX."

"Okay, fine, fine. Why don’t you just pick one, call her Olivia, and call the other one Maya, and just stick with it? What’s the worst that could happen?" he tries to calm Lando, but it backfires masivelly.

Lando is now pissed at Max as well. The guy has kids far apart in age to obviously not understand the gravity of the situation. And he's more that willing to make him understand. "The worst? The worst! I’ll tell you the worst. What if they figure it out when they’re older and I’ve been calling Olivia ‘Maya’ for years? What if Maya’s like, ‘Wow, Dad, you didn’t even know who I was?’ And Olivia’s like, ‘I always knew I was the favorite.’ And then they hate me forever and end up in therapy, and the therapist is like, ‘Your father was a moron who couldn’t even tell you apart."

"That… sounds like a lot of "future you" problems."

Lando start to pray silently to all the gods he's aware of. "Future seems pretty damn close, given Y/N probably comes home any minute now."

And that's when he hears the door open. Fuck.

"Just wait when they're teenagers and start switching on purpose," is the last he hears from Max before hanging up indefinitely. Lando freezes, the phone slipping from his hand and landing on the carpet with a soft thud. His eyes dart between the door and the two grinning culprits, who have now decided to crawl toward each other and share in their apparent victory. He whispers under his breath, “Traitors. Both of you.”

He gets up automatically, the plan now being wooving Y/N, the mother of his devil children, out by his adorableness. It worked when he was trying to get to agree to go on a first date with him, it has to work now. He wonders into the kitchen, where he sees her putting some box of pastries onto the counter.

"Hello, my love," he attacks and immediately steps all over to her personal space. Hand on her cheek, the other one on her hips and he locks them in a kiss. He's not fully certain it works, but it earns him a pleased smile. Baby steps - no pun intended. "So, what did you do?" He know already, coffee date with a bestie, bla bla bla, but he needs to buy himself some time. She tells him anyway and he is pleased to her happy, for the last time in their lives probably. Oh, what a nice journey this has been. He gets lost in the love-filled thoughts that he temporarily forgets about his predicament.

She kisses him gently one more time and flashes a look into the living room. "Look at them, so happy." Fuck, that was quick. It was foolish of him to rely on the fact Y/N might just forget about their kids. "How’s everything going? Did the girls behave?"

Behave. Right. The girls behaved perfectly. It was him who had descended into chaos.

"Yeah! All good on that front. We're a great team!" he responds, maybe too enthusiastically. He is certain this was the last time she's left him alone with the them, until they're able to identify themselves on their own. It was fun while it lasted. The pit of despair in his stomach is growing.

"It makes me so happy to see you all having fun," she says and it's the kind of relaxed smile he hasn't seen on her face for weeks now.

"Honey, do you wanna take a nap or some alone time in the bedroom?," he asks sincerely, casually tangling their hands together. "Looks like some time off suits you." This is not said as a part of his salvage plan. It is actually really nice to see her rested for once. She looks at him sheepishly.

"You're amazing, you know that?" she whispers, several positive emotions written all over her face.

"Keep focused on that," he says before he can stop himself. Fuck once again. He freezes. She winces, her spidey senses on. He glance is averted to the children now.

"Lando, did something happen?" she asks, suddenly worried.

This time Lando looks over at the girls, who are still preocuppied by themselves. "No, all good. Look at them, all content." And mixed up, he thinks, but does not add that.

Y/N does not look conviced and goes over to check up on them herself. He does not stop her. It was bound to happen anyway.

He's an adult. Knows well enough from his high demanding job that fessing up to a mistake is ultimately better than have someone find out. Deep breath in. Here goes everything.

"I don't know which one is which," he says and lets the reality of it sink in. Y/N looks at him with eyes wide out. He continues. "I was changing their diapers, took the socks of and then forgot which one is which. I'm sorry."

She stares at him, then at the girls and right back at him. To add some gravitas to it all, the kids are now playing with both socks. Lando is pretty sure the blood stopped flowing in his veins. He tries to calculate how long it's going to take him to pack his stuff up. Y/N kneels down to level with the girls and smiles at them. Lando's fighting the urge to take a photo, so that he can remember what having a family felt like. Then she picks up the child sitting on her left.

"Hi, Olivia," he mumbles and puts the sock on accordingly. Lando does not compherend. "Hello, Maya," she continues and repeats her action. Has his wife just decided which one is which and moved on? He could have done that minutes ago! He stays silent as he takes careful steps toward his family. Y/N stands up as well and looks at her disheweled husband.

"Olivia's got little tiny dimples," she says simply to provide some explanation.

"What?" is the only response Lando is capable of giving her. She waits with a sneaky smile as he comes over to them and examines the girls one more time. After a moment, he speaks again. "You're lying."

She laughs and dismisses that. "No, I'm not, look." Lando still can't see a damn difference, but decides on believing Y/N. "How do you-"

She shrugs her shoulders. "I guess it's mom instincts." Lando is stunned at how casual she is about this all. Just like that, she goes back to unloading her back to the kitchen. Lando's heartbeat slowly goes down to the normal a human is suppose to have and turn to watch Y/N. When he's sure that she in fact not being sarcastic, does not seem to be mad at him and confirms that he might just have survived this all and gets to keep access to his family, he walks over her to cherish her once again.

"I'm so sorry, I was really trying to avoid doing that," he apologizes, still not quite done being guilty. "I know you were afraid of this."

She turns to him with a smile. "It was bound to happen eventually. I was really worried about that when we came back from the hospital," she glances at the little girls lovingly. "I'm with them so much that I guess I started to see the tiny, miniscule differences. Don't feel bad not doing so," she walks over to him to be the one doing the comforting.

"If you want me to keep them straight, we’re gonna have to tattoo their names on their foreheads. I’m kidding. Kind of."

She chuckles. "Yeah, do that and you are dead."

He shakes his head. "Always dismissing my genius ideas."

"And always will be, honey," she leans over and kisses him. Just like that, the perfect moment is over. Sounds of crying creeping in from the living room. Y/N sighs into their kiss.

Lando looks at his two identical, mischievous daughters, he can’t help but smile. He may not have a clue what he’s doing, but one thing’s for sure. Life with these two is going to be anything but boring.

"Go lie down, honey. I got this," he notes and this time Y/N nods back at him.

[housepartyprotocol]

shameless reblog out of love

Indycar Babes

Logan Sargeant x Indycar Driver!Childhood bestfriend!Reader

Summary: Childhood best friends reunite after years apart when Logan returns to America after departing F1. What other feelings return...

Masterlist / TipJar

ynusername

liked by patooward, callumilott, marcusarmstrong, and 70,342 others

ynusername Heading into a new season strong, with a championship title behind me

view all 598 comments

user I came from Pato O'Wards Instagram, does she also drive?

user omg yes, she drives for Andretti and literally won last season user shes an absolute power house

patooward see you on track

ynusername you'll see me beat you on the track! user shes an icon

logansargeant

liked by alexalbon, williamsf1, oscarpiastri, and 142,245 others

logansargeant Dissapointing first few races but staying confident for the rest of the upcoming season

view all 9,255 comments

user he is so gonna get dropped before the end of the season

williamsf1 head up, keep pushing

user shit driver in a shit box car

user cut him some slack, it is a shit car user yeah but he is also terrible

alexalbon stay strong Logie bear

logansargeant hmmm not sure how I feel about that one

f1newsupdates

liked by 6,347 users

f1newsupdates LOGAN SARGEANT TO BE DROPPED! News has dropped that Logan Sargeant is to depart the Williams F1 and to be replaced by Franco Colapinto

view all 630 comments

user FINALLY

user He was leaving at the end of the season anyway, why drop him now

user He is just THAT bad

user the American flag is lowered

user Williams has destroyed that man

user Whats he going to do next?

user maybe indycar user he might quit racing user endurance?

ynusername

liked by callumilott, patooward, logansargeant, and 69,098 others

ynusername Race. Win. Selfie. Home. Dog. Race.

view all 983 comments

callumilott You went back to Florida?

ynusername I needed my puppy fix desperately callumilott you went back just for the dog? ynusername don't be crazy, i saw my family and close family friends

user OMG PUPPY

user she is dominating this season

user she could win it all next week again!

user that would be iconic

user imagine her in F1

user she wouldn't go, no team would take her, they're all too focused on the new blood in F2 ynusername who said I wanted to? user ahh shes here!!

logansargeant

liked by alexalbon, oscarpiastri, ynusername, and 98,363 others

logansargeant Home in time for the summer

view all 5,023 comments

user its sad when you realise the only reason he is properly home is because he is unemployed

user oh

user FLORIDA

user he is so hawt

user down right tasty user is he taken? user I don't think so

alexalbon looking nice and sunny !

logansargeant I burnt immediately, I forgot how the heat was alexalbon OUCH understandable logansargeant no one will see it is fine user he is feeeeeling the singleness

ynusername

liked by callumilott, logansargeant, patooward, and 75,236 others

ynusername Adding another title to my name. Enjoy Pato on the podium from early in the season. Don't ask why.

view all 1,397 comments

user CHAMPION

user I love her

patooward why me?

ynusername I said don't ask!!!!

logansargeant Congrats!

liked by ynusername user pookie what you doing here? user crossover!

user I can't tell if I want to be her or date her...

user you think like the rest of us

f1newsupdates

liked by 4,620 users

f1newsupdates Logan Sargeant to do Indycar testing at the end of the season! Hopefully, it will breathe hope and life back into that poor man!

view all 305 comments

user he looks so dead in that last photo, my soul hurts

user his home ground might regenerate him

user he'll probably bottle it

user god do you have to be so harsh user exactly!

user I was right with the indycar move

user he might not race next year, he's probably just testing

ynusername

liked by logansargeant, callumilott, patooward, and 74,259 others

ynusername Reunited with childhood bestie post season @ logansargeant

view all 829 comments

user COLLAB?!?

user this is so cute

user Baby YN AND BABY LOGAN?

user I didn't know they even knew each other

user logan has mentioned her a few times i think him being in F1 and F2 pushed them apart

callumilott oh god, blonde and less blond are back

ynusername we are ICONIC logansargeant haha we are

user are they dating?

user I don't think so but they are cuteee user they should!! user omg imagine them both in Indycar

logansargeant

liked by ynusername, oscarpiastri, alexalbon, and 85,621 others

logansargeant Back with this girly for one evening and back to being feral teenagers. @ ynusername

view all 5,012 comments

user This is a paring I don't know how I lived without

user icons

alexalbon OMG is this the 'girly' you wouldn't stop talking about

alexalbon holy shit have you told her logansargeant get out of my comments. Now. user WHAT! Alex SPILL alexalbon okay so... logansargeant OFF. NOW.

user Logan Sargeant wearing a 'sexy' hat is incredible

ynusername Teenage us was a force to be reckoned with

logansargeant I don't know how our parents survived

ynusername

liked by logansargeant, patooward, callumilott, and 80,097 others

ynusername See this mf once and now he is everywhere

view all 976 others

user they are cute

logansargeant I am at your work. I am at your home. I am everywhere

user He is at her home?? user they have to be dating ynusername get a lifeeeeeeeee logansargeant nope

user remember Alex Albons comment, I bet Logan has a thing for her

user you might be right

user imagine then together next season!

user I thought Logan is not racing Indycar next year user but imagine!

logansargeant

liked by ynusername, alexalbon, oscarpiastri, and 88,523 others

logansargeant Pre-testing and post-testing snack

view all 2,567 comments

user do you think he knows the connotations of what he said

alexalbon yes user oh my god

ynusername making it look like all I do is eat, wow

logansargeant I mean, its half true ynusername I am not logansargeant you used to eat everything you could when you were younger ynusername i have grown since then logansargeant No, you are still short ynusername harsh logansargeant xx user they argue like a married couple

user is he racing Indy next year

user I don't think there is a spare seat user shame i love these two

alexalbon be a big man and use your words

logansargeant I don't know what you mean alexalbon don't make me get her number through my contacts, I will get it logansargeant okay, we will talk now, out of my comments user I think i know whats going on user I have no idea liked by ynusername

ynusername

liked by logansargeant, alexalbon, callumilott, and 71,585 others

ynusername When it's getting colder but everyday feels like summer with you

view all 825 comments

user omg shes taken

user that is so logan

user childhood best friends to lovers arc

logansargeant you cooked?

ynusername always logansargeant don't know why i assumed you didn't ynusername I had help logansargeant I sensed that user gag

callumilott how did you brace that water?

ynusername with clenched teeth callumilottt okay fair

user she is beautiful

logansargeant

liked by ynusername, alexalbon, oscarpiastri, and 95,987 others

logansargeant Only took 23 years to act on a feeling @ ynusername

view all 2,352 comments

user hes takEN

user this is adorable

alexalbon god do I love blackmailing

logansargeant shut up alexalbon it worked though logansargeant I was going to do something alexalbon bs ynusername bs logansargeant damn

ynusername I love you too logie

logansargeant god youve always been perfect ynusername and I can finally say I've got more driving titles than you logansargeant I have more karting trophies user I love these two

user I would die if there families had bets

ynusername they did, dad won $100 from this user thats incredible, what was the bet? ynusername before our 24ths user obscure but good for him!

(a/n okay so not my favvvvvv but still cute i love these two they were so fun to write!)

(No one has permission to copy or reuse or repost my work, love housepartyprotocol)

[checkeredflagggs]

Pole Position

Pairing: logan sargeant x stripper!reader

summary: after a(nother) bad race, logan does as anyone in Vegas does — drinks himself into a couple of bottles, meets the newest stripper in the club, and marries her? …wait what??

a/n: @sinofwriting is an enabler and shouldn’t be talked to at 3am…

a/n2: I support sex work of all kind — if you disagree, don’t come crying to me

a/n3: still working on story of us: chapter 3 but it just keeps getting longer and longer — people keep trying to flirt with y/n. It was just supposed to be a short bridge chapter 😭 but I work better under stress so I WILL have it out by Wednesday

a/n4: no particular year for this piece btw but mostly 2024

sweet_as_cherrie_pie

liked by user, user, user, and 1,124 others

tagged: the_lumberyard

sweet_as_cherrie_pie: training? done 🥳

view all comments

user1: 🥵🥵🥵

↳user2: oh so excited for a new dancer…

user3: 🍆🍆🍆💦💦💦🍑🍑🍑???

↳user4: disgusting behavior

↳user3: this is a stripper’s page?

↳user4: and you think she deserves…you???

user5: Stop this ungodly behavior at once young lady!

↳user6: not to repeat those disgusting comments above — this is a strippers page.

↳user5: it’s a page of filth

↳user6: so how come you’re here?

user7: you’ve got this!

user8: I got to see some of your training and woooweee mama the dedication and physicality of it…

↳user9: I tried it once (looking for a new workout routine) and that was ENOUGH

↳user9: congrats girl!

logansargeant

liked by alex_albon, georgerussell63, oscarpiastri, user, and 790,469 others

tagged: williamsracing

logansargeant: I’m sorry guys — not the race we wanted this weekend but we’ll learn and come back stronger next time

view all comments

alex_albon: next time for sure 💪🏻!

↳logansargeant: absolutely!

↳user15: keep on dreaming — you suck

this comment was deleted

user16: what a fucking waste of a seat

this comment was deleted

user17: Williams I beg — drop the dead weight

this comment was deleted

jvf1: next time

↳user18: well that’s ominous as shit

oscarpiastri: just gotta keep learning mate

↳logansargeant: we absolutely do!

↳user20: you do! Oscar isn’t the giant loser you are

this comment was deleted

user21: never been so glad for a break in the calendar — gotta forget this disaster class drive(r)

this comment was deleted

comments have been disabled

f1_gossip

liked by user, user, and 2,193,924 others

f1_gossip: what a wild night Vegas turned out to be! Pierced together from several drivers’ stories last night, the party started early and lasted for a while — it looks like someone now has a lifelong commitment actually

view all comments

user22: WHAT??? WHO???

↳user23: where’s that detective chick? Or the obsessive Bluesky users? WHO GOT MARRIED

user24: my bet is Max and Kelly — they celebrated his win a little to hard

↳user25: I always thought it would be charles to be the one to get drunk married…

↳user26: …yeah ok I can see the vision

user27: that head of hair? Carlos! Definitely 💯

↳user28: I’m throwing my money in on Lando? He totally gives off Vegas wedding vibes

oscarpiastri: …🧐🧐

↳logansargeant: …😬

user29: I was gonna say Daniel but Oscar and Logan are making me suspicious…

↳user30: yeah…now who do we think?

↳alex_albon: my money would be Lando

↳user31: sounds just like something someone with something to hide would say

↳alex_albon: im cuddling a plastic flamingo and am too drunk to make sense of that sentance

landonorris: maxverstappen1 you are never mixing me a drink again…anyone know where i am?

↳user32: LANDO?? DID YOU GET MARRIED LAST NIGHT??

↳landonorris: MARRIED?? TOWHO??!?

↳charles_leclerc: you got married and didn’t invite me? 🥺

↳maxverstappen1: or me?

↳carlossainz55: mate…

↳maxfewtrell: without your best man?

↳landonorris: im nOT MARRIED???

Private Messages, Boss and Cherrie

Private Messages, Logan and Cherrie

logansargeant

liked by sweet_as_cherrie_pie, alex_albon, oscarpiastri, and 1,344,924 others

tagged: sweet_as_cherrie_pie

logansargeant: I guess what they say is true…what happens in Vegas doesn’t stay in Vegas. I’m glad though that you said yes (again)

view all comments

sweet_as_cherrie_pie: it’s the blue eyes. They make me stupid

↳user33: I have never agreed with anything more faster in my life oh my god?

user34: you married a stripper

↳logansargeant: I guess I did

↳user34: 🤮🤮🤮

this comment was deleted

↳user34: great pick — either a gold digger or a used whore

this comment was deleted

this user was blocked

oscarpiastri: so it WAS you who got married!

↳logansargeant: Apparently 😂

↳sweet_as_cherrie_pie: yeah I guess those Elvis chapels are actually legally binding? Idk 🤷🏼‍♀️

↳user35: I’ve had cherrie for only a minute but if something happened to her, I’d kill everyone then myself

↳sweet_as_cherrie_pie: extreme but I get it

alex_albon: YOU GOT DRUNK MARRIED IN VEGAS???

↳sweet_as_cherrie_pie: Watch your tone when talking to my husband.

↳user36: wow that period is the most threatening thing I’ve ever seen

↳sweet_as_cherrie_pie: it should be.

↳alex_albon: logansargeant help?

↳logansargeant: …sorry Alex but I got your flowers babe liked by sweet_as_cherrie_pie, user…see more

user37: wow I really had it being Lando who got married

↳landonorris: WHY. IM DEFINITELLY NKT THE TYOE TO GET DRUNK MARRIED

↳sweet_as_cherrie_pie: Is there something wrong with that Mr Lando Norris, 123 Monaco Street Monaco?

↳landonorris: WHY DO YOU KNOW MY ADDRESS logansargeant HELP

↳logansargeant: 😂

↳landonorris: stop laughing at my pain

jvf1: I expect you back at the Grove by Friday Logan

↳logansargeant: Yes Sir

↳user38: uh oh

↳sweet_as_cherrie_pie: Oh I’d love to meet you.

user39: when she’s (violently) protective 😍😍

↳sweet_as_cherrie_pie: Oh im ride or die for my people liked by logansargeant

y/n_sargeant

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, and 1,123,221 others

tagged: logansargeant

y/n_sargeant: when he has big blue eyes and looks good on his knees…you say yes (twice)

view all comments

user40: girl I don’t think you can actually say that

↳y/n_sargeant: who’s gonna stop me?

user41: the name change though…

↳logansargeant: oh im not letting her get away

↳y/n_sargeant: locked in for life 🔒 (and Cherrie was just a stage name anyway…)

↳user41: 😍

oscarpiastri: I think I’ll like getting to know you y/n

↳y/n_sargeant: same pastry boy

↳oscarpiastri: 🙄🙄

↳user42: oh I love this friendship already

alex_albon: …you’ll be coming with Logan then?

↳y/n_sargeant: you couldn’t pull me away

↳alex_albon: for how long???

↳y/n_sargeant: Well considering I got fired for getting married? Forever.

↳user39: still loving that (violently) protective bond

landonorris: no??

↳y/n_sargeant: Yes Mr Lando Norris, 123 Woking Street England

↳landonorris: HOW DO YOU ONOW THAT ADDRESS???

↳georgerussll63: Oh I’m going to love getting to know you y/n_sargeant liked by y/n_sargeant

logansargeant

liked by y/n_sargeant, oscarpiastri, and 993,234 others

tagged: y/n_sargeant

logansargeant: must be too fast for my own good — I got married before I started to date her. We’re fixing that now 🩵

view all comments

y/n_sargeant: ♥️♥️♥️ love you hubby

↳user43: I am so so jealous (and so single)

user44: no but dating your wife…

↳logansargeant: always

↳user44: ok just call us sad and single little vroom vroom boy

↳y/n_sargeant: trust me — there is NOTHING little about him

↳logansargeant: babe 😆

user50: ok but what kind of pie is that?

↳logansargeant: cherry! It’s y/n’s favorite

↳y/n_sargeant: actually you’re my favorite

↳user49: still don’t think you can say that… liked by y/n_sargeant, logansargeant

lilymhe: alex_albon take some notes

↳alex_albon: y/n_sargeant how long are you staying again?

↳logansargeant: forever and ever and ever liked by y/n_sargeant

user51: ok but who won the uno game?

↳y/n_sargeant: i did

↳logansargeant: she’s absolutely ruthless

↳y/n_sargeant: 🥹🥰

↳y/n_sargeant: but no I don’t take prisoners — not even my husband

y/n_sargeant

liked by logansargeant, landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 1,234,924 others

tagged: logansargeant

y/n_sargeant: oh yeah he’s all mine 🥵🥵🥵

view all comments

user52: im seeing the vision

user54: yummy 🤤

logansargeant: yeah Williams wants you to go through pr training now

↳y/n_sargeant: I will not but thanks for asking

↳williamsracing: it was really less of an ask and more of a requirement

↳y/n_sargeant: still gonna be a no

↳williamsracing: understandable queen — thanks for your time

↳user55: it was that easy?

oscarpiastri: i'm glad we’re in a different hotels

↳y/n_sargeant: Don’t worry about it. 😁 I’ve got time.

↳oscarpiastri: ominous

↳y/n_sargeant: Yup!

user56: is that…is that Logan pole dancing???

↳logansargeant: well I’ve got a great teacher!

↳y/n_sargeant: 🥵🥵🥵 you keep working that pole baby!!

↳logansargeant: whatever you say liked by y/n_sargeant

williamsracing

liked by y/n_sargeant, oscarpiastri, alex_albon and 1,948,138 others

tagged: logansargeant

williamsracing: AND THAT’S P1 FOR LOGAN! IN HIS FIRST EVER F1 PODIUM, HE CINCHED THE TOP STEP HERE IN ABU DHABI

And congratulations to Alex for his p5!

view all comments

y/n_sargeant: HE DID IT!! THATS MY MAN

↳user57: HE’S ON THE TOP STEP?!

↳y/n_sargeant: not just on the top step 🥵🥵

↳user57: we really can’t keep defending you girl

↳y/n_sargeant: im getting so railed tonight i don’t even care liked by user57, user…see more

user58: Williams points?

↳y/n_sargeant: WILLIAMS LOGAN PODIUM

user59: petition to have y/n come to every race ever — she’s clearly Logan’s lucky charm liked by logansargeant, y/n_sargeant

↳y/n_sargeant: absolutely!

↳user60: clearly! Her pole dancing translated to pole positions liked by logansargeant, y/n_sargeant

y/n_sargeant

liked by logansargeant, oscarpiastri, alex_albon, and 2,823,183 others

tagged: logansargeant, alex_albon, williamsracing, jvf1, liakblock

y/n_sargeant: thanks for getting drunk and marrying me in Vegas baby — and congrats to the Williams Racing Team for a good last race!

view all comments

user61: did…did you dump a container of Gatorade on JAMES?

↳y/n_sargeant: gotta give him some of that good ol’ American hospitality right? liked by user61

logansargeant: that was the best impulse decision I’ve ever made!

↳y/n_sargeant: it really really was

↳user62: ok this is calling me single in more languages then I know how to speak

oscarpiastri: congratulations man!

↳logansargeant: you too! Constructors Champs!

↳landonorris: papaya rules!!

↳y/n_sargeant: Did you forget something Mr Lando Norris, Room 344 Abu Dhabi Hotel Abu Dhabi?

↳landonorris: SERIOUSLY HOW ARE YOI DOING THAT!!

↳landonorris: also congrats on p1 Logan!

↳y/n_sargeant: I have my ways

alex_albon: congrats dude! Knew you could do it!

↳y/n_sargeant: yeah he can!!!

↳logansargeant: thanks man! And congratulations to you too!

↳y/n_sargeant: and congrats to you too Alex!

jvf1: My office. Now.

↳y/n_sargeant: yeah we’ll see you next year dude

↳logansargeant: sorry sir. We’re on our way

↳y/n_sargeant: yeah alright I guess…

Taglist

@anamiad00msday @suns3treading @daniskywalkersolo @awritingtree @justheretoreadthxxs @coral7161 @lost4lyrics @mastermindbaby

[bestalbertcamuslover]

Her Family Loves Him

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ pairing: Max Verstappen x Ex! Reader ✯

✯ content warnings: None✯

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

Her family loved Max. He was the type of boyfriend parents adored—loving and caring—and Max cared a lot about her. She did too, undoubtedly. However, the breakup was unforeseen, unpredictable, just like her. Something about not handling well the transition to becoming a public person and the downsides of having a very famous boyfriend had been weighing on her much more lately, and she just broke up.

The split, nevertheless, did not stop her parents and Max from staying in contact. Not as often as before, but there were still messages, memes, and that same familiarity, as if the breakup had never happened. But there was still room for a second chance—or at least, that was what her mom thought.

She knocked on her parents’ house door after they asked her to fix a technical problem with the computer—something they did more frequently than she would like. Fortunately, they didn’t live too far, so it wasn’t much of a hassle.

Her parents’ house was as warm and familiar as always, but the moment she stepped inside, something felt off. She set her bag down and raised an eyebrow at her mom, who was hovering suspiciously close to the living room door.

“What is it this time?” she asked, slipping into her usual playful exasperation. “Forgot your email password again? Computer ‘deleted itself?’”

“Oh, nothing too complicated,” her mom said, smiling too widely and tucking her hands behind her back.

Her dad appeared in the hallway, looking unusually cheerful. “Hey, sweetheart! Thanks for coming over so quickly.”

She squinted, her suspicion mounting. “Okay… what’s going on?”

Then, she heard it.

“Hey.”

Her stomach dropped at the sound of his voice. She turned toward the living room and froze. Max stood by the sofa, hands stuffed into his pockets, his hesitant smile not quite masking the awkwardness of the moment.

Her jaw dropped slightly. She blinked, then took a step back. “Yeah, I’m not doing this,” she said flatly, turning toward the door.

“Wait,” Max said quickly, his voice almost pleading, and she stopped just long enough to glare at her mom.

Her mom raised her hands in mock innocence. “He was in the area, and I thought it might be nice for you two to… talk.”

Her eyes narrowed. “In the area? Really? That’s what we’re going with?”

Her dad shuffled uncomfortably, avoiding her gaze. “We may have said something about needing help with the computer…”

“A fake computer issue,” she muttered, spinning back toward Max. “Seriously?”

Max shrugged, looking sheepish. “Your mom said you’d be here, and I thought…” He trailed off, clearly unsure of what to say.

Her arms crossed, and her glare deepened. “This isn’t happening. You can’t just ambush me like this.”

“It’s not an ambush!” her mom protested brightly. “It’s… an opportunity. For you two to finally talk.”

She threw her mom an incredulous look, although deep-down, she knew they needed to talk. “Talk about what? We’ve already done the breaking-up part, in case you forgot.”

Her mom gave her the kind of patient, guilt-laden look only a parent could manage. “Sweetheart, you two barely had time to say anything. It was rushed. Don’t you think it’s worth at least clearing the air? Closure is important.”

She opened her mouth to argue but couldn’t deny the faint tug of guilt creeping in. When they’d broken up, she’d been too overwhelmed to say much, and afterward, she’d avoided thinking about how unfair that might have been.

Max’s blue eyes flicked to hers, quietly hopeful but not pushing. He looked like he was waiting for her to make the call, and it made her want to curse out loud. Those blue eyes still had that hold on her, especially when he looked so vulnerable, so wounded. She knew what she did, and perhaps she also could recognize that it had been a rushed decision where she did not let him talk. Regardless, she was stubborn.

She let out a sharp exhale, throwing her hands up. “Fine. We’ll talk.”

Her mom clapped her hands together, clearly trying not to look too pleased. “Great! You two can sit in the living room. We’ll give you some privacy.”

“We will?” her dad asked, earning a sharp elbow from her mom. “Right. Yes. Privacy. We’ll be in the kitchen if you need anything.”

Max stepped aside to let her enter the living room, and she brushed past him, her arms still crossed. She plopped down on the sofa, her body language screaming reluctance.

He sat down at the opposite end, keeping his distance. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence stretching uncomfortably between them.

Max cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “I—uh—don’t really know where to start,” he admitted, his hands clasped in front of him as he leaned forward. “I just… I wanted to see you. To talk.”

She avoided his gaze, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her sweater. “About what?” she asked, her tone defensive, though she hated how sharp it sounded.

“About us,” he said simply, his voice low but steady. “About how things ended.”

She let out a breath, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Max, we’ve been over this.”

“Not really,” he countered, his eyes meeting hers. “We didn’t actually talk. You just… you broke up with me, and that was it.”

Her stomach churned with guilt, his words hitting closer to the truth than she wanted to admit. He wasn’t wrong. She had ended things abruptly, almost out of nowhere, and then had avoided him ever since.

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper.

“I know,” he said quickly, his tone laced with sincerity. “But you did. And I don’t think I even understand why.”

She winced, her chest tightening as the weight of her actions settled over her. “It wasn’t something I planned, okay? I just… I couldn’t handle it anymore.”

Max’s brow furrowed, his confusion evident. “Couldn’t handle what? Me? Racing? The media?”

“All of it,” she admitted, her voice cracking. “The constant attention, the cameras, the comments. Every time I was with you, I felt like I had to be perfect because someone was always watching. And you… you were so focused, so good at it all, and I couldn’t keep up.”

Max leaned back, his expression softening, but there was still a flicker of hurt in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve listened. I would’ve done something.”

She shook her head, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. “Because I didn’t even know what to say, Max! I didn’t know how to explain it without sounding selfish or ungrateful. So I just… ran.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. The silence between them grew heavy, the weight of her confession hanging in the air.

“I wish you’d trusted me enough to stay,” he said finally, his voice quiet but firm.

Her chest ached at his words, the guilt she’d been suppressing threatening to overwhelm her. “I know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I know I messed up.”

Max sighed, running a hand through his hair as he sat back, his eyes never leaving her. “Look,” he said softly, “I didn’t come here to make you feel bad or to guilt you into anything. I’m here because I still care about you. Because I don’t want this to be the end of us.”

She blinked, caught off guard by the confession. “Max…” she began, but he shook his head gently, cutting her off.

“Just hear me out,” he said, leaning forward again, his elbows resting on his knees. “I know my life can be… a lot. The racing, the media, the travel—it’s overwhelming. I get that. And I know I wasn’t always as present as I should’ve been. But I can’t stop thinking about you. About us. I really want you by my side.”

She took a deep breath, the gentle words weighting on her. She held his gaze, the sincerity in those blue orbs almost underwhelming.

“You don’t have to handle it alone,” he said, his tone firm but kind. “I never expected you to. I should’ve made that clearer, but I thought… I thought you knew.”

“It’s not just about you, though. It’s about me, too. I let the pressure get to me, and instead of talking to you, I shut down. That’s on me,” she replied.

Max nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Maybe we both made mistakes,” he admitted. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t fix this. If you still want to, I mean.”

“I don’t know if I can be what you need,” she said quietly, not liking how vulnerable she was sounding, but yet the words slipping out of her mouth. “What if I let you down again?”

“You won’t,” he said without hesitation. “And even if you do, we’ll figure it out. That’s what relationships are, right? You don’t have to be perfect. I don’t need you to be perfect. I just need you.”

She bit her lip, her mind racing. Part of her wanted to believe him, to let herself fall back into the safety of his words and his presence. But another part of her was terrified—terrified of failing again, of breaking his heart, of breaking her own, all while getting overwhelmed and hurt by it.

“It’s not simple,” he admitted, his voice steady. “But it’s worth it.”

The room fell silent, his words hanging in the air like leaves in the breeze. She could feel the firmness of his gaze, the sincerity in his expression, and it made her chest ache.

“Max,” she started, her voice gentle, “I don’t want to hurt you again.”

“You won’t,” he said intently, his eyes unwavering. “But if you’re scared, that’s okay. We’ll take it one step at a time. Just… don’t shut me out.” He leaned forward slightly, his expression open and unguarded. “I’m not asking you to have all the answers right now,” he continued, his voice steady but tender. “I just want us to try. To figure it out together”

She hesitated for a moment longer, her thoughts racing. The fear of failing again was still there, very present, but so was the undeniable pull toward him. Toward the man who cared so much about her, he planned this ambush with her mom even after she had not broken up in the most compassionate way.

Taking a deep breath, she closed the gap between them, reaching out to take his hand. His warmth seeped into her skin, grounding her. “Okay,” she said finally.

Max’s face broke into a smile, the kind that reached his eyes and softened every hard edge. “Yeah?” he asked, his tone laced with cautious hope.

“Yeah,” she confirmed, her own smile growing.

Max smirked, glancing toward the kitchen, where her parents’ voices carried on in a mix of hushed whispers and not-so-hushed laughter. Then, from the direction of the kitchen, there was the unmistakable sound of someone clearing their throat. Loudly.

She turned toward the doorway as her parents stood there, her mom wearing an exaggerated expression of innocence, while her dad unsuccessfully stifled a grin.

“Oh, don’t mind us,” her mom said, waving a hand. “We were just… checking on the oven.”

Her dad snorted. “We don’t even have anything in the oven.”

Her mom shot him a look before turning her attention back to the pair on the couch. “We’re just happy you two finally talked,” she said, beaming. 

“I still can’t believe you two planned this,” she chuckled slightly.

Her mom grinned unapologetically. “Well, sometimes a little push is all you need.”

Max turned to her, his smile softening. “I guess I owe them a thank you.”

She peeked at him, her embarrassment fading as she met his warm gaze. “You’re not the one who has to deal with them later,” she quipped, her tone light but affectionate.

Her mom clapped her hands together. “So, dinner?” she asked brightly. “I think this calls for a celebration.”

Her dad groaned. “Does this mean I have to set the table?”

As her parents bickered good-naturedly on their way back to the kitchen, Max turned to her, his hand tightening gently around hers. “I’m glad we talked,” he said quietly.

“Me too,” she admitted, her heart feeling lighter than it had in weeks.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ authors note: English is not my first language and I hope you liked it <333

[essiemclaren]

dazed and confused

pairings: bsf!oscar x commuter!student reader

summary: oscar, a college athlete, is secretly in love with his best friend, a commuter student who constantly gets lost. his friends love teasing him because his crush is painfully obvious, but he keeps denying it while always offering to help her out.

--

a/n: had this idea on the bus today. hope you enjoy it! this is dedicated to my fellow commuter students 😭 because it was inspired by today’s event—i missed my stop TWICE. the first time i was like, “okay, no biggie, i’ll just get off at the next one.” then i missed that stop too. i was on the side of the road like i was in a slow-motion chase scene, walking for what felt like hours, questioning all my life choices. please, someone, give me a ride next time.

P.S.: we all know the struggle of missing our stop and pretending we meant to get off at the next one. Reminder to self: pay attention next time, genius.

-essie, lone ranger 🤠

[chilling-seavey]

In The Eyes of God (gr63)

↳ A/N Sequel to Confessional. PLEASE read the warnings. This fic is not for everyone. Do not read if you are not comfortable with dark sexual themes.

↳ Summary: After your salacious rendezvous with George that led to you praying away your sins for a week, you find yourself unintentionally avoiding him at the church’s pancake breakfast. But the truth always comes out one way or another when God is in the picture, and you just so happen to be so lucky as to have a generous guide into the world of sin and forgiveness.

↳ Pairings: Dark!Pastor's Son!George Russell x Innocent!Fem!Reader (NO use of y/n)

↳ Word Count: 8.1k

↳ Warnings: 18+, smut, George is not a nice guy in this, very sacrilegious (read at your own risk) but branch of religion is unspecified, corruption, manipulation and using God/religious threats as a manipulation tactic, exhibitionism, dirty talk, spanking, oral sex (m receiving), spitting, slapping, crying, choking, praise, degradation, dumbification, light humiliation, unprepped anal

As you got ready for church on Sunday morning, you found yourself meticulously fidgeting with your curling iron and the hem of your modest knee length dress. It was to be the first time you had seen George since your run-in in the confessional booth and the escapades that ensued at his house after. He had sent you home that afternoon with a limp in your step and his holy essence dripping out of you, having promised that you would be cleansed of your sinful thoughts afterwards. But even since then, your salacious thoughts surrounding the pastor’s youngest son only grew stronger and more intense and every night since, you laid in your frilly pink childhood bedroom and touched yourself just like he had taught you. 

Then, come Sunday, you were nervous to see him. You were sure it was going to be hard to look him in the eye after repeatedly making yourself come to the thought of him since he had taken your virginity that Tuesday. It was especially going to be difficult to look him in the eye while you were surrounded by your parents and the entire congregation gathered right under the eye of the Lord during mass. Part of you thought it might be best to avoid him completely. The shame was unbearable and the feelings you had for him were unavoidable. 

With your mother rushing you out of the bathroom in fear that you were going to be late, you covered your entire head with a cloud of hairspray, finishing with a little bow in your hair, and you grabbed your purse on the way towards the stairs. The whole drive to the church your mind was taken up by nothing but George, wondering if he had been thinking of you as much as you had been thinking of him. Even as your father parked your family car in the bustling church parking lot, you were habitually scanning the morning crowd for the slender brunette young man. 

He was always in the same place before mass, however, and you knew this well. As you lined up on your way into the modest church with the rest of the arriving congregation, your eyes were drawn right to his heavenly presence on the top step of the church, welcoming everyone alongside his family. His father, the loyal pastor, was already wearing his attire in preparation to deliver the morning’s mass, standing at the front of the line of his family and shaking everyone’s hands as they entered the church, greeting every family by name. His family members did the same, offering handshakes to each person and cheerful ‘good morning’s or similar polite comments, welcoming them into their church. 

You felt your heart in your throat as you ascended the stone steps at the front of the church, following behind your parents in your spring dress and short white heels, careful to not make too much of a fool of yourself. Out of necessity, you shook hands with the pastor’s wife, their daughter, and then their eldest son before you were faced with their youngest. 

George was wearing his usual black slacks and a perfectly ironed white button up that was fastened right up to the folded collar. His soft brown hair was brushed and styled just how he wore it every Sunday like a true image of God - perfect and polite in every way. He held his hand out to you, the light of the morning sun catching on the shiny black metal band around his ring finger, and his handsome face offered the same smile to you as he did to everyone else. 

“Good morning.” he spoke to you angelically, his voice rich and glorious. 

You set your soft hand in his and he gave it a gentle squeeze, the cool metal of his purity ring pressing into your palm. The shocking memory of how it felt against your pussy flashed behind your eyes and shot shivers up your spine.

Swallowing back your shutter without tearing your eyes away from his face, you replied sweetly, “Good morning.” 

His polite smile seemed to pull up a little higher in one corner as if he were trying to smother a forming smirk, and when he licked his lips and his eyes dropped to your outfit as your hands separated, you had to turn away quickly to avoid bursting into a blushing mess. 

His father then greeted you by name and a handshake of his own as if nothing was wrong in the world and you barely mustered a ‘good morning’ to him before rushing into the church after your parents without a look back. You didn't notice the way George’s eyes followed you for a moment. 

As always, George’s family sat in the front row of the church in a perfect little line up in the first pew. Often, the brothers would join their father at the altar to help out or do the readings for the congregation which gave you an excuse to stare at more than just the back of George’s head. He took his job as altar boy very seriously, always with this somber look on his face as he assisted his father or read from scripture into the microphone at the podium. It was in moments like these where you had initially grown your little crush on him, being able to watch from a safe distance as the handsome and soulful young man catered to the Lord’s house like it was an honour. An easy bonus was that he looked so effortlessly good while doing so. 

Once the offering had been blessed and the organ player began, George, his father, and his siblings each took a brass bowl and made their way to their spots along the front of the altar for communion. The congregation got up one row at a time and equally spread themselves between the four lines to receive the blessing. George and his father often took the main aisle while the older two siblings took the sides and usually you would have single handedly avoided George’s row at all cost but there was something that pulled your feet towards him this day. Maybe it was a sense of bravery that came from your salacious rendezvous on Tuesday and the fact that he had seen more of you than anyone had in your life up to that point or maybe it was just the insufferable lust that had grown tenfold for him since. Regardless, you waited in the line behind the rest of the congregation, in front of your mother, with your hands folded politely in front of your modest dress. 

Before you knew it, you were standing face to face with George once more. He lifted one of the circular wafers from the brass bowl in his hand and, like always, announced quietly, “The body of Christ.” 

You were transfixed on him and the way he stared at you with that serious expression and you opened your mouth and stuck out your tongue just the slightest amount. Some people chose to receive communion this way so it wasn’t totally odd but the little crack in George’s solemn exterior that came with the prick of a smirk almost gave the true meaning behind your action away. He gently placed the wafer on your tongue, lingering his thumb there a moment longer, just enough for you to dust your lips over his warm fingertip as you closed your mouth, teasing him with a stain of your lip gloss. 

Then, you bent at the knees in front of him in the routine way, doing the sign of the cross, and before you straightened up again, you looked back up at his face. He was so obviously staring, right down his nose at you, shoulders squared and formal, that you were sure if there was no one around he would have said something—yet alone done something—to counter your teasing, but he was silent. 

You rose up again, kept his eye contact, and whispered, “Amen.” 

Then you looped back around to follow your line back to your pew, leaving him to finish his holy work. 

That Sunday, the church was running their monthly pancake breakfast after mass in the basement hall which meant George was going to stay occupied for a while longer. That was fine with you as part of you was still entirely nervous to face him outside of your reassured safety that the company of the congregation and your families brought. You figured you didn’t really need to talk to him anyway and maybe keeping your distance was better. You didn’t want to risk going against the Lord anymore. 

That concept only lasted so long until the usual mothers and grandmothers of the congregation were taking it upon themselves to try and play matchmaker for their young ladies. You sat at one of the round tables with your parents, eating room temperature pancakes off paper plates and cheap plastic table cloths, watching George talking politely with a grandmother and her granddaughter. 

The girl was in the church’s Sunday school uniform - the same one you were wearing last Tuesday - and George had that angelic smile of his on his face as he humoured the grandmother with conversation and feigned interest in the girl’s traits. It wasn’t new that every parent in town wanted their daughter to end up with the pastor’s youngest and last available son and it felt almost like a race to the finish line at times. You rolled your eyes and sipped your watered down orange juice. 

Your mother, noting your isolation while the other young adults from the church were mingling at a table of their own, leaned towards you to ask gently, “Have you spoken to Pastor Steven’s son at all?”

You flinched at her question, your defences immediately going up in fear, but her calm expression was that of innocence so you took a breath. You answered calmly behind a tight smile as you set your styrofoam cup down, “Uh, not really.”

“You should! He’s a very nice young man. So Godly too. He could be a good example for you.” she sent you one of those cheeky smiles that mom’s always gave when they thought they were being sneaky and cute. 

You shifted in your chair, “It’s fine.”

“Go say hello.” she gave you a gentle nudge, “Tell him his reading today was so moving. Tell him I said that, if you want.”

Anything to get away from your prying parents and to keep the grandmothers away from George, you got up from your spot and headed towards the buffet table. George was there with his sister, tending to the food spread while she refilled the juice pitchers. A little boy no more than seven-years-old was holding out his plate in two small hands and George served him a pancake with the metal tongs. 

With a toothless grin, the little boy said, “Thank you, mister George.”

George just smiled that warm glow of his and ruffled the boy’s hair, “If you want some extra syrup just come let me know.”

Then the little boy bounded back to his parents. 

George stood up straighter and set the tongs back on the serving platter, not noticing you there at first as you lingered a few paces away. Why were you so nervous? You almost backed away silently and disappeared again but then he caught a glimpse of you. 

“Hey.” he said casually, his blue eyes nearly shining. 

“Hi.” you stepped towards him.

“Want more pancakes?” he asked. 

“No thanks.” you shrugged, “I just…my mom wanted me to come tell you that your reading today was ‘very moving’. Her words.” 

“Well, that’s very kind.” he briefly set his hand over his heart, “Tell her thank you.”

This persona he was showing was so different from the young man below the surface that you were witness to on the previous Tuesday. This was the God-loving angel boy that your whole community knew and loved; always so gentle and patient and polite and never with a foot out of line. If only they knew the positions he had bent you in and the words he spoke down upon you while you were crying for him and shaking with pleasure. Some of those grandmother’s would have heart attacks at the mere thought. 

You cleared your throat and shifted your weight, not quite knowing what to say. Before Tuesday, you hadn’t even really spoken to him at all and certainly not since. It was a weird purgatory you found yourself floating in. 

George, as personable as he was, easily took the lead of the conversation, “What did you think of the reading?”

“Oh,” you held your hands together behind your back, “it was good.”

“Good, huh? What was your favourite part?”

You chuckled breathily, nervously, especially as he took a half step closer towards you, “I couldn’t pick just one.”

George’s little smile appeared innocent to any possible on-lookers but you could see the glint in his eye, “You don’t remember a thing that was read, do you?”

You shook your head ever so slightly. 

“Mind’s elsewhere, angel?” he asked with a cock of his head, still with that stupid sweet grin on his face. 

“Shut up.” you mumbled as you looked to the ground. 

“You know,” he took another step towards you, “I’ve been thinking about you a lot this week.”

Your breath shuttered for a moment. He glanced over the church hall to make sure everyone was busy, his sister having disappeared into the kitchenette for more juice. 

George looked back at you and discreetly linked his finger in yours, speaking ever so quietly, “Could only think of you and that fucking perfect pussy of yours every time I had a wank.” 

Your head lifted quickly to look him in the eye again, eyebrows furrowing at his blunt confession. You swore he smiled wider as if he were enjoying how his very public words were having such an effect on you without even really trying. 

“How you’ve been, angel?” he asked like he hadn’t just said that last comment, giving your hand a tiny tug. “Keeping out of trouble?”

“No.” you answered quietly, letting the worry tumble from your lips in a breathy, “You said it would cure me and it didn’t.”

George licked his lips as if he were struggling to hold back that smirk of his again, “Wanna go somewhere to talk?”

You nodded. 

He took his hand away from yours and set it against your back gently as you turned around and he guided you away from the buffet table and towards the double doors that led to the stairwell at the back of the church. You both took the flight of stairs up to the main floor, the click of your dress shoes echoing over the walls as you left the bustling pancake breakfast behind. 

“Will they wonder where you are?” you asked worriedly, voice quiet as if you could be overheard. As if sneaking away to talk was a sin in itself. 

“No, we’re fine.” George assured you.

He led you back into the empty church and over to the first pew and you sat down together in the spot that was usually only reserved for his family. You sat with your knees together and your hands folded on your lap while George, out of the public eye now, allowed himself to relax back against the wood pew and he slung his arm around the back of it where you sat. 

“Talk to me.” he coaxed. 

“You said it would cure me.” you whispered, “The…things we did on Tuesday? You said that doing that and then confessing would rid all those…nasty thoughts from my head but it hasn’t.”

George cocked his head to the side in intrigue, “It hasn’t?”

You spoke to your hands on your lap, confessing to him outside the confines of the booth, “I’ve touched myself too. Lots. Just like you showed me.”

“Mhm?” George sat up a little straighter to get slightly closer to you, “How often did you touch yourself?”

“Like…” you hesitated. 

He tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear, melting your heart into his hands. 

“Every night.” you finally answered. 

“Mhm?” George stroked your cheek with the back of his hand, “And what did you think about while you did that?”

“You.” you mumbled, “You and everything we did on Tuesday. You said it was supposed to cure me but it hasn’t. It’s just been worse.”

“Oh, my dove,” George tisked softly, guiding your eyes to his by a gentle hand on your chin, “the things we did on Tuesday did cure your salacious thoughts and that annoying little ache you had but it’s not a permanent cure.”

“It’s not?”

“When you touch yourself,” he asked, “did you make yourself cum?”

You tried to look away in embarrassment and shame but his hand caught your cheeks to hold you in place, his eyebrows raising expectantly. 

“Yeah.” you breathed after a second, staring into his eyes.

“And did those thoughts go away? Did that pesky little ache go away?”

You shook your head, frustrated tears brimming in your eyes, “No.”

George’s eyes widened in slight surprise, “No? Not at all?”

You reached out to set your hand against his chest, desperate to feel his warm handsome body under your touch, rambling to him hurriedly, “It just made me want you so much more. It even made me cry sometimes because I just wished it was you touching me again instead. I don’t know what to do!”

“Then I have to take responsibility of you, angel.” George pulled your hand up to rest it higher against his chest, right over his heart, “If the only way your sinful thoughts go away is after I rid them for you, then that’s what we must do.”

You couldn’t deny the leap in your chest at his offer, staring at the way he held your hand over his heart, that black ring standing out against his soft skin. His thumb rubbed over your knuckles, his gorgeous blue eyes staring at your face and awaiting your response. The church was silent around you, empty. You swore your heartbeat was going to be echoing off the walls any moment. 

“Okay.” you breathed, barely able to recognize your own voice. You pulled your hand away from his to slide up his chest and around the side of his neck and into the back of his soft brown hair, pulling him towards you until your noses brushed. 

George stopped just enough to ask, his breath falling against your cheek, “You promise to come to me and only me when you have those dirty thoughts, angel?”

“Yes, sir.” you purred, “Only you.”

He let that smothered smirk finally bless his lips, “Good girl.”

The urgency with which you kissed him was almost pathetic, landing off-centered in your haste but George guided your mouth onto his properly into the next kiss and, with the third, your lips slotted together effortlessly. You audibly whimpered into his kiss, tugging at the back of his neck like you wanted him impossibly closer, sharing open mouthed kisses in the safety of the wide open church. 

George’s hand rested heavily on your thigh and he gave you a squeeze over the fabric of your dress, his head tilting slightly to deepen your kiss and his tongue slid over your lips teasingly. You gladly opened up for him, welcoming his tongue in your mouth and against your own with a soft moan, eyes shut as tightly as you could bear it as if this whole thing was a dream. George’s other hand slid over the side of your neck and his thumb pressed under your jaw to guide you through your kisses until you were falling into the rhythm of it once more. 

Despite Tuesday’s escapades, you were still incredibly inexperienced and the simple concept of him kissing you with tongue had your heart racing in your chest and your stomach filling with butterflies. Your arms wrapped around his shoulders to hold him close while your tongue tasted his hungrily, still sharing the faint flavour of maple syrup and watered down orange juice. You giggled softly into his mouth and took what you wanted from his lips and your tongue-led kisses, sharing more spit than what would be normally deemed appropriate. 

Then, his hand was drifting farther around your neck and tangling itself in the back of your hair with a firm grip that was just enough for him to pull your head back slightly and break your kiss. You grunted softly to the arched ceilings and his lips attached themselves to your neck, licking and kissing over your soft skin that smelt of your sweet floral perfume. He was careful not to leave marks; knowing better when you both would have to return to that pancake breakfast afterwards. But he showed his possession over you by his hand in your hair and the way he gripped you in place. 

You moaned sweetly, eyes struggling to stay open, and your hands rested on his shoulders dumbly, letting him have you how he wanted. You missed him so badly that even this was enough to give you what you wanted. But, after only a few short minutes of making out, you were pulling away from him with a soft sigh and you sat back slightly to tuck your hair behind your ears as his hand fell away. 

“What is it?” he asked, rubbing his hand up and down your thigh while his other arm draped over the back of the pew again. 

“We can’t do this here.” you giggled. 

“Why not?”

You sent him a pointed look like it was obvious, “Everyone’s downstairs.”

“They’re busy. Besides, everyone will be leaving out the back door from the hall anyway. They won’t come up here.” George promised and leaned in to kiss at your neck again. 

You shivered and your teeth sunk into your bottom lip to smother your grin before reminding him, “This is the church though.”

“It is.” he acknowledged against your neck, nipping at your earlobe. 

“God is watching.” you whispered. 

“God was also watching when I fucked the shit outta you on Tuesday. What difference does it make?”

“Mm.” you hummed in agreement. “True.”

“And I just wanna help my perfect little dove get rid of that pesky ache.” he cooed against the shell of your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your neck while his hand teased under the hem of your knee-length dress and over your inner thigh. 

You smiled bashfully and leaned your head back to nudge your lips against his for a brief kiss and then he gave you another before pulling away with a bite to your bottom lip. 

“You remember what we start with?” he caressed your cheek, “I need you to get on your knees for me.”

You glanced over to the doors that led to the back of the church where the entire congregation was cluelessly enjoying their pancake breakfast a floor below you, and with a burst of trust towards the young man on your left, you slid off the pew and onto the floor in front of him. Five whole days of you silently and torturously dreaming about his dick made it easy for you to make the decision to obey him. George spread his legs slightly to give you just enough space to kneel between and his hands popped the button on his slacks and you watched with eager eyes as he pushed down the small zipper. 

“Can I?” you asked as you slid your hands up his thighs, your request even taking you by surprise.

“Of course.” he nodded you on and draped his arms over the back of the pew to let you take over. 

You pulled open the fly of his pants a little more and slid your hand over the front for your first feel over the fabric of his underwear and the seam of his slacks. The shape of the obvious bulge could be traced by the palm of your hand and you licked your lips as you touched him testingly a little more before reaching for the waistband of his briefs. They were pulled down next, just far enough for you to reach in and guide his dick out by your gentle hand. 

He was already somewhat hard but when you wrapped your soft fingers around him and rose up on your knees to lean over his lap and dribble a string of spit onto the head, you could feel him starting to stiffen more with every slow stroke. You tucked your hair behind your ears with your one free hand while your right kept those gentle pumps going, slicking him up in your spit without tearing your eyes away from his large cock in your dainty hand. Part of you even wondered how you had managed to take it all on Tuesday. Part of you just wanted to try it again. 

“Open your mouth, angel.” he ordered. 

You let your jaw fall slack and your tongue slipped past your lips, having already learned so much from his generous teachings to you from Tuesday. George reached down and set one hand on the back of your neck and with the other, he took his cock from your hand so he could slap it against your tongue. You whimpered softly in surprise, eyebrows furrowed, staying perfectly still as the filthy wet slap of his heavy dick on your tongue sent your skin burning. 

But then you were grabbing his wrist to stop him and you pushed his hand off to take over yourself, rubbing the underside of his cock with your tongue back and forth a few times before you were wrapping your lips around it. George groaned faintly, resting back against the pew, and he watched you carefully with his hand in the back of your hair as you sucked sweetly on the head of his dick before finally taking him deeper in your mouth. 

“Yeah.” he exhaled, licking his lips and biting the bottom one as he watched you unwaveringly under furrowed brows as you bobbed your head into his lap, “Such a quick study, angel. Such a good girl.”

You carefully held the zip of his pants out of the way with one hand while your other worked in time with your mouth, driven out of instinct. He was so thick in your unfamiliar mouth that your jaw was starting to cramp a little but the way he made you drool forced you to ignore the ache. He had taught you that any pain was just there to be a reminder of your sin. You deserved it. You were lucky you had him to help you repent. 

George’s hand on the back of your head followed your shallow motions with ease and soon he was pulling a little harder at your head to get you to take him deeper. You gagged around him, the sound echoing through the empty church, and he shushed you sweetly. 

“You can take it.” he said angelically. 

Your hand twisted around the base of his cock a little stronger as you forced yourself faster, your wet mouth drooling down his cock and over your fingers just enough to create that lewd slick sound with every stroke. He tasted so good that you had to close your eyes with a moan, savouring him gladly like your forbidden fruit. 

“There we go. My perfect little cocksucker.” 

With your face in his lap, you could imagine yourself anywhere, and you convinced yourself you weren’t currently in God’s house doing horribly sinful things. Despite the way you had to imagine yourself elsewhere, you certainly didn’t want to imagine stopping. He was far too delicious for that. You gagged steadily with each stroke as if to remind him just how big he was - or how small your inexperienced mouth and throat felt around him - and the spacious church held your secret in silence. 

George’s head lolled back a little so he could peer up at the peaked rafters of his father’s church, his bottom lip caught between his teeth and his one hand tightening on the polished wood back of the pew he found himself on while his other hand kept tugging your mouth down on his cock. His breaths seemed to be falling in good time with the bobs of your head, his handsome cheeks dusted faint pink with pleasure and sinful lust. You could feel the eyes of the Lord over your shoulder, watching you take the son of your pastor in your mouth like this, down your throat, drooling for him in the most obscene ways. 

“Okay, angel.” George exhaled, and his hand tangled in your hair to gently guide you off his dick.

You wiped your mouth daintily with the back of your hand, “Yes, sir?”

George unbuttoned the top few buttons of his collared shirt, revealing his silver cross necklace resting against his chest - the same one you had gripped between your teeth on Tuesday while he fucked you into his bed. He nodded his head towards the altar, “Get up there.”

You glanced over your shoulder to the altar that had just finished hosting Sunday mass and then you looked back up at George from your knees between his legs, “Am…I allowed?”

George peaked an eyebrow at you, “Funny thing to be asking permission for, angel, given that you just sucked my cock in church.” 

Lowering your head in shame, you slid your hands off his thighs and they fell softly onto your lap. George reached down and took your chin in his hand, guiding your face up to look at him again. 

“We gotta be able to stand before God and show Him how dedicated to your cure we are, my sweet dove.” George purred, stroking his thumb across your cheek. “What better way than right here? Offering our dedication to Him at the altar.”

“Yes, sir.” you exhaled, hypnotized by those brilliant blue eyes, barely even flinching when he slipped his thumb in your mouth. 

He let you suck on it haphazardly for a second before telling you again, “Get up and bend yourself over that table for me, angel.”

You lifted off the ground like second nature, getting to your feet while his thumb pulled from your mouth with a wet pop, leaving him sitting slouched back on the pew while you turned to face the front of the church. The lights were off and the candles were blown out since mass had concluded and there was no one around, only the main lights above the aisle of the church left on like they always were, allowing the morning sunlight through the stained glass windows to sparkle colourful shapes and shadows across the worn wood floors. You took a few short steps to the foot of the altar and then stopped, hesitating. 

Out of natural religious etiquette that you had been well raised to, you bent down into a curtsy like you did when receiving communion and offered the sign of the cross to the empty altar and the large crucifix of Christ that hung alongside tapestries on the rear wall. You then permitted yourself to take the four steps up in front of the church and you turned back around to face the rows upon rows of empty pews. George stood from the front row and followed you slowly with a proud little smirk on his face, his pants still unzipped and his dick still out, and when he took the stairs, it bobbed faintly in the air with how incredibly hard it was. 

You kept your eyes on him as you walked around the large communion table, dragging your gentle fingertips over the white linen tablecloth that covered it, gazing upon God’s most magnificent creation. George followed behind you until you were both standing behind the table and you habitually slumped forward onto your forearms without taking your eyes off his. 

“Good girl.” he breathed, slowly trailing his fingers up your thigh to ride up the skirt of your dress, leaving shivers over your flesh in their wake. “How much are you aching for me to touch you right now?”

“More than ever.” you mumbled, discreetly nudging your ass back against his hand to try and get him where you wanted him, “I need you so bad, sir.”

“Mhm?” George drifted behind you and he pressed his body against yours so you were pushed farther forward over the table until the thick stone edge was pressing into your stomach and you could feel his dick against your ass. “I gotta admit, angel, when I was up here today, all I could see in the crowd of faces was you.”

His hands rubbed up your back and you sunk your teeth into your bottom lip, your inhale shutting in your chest as his fingers ghosted over the sides of your neck before brushing through your hair. George leaned over you a little more so his lips dusted over the shell of your ear and his hard cock ground against the curve of your ass, his breath falling against your neck warmly. 

“The last time I saw you, you were crying beautiful tears of pleasure and dripping cum all over my bedroom floor…wasn’t easy to not think about that when you showed up today. You played innocent so perfectly, my sweet little dove.” he cooed, nipping at your earlobe, hands kneading your hips, “In your cute little dress and little hairbow…singing with the congregation such beautiful hymns that would have made God cry with how angelic your voice sounded. I could so easily pick you out of a crowd of thousands.” 

“George.” you breathed, eyes struggling to stay open with how the heat burned across your skin and deep within you. You turned your head back slightly to try and kiss him but he kept away just far enough that your lips could only dust across his jaw. 

His fingers lazily slid down your front and over the fabric of your panties, making you flinch at the first graze of his fingertips over your clothed clit. He hummed lowly as he slid lower, pressing against the thick wet spot nestled between your legs, before he continued tauntingly against your ear, “So fucking wet. Physical proof of those disgusting little thoughts of yours…proof of your lust…your sin.”

You whimpered faintly, trying to kiss him again but only getting his jaw as he teased you cruelly. With his one hand rubbing painfully slowly over your panties, his other dropped behind you to slowly link his finger in the fabric and he carefully tugged them to the side. 

“Shame you weren’t listening to my reading today.” he told you. “It was all about greed…about wanting something so badly it drives you insane. You might have learned something…instead of getting in that pretty little head of yours and wishing I’d just shut up and pull you up here and fuck you in front of the whole congregation.” 

“Oh my gosh.” you exhaled, folding your hands together tightly on the table you were bent over, staring out across the rows upon rows of empty pews that had once been filled by your entire community. 

“Mhm?” George worked behind you to angle the head of his cock between your full cheeks before he was spreading you open and dropping a thick string of spit down onto the both of you. He slid his dick down between your pussy lips and back and forth a few times before nudging it against your asshole, “Is this what you were imagining, angel?”

Your fingers wrapped over the front edge of the communion table with a soft shuttering inhale in anticipation, “Uh huh-”

“Yeah? Are you gonna pray for it?”

Your hesitation had his left hand reaching up to grab your hair in his fist and he yanked your head back so you were forced to look out across the church and almost towards the ceiling. 

“He’s listening.” 

“Please, God.” you whimpered. “Please rid these horrible thoughts from my mind. I will do anything. Please, dear Heavenly Father.”

George stepped a bit closer to you, guiding his cock slowly into your ass from the natural lubrication of your cunt and his spit but the friction still burned and you let out a sharp cry that echoed through the church. He reached his hand up to press over your mouth with a gentle hush as he eased deeper inside you and dribbled more spit between your cheeks. He gave you a few shallow thrusts to stretch you out to take his sizable girth and the tears that pricked the corners of your eyes burned. 

The soft white tablecloth was bunched into your fists as he pushed himself all the way inside you until he was as deep as he could go and you could feel the open fly of his slacks pressed against the backs of your thighs. Your eyelashes fluttered as your eyes rolled shut, finally feeling filled by him after almost a week of torturous lustful cravings that had been going unfulfilled. It hurt but you knew that was your penance; that once he got going, that pain was going to melt into the most euphoric pleasure you had ever felt in your life. 

George’s large hands shoved your dress up a little higher and he bunched the fabric in his fists while simultaneously holding onto your doughy hips, keeping you right where he wanted you as he eased out of you almost all the way before sinking back in as deep as he could go. Your withering moan was uncontrollable and he repeated that action just to hear you do it again. Then he was starting to speed up a little more in the risky location you found yourselves in and you slumped yourself forward over the table until your chest was pressed right to the top. 

“Good girl.” George praised handsomely, his voice tight with pleasure, “You take it like such a good little whore, I can’t get over it.” 

“It hurts.” you whimpered, pulling the fisted fabric of the tablecloth to your mouth to try and smother your shaky cries. 

George’s thumbs pulled at your cheeks to spread you open a little more so he could drop some more spit on you, staring lustfully at how your snug muscles clutched the shaft of his dick mercilessly. His jaw clenched and he let out a stifled grunt as he started to thrust into you again, finding a lazy pace with his hands holding you securely right over the table. 

“Oh-” you whined, dropping your head forward onto your arm. 

“That’s my good girl.” George cooed, brushing your hair over one shoulder so he could see you, “Gonna get those pesky little thoughts out of that pretty head of yours, hm?”

“Please, sir.” you exhaled. 

“Gotta be quick with this one, okay, angel?” George’s voice was quiet to keep from echoing through the empty church in fear of giving you away. “Remember how I taught you to touch yourself? Can you do that for me right now?”

You slowly let go of the tablecloth with your right hand so you could shift it down underneath you and right between your legs. Eyes wide and staring out towards the stained glass windows that lined the church, you touched yourself testingly, feeling how stretched your body was to accommodate him inside you and how soaked your pussy was getting despite how empty it was. Your fingers swiped up some of that dripping wetness before rubbing slowly at your aching clit which had your muscles pulsing around him. 

“Good fucking girl.” George groaned, reaching his hand around to grab you by the throat as he thrusted into you faster, “Keep rubbing that for me, angel.”

“F-Fuck.” you squeaked quietly. 

“That’s it.” he huffed, using his free hand to grope the flesh of your ass to keep you spread, the lewd slap of his skin against yours muffled the slightest amount by the fabric of his slacks. “Don’t hold anything back.” 

“Oh my God.” you swore, cheeks red with shame as you were forced to stare out at your church as he took you over the communion table. The blessed sacrament of him and you. 

You were a panting mess, heaving for breath with the sensations of pain and pleasure that tore through you, your legs starting to quiver in your kitten heels against the worn wood floor of the altar. George spanked your ass hard without missing a beat, the sound echoing through the church quickly followed by your shriek. 

George’s hand smacked over your mouth, holding by your mouth and your throat to keep your head back as he leaned you right up against the table until the edge was certainly leaving a mark across your hips and abdomen. Despite the way he smothered your trembling moans and hushed you right up against your ear, you kept rubbing at your clit with that powerful feeling of need that had filled you throughout the past week since seeing him last. You just needed to cum and now, in that moment, you knew you would finally get the proper fulfilment that you had been craving. 

“Dirty fucking sinner.” George growled against your ear, “Wants my cock so bad she’ll bend over anywhere for it…anything to let me fuck the devil from your body.” 

“Yeah.” you mumbled into his palm, “Please, sir. Please, please, please, please.”

“You’re so fucking lucky sodomy isn’t a sin, angel. You’re so fucking lucky you can take it up the ass like this like such a good little slut.” 

Your whimpers were growing louder against his hand, your body shuttering underneath him, and you tried to fuck yourself back on him desperately. Without a word, he could tell you were close and he kept his pace going, fucking you harder over the table with your fingers tugging at your clit faster and faster. His hand squeezed tighter around your throat and he pulled your head back so he could speak right against your ear, 

“Fucking cum for me, my little dove. Let the salvation wash right through you and cleanse you of sin through pleasure.”

With his permission, you were shuttering with what you swore was the presence of God, feeling the unprecedented relief coarse through you with the onset of your orgasm and an honest smile came to your face. Your fingers stretched over the tablecloth and around the edge of the table like starfish, reaching out for heaven itself, and you moaned so angelically that George swore no choir could replicate how beautiful you sounded. 

“Gonna let me cum in your ass, angel?” George asked lowly. 

“Yes, please!” you sobbed pleasurably. 

He shoved hard into you with a tight grunt, thrusting you forward against the stone table, and you could feel his cock twitch deep inside you before he was filling you up with warm thick spurts that had your head spinning. You clutched the edge of the table you were bent over, gaping down to the tablecloth as he took his hands back to hold your hips and keep your dress out of the way. He pulled back before thrusting into hard again, making sure you got every last bit of him just to make it count and then he was spanking you across your blushing pink ass again and pulling out. 

You whimpered at the aching emptiness and he tucked your panties back into place and dropped your dress back around your knees, giving your hips a tender squeeze and he leaned over you to kiss your neck. You sighed breathlessly and pushed yourself up onto your forearms and then your hands against the tabletop so you could look back at him and you guided his lips to yours for a few greedy off-centered kisses. 

“How’s that?” he asked you. 

“So good.” you confessed shyly. 

“Is that ache gone?”

You stood up straighter and turned around to face him so you could rest yourself back against the table, smiling at him dreamily as your arms draped around his shoulders, “Mhm.”

“I’m glad.” George set his hands on the table edge on either side of you and stepped up close so he could brush his nose against yours and you both opened up to lock your lips in a slow salacious kiss. When you separated, George asked you quietly, “Have you gone to confession since Tuesday?”

“No.” you admitted softly. 

“Bad girl.” he tisked. 

You looked down in shame despite your arms still around his neck. 

He set a finger under your chin to guide your eyes back up to his, “It’s okay. Go tomorrow morning, first thing. Make sure you uphold your penance. Whatever Father tells you, right?”

“Yes, sir.” you whispered. 

He leaned in to kiss you again, lingering on your lips until you swore your knees turned to jelly. You had to pull away with a bashful grin and you hid your smile against your cheek while he stayed nice and close even as he tucked himself back in his underwear and buttoned his pants and his shirt back up. 

Running your hands down his shoulders and his chest, you spoke to his lips softly, “We can do this again, right?”

“That’s what I said, angel.” George nodded, straightening out your dress for you, “Whenever you can’t get rid of that ache, come right to me. And only to me.” 

You slid your arms around his waist and leaned in to kiss him through your smile. 

“Our little secret, okay?” he said against your mouth, raising his hands to the side of your neck as you took selfish kisses from his lips. 

“Mhm.”

“And weekly confessional at a minimum.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Good girl.” George pinched your waist, “Now let’s go back downstairs before they come looking for us.”

You both took a second to make sure you looked somewhat tidy before walking side by side back down the rear stairs of the church towards the basement hall. You could feel the essence of him leaking out of you with each step and once you reached flat ground, you took smaller strides to try and keep it inside the best you could. It was thrilling. 

When the two of you entered the hall again, you found that some of the guests had gone by then but there was still a good amount of people eating and mingling and the children were still running around and making the most of their little Sunday morning sugar high. Your parents and George’s parents were talking with another couple at one of the tables and you made your way over to them, trying to keep yourself looking discreet. 

“There they are!” his mother greeted. 

“Where have you been?” your father asked, before following it up with a little lighthearted joke, “We were getting ready to send out a search party!”

“We just went to talk.” George said with that angelic smile of his, twisting the truth effortlessly, “Little discussion about today’s readings and how to better connect to God.”

Your mother sent you a little wink, “Oh, that’s so nice.”

George glanced over at you and you exchanged casual smiles and you tried not to let the obvious flush of your cheeks show. But then he pulled out his phone from his back pocket and he unlocked it before holding it out to you, “Here, why don’t you give me your number and we can connect and meet up to study and have some more discussions? It was really nice getting so deep with you.”

He said it so casually, so calmly, but the twinkle in his eye was apparent only to you that he was insinuating exactly what you thought he was insinuating. So while your parents shared approving compliments about your shared dedication to God and the nearby grandmothers looked on in near horror that it wasn’t their granddaughters exchanging numbers with the pastor’s youngest son, you typed your number into his phone and passed it back. 

“Thank you.” you said to him, your fingers brushing as he took his phone back from you, “I am indebted to you for all your help.”

“Now, now.” George chuckled bashfully, “No need to thank me. It’s my pleasure.” 

And then his arm was around your shoulders and he pulled you in for a modest side hug that was over almost as quickly as it began under the clueless and watchful eyes of your parents. 

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[jzprncess]

threads of the past ౨ৎ

pairing : charles leclerc x reader

faceclaim : various people

main summary : Y/N and Charles grew up together in Monaco, sharing a close bond until her mother took her away after a family conflict. Many years later, after a loss she had to endure, Y/N returns to Monaco to fulfill a promise. There, she unexpectedly reunites with Charles, now a successful Formula 1 driver.

part 1

word count : 3,989

warnings : some designers do not exist in this au since i might take their fashion pieces!

note: this series will start off as a regular story and than gradually become a smau i think. i dont know tbh.

────୨ৎ────

The early afternoon sun bathed the narrow streets of Monaco in a golden glow, the faint hum of the Mediterranean breeze carrying the scent of jasmine and saltwater. In a quiet corner of the city, two children raced barefoot along the cobblestone path, their laughter echoing off the pastel walls of the buildings.

“Faster, Charles! You’re going to lose!” Y/N called over her shoulder, her grin wide as she darted ahead, her sundress billowing behind her.

“I don’t lose!” Charles shouted back, his face red from effort, his untamed brown hair sticking to his forehead. His determination was as fiery as the midday heat, and it wasn’t long before he closed the gap between them.

With one final burst of energy, Charles lunged forward, tagging Y/N’s shoulder just as she reached the large oak tree at the end of their street. They both collapsed in a heap beneath the tree, panting and giggling.

“You cheated,” Y/N accused, pointing a chalky finger at him.

Charles sat up straight, his chest puffed out proudly. “Did not. I’m just faster than you.”

She scoffed, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “Only because I let you win.”

“Sure, you did,” he replied with a smirk, grabbing a fallen leaf and sticking it in her hair.

“Charles!” Y/N squealed, swatting at him as he burst out laughing. She shoved him lightly, but her smile betrayed her lack of seriousness.

Their days were often like this—filled with playful arguments, endless games, and the kind of joy that could only come from being young and carefree.

The bond between Y/N and Charles had formed long before either of them could remember. Their mothers often joked that they were inseparable from the moment they learned to walk. Born just two months apart, they’d spent nearly every day of their childhood together, whether it was exploring the rocky beaches or building forts in the small park near their street.

In the summer, they would race handmade sailboats in the fountain at the Place d’Armes. Y/N’s boats were always more colorful, with bright scraps of fabric for sails, while Charles’ were sturdy and precise, made with the help of his father.

“Yours is going to sink,” Charles teased one afternoon, nudging her shoulder as they crouched by the fountain’s edge.

“Is not! Look, it’s already ahead of yours,” Y/N shot back, pointing to where her pink-sailed boat bobbed confidently on the water.

“That’s because I let you go first,” Charles argued, though his grin gave him away.

When her boat finally won, Y/N jumped to her feet, hands in the air. “I win! Told you mine was better!”

Charles groaned dramatically, flopping onto the grass beside the fountain. “Fine, you win. But only because mine hit a leaf.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Y/N said, lying down next to him.

They stared up at the clear blue sky, the sound of birds chirping and distant waves lapping at the shore filling the silence.

“Do you think we’ll always stay here?” Y/N asked, her voice soft.

“Of course,” Charles replied without hesitation. “Where else would we go?”

Y/N didn’t answer. She didn’t want to think about what life would be like if things ever changed.

Their friendship was the kind that felt unshakable. They knew everything about each other—what foods they hated, which hiding spots were the best during hide-and-seek, and even their secret fears.

One evening, as the sun dipped low over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, they sat cross-legged on the floor of Y/N’s bedroom. The soft hum of cicadas drifted through the open window.

“What are you scared of, Charles?” Y/N asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, puffing out his chest.

“Liar,” Y/N teased, poking his arm. “Everyone’s scared of something.”

Charles hesitated, his cheeks turning slightly pink. “Fine. I don’t like the dark.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Really? But you always act so brave!”

He shrugged, avoiding her gaze. “It’s just... sometimes it feels like there’s something there, even when I know there isn’t.”

Y/N reached over and squeezed his hand. “If you’re ever scared, you can call me. Even if it’s the middle of the night.”

Charles looked at her, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks. What about you? What are you scared of?”

She hesitated, glancing down at her lap. “That someday... we won’t be friends anymore.”

Charles’s brow furrowed. “Why would you think that?”

Y/N shrugged. “I don’t know. Sometimes my parents fight a lot, and my mom says things about leaving Monaco.”

Charles’s grip on her hand tightened. “You’re not going anywhere. I won’t let you.”

The conviction in his voice made her smile, even as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “Promise?”

“Promise,” he said firmly.

But life had other plans.

A few weeks later, Charles started karting. At first, Y/N thought it was just another one of his hobbies, like soccer or building model airplanes. But it quickly became clear that this was different. Charles was obsessed, spending every spare moment practicing or talking about races.

Y/N tried to be supportive, but she couldn’t help feeling a little left out. Their afternoons of racing bikes and playing by the fountain were replaced with stories about karting championships and lap times.

One Saturday, she stood by the edge of the track, watching as Charles zipped around in his tiny kart, his face set in fierce concentration. Pascale stood beside her, cheering loudly every time Charles passed by.

“He’s really good,” Y/N admitted, though her voice was tinged with sadness.

“He is,” Pascale agreed, glancing down at her. “But he misses you, you know.”

Y/N looked up at her in surprise. “Really?”

Pascale nodded. “You’re his best friend. That doesn’t change just because he’s racing now.”

Her words comforted Y/N, but only for a little while.

A few weeks later, everything changed.

The fights between Y/N’s parents, once muffled whispers behind closed doors, had escalated into full-blown shouting matches. The walls of their home, which once echoed with laughter, now felt cold and thin, trembling under the weight of angry words. Plates clattered. Doors slammed. Y/N learned to tread lightly, her small frame slipping quietly through the spaces of their house as if trying to become invisible.

Late one night, she was jolted awake by the familiar sound of raised voices. The clock on her bedside table read 12:47 a.m. in glowing red numbers, but it could have been any time—this had become routine. Still clutching her stuffed rabbit, she hesitated before slipping out of bed, her bare feet making no sound on the floorboards.

At the top of the stairs, she crouched low, gripping the wooden railing as though it might steady her trembling hands. Below, the living room light flickered, casting long, restless shadows across the walls. Her father stood by the door, his face drawn and tired, while her mother paced back and forth, her voice sharp and brittle.

“I can’t do this anymore, David,” her mother said, her words breaking like glass.

“So, you’re running away? That’s your solution?” her father countered, his voice quieter but no less strained.

“I’m protecting her!” Y/N’s mother shouted, her hands shaking as she gestured toward the staircase. “She deserves stability, not this—this endless cycle of fighting.”

Y/N froze, her heart pounding in her chest. They were talking about her.

Her mother turned away from her father, her shoulders sagging as she began yanking open drawers and rummaging through cabinets. Moments later, a suitcase appeared on the couch, and Y/N watched as her mother began throwing clothes into it—shirts, dresses, anything within reach. Her movements were frantic, as if staying still might shatter her resolve.

Tears pricked at the corners of Y/N’s eyes as she tightened her grip on the stuffed rabbit, pressing it to her chest. Her father said something else—something quieter that she couldn’t hear—but her mother ignored him, zipping the suitcase with a finality that made Y/N’s stomach churn.

She wanted to run downstairs, to demand an explanation, but her feet felt glued to the spot.

The next morning, the house was eerily quiet. Y/N sat at the kitchen table, poking at a bowl of cereal that had long since gone soggy. The air felt heavy, thick with unspoken words.

Her mother entered the room, her expression tired but determined. She sat down across from Y/N, reaching for her hand.

“Sweetheart, we need to talk,” her mother began, her voice gentler now.

Y/N looked up, her heart sinking as she saw the suitcase by the door. “What’s going on?”

Her mother sighed, brushing a stray hair from Y/N’s face. “We’re leaving. It’s... it’s for the best.”

“Leaving?” Y/N’s voice cracked, her hands gripping the edge of the table. “Where are we going?”

“To America,” her mother replied, her tone clipped but firm.

“America?” Y/N repeated, the word foreign and strange on her tongue. “Why? What about Dad? What about—” Her voice caught in her throat. “What about Charles?”

Her mother hesitated, the faintest flicker of guilt crossing her face. “This isn’t about them, Y/N. Sometimes we have to make hard choices to protect the people we love. You’ll understand one day.”

Y/N shook her head, her chest tightening. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave—”

“Honey.” Her mother’s voice softened, her hand reaching out to cup Y/N’s cheek. “I know this is hard. But we’ll be better off there. I promise.”

The promise felt hollow, but Y/N didn’t have the words to fight back.

The following day came too quickly, the hours slipping through Y/N’s fingers like grains of sand. The taxi idled outside their home, its engine humming softly as her mother double-checked the bags.

Y/N stood by the door, her small suitcase clutched in one hand, her other hand gripping the stuffed rabbit that had been her silent companion through all of this. Her father wasn’t there—he had left for work early, unable or unwilling to say goodbye.

As she climbed into the back seat of the taxi, Y/N pressed her face to the window, her breath fogging up the glass. Her heart ached with a heaviness she didn’t yet have the words to describe.

As the taxi pulled away, she caught sight of Charles standing outside his house, his arms crossed over his chest, his brow furrowed in confusion. He wore his favorite red T-shirt, the one he always wore on race days, and his hair was messy, as if he had just woken up.

“Charles,” Y/N whispered, her voice too quiet to reach him.

His expression shifted from confusion to something else—heartbreak. He took a step forward as if to chase after the taxi but stopped, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

Y/N wanted to wave, to shout out the window and tell him she’d come back. But the lump in her throat was too heavy, and her hands refused to move. She could only watch as the familiar streets of Monaco blurred into the distance, Charles’s figure growing smaller and smaller until he disappeared entirely.

The weight of the moment pressed down on her chest, and for the first time, she truly understood what it meant to lose something precious.

And just like that, Y/N’s life in Monaco—and her friendship with Charles—was gone.

The streets of New York City were a symphony of noise and movement—taxis honked their horns in frustration, pedestrians hurried across streets, and the occasional siren blared in the distance. For twelve-year-old Y/N, the city's frantic energy was completely foreign. She had spent her entire life in the quiet beauty of Monaco, where everything moved a little slower, and the streets smelled of saltwater and sunshine. Here, the air was thick with the scent of exhaust fumes and hot dogs. The constant rush of people and cars felt like a constant reminder of how different her life had become.

Her mother had tried her best to make the transition as smooth as possible. They had found a modest apartment above a deli in the Upper West Side. The apartment was cramped, with peeling paint on the walls and creaky floors, but Y/N’s mother always tried to make it feel like home. She hung up brightly colored paintings, filled the shelves with books, and made sure the small kitchen was always stocked with ingredients to make Y/N’s favorite meals. Yet, no matter how many times Y/N tried to settle into her new life, there was a constant ache in her chest—the kind that came from a home she’d left behind.

At first, the culture shock was overwhelming. The city was alive with people from all over the world, but Y/N felt like a stranger in her own skin. School was different too. The other kids were loud and confident, their lives full of stories of places Y/N had never been. They spoke with an ease she envied, while she struggled to find the right words. The accent she had brought from Monaco stood out, and for the first time, she felt different, isolated.

But time, as it always does, began to heal the raw edges of her heart. The first time Y/N walked down the streets of Manhattan without feeling lost in the crowd, she realized she was slowly learning how to belong. She found solace in the quiet of the city's parks and in the rhythm of sketching designs in her notebook. Fashion had always been an escape for her. Whether she was creating something new from scraps or drawing intricate gowns on blank pages, it gave her a sense of purpose. And when the sewing machine hummed late into the night, it made the world outside her window fade away.

By the time she was sixteen, Y/N had started to make a name for herself. She took the subway to school every morning, sketchbook always in hand, where she studied the diverse styles around her—city folk in their sharp suits, the tourists who wore bold colors, and the older women who seemed to have perfected the art of elegant, understated chic. Each person was a new inspiration, a living canvas for her ideas.

It was then that Y/N’s designs started to catch the eye of local boutiques and independent designers. She worked part-time at a small fashion studio, sewing for local designers and creating custom pieces for clients. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was a start. The more she worked, the more connections she made. She began hosting small fashion shows, her pieces catching the attention of semi-famous figures who loved her work. It wasn’t the kind of fame she had always dreamed of—being a designer whose name appeared in glossy magazines alongside Vera Wang or Marc Jacobs—but it was something.

Still, something was missing.

As much as she tried to bury the past, it kept resurfacing. Monaco lingered in the corners of her mind, a quiet presence that never truly left. On quieter evenings, when the city outside felt still and distant, Y/N would sit by the window, her thoughts drifting to Charles. She would trace the lines of the buildings with her eyes, remembering the way the sun would shine on the harbor in Monaco, casting golden reflections on the water. She could still see Charles’s smile, hear his laughter as they raced down the streets on their bikes. Sometimes, she would pull out the old pictures of the two of them, taken on the beach in Monaco, their faces covered with sand as they giggled at their own silliness.

She had written to him once, the year after they left, but the letter was returned. Her mother had torn it up without saying a word. “Some things are better left in the past,” she had said with a sadness Y/N didn’t understand at the time.

Her father had been another ghost in her life. He had passed away when Y/N was just twelve. Her mother kept the news from her for as long as she could, protecting Y/N from the heartbreak that followed. It wasn’t until a year later, when Y/N found the letter tucked into the back of a drawer, that the truth came to light. The letter had been from her father, a note he had written before he died. He had left Y/N some money and a few possessions, things he had meant to pass down to her. But it was more than just material things—it was a piece of the past Y/N hadn’t been ready to face.

For years, Y/N pushed the letter away. She had no desire to open it, no desire to look back at a life she had left behind. But when she turned twenty-two, everything began to change.

Her mother had grown ill—first it was a cough, then it was difficult breathing. The diagnosis came swiftly, and the doctors were blunt: cancer. Fatal. The world around Y/N seemed to collapse, her foundation shaken to its core. She watched as the woman who had once been full of life became frail and weak.

The last few months with her mother were a blur of hospital visits and whispered goodbyes. The woman who had been her protector, the one who had shielded her from the pain of their broken family, was now the one who needed saving. And Y/N couldn’t fix it.

A week before her mother’s death, in a quiet hospital room with the smell of antiseptic heavy in the air, her mother had handed her an envelope. “This letter is for you,” she said weakly, her hands trembling. “When I’m gone... open it. And make the promise you made to me.”

Y/N didn’t understand at the time. But she took the envelope, her fingers brushing against the paper as she wondered why it felt so heavy.

When her mother passed, Y/N felt as though the world had stopped turning. The days bled together, a monotonous blur of work, sadness, and restless nights. She poured herself into her designs, hoping to find some semblance of peace. But peace didn’t come. She wandered through her apartment, the quiet weighing on her, the memories of Monaco creeping into every corner of her mind.

It was a rainy afternoon in the fall, the kind of weather that made everything feel like it was shrouded in a veil of sadness, when she finally opened the letter.

the letter

My Dearest Y/N,

I don’t know how to begin this letter. There are so many things I should have said to you over the years, and I wonder if I ever really had the words to explain them. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that life has a way of moving so quickly that you often miss the most important moments. This is one of those moments. So, I’ll say the things I’ve been meaning to say for so long, even if it’s too late now.

When we left Monaco, it wasn’t just because of the fighting, though that was certainly part of it. But I made a choice that day, a choice I thought was best for us both. I wanted to protect you from the pain, from the complexities of the life we had, from the things I couldn’t explain. I thought that if I took you away, if I removed you from the pressures of that world, you’d have a chance to grow up without the baggage of the past weighing you down. I was wrong.

You always did have a light in you, Y/N. A light that shone so brightly, I knew it would carry you far. When we arrived in New York, I thought you’d grow into someone different, someone independent and strong, someone who could build a life on her own. And you did. You are everything I ever hoped for you to be. But I realize now that there’s something missing. Something I didn’t give you, something I didn’t allow you to have because I was too afraid to face the truth.

Your father… he loved you, Y/N. So much more than I ever let you know. I know I kept you from him, from the life we built together in Monaco, and for that, I am truly sorry. But the truth is, I wasn’t protecting you. I was protecting myself. From the things that I couldn’t fix, from the dreams that slipped through my fingers, and from a relationship I knew was falling apart. I thought that by taking you away, I could spare you from the heartache that I was too afraid to face.

But, my love, I was wrong. And the one thing I regret most is that I never let you fully understand who you were—who you could be. You are so much more than what I let you see. Your father’s legacy, your heritage, they are a part of you that I denied, and I can’t take that back. I see now that you need to return to where it all began.

There are things in Monaco, things in your father’s world, that you need to find for yourself. Pieces of you that will make you whole again. I made a promise to him before we left, and it’s a promise I failed to keep. But now, it’s your turn to fulfill it.

Go back to Monaco, Y/N. Go back to your roots, to the home you left behind. I know it won’t be easy, and I know you’ve built a life here, but there is something waiting for you there, something that will make all of this make sense. I don’t know how to explain it, but you’ll understand when you’re there. The city, the harbor, the streets where you and Charles used to ride your bikes together—they all hold a piece of the puzzle.

Charles... I’m sorry, my darling. I know that you must think I kept him from you out of spite, but that wasn’t it. I just didn’t want you to get hurt. He was never a part of our plan, and I didn’t want you to feel torn between two worlds. But the truth is, he’s always been a part of you, Y/N. He always will be. You were both so young, so full of dreams, and I could see the bond between you two even back then. It was something beautiful, something pure. I know it’s been years, and I don’t know what the future holds for the two of you, but I know that you need to find your way back to him.

I don’t know if that means rekindling the friendship you once had or something else, but don’t let fear keep you from it. Don’t let fear keep you from facing what you’ve always known deep down. That part of you, that light, has always been tied to Monaco and to Charles.

I won’t be there to see you take this step, Y/N. But I’m asking you to do it for me, for both of us. I want you to finally understand what I couldn’t give you, to understand the reasons behind the choices I made. I want you to see that you are not just the girl who left Monaco— you are part of something bigger than what we’ve built here.

Please, take this step, Y/N. Go back to Monaco. Find what’s waiting for you. And if nothing else, find peace.

I love you more than words can express, and I always will.

With all my heart, Mom

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

taglist : @heluvsjappie @awritingtree @steamy-smokey @alex-wotton

[wagconts]

F1 Alert | Formula 1

➤ summary :: Where you create an interactive game for Formula 1 fans, and become the new star of the pits.

➤ warnings :: a quick imagine, with prior development.

➤ word count :: 0.839 words

➤ masterlist | sportify

➤ Notes :: I had this idea because Swifitie fans know about "Swift Alert", which was a game where we bet on the clothes from The Eras Tour. So I wanted to bring this into the context of Formula 1.

Working on F1's social media was a daily grind, but you loved every second of it. Between creating posts, planning content, and keeping up with trends, your mind was always spinning, thinking of ways to make fans feel more connected to the drivers. Then, one brainstorming night, the idea hit: an interactive game where fans could bet on little details of the race weekends.

— What if we created something like a more elaborate 'Fantasy F1,' but focusing on the small stuff? Helmets, suits, celebrations... — you suggested, drawing curious looks from the team. — We could call it 'F1 Alert'.

After a few weeks of planning, meetings, and tweaks, the app was ready. It was simple: fans could make predictions about visual and behavioral items about the drivers before the GPs. Each correct guess earned points, which could be redeemed for virtual prizes or discounts on official products.

On launch day, you were nervous. Would it be a hit or a flop? It only took a few hours to get the answer: it was a phenomenon.

The app had questions that kept fans hooked, especially with the fact that those points were worth something.

— Leclerc’s helmet in Monaco: same as always or something special?

— Which driver will complain the most on the radio?

— How many drivers will retire from the race? And who?

The numbers didn’t lie. In the first weekend, a little over 70 thousand people signed up. And the drivers quickly took notice.

At the pre-GP press conference, Russell was the first to mention it:

— Did you guys see that app? F1 Alert? Are you betting on my training suit now? That’s a lot of pressure! — he joked, drawing laughs.

Next to him was Charles, who also smiled.

— I saw it too. Someone bet my helmet will have gold on it. — he made a confused face. — Gold? I don’t know if I’m that fancy.

You didn’t realize the impact would be so big until that moment. Seeing the drivers talk about something you created was surreal. But things got even more intense in the paddock.

At the Italian GP, while you were tweaking a post backstage, Pierre showed up out of nowhere behind you.

— So, you’re the one behind the app? — he asked, crossing his arms with a big grin.

You laughed, a little startled.

— It depends. If you like it, then yes. If not, marketing came up with it.

— Oh, I like it. But now I have to think of new helmets every week, because I don’t want the fans to get bored. — He winked before walking off, leaving you laughing alone.

The F1 Alert craze grew with each race. Fans’ discussions on social media were massive, and even journalists started mentioning the game in their reports. Some drivers, like Norris, began directly engaging with the fans.

— Do you think I’ll use a special helmet in Singapore? Place your bets on the app. — he smiled at the line of fans in the stands.

Meanwhile, you started getting recognized in the paddock. It wasn’t something you expected, but the drivers and teams now knew who you were. At the Las Vegas GP, Max Verstappen stopped you during a technical meeting with a rare smile.

— Just wanna know... Who was the creative genius that put “Max will smile on the podium” in the game?

You tried to keep your composure but ended up laughing.

— My bad. Sorry, but it was irresistible.

— Well, I hope no one bets on that. It’ll be money down the drain. — he joked.

The interactions with the drivers became more frequent, but the peak came at the last GP of the year, when the season had ended and some fans were satisfied with their scores on the game. And the burning question was whether the game would continue the next year.

During the final press conference, Daniel Ricciardo — who was making a special appearance as a third driver — decided to mention you.

— I wanna thank the person behind F1 Alert. Thanks to them, I’m already thinking about how to celebrate before I even know if I’ll be on the podium.

The cameras zoomed in on you in the corner of the room, as everyone laughed. It was the moment you realized how much your idea had impacted the world of Formula 1.

After that GP, you got nicknames in the paddock: “the pit star,” “the mind behind the game,” among others. And while you tried to stay grounded, you couldn’t deny that the app’s success had put you in the spotlight.

Now, you were more than just another face in the paddock. You’d built an incredible bond with the fans who always asked you questions like, “What’s the next update for the game?” and you’d made amazing friendships with some of the drivers. It was all like a dream. F1 Alert was just the beginning.

[gguk-n]

Can you write one where lance stroll has a relationship with a curvy girl?

This is short. Idk what sort of thing the request wanted. Maybe next time you could be a little more precise🥺.

Off track

Lance was a quite person who liked to keep to himself. He liked to keep the people he loved to himself too. Lance didn't like to share and he wasn't about to share his gorgeous beautiful girlfriend with anyone, even for a moment.

Lance loved his girlfriend, that's why she was at every single one of his races. That's why the only time he was photographed smiling or laughing was because Y/N was next to him and probably said something funny.

People can be rude and judgmental; Lance learned that early on in his life. That's why he made it his life's mission to make sure people weren't mean to the love of his life. And people could get mean, even his fans.

Y/N was beautiful, gorgeous even but for some reason people couldn't look past her weight. Most, if not all F1 driver's dated models or actors; Lance was the anomaly. Him and Y/N had sparked a friendship on one of his trips in Europe and stayed friends ever since, leading to the wonderful relationship they have now.

With everything, Lance couldn't protect her. He found her in their hotel room under the sheets sniffling. "Babe" Lance cooed slowly. He felt the sheets shuffle before he saw a head pop up. Tear stained face looking at him, "did anyone say something?" he asked worried. "no" she replied confused. "Than" he paused, "why are you crying?" he asked. "I was watching those dog videos" she said showing the video playing on her phone. Lance sighed a sigh of relief. "Baby, you need to stop worrying so much." she reassured. "Also, if someone said something to me, I wouldn't hesitate to clock them" she smiled deviously. "You want me to free you from a foreign prison?" he asked. "Perks of having a rich boyfriend I guess" she chuckled. "I'd probably free you from any prison" Lance smiled before he kissed her lips. "I'm gonna shower, you're free to join" he called out, discarding his shirt. "You don't have to tell me twice" Y/N called out, abandoning her phone and following Lance into the bathroom.

Hope you like it!

[rubywillkins]

Hello, sweety.

Can I place a guilty pleasure order in the company of Lewis Hamilton? I was thinking about:

A frappe macchiato with one shot of espresso with goat and oat milk

Spaghetti, mushroom burger and fish and chips

Baked crab cheese, potatoe gnocchi and beef diced potateos

And big, big bottle of sparkling water

Thank you so much!

Sure darling ♥️

Lewis Hamilton |

A change in pace

Pairing Lewis × female reader

Frappe macchiato playboy in love one shot of espresso rough sex goat milk Penetrative sex oat milk fingering spaghetti handcuffs mushroom burger pain kink fish and chips hickeys baked crab cheese "you look so good with my hands around your neck" potato gnocchi "shh, just look at me, baby"beef diced potatoes "do you need to use your safe word darling" Sparkling water (a big bottle) after care

Lewis Hamilton had spent his life living fast.The Formula 1 legend was more than a driver; he was an icon. Handsome, charming, and unattached, Lewis had long been the grid’s ultimate playboy. The world adored him, but behind the bright smiles and glittering lifestyle, there was a man who often found himself alone with his thoughts.

And then Y/N came into his life.

She wasn’t the type of woman who fawned over him. A media liaison assigned to his team, she was sharp, professional, and entirely unimpressed by his reputation. Their first meeting had been a clash of egos.

“Mr. Hamilton, you’ll need to stick to the script in today’s press conference,” she said coolly, handing him a sheet of notes.

Lewis smirked, leaning back in his chair. “And what if I don’t? Going off-script is my specialty, darling.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Then you’ll deal with the fallout, and I won’t be cleaning up your mess.”

For the first time in years, Lewis felt his charm fail. She was immune to him. And that was exactly why he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

---

Weeks turned into months, and Lewis’s flirtation became more persistent. At first, Y/N dismissed his advances, but over time, she saw glimpses of the man beneath the persona. A vulnerable, thoughtful side he rarely showed to anyone.

One evening, after a grueling race weekend in Monaco, Lewis found himself at her hotel room door. When she opened it, dressed in an oversized shirt and leggings, her expression shifted from surprise to suspicion.

“Lewis, it’s late,” she said softly, leaning against the doorframe.

“I know,” he replied, his voice low. “I just... needed to see you.”

Her resolve faltered. She stepped aside, letting him in.

---

The tension between them snapped the moment the door closed. Lewis’s lips found hers, the kiss intense and filled with months of unspoken desire. His hands explored her body with a reverence that made her melt.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this,” he murmured against her neck, his voice husky.

Y/N arched into him, her fingers tangling in his hair. “Then stop talking and show me.”

They stumbled toward the bed, shedding clothes as they went. Lewis took his time, his touch slow and deliberate, as if memorizing every inch of her.

“You’re perfect,” he whispered, his hands skimming her curves.

Y/N gasped as he kissed down her body, every touch igniting something primal between them. The way he moved, the way he whispered her name—it was overwhelming in the best way.

“shh, just look at me, baby” he said, his gaze locking with hers as they came together. “I want to see you, baby.”

Their connection was electric, every movement synchronized as they explored each other. It wasn’t just physical—it was intimate in a way that left them both breathless.

You were in his lap from behind... He was holding your waist like his life depends on it... Slowly kissing your neck and his one hand caressing your breasts while the other one slowly moving towards your clit.. slowly massaging it..

He slowly turned you accessing the full neck so he can give you hickeys...

He suddenly stands up.. "what happened?" You asked because of him standing up.. he didn't said anything he opened his side drawer and he took handcuffs from it..

He make you wear those.. you were in too engrossed in that moment that you didn't even hesitate..

He didn't wasted any further moments and removed all of your and his clothes.. and started kissing you roughly... You knew it.. its gonna be super rough... He started fingering you with both of his fingers ... While massaging your clit with his thumb... And than just when you were about to cum.. he inserted himself into you without giving you time to adjust his size ...

It was painful.. and he can see that but he was enjoying it.. he loves when it was a bit painful..

But at the end of the day.. he was a gentleman too..

So he asked while still fucking you Roughly.."do you need to use your safe word darling"

"no... Arghh.. not now..." You were a moaning mess"

While pounding in to you he started kissing and sucking your lips more roughly.. while holding your neck from his hand..

"you look so good with my hands around your neck"

He removes his hand and he hold you upside down in just a sec it was so fast and. Sexy.. at the same time..

Taking you from behind...

After some time he came in to you . Penetrating his whole cum into your pussy....

Afterward, Lewis didn’t let go. He pulled her into his arms, his lips pressing soft kisses to her temple.

“Stay here,” he said gently, slipping out of bed.

Y/N watched as he disappeared into the bathroom, returning moments later with a warm, damp cloth and a bottle of water. Sitting beside her, he carefully cleaned her up, his touch tender.

“Does this hurt?” he asked, his voice soft as he wiped her thighs.

She shook her head, her cheeks flushed. “No, it’s... sweet of you.”

Lewis smiled, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You deserve to feel good. Always.”

He handed her the water, waiting until she’d taken a sip before climbing back into bed. Pulling the covers over them, he gathered her into his arms, her head resting on his chest.

His fingers traced soothing patterns along her back as he whispered, “You okay?”

“More than okay,” she murmured, her voice muffled against his skin.

Lewis pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Good. Because I’ve never felt this way before.”

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes searching his. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’ve turned my world upside down,” he admitted. “I’ve been running my whole life—always chasing the next win, the next thrill. But with you... I don’t want to run anymore.”

Her hand cupped his cheek, and she smiled softly. “You don’t have to.”

They lay there in comfortable silence, Lewis holding her close as if afraid she might vanish. He didn’t know what the future held, but for the first time, he felt like he didn’t need to have all the answers.

As Y/N drifted off to sleep, her breathing even and steady, Lewis pressed one last kiss to her hair. “You’re everything I didn’t know I needed,"

He whispered "and I'm never letting you go"

[soleilpinto]

Hexes and Heartbeats (Ollie Bearman) ִ🪄 ࣪𖤐ִ ࣪

“Don’t flatter yourself, Bearman,”🔮 〜 ⁺ ̥ ＊

Synopsis: Y/N Browning, Slytherin’s top student, and Ollie Bearman, Gryffindor’s Quidditch captain, have always clashed. But when McGonagall pairs them up for a project, their rivalry turns into something unexpected. As they spend more time together, Y/N learns that letting someone in might not be so bad after all.

Genre: Slowburn, Fluff, Enemies to Lovers

AU: Hogwarts!au

Pairing: Ollie Bearman x Fem!Reader

Warnings: If being an asshole is a warning I’m putting that in.

Note: To be completely honest this was a random idea that came up because I was looking for F1 x Harry Potter fics and couldn’t find any, so I made my own? Anyways, I hope you guys nerd out to this because I miss the Hogwarts rabbit hole I used to go through in 2020. As always, don’t forget to like + reblog if you enjoyed!

The Great Hall buzzed with excitement as the Gryffindor Quidditch team entered for dinner, their victorious faces beaming from yet another win.

You couldn’t stop the sneer that tugged at your lips when your eyes landed on Ollie Bearman, the Gryffindor Quidditch captain.

Of course, he was the first to stand up and wave at the crowd, soaking in their adoration like a smug, self-satisfied lion.

Ollie Bearman. The perfect Gryffindor.

Everything about him annoyed you—from his flawless posture to the way he casually tossed his messy brown hair as though it were some kind of trademark move.

He wasn’t just a Quidditch captain, he was the golden boy, the darling of every Gryffindor. His confidence was unshakable, and it rubbed you the wrong way more than you cared to admit.

You rolled your eyes and turned back to your dinner, not sparing him another glance. But it wasn’t enough to escape the sound of his laughter as he shared a joke with his teammates, their boisterous voices filling the room.

You hated it.

You hated how effortlessly he commanded attention, how everyone just adored him for no reason other than the fact that he was a Gryffindor. You hated how he walked around like he owned the place.

That was when your friend, Isla, nudged you.

"He's looking at you," she whispered with a mischievous grin.

You narrowed your eyes, knowing exactly who she meant.

Ollie Bearman, no doubt enjoying the fact that you were sitting there fuming over his mere existence.

You didn’t even have to look up—he was probably grinning that cocky grin of his.

“I don’t care,” you muttered, stabbing your fork into your food. “He’s just some Quidditch-obsessed Gryffindor who thinks the world revolves around him.”

“Careful, Y/n," Isla teased, her tone mocking. "You wouldn't want to lose your cool in front of the Quidditch King."

You scoffed, too irritated to respond. Ollie Bearman had somehow managed to turn Quidditch into his entire identity.

He had that perfect, shiny Gryffindor arrogance—an arrogance that made you sick.

Later that evening, you found yourself at the Three Broomsticks with a few friends, attempting to unwind after a long week of academic stress.

You hadn’t expected to see him here. But of course, Ollie Bearman and his teammates stormed in, laughing and talking too loudly for your liking.

They sat at a table near yours, and you had no choice but to overhear the conversation. Ollie’s voice carried through the air, boasting about his latest victory.

“You should’ve seen the look on their faces,” Ollie said, grinning ear to ear. “We were unbeatable today. Another win for Gryffindor!”

The table around him laughed, and your irritation bubbled over. You couldn’t take it anymore.

"Must be nice, winning at a game that involves no real strategy," you called out, your voice cutting through the room.

Isla shot you a look of warning, but it was too late. The challenge had been thrown down.

Ollie’s gaze shifted to you, that familiar, infuriating smirk spreading across his face.

“Well, if it isn’t the Slytherin genius,” he drawled, his voice dripping with that all-too-familiar arrogance. “What’s the matter, couldn’t handle being in second place in the academic race?”

A flare of heat rose to your cheeks, but you didn’t back down.

“At least I don’t think winning a game with a broom makes me important,” you retorted, leaning back in your chair with a challenge in your eyes.

“Perhaps if you spent a little more time in the library and less time with your broomstick, you’d understand how real success works.”

A few of his teammates snickered, but Ollie didn’t miss a beat. He stood up, crossing the room toward you with a confident swagger.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m sure books are very important in your world,” he said, his grin widening as he leaned casually against your table.

“But in the real world, we have to do things to prove our worth. Not just sit around and read about them.”

You clenched your jaw, your eyes narrowing. “I’d rather be doing something productive than pretending a game about flying on a stick matters. You’d never understand the importance of intellect, Bearman.”

His eyes flashed with amusement, but there was something else there too—something you couldn’t quite place.

“We’ll see about that, won’t we, Browning?”

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of sharp words, unspoken challenges, and ever-present tension between you and Ollie.

The rivalry was no longer just about House pride—it had become personal, a battle between two personalities that seemed destined to clash.

The days after the confrontation at the Three Broomsticks felt like a storm was brewing. Every time you crossed paths with Ollie Bearman, that same, infuriating smirk was plastered on his face.

As if you hadn’t already made it clear you couldn’t stand his presence.

You tried your best to ignore him, to focus on your studies and maintaining your position as the top student of your year. But every time you heard his laugh or saw his arrogant grin, the heat of frustration flared up again.

It was a cold afternoon when you found yourself once again in a situation where you had no choice but to deal with Ollie.

Professor McGonagall had just announced that the students of your year were being assigned to work together for an extra-credit project on magical creatures.

The task? Track down and document a rare and dangerous magical beast deep in the Forbidden Forest. The catch? Every pair had to be carefully chosen by the professors—and, of course, in their infinite wisdom, McGonagall had paired you with none other than Ollie Bearman.

You had tried to argue, but McGonagall had simply raised an eyebrow and told you, “This will help you learn how to work with someone outside your usual circle, Miss Browning.”

You had to bite back the sarcastic remark that was already forming on your tongue.

It wasn’t the first time you’d had to work with someone you didn’t like, but it was the first time you’d been forced into a group with Ollie.

When you met him at the edge of the Forbidden Forest the next morning, he was already waiting, leaning casually against a tree, looking like he had absolutely no concerns in the world.

His Gryffindor confidence was on full display, and you could already feel the annoyance bubbling in your stomach.

"Finally decided to show up, Browning?" he teased, pushing off from the tree and smiling like he knew he had won some small victory just by getting there first.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Bearman,” you snapped back, brushing past him without making eye contact. “Let’s just get this over with.”

He smirked, but for once, it wasn’t filled with that usual arrogance. There was something else in his eyes—something more playful, like he was daring you to rise to the challenge.

“I’m just here for the creature,” he said, “but I have to admit, working with you might make this a little more interesting.”

You turned to face him, glaring. “Let’s just get one thing clear. If you get in my way, Bearman, I will leave you here. I don’t need some Quidditch-obsessed Gryffindor to get this job done.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by your defiance.

“You sure about that? I seem to recall your strategy didn’t go so well in the last encounter with a magical creature. Maybe you could use my help after all.”

Your teeth clenched. You remembered that disastrous incident in the classroom last week when Ollie had pointed out, in front of the whole class, that your spell had backfired, causing your potion to explode. He had never let you forget it, using it as ammunition in every argument ever since.

“You really are full of yourself,” you muttered under your breath, but Ollie seemed to enjoy pushing your buttons.

“Only because I know I’m better than you,” he shot back, his grin widening as you shot him a glare.

With no other choice, you set off into the woods, Ollie following closely behind, still full of his usual swagger.

As you ventured deeper into the forest, the atmosphere grew more oppressive, the shadows from the tall trees stretching across the path, thickening with every step.

You could hear the distant rustling of magical creatures in the underbrush, but Ollie seemed oblivious, happily whistling as though he was on a leisurely walk in the park.

“Stay focused,” you snapped, reaching for your wand. “This isn’t a game, Ollie.”

He finally stopped whistling, giving you a mock salute. “Aye, captain.”

You bit back a retort, knowing that any attempt to argue would only fuel his insufferable attitude. But despite your frustration, there was a small part of you that begrudgingly admired how easily he navigated the forest.

It was clear he had an innate sense of bravery, charging forward with little fear of the dangers lurking behind every tree.

Suddenly, a rustling sound interrupted your thoughts. You immediately raised your wand, ready for whatever creature might appear. But Ollie’s reaction was even quicker.

He darted ahead, using his quick reflexes to grab something darting out of the brush before you could cast a spell.

In a fluid motion, he captured a small, silver-winged creature in his hand, holding it out to you with a grin.

“Well, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

You blinked, stunned for a moment.

The creature he held was delicate, shimmering with magical energy. It was a rare species you had studied in class, but had never seen in person.

For a brief moment, you felt something other than annoyance toward Ollie. He had done something impressive. Something that actually required skill.

It wasn’t enough to erase all the bitterness you felt toward him, but it was a crack in the armor of your dislike.

“You’re not as useless as I thought,” you muttered, lowering your wand, though your tone was still clipped.

Ollie gave a soft laugh. “I can be more than just a Quidditch captain, you know. I do have a bit of brain in this head.”

You shot him a skeptical glance, but a small smile tugged at your lips. “Don’t get cocky, Bearman. We still have a long way to go.”

The journey continued with more shared silences and subtle exchanges of respect. Neither of you was willing to admit it, but something was shifting—an uneasy truce beginning to form as you ventured deeper into the forest, side by side.

As the day stretched on, and the deeper you and Ollie ventured into the Forbidden Forest, the more you realized just how much you were beginning to notice him.

Every sharp turn he made, every instinctual move to keep you safe—whether it was spotting a dangerous creature or grabbing your arm to pull you out of harm’s way—you couldn’t deny that there was more to Ollie Bearman than the smug Gryffindor captain you had loathed for years.

It made you uncomfortable, to be honest. You had built an entire narrative in your head about who Ollie was: arrogant, reckless, and obsessed with Quidditch.

But seeing him here, out in the wild, working as a team with you—granted, begrudgingly—you realized that you hadn’t really seen him at all.

“So,” Ollie began, breaking the silence, “what do you actually think of Quidditch, then? I know you think it’s pointless, but I’m curious. If you were the captain, what would you change?”

You turned to look at him, surprised at the question. It wasn’t like Ollie to ask about your opinion unless it involved him somehow proving he was better than you.

Still, you could see a shift in the way he looked at you—a more curious, thoughtful gaze.

“I think Quidditch is just a distraction,” you said, your voice guarded.

“It’s just... a game. People treat it like it’s the most important thing in the world, but at the end of the day, it’s just about winning and losing. There’s no real value in it beyond that.”

Ollie’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t seem angry. Instead, there was a spark of interest in his expression.

“So you think there’s no skill involved? That I’m just some distracted player?”

“No,” you corrected quickly, shaking your head.

“I didn’t say that. There’s skill, of course, but I don’t think it’s worth putting everything into. There’s more to life than flying on a broomstick and chasing a ball around.”

Ollie stopped walking, and for a moment, he was silent, almost as if he was processing your words.

You glanced over your shoulder, but his eyes were fixed on the ground, a thoughtful expression on his face.

The forest felt strangely still around you, the usual rustling of leaves replaced by the weight of the moment.

“You know,” Ollie finally said, a wry smile tugging at the corners of his lips, “sometimes I think you’re a little bit too serious for your own good. But I get it. You’re a Slytherin. You’re supposed to think everything else is beneath you.”

You bristled at his words. “I don’t think anything is beneath me. I just know what I want, and I don’t waste time on things that won’t get me anywhere.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by your defensiveness. “Is that why you’re so... intense? So determined to always be the best at everything?”

The question hit a little too close to home.

You frowned, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t need to explain myself to you.”

Ollie chuckled, that easy, carefree laugh that always seemed to get under your skin.

“Fine, fine. But you know, if you ever decided to relax a little... maybe you’d see there’s more to life than books and grades.”

You shot him a sharp look. “And maybe if you focused on something other than Quidditch, you’d realize there’s more to the world than winning games.”

Ollie’s smile faltered just a bit, but it was enough for you to notice. He took a deep breath, eyes scanning the forest around you, and then gave you a sideways glance.

“Well, I guess we’re both just trying to prove we’re right about something,” he said softly, his tone a little less playful than before.

“Maybe that’s what makes us so similar.”

You blinked, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

He shrugged, still walking, but there was an odd sense of understanding in the way he held himself now.

“We both care too much about proving ourselves. You do it with your studies, I do it with Quidditch. We both put so much into what we’re passionate about... maybe that’s why we clash so much.”

You didn’t know how to respond to that. Part of you wanted to argue, to maintain the rivalry that had always defined your relationship, but another part of you—the part that had seen Ollie’s vulnerability for the first time—wanted to admit that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

Before you could say anything, a loud, eerie screech echoed from deeper within the forest.

The sound was enough to make your heart skip a beat, and Ollie’s expression shifted instantly into something more serious, more focused.

“That’s our cue,” he said, his voice now all business. “Stay close. It sounds like the creature we’re after.”

The next few hours passed in a blur of action. You and Ollie worked seamlessly together, your skills complementing each other in ways you hadn’t expected.

He was quick on his feet, fearless in the face of danger, while you used your knowledge of magical creatures to help guide your strategy.

There was a trust that had developed between you during the hunt, one that neither of you would acknowledge aloud, but it was there all the same.

When you finally managed to capture the rare creature and return to the castle, both of you were exhausted but victorious.

It was a rare moment of quiet between the two of you, standing just outside the entrance to the Forbidden Forest, the last of the evening light filtering through the trees.

Ollie turned to you, his gaze softer than you were used to. “Not bad, Browning. You might not be as insufferable as I thought.”

You smirked, still unwilling to admit how much you had come to respect him.

“You were all right too, Bearman. For a Gryffindor.”

He chuckled, that mischievous glint back in his eyes. “Guess you’ll just have to keep finding out how much more all right I can be.”

Your heart skipped in spite of yourself. It was infuriating, how easily Ollie seemed to get under your skin now.

You weren’t sure if it was the adrenaline or the strange warmth in his voice, but something had shifted between the two of you.

And for the first time, you found yourself wondering—just for a second—if there was more to Ollie Bearman than just a Quidditch captain.

It had been a week since the Forbidden Forest trip, and the dynamic between you and Ollie had changed in ways you couldn’t quite explain.

While you were still far from friends, there was an undeniable shift. The tension that had once been a sharp, uncomfortable friction had softened into something that, though still fiery, was less about animosity and more about... understanding.

You found yourself meeting Ollie’s gaze more often than you cared to admit, and not in the usual confrontational way.

It was as if there was a silent acknowledgment between the two of you—the rivalry was still there, but it was starting to feel more like a game than a battle. And while you hated to admit it, you found yourself appreciating his quick reflexes, his unwavering determination.

He was more than just a Quidditch captain. He was actually... smart. Annoyingly smart.

But your thoughts were interrupted when Isla, your closest friend, cornered you in the library one afternoon, her eyes gleaming with the kind of curiosity you knew all too well.

"So," she began, a mischievous smile spreading across her face, "I’ve noticed something."

You looked up from your textbook, already feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. "What are you talking about?"

"Don’t play coy with me," Isla teased, leaning in conspiratorially. "You and Ollie Bearman. Something’s... happening, isn’t it?"

You froze, the quill in your hand suddenly still. "What? No. I—" You stammered, trying to find an excuse.

"He’s just—he’s a Gryffindor. We’re working on a project together. That’s it."

Isla raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. "Uh-huh. Sure. I’ve seen the way you two look at each other during dinner. You can cut the tension with a knife."

You leaned back in your chair, trying to collect yourself. "Isla, you’re imagining things. There’s nothing happening between us."

“Nothing, huh?” Isla’s grin widened, and she sat down beside you. “Because from where I’m sitting, you’re not exactly hating him as much as you used to.”

You glanced around the library nervously. What if someone overheard? What if Ollie had been talking about the trip? What if your friends noticed the shift in your dynamic?

"Fine," you muttered, a bit too defensively. "Maybe he’s... not as bad as I thought."

Isla’s eyes lit up, and she leaned in even closer. "Ah, so there is something going on. I knew it!"

You scowled, pushing your book aside. "There’s nothing going on," you repeated firmly, though your tone lacked the conviction you had hoped for.

Before she could push any further, you heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps behind you.

You turned just in time to see Ollie himself walking through the library doors, his usual grin plastered across his face as he waved at you.

“Hey, Browning,” he called out in his typical teasing tone, strolling up to your table. “You surviving this mind-numbing assignment?”

Your heart skipped a beat. It had only been a few minutes since you had been talking about him with Isla, and now here he was, acting like everything was perfectly normal.

You glared at him, but there was a strange warmth behind your annoyance.

“I was,” you said coolly, “until you interrupted me. What do you want?”

Ollie smirked, completely oblivious to your inner turmoil.

“Just thought I’d remind you that we’re meeting for the next part of our project later. Don’t forget. You know, it’s important to show up on time if you want to get the extra credit.”

You rolled your eyes, but something in his tone made you want to snap back with a witty retort.

"I won’t forget, Bearman. I’m not the one who’s too busy playing Quidditch to focus on anything else."

Ollie chuckled, clearly amused, and winked at you before turning to leave. "See you later, Browning. Try not to fall asleep on me, yeah?"

As soon as he was out of earshot, Isla grinned at you like a Cheshire cat. "Oh, it’s definitely happening."

You groaned and dropped your head onto your arms. “Can’t you just drop it already?”

Isla just laughed, her voice barely a whisper.

“I know you better than anyone, and something’s definitely changed. The way you two talk to each other? It’s not the same as before. Trust me, you’re not fooling anyone.”

The rest of the week seemed to drag on. You couldn’t shake the feeling that Ollie was always just a little too close—whether it was in the library, during classes, or even in the hallways after dinner.

It was as if your interactions with him were becoming less about the rivalry and more about something else entirely. Something confusing and... undeniably thrilling.

Then came the day when everything started to unravel.

You were heading to the Quidditch pitch with Isla after lunch when you ran into a couple of Ollie’s teammates, and much to your surprise, they didn’t give you the usual hostile treatment they reserved for Slytherins. Instead, they greeted you with an odd mixture of curiosity and amusement.

“Hey, Y/N,” one of them, Emma, said with a smile. “How’s the project going with Ollie? We’ve been hearing rumors that you two are getting along better than expected.”

You froze, unsure how to respond. Rumors?

“Yeah,” another teammate, Alex, chimed in. “It’s kind of hard to ignore how you two have been looking at each other lately. You two might actually make a decent team after all.”

Before you could stop yourself, your face flushed bright red, and Isla’s snicker didn’t help.

“What exactly are you all implying?” you demanded, though your voice trembled slightly.

Emma raised her hands in mock surrender. “Hey, no need to bite our heads off. We’re just saying, you two don’t hate each other as much as you used to. You’re practically friends now. Or whatever this is.”

You couldn’t meet their eyes as you quickly excused yourself, your mind racing with a mixture of confusion and embarrassment.

Were people really starting to notice? Were you actually starting to... like Ollie Bearman?

Isla shot you a knowing look as you walked away, and you knew you couldn’t hide the truth from her—or yourself—any longer.

The days after the encounter with Ollie’s teammates were a blur. It felt like everyone in school had caught wind of the fact that you and Ollie were spending more time together.

Even though it wasn’t true that you two were “friends,” it was starting to feel like something was changing.

The constant teasing from Isla and your classmates was starting to wear on you, but what bothered you the most was how often Ollie seemed to pop into your thoughts when you weren’t expecting it.

You could handle Isla’s teasing. She was your friend, after all. But it was Ollie’s subtle hints, the small gestures that seemed almost too thoughtful, that kept you off-balance.

Like when he saved you a seat at the Gryffindor table during dinner because your houses table was full or when he offered you his notes after class, claiming he had taken "extra care" to write neatly because he knew you’d appreciate it.

But you didn’t need to think about it. You had a reputation to maintain, and Ollie Bearman wasn’t someone you needed to be distracted by.

Still, every time you crossed paths with him, you couldn’t help but feel that strange flutter in your chest.

One evening, as the hectic exam season drew to a close, you found yourself walking down the hall toward the Slytherin dungeons, your mind occupied with thoughts of an upcoming project.

You hadn’t expected to run into Ollie that night. The hallways were unusually quiet, the only sound being the faint echo of footsteps on stone. But then you saw him.

Ollie was leaning against the wall just outside the entrance of your common room, his eyes scanning the hall with a kind of distracted look.

When he noticed you, though, his face lit up, and that familiar grin appeared.

“Y/N,” he greeted casually, though there was something different in the way he said your name this time. More familiar, less teasing.

You paused for a second, almost instinctively pushing your hair behind your ear. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” he replied without skipping a beat, his tone light but his eyes earnest.

“I was hoping we could talk.” You raised an eyebrow, skeptical but intrigued. “Talk? About what?”

“About... us, I guess,” Ollie said, shifting slightly as though trying to find the right words.

“You’ve been avoiding me lately despite us being partners, and I get it. We’re not exactly the best of friends, but... well, I’m starting to think there’s something here.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Something here? What are you talking about?”

Ollie pushed off the wall and took a step closer. You felt your pulse quicken, but you weren’t sure if it was from irritation or something else entirely.

“I don’t know, Y/N,” he continued, the words spilling out more earnestly now.

“For the longest time, I thought you were just some Slytherin who hated everything I stood for—Quidditch, Gryffindor pride, all of it. But recently, I’ve started to see... I’ve started to see you differently.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came out. Your mind raced. See you differently? What did that mean?

“I’ve been thinking about it a lot,” Ollie continued, his gaze not leaving yours.

“How we’ve spent all this time bickering, but when it comes down to it, you’re actually—” he paused, searching for the words “—you’re actually kind of incredible. You’re clever, driven, and... I don’t know, I can’t stop thinking about how you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”

You could feel your heart beating in your throat, but you weren’t ready to admit anything.

Not yet. Not with Ollie Bearman, of all people.

“You’re just saying that because you think I’ll help you pass the next exam, right?” you tried, your voice betraying more uncertainty than you wanted.

But Ollie shook his head, his expression serious now, and you could see the honesty in his eyes.

“No, that’s not it. This is... this is me. I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the way, I realized that I like being around you. I’m not saying it’s easy, but I think I’ve started to care about you in a way I didn’t expect.”

Your chest tightened. “Ollie...”

“I don’t know what this is, Y/N,” Ollie said, running a hand through his hair. “I just... I don’t want to pretend it’s not there anymore. I’m tired of pretending you’re just some annoying Slytherin I have to tolerate.”

You blinked, caught in the weight of his words. It felt like your world had shifted under your feet.

You had spent so much time hating him, convincing yourself that nothing could ever come of your rivalry. But now, standing in front of him, you realized how much of that was self-preservation.

How much of it was denial.

“Are you... saying what I think you’re saying?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ollie stepped closer, his voice low. “I don’t know what you think I’m saying, but I think I’m saying that I want to find out what could happen between us. If you’re willing to take the chance.”

The hallway felt suddenly smaller, the walls closing in on you as your thoughts collided with each other.

You wanted to resist. You wanted to shout at him and remind him that nothing could ever happen between a Gryffindor and a Slytherin. That your lives had always been dictated by competition, by rivalry.

But as you looked into Ollie’s eyes, the one thing that was undeniable was how real the emotion was in his gaze. How much he meant it.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” you asked, finally breaking the silence.

“I am,” he said quietly, his eyes not leaving yours.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The tension hung heavy between you, neither of you daring to break the silence, yet somehow it felt like everything was finally coming into focus.

You took a deep breath, swallowing the uncertainty. Maybe it was time to let go of all the reasons you had built up to keep him at arm’s length. Maybe there was something worth exploring here after all.

“Alright,” you said finally, your voice steady despite the rapid beat of your heart. “I’m willing to see where this goes. But you have to understand something, Ollie. I’m not going to make this easy for you.”

Ollie grinned, his playful side creeping back into his expression. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You took another breath, feeling the weight of the decision settle on your shoulders. But for the first time in weeks, you felt a strange sense of anticipation, a spark of something that had been there all along but was only now beginning to surface.

Something had shifted since Ollie’s confession, and while nothing had officially been said about your “status,” there was a new air of familiarity between you.

He no longer teased you with the same sharp edges, and his glances felt warmer, less challenging.

You couldn’t deny it: there was something comforting about the way he had started treating you—not like an opponent, but like someone he genuinely cared about.

Still, the adjustment wasn’t easy for you.

Slytherins weren’t exactly known for public displays of affection, and Gryffindors like Ollie seemed to have no problem making their intentions known to the entire school.

Which was why, when Ollie showed up outside your Potions class one afternoon, leaning casually against the wall in his Quidditch robes, you nearly froze in your tracks.

“What are you doing here?” You hissed, keeping your voice low as your classmates filtered out of the classroom, all of them throwing curious looks your way.

Isla, walking beside you, stifled a laugh behind her hand.

“Waiting for you, obviously,” Ollie said with that signature grin of his. “I thought we could walk to lunch together.”

You glanced around nervously, painfully aware of how many eyes were on you.

“Ollie, this is a Slytherin corridor. You’re not exactly... welcome, here.”

“Good thing I’m not afraid of Slytherins,” he replied breezily. “Come on, Y/N, it’s just lunch.”

Isla shot you a knowing look. “Oh, I don’t mind. This is fascinating. Please, by all means, walk her to lunch, Gryffindor hero.”

You shot her a glare before turning back to Ollie. “Fine. But don’t expect this to become a habit.”

Ollie’s grin widened. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

As the two of you walked side by side through the bustling hallways, the whispers were impossible to ignore.

It wasn’t every day that the Gryffindor Quidditch captain was seen escorting the top Slytherin student through the castle.

You could feel your face heat up with every passing glance.

By the time you reached the Great Hall, you were ready to sprint to your table just to escape the scrutiny. But Ollie, completely unbothered, placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder.

“Relax, Y/N,” he said softly. “They’ll get over it.”

“You don’t get it,” you muttered, your voice barely audible. “People are going to talk. They’ll think I’ve gone soft. I’m not used to... this.”

Ollie stopped walking, turning to face you. His hazel eyes were calm, steady.

“Hey,” he said, his tone gentle. “I know this is new. I know it’s not easy for you. But you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. Not to your friends, not to your house, not to me. Just... be yourself. That’s all I want.”

You hesitated, his words sinking in. For someone so brash and confident, he had a way of making you feel seen in a way you hadn’t expected. Slowly, you nodded.

“Alright. But if anyone asks, I’m still your rival.”

Ollie chuckled. “Deal.”

At that moment, a familiar voice interrupted. “What’s this?”

You turned to see Arvid Lindblad and Kimi Antonelli approaching, both wearing amused expressions.

Arvid, a Hufflepuff with a mischievous streak, crossed his arms. “Bearman, are you seriously ditching us for your Slytherin rival?”

Kimi, a Ravenclaw whose sharp mind matched his dry sense of humor, raised an eyebrow. “This is... unexpected.”

Ollie grinned, throwing an arm around your shoulders with zero hesitation. “What can I say? She’s growing on me.”

You immediately ducked out from under his arm, your face burning. “Don’t push it, Bearman.”

Arvid burst out laughing. “Oh, this is great. I can’t wait to tell the rest of the team.”

“Don’t you dare,” Ollie warned, though he was still smiling.

From the Slytherin table, your friends, Isla and Hayley watched the scene unfold, their faces split into identical grins.

“You owe me five Galleons,” Hayley said smugly.

Isla groaned, fishing the coins out of her pocket. “Fine, but I still say she’s going to hex him eventually.”

By the time you and Ollie reached the Gryffindor table, you were convinced that everyone in the castle had seen you together. But as Ollie sat down beside you, his easy confidence never faltering, you realized something: you didn’t mind as much as you thought you would.

Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

After a few months of seeing Ollie, the day of the highly anticipated Gryffindor vs. Slytherin Quidditch match arrived, and the castle buzzed with excitement.

The rivalry between the houses was infamous, and the stands were packed with students decked out in their respective house colors.

Green and silver banners clashed with scarlet and gold as chants echoed through the stadium.

You sat in the Slytherin stands, arms crossed, trying to ignore the pang of nerves bubbling in your chest.

Isla nudged you, smirking. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re rooting for Gryffindor today.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” you snapped, though your eyes couldn’t help but wander to the field where Ollie was leading his team through warm-ups. His movements were precise, commanding, and frustratingly confident.

Focus, you told yourself. He’s your rival, and Gryffindor needs to lose.

As Madam Hooch blew the whistle, the match began in a frenzy of motion.

The Gryffindor Chasers darted through the air, their passes quick and seamless, but Slytherin’s Keeper was on form, blocking their shots with ease.

You found yourself gripping the edge of your seat, every play pulling you further into the match.

It wasn’t until halfway through the game that the tension really exploded.

Ollie, playing as Gryffindor’s Seeker, was locked in a tight race with the Slytherin Seeker, each of them diving after the Snitch.

The crowd roared as the two streaked through the sky, narrowly avoiding collisions with the other players.

“Come on, Ollie!” Arvid’s voice carried from the Hufflepuff stands, and you winced despite yourself. Don’t mess this up, you thought.

Then it happened. A Slytherin Beater sent a Bludger hurtling toward Ollie at a dangerous speed.

You watched in horror as he barely managed to dodge, his broom wobbling for a moment before he righted himself. But the distraction was enough—the Slytherin Seeker had gained the upper hand.

“No!” you gasped, earning a smirk from Isla.

“Interesting reaction for someone who’s supposed to be cheering for Slytherin,” she teased.

You scowled, but before you could reply, the Snitch was spotted again. This time, Ollie was faster.

He leaned forward on his broom, the determination on his face clear even from your spot in the stands.

The Slytherin Seeker was close behind, but Ollie’s outstretched hand closed around the Snitch just seconds before they collided.

The stadium erupted in cheers and groans.

Gryffindor had won.

As the teams landed, the Gryffindor players rushed to Ollie, lifting him onto their shoulders in celebration.

You stayed seated, watching as he grinned and held the Snitch aloft. The sight filled you with equal parts annoyance and something you couldn’t quite name.

When the crowd began to disperse, you made your way back toward the castle, hoping to avoid the inevitable gloating. But before you could slip away, a familiar voice called out behind you.

“Y/N! Wait up!”

You turned to see Ollie jogging toward you, still in his Quidditch robes and looking infuriatingly triumphant.

“What do you want, Bearman?” You asked, crossing your arms.

“To talk,” he said, falling into step beside you. “You don’t look too happy for someone who just witnessed an incredible game.”

“Why would I be happy? My house lost,” you pointed out, though your tone lacked its usual bite.

Ollie smirked. “Come on, I saw you watching me. You can admit it—I was pretty impressive out there.”

“You were reckless,” you shot back, narrowing your eyes. “That Bludger nearly took you out.”

He shrugged. “Part of the game. Besides, I knew you’d be worried about me.”

“I wasn’t worried about you,” you lied, your cheeks heating up.

Ollie stopped walking, turning to face you with that annoyingly confident smile. “You’re a terrible liar, Y/N.”

You opened your mouth to retort, but his expression softened, and he stepped closer.

“Look, I know this whole... thing between us is new. And I know you’re still figuring it out. But for what it’s worth, having you there today? It meant something. Even if you were secretly hoping I’d lose.”

You hesitated, the sincerity in his voice catching you off guard.

“I wasn’t hoping you’d lose,” you admitted quietly. “I just... didn’t want to see you get hurt.”

A flicker of surprise crossed his face before it melted into a warm smile. “See? You do care.”

“Don’t push it, Bearman,” you muttered, though you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips.

Ollie grinned, falling back into step beside you. “Alright, I won’t. For now.”

As the two of you walked toward the castle, the tension of the match faded into the background, replaced by something softer, something that felt almost... natural. And though you wouldn’t admit it out loud, you were starting to think that maybe, just maybe, you didn’t mind having Ollie Bearman by your side.

Epilogue:

The days when you and Ollie were sworn rivals felt like a lifetime ago, though the memory of your endless bickering still brought a smirk to your face.

Somehow, against all odds, you’d gone from exchanging biting remarks in the hallways to sharing late-night conversations by the fire.

It wasn’t a change you’d ever expected—or even wanted—but it was one you couldn’t imagine undoing.

Your dynamic hadn’t exactly mellowed.

You were still Y/N Browning, Slytherin’s top student, sharp-tongued and fiercely independent. And Ollie was still Ollie Bearman, Gryffindor’s golden boy with that infuriatingly confident grin.

The difference now was that the teasing carried a warmth it never had before, and the rivalry had softened into something that only strengthened your bond.

Take today, for example.

The castle was buzzing with activity as students bustled through the corridors, preparing for their final exams.

You were perched at a table in the library, surrounded by stacks of books and meticulously written notes.

The air smelled faintly of parchment and ink, a comforting sort of chaos that you thrived in.

“Still studying?” Ollie’s voice broke through the quiet, his tone laced with mock exasperation.

You glanced up to see him leaning against a nearby bookshelf, his Gryffindor scarf askew and his hair as messy as ever.

“What does it look like, Bearman?” you quipped, returning your attention to your notes. “Not all of us can wing it and still pass.”

“Hey, I don’t wing it,” he said, pulling out a chair and sitting across from you. “I’m just naturally brilliant.”

You rolled your eyes, though a small smile tugged at your lips. “You’re naturally lucky, which is not the same thing.”

“And you’re naturally stubborn,” he countered, reaching across the table to pluck one of your notes from the pile. “Come on, Y/N. Take a break. You’ve been at this for hours.”

“I can’t afford to take a break,” you said firmly, snatching the note back. “Unlike you, I have standards to maintain.”

Ollie chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “I know. That’s one of the things I like about you. But you’re allowed to breathe, you know. Even Slytherin’s top student can take fifteen minutes to eat a chocolate frog.”

You sighed, finally setting your quill down and meeting his gaze.

His hazel eyes were steady, the teasing light in them replaced with something softer. You hated how easily he could do that—disarm you with a look.

“Fine,” you relented. “Fifteen minutes. But if my grades suffer, I’m blaming you.”

“I’ll take the risk,” he said with a grin, pulling a small package from his bag and sliding it across the table. It was a chocolate frog, just as he’d promised.

You took it reluctantly, your lips twitching upward despite yourself. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“I’ve been told,” he said, resting his chin in his hand as he watched you open the wrapper.

Moments like these had become your new normal. He knew when to push and when to step back, and you were learning to let your guard down—at least for him.

You were still fiercely independent, still determined to prove yourself to the world. But with Ollie, you didn’t feel the need to constantly defend your place.

He saw you, respected you, and never tried to change you.

It wasn’t always easy. There were still moments when you snapped at him or bristled at his easygoing nature, and there were times when his relentless optimism made you want to scream. But somehow, those differences only made your connection stronger.

He challenged you in a way no one else could, and you liked to think you kept him grounded.

Your friends had grown used to the sight of you two together, though the teasing hadn’t stopped.

Isla called him your “Gryffindor puppy,” and Arvid had taken to mimicking Ollie’s voice whenever you defended him.

Even Kimi, with his usual deadpan humor, had joked about how the universe might implode from the sheer improbability of your relationship.

But you didn’t mind. Because at the end of the day, when the library emptied and the castle grew quiet, it was Ollie who walked you back to the Slytherin common room.

It was Ollie who stayed up with you during late-night study sessions, bringing snacks and pretending to care about your advanced Arithmancy notes.

It was Ollie who, somehow, had become the one person you didn’t mind letting in. And as you sat across from him now, watching him steal one of your notes and grin when you scolded him, you realized something important.

You hadn’t changed for Ollie Bearman. You were still yourself—strong, driven, and fiercely Slytherin.

But you had softened for him, in a way that felt like growing rather than shrinking. And for once, you didn’t mind letting someone see the cracks in your armor.

“Alright, Bearman,” you said, leaning back in your chair and crossing your arms. “You win. I’ll take a break.”

Ollie’s grin widened. “Finally. I thought I’d have to resort to drastic measures.”

“Don’t get used to it,” you warned, though your voice was lighter now.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, his gaze warm.

And just like that, the world felt a little brighter.

© soleilpinto 25’ -. no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner without the permission from the publisher.

[vivwritesfics]

Drive Me Crazy

Chapter Eleven

None of you are used to pack dynamics. Unlike then, it made you near feral. There's nothing more they want than to build you back up.

Lestappen X Reader

Series masterlist

Charles wasn't jealous the first time you spoke to Max. But he had been waiting patiently for his turn. You were expressive, more now that you didn't have a muzzle. Watching you grow, come out of your shell, had been amazing. You were smiling at your fellow drivers, making an effort. 

All Charles wanted from you after that was to speak. He wasn't going to push you. That was the absolute last thing he wanted. He could picture it now, pushing you too far and having you retreat into yourself. 

Inviting you to Monaco wasn't about getting you to speak. It had been a bad race, and you needed this. At least, he thought you did. You had been having fun on the jet, giggling against Max's side as he got a little drunk. 

That was why Charles had driven the three of you back to their building. Dropping your handler off at some random hotel in Monaco (Charles was paying for the room) was the absolute highlight of his day. 

You willingly went wherever they took you. Trust Max and Charles had earned. As soon as you followed Charles inside, your eyes were wide with wonder as you took everything in. You missed the way he pulled Max close for the first time in days and kissed him, licking the taste of his early morning Red Bull from his lips. Disgusting stuff, but Charles would happily taste it from Max. 

When he started playing the piano, you began to dance. Charles watched your outline in the reflection of the polished wood. It was as if you didn't even know you were doing it, swaying gently. He couldn't see the way your eyes were beginning to fall shut, letting the music take hold. 

But then Max shouted. "Shut up, Charlie!" 

And Charles obeyed, stopping his playing. You stopped too, the look of disappointment on your features not going unnoticed. Charles didn't expect you to surge forward, though. He didn't expect you to join him by the piano, looking ready to play. 

"I liked it." 

Three little words. The three sweetest words Charles had ever heard. 

You wanted him to play more, so he did. His fingers began dancing across the keys, a tune filling his Monaco apartment. 

You stood from the bench and let yourself dance. No small movements, doing whatever your body told you. You moved to the music, enjoying every moment of it.

Leaving his crushed can of red bull on the counter, Max strode towards you. He took your hand, interrupting your dancing, and moved you around. He spun you and twirled you and everything else, moving with you. 

You were far more elegant than her, your every movement natural compared to his. This was what you were meant to he doing, Charles realised. 

He played until you stopped dancing, until you sat down, chest rising and falling and your arm resting on your stomach. Max's smile was wide as he sat beside you, arm around the back of the sofa. "Happy?" He asked a little breathlessly. 

You nodded, unable to stop yourself from moving closer. That was so much fun, and you didn't know how to express it. Wrapping your arms around him, you laid your head on his chest and looked up into his pretty eyes.

Why couldn't a team have three drivers? You, Max and Charles in the same garage, spending free moments before racing together. Or Max and Charles on the same team while you watched the both of them. Yeah, that felt right. Not part of the action, but able to watch it. 

Who would you be, though? You wouldn't be a driver, you'd be something else entirely. You weren't sure what, but you would be happy. 

Charles watched the two of you. You wrapped your arms around his neck, content to just sit there. You didn't steal a kiss, didn't do anything but lay against him. 

A groan left Max's lips as he looked towards the clock. "I should head to my place," he muttered, sounding as if he didn't really want to leave. 

You whined, your hands slipping down to his chest. You held his shirt, looking moments away from climbing into his lap. "Sorry, Birdy," he whispered and pouted at you. "But I gotta get on stream." But then he smiled and you realised he was mocking you. He wasn't being nasty, you knew immediately. 

Charles stood up. He walked across the room and laid his warm hand on your shoulder. "Come on, Birdy Girl," he said and pulled you to his feet. "We can walk him to the door." 

You trudged through the apartment, following Max and Charles to the door. He didn't have to come here, you reminded yourself. He did this to spend time with you and Charles. 

"Should we take our girl out tomorrow?" Charles asked as he stood behind you, both hands on your shoulders. 

They both looked down at you, as if waiting for you to say something. You didn't have to, you knew. This whole talking thing would take some getting used to. 

Finally, Charles looked away from you. He released a hum and Max met his gaze. 

For a moment, they stared at each other. Could they take it any further with you between them. There was no telling how you would react, pressed between them while...

But what if your reaction wasn't bad? What if you liked it?

Charles made the first move. He leaned over you and pressed a kiss to Max's lips. It was short and sweet and gentle, but whine was still pulled from your lips. 

Max grinned as he looked down at you. "You want some, Birdy?" He asked. 

Swallowing, you nodded. 

That was the first time you kissed Max Verstappen. He moved slowly, almost as if you were a spooked animal. His blue eyes searched your face, looking for any reason to stop. But your eyes were pleading, desperate.

His hands cradled your face, held your cheeks. You didn't bite him, didn't make any move like you felt threatened. He leaned in and you held your breath. 

Close enough to touch, but still holding back. "You ready, Birdy?" He whispered and you nodded. 

He kissed you, pressed his freckled lips against your own. A squeak left your lips, entire body tensing. You didn't know what to do, how to move with him. But Max was slow and gentle, every movement encouraging you. 

When you finally kissed back, his whole world lit up. 

He pulled away and you chased after him, already missing the feeling of his lips against your own. "Good Birdy," he whispered and let go of you. 

Your first kiss and it was with Max Verstappen.

You whimpered at the loss of contact, but Charles pulled you into his side. "Don't worry, Birdy Girl," he whispered and kissed the top of your head. "We'll see him tomorrow." 

Max picked up his bags. He started towards the door, leaving the two of you behind. 

"No!" 

You ran forward and wrapped your arms around him. "You can't go," you whispered, pressing your forehead against his back. You squeezed your arms around him, Max's fingers resting over yours. 

A sigh left Charles's lips. He wasn't annoyed, not in the slightest. You were damn adorable, with no control over your emotions. Too sweet for your own good. 

"Would you like to stay the night, Max?”

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heyyy so the taglist is full - if i could tag everybody that wanted to be tagged, i would but tumnlr says no

[requiemforthepoets]

thank you.

My friends, my besties, thank you so much everything!! We finally reached 1k followers!! 🥺

I never would have thought that I would reach this milestone this year. I only started writing last July 2024 as an escape from a very stressful and hectic life, and I never would’ve imagined that you guys would come to appreciate it. All of your comments, reblogs, and asks are very deeply appreciated, I considered it as a feedback—it truly makes my whole entire day whenever you leave comments on my works. Thank you for giving me a platform/space where I can freely express myself.

I’m sorry if it sometimes takes me too long to post a new fic or update my series; it’s because I really want to take my time, and as much as possible I wanted to feel inspired (so I can give my all into it 😁). I don’t want you to read any of my works that is half-hearted or rushed. I want my work to be as good and enjoyable as possible. If it takes me too long to finish a request, it’s often because I get very busy and occasionally forget about the pending requests that I have.

To my very wonderful bestie, @eloriis. Thank you for your support and vote of confidence!! Without you, I wouldn’t really have the confidence to post my works 🥺❤️ I also hope that I get to make new friends this year and that I’ll continue making good fics!!

Okay, I need to stop yapping now, I don’t want to make this very long. But again, I love you guys so much and THANK YOU!!

+++ guess I’ll have to make that part 2 of ‘the story we won’t tell is my greatest fantasy’ as a gift for you guys 🤔😂 (WE’LL SEE!!! ><)

Love,

Alexandra ❤️

[ham1lton]

X MARKS THE SPOT!

pairings: retired f1 drivers x retired f1 legend!yn.

faceclaim: jessica alba.

summary: being the first-ever female f1 world champion was hard enough. writing a tell-all about it, including all the details of your beef with that former driver? let’s just say the track wasn’t the only place things got heated.

warnings: mentions of misogyny. like a lot. so if that is something that makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read!! your comfort comes first <3

author’s note: ignore timeline issues!! this was all inspired by that one anon who said something about yn writing a tell-all. if you liked this, maybe send me an ask? :D

now part of a trilogy!

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by vogue, jimmyfallon and 2,837,018 others

yourinstagram: it was so fun talking to jimmyfallon about writing my memoir ‘lucky girl syndrome’! i talked about getting the call that i was being signed, getting name dropped in a kdot song (thank you for making me cool to my nephews!) and the legacy i want to leave behind. check it out!!!

view all 298,727 comments

user1: MOTHERRR

user2: omg i’ve already pre-ordered my copy!!

-> user3: i’ve reserved it at my local library 🫡

user4: i hope she spills all the tea. i wanna know exactly who the misogynist motherfuckers are.

user5: she’s the goat female driver idc!! first female championship winner!!

-> user9: during her time in mclaren, jenson was carrying her. but yeah let’s talk about that one rigged championship 😂

user6: she still looks so hot. my first celeb crush.

-> user7: i had pictures of her all over my wall. i think my mom still has them up 😓

user8: worst driver of all time. only there because she looked good in the race suit.

-> user11: if she wasn’t hot, no one would care about her driving.

user10: this was always going to happen when you allowed women into f1. ruined the sport. she was nothing but a distraction on the grid.

-> user12: she was incredible. she clawed her way to a championship when everyone doubted her. she proved that women can do anything. the only distraction are people like you.

user13: please please please tell me she says that her and jenson were a thing. i always used to ship them so bad. the photoshoot for british vogue was imprinted on my thirteen year old brain.

-> user14: ANOTHER JENSONYN SHIPPER!!! baitclaren was my fav mclaren era. y’all can have your twinkclaren!!

-> user15: remember when jenson shut down a misogynistic reporter who tried to imply that yn wasn’t a good driver?? that was his girl frfr!!

user16: i’m so proud of u yn. you’ve been through so much and i’m excited to support you.

*liked by yourinstagram.*

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

“SHE’S NOT THAT FAST — SHE JUST GETS LUCKY SOMETIMES. THAT’S ALL IT IS. RIGHT CAR — RIGHT TIME. LUCKY GIRL SYNDROME.” — a senior mclaren engineer.

dedicated to everyone who ever rooted for me. thank you.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

EXCERPT FROM LUCKY GIRL SYNDROME.

by yn yln.

when i signed with mclaren in 2013, i thought i was living my dream.

i was the only female driver on the grid, paired with jenson button—a world champion, a household name, and, to some, a certified heartthrob. they already loved calling him “promiscuous” in the press, and suddenly there i was: the pretty young woman who happened to drive fast. to them, we weren’t drivers—we were a brand. two good-looking people in shiny cars. and that label stuck.

from the start, i wasn’t taken seriously. i’d show up to meetings and realize they’d given me the wrong time—jenson would already be there, halfway through strategising with the team. he always looked uncomfortable when i walked in late, knowing i wasn’t told the same things he was.

“you’re here now,” he’d say, smiling politely, trying to ease the tension. i liked him. he wasn’t the problem. he was respectful, and if anyone made an offhand comment about me, he’d interject with a joke to cut through the awkwardness. but even his kindness couldn’t fix what was fundamentally wrong.

my first podium was a moment i’d worked my entire life for. it was a race where i drove faster than jenson, faster than most of the grid. but the photo they posted of me on the team’s social media wasn’t of me crossing the finish line, or holding my trophy.

it was me in the garage, leaning over the car, my race suit unzipped halfway down. the caption didn’t even mention the podium. it was just… my body. i couldn’t stomach looking through the comments.

i’ll never forget calling my dad that night. he was furious. he asked me why i didn’t make a fuss. why i didn’t storm into the team’s office and demand better treatment. but what he didn’t understand was that it wasn’t that simple. you’re the only woman in a room full of men, and they’re already waiting for you to slip up. waiting for you to show too much emotion, to prove them right when they think women are too “dramatic” to handle the job.

so i kept my head down. i smiled at the cameras, laughed at the jokes, and drove my ass off every weekend. and every time i was faster than jenson, every time i outqualified him or finished ahead, they’d say, “she got lucky.” when he beat me, they’d say, “see? this is why she doesn’t belong here.” it was a game i couldn’t win.

being the first woman on the grid wasn’t just about being fast. it was about being everything they didn’t expect me to be: calm, collected, agreeable. i couldn’t afford to push back because i knew they’d use it against me. so i swallowed it all, every little slight, every dismissive comment, every missed opportunity. i thought if i just kept my head down and drove, eventually, i’d earn their respect.

but now, looking back, i realize… they were never going to respect me. not really. not as a driver. they respected what i did for their brand, for their image. they respected how well i played the part. but as a person, as an athlete? i was just another pretty face to them. nothing more. and that’s what hurt the most.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

r/books

Discussion Thread:

“Lucky Girl Syndrome” by YN YLN: Thoughts, Reactions, and the Drama It’s Stirred Up.

──────────────────────

u/checkeredpast: just finished lucky girl syndrome, and WOW. she did not hold back. calling out mclaren for the way they treated her, the “wrong meeting times” sabotage, and the completely inappropriate podium photo… i can’t believe this stuff actually happened.

u/fastlaneandfurious: the part where she talks about the team using her as a “walking brand strategy” instead of a driver broke my heart. like, they wanted her to be the face of the team but refused to actually treat her like a serious athlete.

u/f1fanfiction: let’s talk about the fact that she outsold literally every sports memoir in history. 2 million copies sold in the first week. yn doesn’t just break records on the track, apparently.

u/nosteeringallowed: her calling out the media for labeling her as “lucky” after she beat half the grid is ICONIC. “they didn’t call my male teammates lucky—they called them skilled.” like, yes queen, drag them.

u/ynsthegoat: what got me was the chapter about the infamous team dinner where they wouldn’t even let her speak during strategy talk. then she went out and out-qualified jenson the next day.

u/overqualifiedandundervalued: “they said i was lucky, but luck doesn’t drive faster laps or win races. luck didn’t make me the first woman to win a championship—it was skill, it was hard work, and it was me.” CHILLS. absolute chills.

u/gridgossip: is no one going to talk about the tea she spilled on that one driver? the “polite but condescending” comments she got from him while he constantly undermined her. we KNOW it’s about seb.

u/wheresthefinishline: @ u/gridgossip no no no, it’s def about fernando. she’s been shady about him for years, and the way she described the “overly competitive teammate who couldn’t handle being outpaced by a woman” fits him perfectly.

u/holygrailpodium: the inappropriate photo after her first podium makes me so mad every time. she’s standing there in tears, holding the trophy, and they choose to post a picture of her leaning over the car with her suit half-open?? disgusting.

u/gaslitandgridlocked: her dad being her biggest defender was such a beautiful part of the book, though. “why do you stay quiet when you’re the fastest in the room?” hit me right in the heart.

u/podiumqueen: not me crying over how she kept driving through all of this, knowing they didn’t want her there. like, the strength it must’ve taken to win races when her own team wasn’t even rooting for her.

u/championshipenergy: the way she calls out how different her career would’ve been if she were a man was SO POWERFUL. “they didn’t need me to be fast, they needed me to be pretty. they got both, and they still weren’t satisfied.”

u/mimosasontherace: i can’t stop thinking about the last chapter where she talks about winning her first championship and how no one in her team even hugged her when the cameras switched off. like, they couldn’t even fake happiness for her.

u/driversanddivas: this book isn’t just a memoir; it’s a reckoning. yn exposed everyone who doubted her and proved that no matter what they threw at her, she came out on top. lucky girl syndrome my ass—she EARNED that title.

u/lightsoutandread: imagine being on the grid right now, knowing you were one of the people she called out. the absolute awkwardness.

u/trophiesandtrauma: if you’re on the fence about reading this, DO IT. it’s not just about racing—it’s about breaking barriers, sexism, and resilience. honestly, it deserves all the success it’s getting.

u/checkeredpast: she’s already announced a limited series deal with a streaming platform. you KNOW it’s going to be messy when they dramatize the “wrong meeting times” scene.

u/bookishracer: “lucky girl syndrome” is officially my book of the year. yn didn’t just tell her story; she made sure no one could ever erase it again.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by f1stan, ynstan and 1,837,928 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: f1 legend and now best selling author, yn yln, took to harper’s bazaar to discuss writing and her career. however, her memoir went viral for more than its record breaking sales. yln mentioned that there was a certain driver that would be her biggest fan in public and then undermine her in public. it has been dubbed ‘x marks the spot’, with the hashtag gaining major traction on social media. what do you think ham1ltons? and who do you think the supposed driver could be?

──────────────────────

‘there was one driver who always seemed to go out of his way to remind me i didn’t belong. he wasn’t on my team, but his presence always lingered—sharp, dismissive, condescending. let’s call him x. in interviews, he’d say all the right things, calling me a “trailblazer” and claiming he respected what i brought to the sport. but in the paddock, it was another story. during press conferences, he’d interrupt me, throwing in some smug joke that made everyone laugh but left me feeling small. once, during a rain delay, he walked past my garage and casually remarked to my engineer, loud enough for me to hear, “well, at least she’ll look good sliding off the track.” and when i won my first race, beating him in the process, he didn’t say a word. no handshake, no congratulations—just a quick glance and he was gone. i’ll never know why he went out of his way to belittle me, but in the end, i didn’t care. that win wasn’t for him. it was for me.’

──────────────────────

view all 23,727 comments

user1: it’s definitely fernando. they’ve never liked each other, and he’s always been salty when anyone’s faster than him.

-> user2: nah, it can’t be fernando. he’s competitive, but he’s never outright disrespectful. i’m thinking nico.

-> user1: girl that’s the point 😭 x was never openly disrespectful.

user3: okay but what about lewis? we KNOW their relationship wasn’t always great. remember how tense they were in interviews back then?

-> user4: no way it’s lewis. he’s literally said she’s one of the most talented drivers he’s raced against.

-> user5: lewis can say nice things now, but what if he wasn’t like that back then? she didn’t say the guy stayed disrespectful. she also said x was nice in public, who knew what he was saying in private.

user6: everyone’s ignoring seb, but she’s shaded him before. what if it’s him?

-> user7: yn has ALWAYS defended seb. if anything, he was one of the few drivers who actually supported her. it’s not him.

user8: it has to be fernando. the whole paragraph is giving fernando energy, and you know it.

-> user9: nah, i still think it’s nico. remember when he threw shade at her in a press conference after she outqualified him?

user10: you’re all wrong. it’s michael. she’s talked about how intimidating he was to race against, and she never got along with him.

-> user11: yn literally called michael one of her idols. she’d never write about him like that.

user12: y’all are missing the obvious answer—kimi. he’s the only one who would say something that blunt and not care about the fallout.

-> user13: kimi didn’t even talk to her half the time lol. i can’t see him caring enough to belittle her.

user14: okay, what if it’s no one we’re expecting? maybe it’s some random mid-grid guy like grosjean or massa.

-> user15: yn wouldn’t waste a whole chapter on someone irrelevant. it has to be one of the big names. my money’s on fernando or nico.

-> user1: fernando for sure. yn’s always been lowkey bitter about him, and this just proves it.

-> user2: it’s not fernando!! why can’t you just accept that some drivers are cocky without it being him??

-> user3: okay but if it’s not fernando, who else would it be?? the smug comments SCREAM his vibe.

user5: we’re all arguing, but yn’s probably laughing at us right now. she KNEW we’d be doing this.

user16: yn ‘attention whore’ yln.

user17: at least we know it wasn’t my king jb 😻

user18: idk who tf yn is but this tea is so juicy 😭

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

[setting: thanksgiving dinner, complete chaos. plates of food are half-eaten, wine glasses are full, and cousin jess is recording everything on tiktok. the family is deep into an argument about “x marks the spot,” using jess’s infamous powerpoint as reference.]

uncle bob: jess, i still don’t get why you made a whole powerpoint about this.

cousin jess: because the people need to know, uncle bob. yn’s memoir is the drama of the decade, and you’re welcome for organizing all the evidence.

aunt carol: honestly, it’s that fernando. slide four proves it. all the press conferences where he interrupted her? it’s right there.

aunt fiona: fernando wasn’t that bad. he even congratulated her in, like, 2017. i think it’s nico. slide eight, jess literally wrote “petty king energy” under his name.

uncle hamish: it’s not nico. you’re all overthinking this. i say it’s jenson. didn’t he once call her “intense” in an interview?

cousin matt: jenson literally defended her against the media every other week, hamish. you clearly didn’t listen to slide six.

grandpa: i still don’t understand why this yn person didn’t just punch the guy.

grandma: because she has class, unlike this family. pass the stuffing.

aunt bobbi: wait, what about lewis? slide ten said they were “friendly but complicated.” maybe he was fake-nice to her.

uncle craig: fake-nice? lewis was the only one who liked her, bobbi. slide nine has like five examples of him hyping her up in interviews.

cousin jess: uncle craig, you’re wrong. he was supportive, but there’s that one time he ignored her after she beat him in qualifying. it’s suspicious.

aunt carol: you think it’s suspicious? no way. lewis isn’t smug enough to be x.

uncle hamish: oh please, you’re all just picking names because they sound dramatic. if anything, it was sebastian.

aunt fiona: seb? absolutely not. slide seven shows he called her “one of the best drivers on the grid” multiple times.

uncle bob: that’s suspicious. who compliments people that much unless they’re guilty?

grandma: compliments aren’t guilt, bob. stop eating the cranberry sauce straight from the bowl and get a grip.

aunt carol: you’re all wrong. slide four, people! fernando cutting her off mid-sentence! the man’s guilty as sin.

grandpa: why does anyone care about this? it’s all rich people in fancy cars. sounds like nonsense.

cousin matt: rich people drama is the best kind of drama, grandpa.

aunt bobbi: jess, why is kimi’s slide just a picture of him smoking with “#needthat” written under it?

cousin jess: because kimi’s innocent. everyone knows he doesn’t care about anything but being my dream man.

uncle craig: so why isn’t yn on the slide about drivers who were universally liked?

cousin jess: because she wasn’t universally liked, uncle craig. she was fast, hot, and female in a male-dominated sport. they were all salty.

uncle bob: well, now they’re all posting about how much they respect her.

grandma: of course they are. it’s called covering their asses.

uncle hamish: if i were yn, i’d name names. all this mystery is just fueling conspiracy theories.

grandpa: or she could just leave it alone so we don’t have to argue about it at thanksgiving. what the hell even is f1? is that nascar?

uncle craig: formula 1, dad. jesus, keep up.

grandma (snapping): if someone doesn’t pass me the cranberry sauce right now, i’m gonna be the next x.

[jess pans the camera to her grandma glaring at the table, muttering under her breath as the family keeps arguing.]

cousin jess (whispering into her phone): y’all, my family is losing it over x marks the spot. happy thanksgiving.

────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

liked by landopriv, ynupdates and 4,738,918 others.

ham1ltonshaderoom: an update on the ‘x marks the spot’ speculation. it started over who exactly is x, from f1 legend yn yln’s memoir and it is causing a stir! with former/current drivers taking to social media and journalists to prove their innocence. kimi räikkönen, when asked, said ‘yn deserved every win she got. people talked too much, but she let her driving do all the talking. always respected that about her.’

mick schumacher released a statement via instagram, with a montage of photos of him and his dad with the first female championship winner: ‘my dad always believed yn was one of the most talented drivers he’d ever seen. he admired her strength, her skill, and her ability to prove everyone wrong, time and time again. he spoke so highly of her and what she brought to the sport, and i know he’d be so proud to see her telling her story.’ when sebastian vettel made a rare appearance to the grid, he confirmed that he had bought a copy and thought that he was proud to watch yn ‘make history’.

now the sudden flurry of support is making fans of the sport wonder just who is genuine and who is covering his ass? what do you think ham1ltons?

view all 2,983 comments

user1: the way literally everyone is tripping over themselves to prove it’s not them is SO funny. one of you is lying, and we will figure it out.

-> user20: exactly!! the fact that EVERYONE is suddenly posting/talking feels so suspicious lmao. someone’s definitely guilty, and they’re trying to throw us off the scent.

user2: kimi’s response is so him. short, straight, and unbothered. it’s definitely not him.

-> user22: we’re all analysing this, but kimi’s out here just vibing like always. love that man.

user3: mick’s statement is beautiful and wholesome as always, but also low-key throwing shade at the others?? like, ‘my dad always supported her’ is giving ‘can’t say the same for you lot.’

-> user21: honestly, mick’s post is the only one that feels 100% genuine. his dad was always so supportive of yn.

user4: seb really said ‘i bought the book’ and dipped. man didn’t even deny anything outright. sus??

-> user5: nah, seb’s always been a yn fanboy. remember when he called her ‘the most talented driver on the grid’? it’s not him.

user6: the lewis and nico posts are giving major ‘damage control’ energy. both of them trying WAY too hard to sound supportive.

-> user7: facts. lewis called her a ‘trailblazer’ like we wouldn’t notice how cold things were between them back in the day.

-> user17: tbh, i don’t think it’s lewis. yn has said before that he was always encouraging her, and they’ve stayed friendly.

user8: fernando’s post feels so rehearsed. like, when has he ever gushed over yn like that before??

user9: low-key think it’s nico. man was so salty about literally everything back then, and the ‘petty king’ vibes match the memoir perfectly.

-> user10: yesss, especially the part where she said he didn’t congratulate her after her first win. sounds EXACTLY like something nico would do.

user11: not enough people are talking about jenson. just because he was her teammate doesn’t mean he’s innocent. the whole ‘answer my texts’ thing was cute, but he’s a smooth talker.

-> user12: nah, yn always spoke highly of jenson. he had her back when mclaren was treating her like a sex toy. i’m ruling him out.

user13: so we’re all just ignoring that fernando spent YEARS shading her in press conferences? india ‘13 is permanently engraved in my brain.

-> user18: can’t lie, if it’s fernando, i’ll be disappointed but not surprised. his 2013 energy was… a lot.

user14: honestly, they’re all acting sketchy. the sudden love bomb of support is too much. one of you is x and we will find out.

user15: plot twist: what if x isn’t even one of the obvious names? imagine it’s someone random like felipe massa lmao.

-> user16: watch it not even be one of the main suspects and we’ve been dragging the wrong guy this whole time 💀

user18: it’s giving ‘we need to get ahead of the narrative’ vibes, and i’m here for the chaos.

-> user19: everyone’s pr team is in OVERDRIVE rn lmfaoooo

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────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────

— all works taglist: @luvsforme @yelenasloverrrrr @donttouchthegnote @chelle1306 @bloodyymaryy @km-23mr @stinkyjax @f1kenzzz @ctrlyomomma @aliciaablueprint @theblueblub @namgification @tallrock35 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @lifeless-firefly @xylinasdiary @evie-119 @itseightbeats @landososcar @yongi-lee @velentine @m1892 @blushmimi @evans-dejong @nixisracing @lethalvenus @sainzluvrr @santanasaintmendes @idontknowlmaoo @sainzluvrr @tetetoni @ssprayberrythings @heavy-vettel @tashisgf @daniskywalkersolo @c-losur3 @lestappenslover @linoscrly (see yourself tagged when you don’t wanna be? or you want to be and don’t see yourself? send me an ask!)

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[bestalbertcamuslover]

Bad at Remembering Dates

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✯ pairing:  Jenson Button x Wife!Reader ✯

✯ content warnings: none✯

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The computer cast a faint light over her face as she kept working, even though it was past midnight. She had a major project going on at work, and since some unexpected complications had arisen, she had to sacrifice some of her sleep to meet the deadline.

“Love, you’re still awake?” Jenson murmured, sleepy, as he approached the living room. He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips despite the concern in his eyes. “You said you’d be in bed an hour ago,” he reminded her softly. “I told you I’d give you some time, but here we are.”

She sighed, her fingers pausing on the keyboard. “I know, I know. I just got caught up again. This is crunch time.”

He pushed off the doorframe and walked toward her, his footsteps silent on the carpeted floor. “Love, I get it. I know this project’s important, and I know you’re doing everything you can to make it perfect. But you promised you’d rest, and it’s past midnight.” His voice held no anger, just gentle insistence.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, though the bags under her eyes and the sluggishness in her movements betrayed her words.

Jenson crouched beside her chair, his eyes level with hers now. He reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, his hand lingering on her cheek. “You’re not fine. You’re running on fumes, and I don’t want you burning yourself out over this.” His thumb brushed lightly across her skin. “Please, just come to bed. The project will still be here in the morning.”

“Just thirty more minutes?” she tried, offering him a small, hopeful smile.

He shook his head with a soft laugh. “Not this time. Come on.” Standing up, he extended a hand to her, his expression expectant but kind. “I’ll make you tea in the morning if that helps seal the deal.”

Her lips twitched in a reluctant smile. “Fine, you win,” she said, sliding her hand into his. As he pulled her up, she felt a warmth in her chest—a sense that he always had her back, even when she pushed herself too hard.

He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her toward their bedroom. “You’re amazing, you know that?” he murmured as they walked. “But even superheroes need sleep.”

She laughed softly, leaning into his side. “Thanks for looking out for me.”

“Always,” he replied, pressing a kiss to her temple.

She was deeply caught up in this project; she had even started counting time based on how many days remained until the deadline. Of course, that wasn’t the best way to keep track—especially since she was terrible at remembering dates.

It was January 19th, but for her, it was thirteen days until the project deadline. She had woken up very early to get some things ready before work. She left while Jenson was still sleeping. Lucky him, she thought.

Another hectic day at work went by—endless typing, too many meetings and discussions—but she definitely loved her job. She worked extra hours, as most of her coworkers did, with the deadline looming and the office buzzing with activity. The drive back home was routine: some traffic—not just on the roads, but in her mind as well—as she kept searching for solutions to the problems that had arisen as the project progressed.

The front door clicked softly as she pushed it open, stepping inside with a quiet sigh. She was finally home. The house smelled faintly of fresh coffee, though the mug she’d left on the kitchen counter earlier was long gone. Jenson was sitting on the couch in the living room, a comfortable and familiar sight—one of the few things that had remained steady in her frantic days.

He looked up as the door closed behind her, his eyes lighting up with a warm smile despite his obvious fatigue.

“Hey, love. Long day?” Jenson’s voice had a playful edge, as if he was amused by the way she had been running on fumes lately.

“Can’t even describe it,” she murmured, leaning against the door for a moment as she closed her eyes, savoring the calm of being home. “Another twelve-hour grind. But I’m almost there,” she added with a tired smile, still carrying the weight of her project. “Thirteen days until the deadline, so… I guess I’m just counting down the hours now.”

Jenson chuckled lightly, his gaze softening as he watched her. “I know you’re all in on this project, but you promised you’d come to bed early tonight, remember?”

She nodded, her eyes darting briefly to the clock on the wall. “I know, I know,” she sighed. “But there’s so much to do. I—”

“Shh,” he said, patting the seat next to him on the couch. “Come here. Just for a minute. Relax.”

She reluctantly took off her shoes and walked over, slumping down beside him. As she sank into the couch, he casually leaned over and kissed the top of her head. “You deserve a break,” he said softly, yet there was mischief in his voice for a reason she had not realized yet.

The exhaustion weighed down on her, but she felt a comfort as she leaned on him. The hum of the TV in the background was oddly soothing, even though she could hardly focus on it. She just wanted to close her eyes for a moment and let everything go.

After a few minutes, Jenson stretched and pulled out his phone from his pocket. He glanced at the screen, and without a word, he set it down on the coffee table.

“Your phone buzzing again?” she murmured.

“Yeah, I got a message from the guys about dinner tomorrow,” he lied, grinning slightly, since it was another “happy birthday” message. 

She nodded absentmindedly, but as she reached for her phone to check a work email, a message from the restaurant popped up on her screen.

“Reminder: Your reservation for dinner is tonight, January 19th, at 8:00 PM. We’re looking forward to hosting you!”

Her heart skipped a beat as she stared at the message, her mind slowly connecting the dots. She froze for a moment, the realization hitting her like a wave. January 19th... Jenson’s birthday.

She turned to look at him, panic starting to bubble up. “Wait. Jenson... is it really?” Her voice trailed off as the realization sank in. The reservation! The dinner!

Jenson grinned, clearly aware of what was happening. “You just remembered, didn’t you?”

Her eyes widened, mortified. “I—I’m the worst! I didn’t even wish you a happy birthday this morning. And here I am, all caught up in my project, completely forgetting about—”

He interrupted her with a soft laugh, his hand finding hers and squeezing gently. “It’s okay. I knew it was coming,” he teased. “You’ve been counting down the days until that project’s deadline, so I figured my birthday didn’t stand a chance in your mind.”

“But I had that reservation! I made it months ago, and I forgot!” she exclaimed, feeling the guilt rise. “How could I forget? I must be the worst wife ever.”

Jenson leaned in, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face, his expression affectionate. “Love, I’m not upset. You’ve been buried in work, and I know how important this project is to you. But you did remember—right at the perfect time.”

She gave him a sheepish smile, still feeling the weight of the forgotten date. “You’re too understanding. Seriously, I feel terrible.”

“It’s fine, love,” he said, sitting up and glancing at the clock. “It’s still my birthday. And we can still make it to that dinner.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “You’re serious?”

“Of course,” he said, giving her an affectionate nudge. “Go change, and we’ll make it.”

Her guilt eased as she stood, grateful for his patience. “Okay, okay. I’ll make it up to you tonight, I promise.”

Jenson grinned. “I’m sure you will. Now hurry up before we’re late.”

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✯ authors note: English is not my first language and I hope you liked it <3