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F1 GRID | finding out you're pregnant
୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis : finding out you're pregnant with their baby even after agreeing on waiting a little bit before starting a family of your own.
୨ৎ : genre : romance & angst ୨ৎ : tws : arguing, pregnancy, mentions of abortion ୨ৎ : word count : 2786
୨ masterlist ৎ
ᡣ𐭩 a/n : got this idea from watching s2 of squid games, won't explain why, no spoilers here honeyyy
ʚ・max verstappen
max’s eyes widened as the words hit him, his gaze flicking to the pregnancy test in your hands. for a moment, he looked genuinely frozen—like you’d just told him red bull had switched to making bicycles instead of cars.
“we… agreed to wait,” he said slowly, blinking at you as if the sheer force of logic could undo the situation. he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.
“max,” you said gently, biting back a laugh despite your nerves.
he stopped pacing, turning back to you with a raised eyebrow. “you’re sure it’s mine?” he deadpanned, though the smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him.
you smacked his arm lightly. “not funny.”
he cracked a small, dry laugh, stepping closer and taking the test from your hand to set it aside. “okay, okay. it’s not what we planned, but…” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “i guess this is what i get for not reading the fine print in life.”
his hand found your waist, his expression softening as he pulled you closer. “look, it’s… unexpected. but it’s not the end of the world. just the end of uninterrupted sleep for the next few years, right?”
you couldn’t help but giggle as he placed a hand on your stomach, his confidence and dry humor kicking back in. “guess i’ll have to start winning every race now. baby formula might run through all my checks.”
despite his jokes, his eyes shone with something deeper—love, determination, and just the right amount of "what the hell do we do now?" but that was max: grounded, honest, and ready to figure out a solution to every challenge that was about to come flying at the two of you.
ʚ・lewis hamilton
lewis’s face fell the moment the words left your mouth. his brows knit together, and he blinked rapidly, like he was trying to process a race-ending penalty that came out of nowhere.
“you’re… pregnant?” his voice was soft, barely above a whisper, as if saying it too loudly might make it even more real.
you nodded, suddenly feeling unsure. “i know we talked about waiting a few more years, and i understand if you’re not ready. we don’t have to—”
“no,” he interrupted, his voice firm but his eyes wide. “no, don’t… don’t say that.” he stepped closer, his hand reaching for yours instinctively. “don’t even think about that. i want this baby.”
“but, lewis,” you started, “this isn’t what we planned. you’re so busy with your career, and i don’t want to—”
“i know,” he cut you off again, his voice cracking just slightly. he let out a shaky breath and rubbed the back of his neck, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a mix of worry and determination. “i didn’t expect this, yeah, but… that doesn’t mean i don’t want it. i do. i really do.”
his hand slid to your waist, pulling you gently closer. “i mean, yeah, i’m terrified. what if i mess this up? what if i’m not good enough at… being a dad?” he chuckled nervously, shaking his head at himself. “i’ve driven a car at 200 miles per hour, but this? this is scarier.”
you reached up to cup his face, your touch grounding him. “you’re not going to mess this up, lewis.”
he sighed, leaning into your touch. “i just… i want to do this right. for you. for us. for the baby.” his hand drifted hesitantly to your stomach, resting there as his lips curved into a small, uncertain smile. “i guess i’ll have to trade in some podiums for bedtime stories.”
the stress was still there, lingering in his furrowed brow and the way his jaw clenched, but beneath it, you saw something else—a flicker of hope and excitement. lewis was many things, but when it came to the people he loved, he never backed down. and in that moment, you knew he’d do whatever it took to be the best father he could be.
ʚ・george russell
george froze, his blue eyes locking onto yours, disbelief etched across his face. “you’re… pregnant?” he asked, his voice tight.
you nodded, your heart pounding. “i just found out. i—”
“what do you want to do?” he cut in, his tone sharper than you expected.
“what?”
“i’m asking if you want to keep it,” he said, running a hand through his hair, pacing the room with a mix of panic and frustration. “because it’s your choice, and i’ll support you, but i need to know where your head is.”
his words stung, and you stood up straighter. “do you think i’ve figured it all out already, george? i’m just as blindsided as you are!”
“i’m not accusing you of anything,” he shot back, his voice rising. “i’m just trying to get us on the same page. this wasn’t part of the plan, and now everything’s—” he stopped mid-sentence, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath.
you watched him, your own anger fading as his shoulders slumped. “i don’t know what i want yet,” you admitted softly. “but i’m scared.”
his eyes opened, the frustration melting into something gentler. “i’m scared too,” he admitted, stepping closer. “but if you want this baby, we’ll figure it out. together.”
his hands found yours, his grip firm but comforting. “i’ll support whatever you decide. but… if you’re asking me? i want this. i want us. even if it’s messy and terrifying.”
tears pricked your eyes as he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. “we’ll make it work,” he whispered, his voice steadier now. “and maybe… maybe this wasn’t part of the plan, but that doesn’t mean it can’t be the best thing to ever happen to us.”
for the first time since you found out, you felt a glimmer of hope—and in george’s arms, you knew you wouldn’t face this alone.
ʚ・carlos sainz
carlos’s face went pale the moment you told him, his wide brown eyes staring at you like you’d just dropped the most shocking news of his life. he opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly struggling to find the words.
finally, he let out a string of rapid-fire spanish, his hands flying around as he started pacing. “¿estás segura? ¿cómo pasó esto? dios mío, esto no estaba en los planes.” (are you sure? how did this happen? my god, this wasn’t in the plans.)
you couldn’t help but bite back a laugh, despite your own nerves. “carlos, calm down.”
“calmarme? ¿cómo quieres que me calme?” (calm down? how do you expect me to calm down?) he exclaimed, throwing his hands up dramatically. “this is huge, my love, this is a baby."
“yes, it’s a baby,” you said gently, grabbing his arm to stop his pacing. “and i need to know how you feel about it.”
he froze, staring at you for a moment before his expression softened. “how i feel?” he repeated, his voice quieter now. he took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he processed everything.
then, slowly, a smile started to spread across his face. “a baby,” he said again, but this time it sounded different—softer, filled with awe. “we’re going to have a baby."
“yes,” you whispered, watching as his entire demeanor shifted.
his smile turned into a grin, and he pulled you into his arms, lifting you off the ground as he let out a laugh of pure joy. “amor, i’m going to be a dad!"
when he finally set you down, his hands immediately went to your stomach, his eyes sparkling. “i can’t believe it,” he said, his voice filled with excitement. “this wasn’t in the plans, no, but… this is amazing. you’re amazing.”
you laughed as he pressed a kiss to your forehead, still grinning like he’d just won a race. “i promise, i’ll do everything. i’ll be the best dad. and you—” he looked at you like you’d hung the moon. “you’ll be the most incredible mamá.”
all his earlier panic was gone, replaced by uncontainable happiness. carlos was over the moon, and in that moment, you knew this baby would be so loved.
ʚ・charles leclerc
charles froze, his green eyes widening as the words registered. he stood motionless for a moment, his lips parting slightly as if to speak, but no sound came out. then, he exhaled sharply, his hands raking through his hair, leaving it tousled in that way you loved.
“mon dieu…” he whispered, his accent thicker as he switched to french without realizing. “comment… comment c’est arrivé?” (my god… how… how did this happen?)
you hesitated, unsure of how to answer, but before you could, he looked up at you, his expression torn between panic and guilt. “no, i know how it happened. c’est ma faute.” (it’s my fault.)
“charles,” you started, stepping closer, but he backed away, pacing the room like he was mentally replaying every decision that had led to this moment.
“i should’ve been more careful,” he said, his voice shaking. “i should’ve… i mean, how could i be so stupid? you trusted me, and now…” he trailed off, his hands on his hips, his head hanging low.
“charles, stop,” you said firmly, walking up to him and grabbing his arm. “this isn’t just on you. it takes two people, remember?”
he lifted his head, his eyes glistening, and the vulnerability in them broke your heart. “but i was supposed to be more careful amore, and now i put a baby in you.” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “i didn’t want this to happen yet. not because i don’t want it,” he rushed to add, his words tumbling out in a whirlwind of emotion. “i do. i just… i wanted to give you more. to be ready. to make sure everything was perfect… amore you deserve everything, you deserve the world.”
you cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. “charles, nothing is ever perfect. and i don’t need perfect. i just need you.”
his breath hitched, and he closed his eyes, leaning into your touch. “you’re too good for me,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion. “but… i promise, i’ll do everything i can. i’ll be there for you, for the baby, for everything. je t’aime tellement.” (i love you so much.)
tears slipped down your cheeks as he opened his eyes, his hands coming up to cradle your face. “this baby… it’s not what we planned, but it’s ours,” he said softly, his voice steady now. “and i already love it because it’s part of you.”
he leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours, his thumb brushing away your tears. “we’ll figure this out together,” he whispered, his voice full of quiet determination. “i’ll make sure you and our baby have everything. i swear.”
in that moment, all his earlier worry and guilt melted away, leaving nothing but love and promise in his eyes. charles wasn’t just happy—he was ready to give his entire heart to you and the life you were building together.
ʚ・lando norris
lando froze, the lighthearted grin he’d been wearing vanishing in an instant. his eyes widened as he stared at you, his usually bright expression clouding over with uncertainty. “you’re serious?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual, almost disbelieving.
you nodded, your hands trembling slightly as you clasped them together. “i just found out. and… i don’t know what to do, lando. we’re so young, and there’s still so much we want to do.”
he ran a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky breath as he sat down heavily on the couch. “bloody hell,” he muttered under his breath, his leg bouncing with nervous energy.
“i mean… we don’t have to go through with it,” you said hesitantly, your voice breaking a little. “we could—”
“no,” he interrupted, looking up at you sharply, his voice firmer than you’d ever heard it. “don’t say that. don’t even think about it.”
“lando, be realistic,” you said, your own frustration and fear bubbling up. “you’re in the prime of your career, and i’m still figuring out my life. how are we supposed to raise a baby when we’re barely adults ourselves?”
his jaw clenched, and he rubbed his hands over his face, clearly overwhelmed. “i know it’s not what we planned,” he said finally, his voice softer now but still tense. “and, yeah, i’m terrified. but this… this is part of us. and i can’t just… let it go.”
you sat down beside him, your shoulders sagging. “i’m scared, lando,” you admitted quietly. “i don’t want to mess this up. i don’t want to ruin your life.”
he turned to you then, his blue-green eyes filled with emotion. “you’re not ruining my life,” he said, reaching out to take your hands in his. “this is a curveball, yeah, but… i love you. and if this is happening, then i’ll be there. i’ll figure it out. we’ll figure it out.”
tears welled in your eyes, and he leaned forward, resting his forehead against yours. “we’re young, and we’ve got so much ahead of us,” he murmured. “but maybe this is part of that. maybe this is the crazy, unexpected adventure we didn’t know we needed.”
a small, watery laugh escaped you, and he smiled, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “hey, if i can survive driving at 300 kilometers per hour, i think i can handle a baby.”
you laughed again, the tension easing slightly as his words sank in. lando pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly, and for the first time since finding out, you felt like everything might just be okay.
“we’ll still live our lives,” he said softly. “we’ll do it all—travel, race, everything. just… with a little plus one.”
and despite the fear, despite the uncertainty, his words filled you with hope. because with lando by your side, you knew you’d figure it out together.
ʚ・oscar piastri
oscar stared at you in silence, his face unusually still. for a moment, you couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and the knot in your stomach tightened.
“you’re… pregnant,” he finally said, his tone flat, almost like he was testing the words.
you nodded, your breath shaky. “yeah. i just found out.”
he let out a dry, humorless laugh, shaking his head as he stood up and started pacing. “of course. of course this would happen now,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.
“what’s that supposed to mean?” you shot back, your voice rising defensively.
“it means this isn’t what we planned, y/n!” he snapped, turning to face you, his calm demeanor slipping for once. “we’re not ready for this. you know that.”
“you think i don’t know that?” you fired back, standing now, your voice trembling with anger and fear. “you think i wanted this to happen? i’m just as scared as you are, oscar, but this is our reality now.”
he raked a hand through his hair, his expression torn between frustration and guilt. “we’re still figuring everything out—our lives, our careers. a baby? how are we supposed to handle that?”
“i don’t know!” you yelled, tears brimming in your eyes. “but i can’t do this alone, oscar. i need to know where you stand.”
he stopped pacing, his shoulders slumping as he let out a long breath. “do you even want this?” he asked quietly, his voice breaking slightly. “because if you don’t… if you think it’s too much… i’ll support you. whatever you decide.”
the question hit you like a punch to the gut. “i don’t know,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “i don’t know what i want. but i’m terrified of making the wrong choice.”
oscar stared at you for a long moment, his usually calm eyes filled with a storm of emotions. then, slowly, he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to gently cup your cheek.
“i’m scared too,” he murmured, his voice soft now, all the anger gone. “but… i don’t want to lose this. i don’t want to lose you. and if this baby is part of you, then how could i not love it?”
your tears spilled over, and he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly. “it’s not going to be easy,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “but we’ll figure it out. even if it’s messy, even if it’s hard. we’ll figure it out together.”
you clung to him, your tears soaking into his shirt as the weight of the moment settled over both of you. it wasn’t the perfect, joyful revelation you might have dreamed of, but it was real. and as bittersweet as it felt, it was enough.
for now, it was enough.
© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate
#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#formula 1#f1 instagram au#fanfiction#carlos sainz x reader#f1 fic#max verstappen x reader#lando norris x reader#formula one#f1 smau#f1 fluff#carlos sainz fluff#crack texts#f1#max verstappen#lewis hamilton#carlos sainz#charles leclerc#lando norris#oscar piastri#george russell#charles leclerc x reader#oscar piastri x reader#max verstappen fluff#smau#𐐪♡︎₊˚ ― jungwnies
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Vox and alastor with an undeserving to be in hell reader!
Warnings!:non!
Fandom!: Hazbin hotel!
Author note!;I THINK TUMBLER ACTUALLY HATES ME (メ﹏メ)(。•́︿•̀。)it keeps not letting me edit my drafts, it’s happened like 3 times already this week alone!,…BUT ANYWAY I LOVE THIS IDEA I REALLY HOPE YOY ENJOY!!!!♡´・ᴗ・`♡
Summary!: alastor and Vox x reader WHOs I. Hell for a minor sin/crime
❤️Written by silkythewriter do not steal or repost any other platform please! <3❤️
ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ
“Each time I find myself
Flat on my face
I pick myself up and get back in the race!”
ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ
!📺✨Vox✨📺!
When you first admitted what you did that counted as a “sin” he was flabbergasted! He thought they must’ve made a mistake. All be it one that was in favor since he got to be damned with you. But still!
Out of every monster known to man kind one who’ve committed acts that are despicable. You, one who can barely hurt a damn fly get sent with them?
At first he thought you were genuinely just joking. And he actually laughed! Like audible chuckled before waiting for the actual reason, which never came, and he soon realized you were being serious!
He always questioned why you use to refuse to kill, or at least scare people into respect. But then you explained how you refused to be like the rest of the sinners.
He utterly dumb founded you made it this far without spilling a bit of blood, at least for survival!
He becomes more overprotective as if he wasn’t before, good luck with that!
Cause now he knows your rules, he knows you won’t budge. Nothing would get you to change your mind. So he made sure to keep eyes on you 24/7, you may be nice, but the other sinners in this damned place definitely aren’t. And he knows that from experience
Would neither confirm or deny he put a small tracker in an item you carry every where.
This man has enemy’s as you’ve seen, demons, overlords, rival company’s, it’s a headache an a half for him. Not that he hates protecting you and your values! No never!, but the nerve of the people who think they even have a chance to lay a hand on you.
Gives you the lastest phone from his series, and yes he will text you and blow up ur phone up if he can see you through cameras around the city.
Even if you put it on silent he wouldn’t put behind himself to over load it and just show up on your phone screen.
Sometimes he’s just so confused how you can be so nice, or at worst passive to those who are poking at you. He thinks your a saint, even if you aren’t, an maybe you have a short temper still the way you hold yourself form blowing up is astonishing!
Sometimes he jokes about how if you were to go to Charlie you would be redeemed in a day. And at night sometimes he thinks about it and it scares him to know there’s a possibility for you to go where he will probably never be able to follow you too
He loves you to the depths and the crooks of hell, and he’ll be damned again if he lets anyone hurt you. He sees you as a small soft light in the red cover world, and he will do anything before anyone can put out that light.
He makes sure to keep a good distance between you and Val, a BIG distance.
He’s always on the edge about people around you, how can’t he? He can’t trust all these “disgusting and repulsive” sinners in hell around you. The thought alone cringes him out and stresses him.
He knows to some degree he isn’t exactly better then them sin wise, but he makes sure to do his best for you while infornt of you, he cares about his image, and wouldn’t be afraid to scare someone into discipline. BUT he will tone it down, just for you ♥(⸝⸝´꒳`⸝⸝)♥
He has you under wraps, from the public eye in this case. As much as he’s one to show off his earnings, he loves you a little to much and knows well people will use you as a advantage. He loves to show off but you something just for him behind close doors for now before he can work something out
NOW if the public were to already know, he show off by showing how untouchable you were, demons knew better to approach you seeing as how fast he is to get rid of those stupid enough to try something.
Overall he respects your morals of not wanting to stoop as low as other sinners. But it dose make him more protective of you, your like a rare gem. There’s only a handful of people like you, and even then the numbers decrees daily, so he dose his most to make sure you safe and happy <3
ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ
!🎙️✨Alastor✨🎙️!
Like Vix he humors it at first! Playing around with it before Laughing with his usual staticky voice as he stared at you with his unnerving smile. You guys quite literally stared at each other for a hot minute waiting for the other to say something.
It took you clearing your throat for him to realize you weren’t just trying to get a chuckle outta him.
And for the first time since you met him you caught a hint of confusion, making you explain that it was genuinely what you did.
He quite literally burst out laughing, you, someone who probably did something everyone did once is in this horrid place stuck with the horrid monsters ever! Just for that single act alone.
He will admit he found it a bit amusing how you refused to kill or lay a hand on anyone. Refusing to stoop to other people’s levels. Now that for him is pure gold of entreatment! He’s seen people like you, say the same exact thing then crumble when backed I to a Corner.
But for the first time, for all the decades he’s been damned here, he’s seen you stick to what you’ve stated. You were very much quite a spectacle!
Now finding new amusement, he decided to protect you, cause someone like you were sure to be a one time experience. Aside from loving you of course
Now with your name being accosted with him alone is a shield in if its self. Barely any one approached you, aside from those playing with their afterlives of course.
If you ever feel a looming shadow or presence it’s most likely one of his shadows. Like Vox he is gonna have his eyes on you almost always
Although he loves you he will play around to get a reaction out of you. All for the fun of it!, he knows you cringe when he talks about his cannibalism tendencies he just loves seeing your cute little face scrunch up!
Even though with all of that he is a gentleman and will make sure no one is to bother you.
He’s quite impressed you made it this far without getting killed, I mean of course you have him but if you arrived to hell and didn’t met him immediately he’d be quite impressed and surprised one you both do meet
He indulges himself in the horrible aspects of hell, with no remorse or shame what so ever either. So although he dose respect your wishes he won’t stop or calm down his tendencies.. (;へ:)but on the bright side he’ll make sure your far away or he goes off to other part of the city and do whatever he wishes. But your likely to see on the news either way… ( ̄▽ ̄💧
He dose enjoy the more civil and nice talks he has with you though! He finds it nice to take a break from all the crude talk on the street from other sinners and have a nice conversation!
Great listener let me tell you, he’ll happily sit there as you explain your day away! He honestly enjoys hearing you genuinely happy!, although his a chatter box himself but he enjoys listening to you more then anyone or anything else!
Watches you be nice to the most repulsive, and rude demon like it’s nothing. Even when disrespected you find a way to calm down the situation and nicely at that. Of course the demon doesn’t live long once their out of your sight, but still! He’s pleasantly surprised.
He finds it rather weird that your nice just for the sake of being nice but still it’s definitely a nice refresher from all the horrible people down in hell!
You catch his eye rather quickly with how you stick out from others (in a good way! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ) and his eyes end up on you, you mainly have all his attention almost always if he isn’t off doing something!, your his light just live Vox he’ll make sure you’ll shine bright as ever and won’t go out.
Not everyone can catch it but in some rare moments he’ll be seen just staring at you as you happily talk away to Charlie. And for the smallest second you can see his unnerving smile turn into a soft smirk, eyes only on you and his mind filled with only you. This happens on the regular, it’s just he’s quick to cover up so no one sees!
Overall he loves you, even with some differences between your views he’ll still do his best to make you comfortable. Aside from teasing you here and there! But other then that he’ll protect you, your one of kind. And he loves having things no one else can.
ఌ★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ఌ
AHHHH HELLOOOOO OH GORSH I MADE IT JUST IN TIME THIS TOOK SO LOBG TO DO CAUSE I KEPT HAVING TO DELETE AND REWRITE ON A NEW DRAFT AUGHHH I HOPE TUMBLR FIXES THIS BUG, BUT ANYWAY TYSM FOR REQUESTING PLEASE COME AGAIN!!!\(^ヮ^)/’
#x reader#anon <3#deez nuts#hazbin hotel#all genders#main character#x y/n#sorry this took so long#tumblr won’t let me edit my drafts :(.#hazbin hotel x reader#hazbin alastor x reader#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#alastor x reader#alastor#hazbin vox x reader#hazbin hotel vox x reader#vox x reader#hazbin vox#hazbin hotel vox#vox hazbin hotel#hazbin hotel headcanon#vox and alastor#ty for coming to my ted talk#dies#ty for the ask <3#tysm <3#ty anon!#thank you for requesting!#thanks for the request!
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Do-Over
Logan Sargeant x Andretti!Reader
Summary: Logan drowns his sorrows after being dropped by Williams and passes out in 2024 … he wakes up slightly hungover and very much in 2022 (aka the time travel fix-it fic)
Logan’s hands are shaking.
He’s staring at the email on his phone, reading it over for the third time, hoping the words will somehow rearrange themselves into something different. But they don’t. The screen doesn’t lie, and neither does the cold, detached tone of James Vowles.
Logan, I’m sorry to inform you that Williams Racing has decided to terminate your contract effective immediately. Your performance this season has not met the team’s expectations, and the decision has been made to move forward without you for the remaining races. We believe this is in the best interest of the team as a whole. You’ll find the details of the termination and the necessary steps moving forward in the attached document.
His eyes blur, and he forces himself to blink, trying to hold it together. He knows what this means — his F1 career, the thing he’s worked for his entire life, is over. And it’s not ending with a bang, but with a fucking email.
A knock on the door snaps him back to the present. He looks up, swallowing hard as James walks in without waiting for permission, just like he always does.
“Logan,” James begins, his voice calm, almost clinical. “We need to talk.”
“I got the email,” Logan mutters, shoving his phone into his pocket. “Is this really how it’s going to end?”
James’s face is unreadable. “We’ve discussed this at length. The crashes, the lack of progress … it’s just not working out. The engineers and mechanics are frustrated. We’ve been more than patient.”
Logan feels a wave of anger rising in his chest, but he pushes it down. He knows it won’t help. “So that’s it? Nine races left, and you’re just … dropping me?”
“It’s not an easy decision,” James replies, crossing his arms. “But we have to think about the team. We can’t afford any more setbacks.”
“Setbacks,” Logan echoes, almost laughing at the absurdity of it. “That’s all I am to you? A setback?”
James hesitates, his expression softening for just a moment. “Logan, you’re talented, but this sport is ruthless. You know that.”
“Don’t,” Logan snaps, his voice sharp. “Don’t try to soften the blow now. You could’ve at least told me in person, before sending the damn email.”
James sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I know it seems cold, but this is the reality of Formula 1. You’ll land on your feet. You’ve got potential.”
“Potential,” Logan mutters under his breath. “That’s not going to get me back in a car, is it?”
There’s a tense silence, the weight of the situation pressing down on both of them. Logan feels like the walls are closing in, the air in the room growing thicker with each passing second.
“I’m sorry,” James says finally, and for the first time, he sounds genuine. “I really am.”
“Yeah,” Logan replies, his voice hollow. “Me too.”
James lingers for a moment, as if searching for something else to say, but there’s nothing that can fix this. Nothing that can make it right. Finally, he nods and leaves, closing the door quietly behind him.
Logan stands there, staring at the door, his mind racing. This can’t be happening. It feels like some kind of nightmare, one he can’t wake up from. But the harsh reality is setting in. It’s over. All those years, all that effort, and it’s over just like that.
He sinks down onto the couch, his head in his hands. His chest feels tight, like he can’t get a full breath. He needs to get out of here, but he has no idea where to go. Where do you go when your dreams have just been crushed?
His gaze falls on the bottle of whiskey sitting on the small kitchen counter. He bought it a few years ago, intending to open it after a win that never came. The irony isn’t lost on him.
Logan pushes himself up and walks over to the kitchen, grabbing the bottle and a glass. He hesitates for a moment, then shrugs and puts the glass back. What’s the point of pretending there’s any dignity left in this?
He twists the cap off the bottle and takes a long drink, the burn of the alcohol offering a brief distraction from the pain gnawing at his insides. He leans against the counter, staring out the window at the darkening sky. How the hell did it come to this?
He’s replaying every mistake, every missed opportunity, every race where he could’ve done better. It’s a torturous cycle, one that he can’t escape. He takes another drink, then another, hoping to drown out the thoughts, to numb the ache in his chest.
But it doesn’t work. The alcohol just makes it worse, amplifying the guilt and the regret. He feels like a failure. No, he is a failure. The team didn’t even have the decency to let him finish the season. That’s how little they think of him.
The room starts to blur around the edges as the whiskey takes effect, but he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. He’s spiraling, and he knows it, but he doesn’t care. This is the only way he knows how to cope, the only way to forget, even if it’s just for a little while.
Hours pass, or maybe minutes — he’s lost track of time. The bottle is nearly empty now, and he’s slumped on the floor, leaning against the kitchen cabinets. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he ignores it. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone. What’s the point?
The apartment is silent except for the occasional sound of cars passing by outside. It’s eerie, this quiet, and it makes the emptiness inside him feel even more profound.
Finally, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone. The screen is cracked from a previous fall — one of many — but it still works. There are messages from friends, from his family, but he doesn’t open them. He knows what they’ll say. They’ll be supportive, encouraging, but it won’t change anything. They can’t fix this.
Instead, he opens his camera roll and scrolls through the photos. Pictures of him in the car, of the team, of moments that once meant everything to him. Now they’re just reminders of what he’s lost.
He stops on a photo of himself, taken just after he signed with Williams. He looks so damn happy, so full of hope. He barely recognizes that person now.
“What a joke,” he mutters to himself, his voice slurred. “What a fucking joke.”
He takes one last drink from the bottle, then tosses it aside, not caring as it rolls across the floor. He feels the darkness closing in, pulling him under, and for once, he doesn’t fight it. He lets it take him, lets it drown out the pain, the regret, the fear.
And as he finally drifts into unconsciousness, the last thought that crosses his mind is that maybe — just maybe — he deserves this.
***
Logan wakes with a start, his head pounding, the taste of stale whiskey thick on his tongue. He groans, squeezing his eyes shut against the assault of the light streaming through the windows. His whole body feels like it’s been put through a blender — sore, achy, heavy. But it’s not just the hangover, it’s the weight of everything, of what happened yesterday.
He takes a deep breath, bracing himself as he sits up, his hands pressing into the bed beneath him. Except, the texture’s wrong. It’s not the rough fabric of his apartment’s couch or even the smooth, cool sheets he’s used to.
Logan’s eyes snap open, and he looks around, confusion crashing over him like a cold wave. He’s not in his apartment. The walls are different — cleaner, the color a familiar light blue he hasn’t seen in years. The bed is narrow, uncomfortable, with plain white sheets. There’s a desk pushed against the far wall, a locker in the corner with his name printed on it in block letters.
This isn’t his apartment. This is … his driver’s room. The one he used when he was driving for Carlin in Formula 2.
“What the hell …” Logan mutters, running a hand through his hair, trying to make sense of it. He must still be drunk. Or maybe he’s dreaming. But no — he can feel the dull ache in his temples, the dryness in his throat, the uncomfortable press of the mattress beneath him. This is too real to be a dream.
But it doesn’t make any sense. The last thing he remembers is passing out in his apartment after finishing nearly a whole bottle of whiskey. He was a mess. He is a mess. But here he is, waking up in a place he hasn’t seen since 2022, a place that shouldn’t exist in his present reality.
Panic starts to set in. He fumbles for his phone, which is miraculously still in his pocket. The screen lights up, showing the date and time.
September 10th, 2022.
His heart stops. That’s impossible. It’s been two years. Two years since this date. His mind races, trying to piece together what the hell is happening, but nothing fits. He’s not in 2024 anymore. Somehow, he’s back in 2022.
It’s the only explanation, but it’s insane. None of this is possible. It’s not even like those vague dreams where everything’s familiar but distant. This is his life two years ago, down to the worn fabric of the team jacket hanging on the back of the door.
Before he can spiral any further, there’s a sharp knock at the door. Logan barely has time to react before it swings open, and Gary Catt, his manager, strides in with his usual briskness, already talking before the door is fully open.
“Logan, I just got off the phone with Jost Capito,” Gary says, his voice all business, not noticing Logan’s stunned expression. “Williams wants you. They want to lock you in for next season. It’s the best possible scenario. This is it, Logan — this is what we’ve been working toward.”
Logan feels like he’s been hit by a freight train. This conversation — he remembers it. It happened. Gary, standing in this very room, telling him the exact same thing, with the exact same excitement in his voice. The memory is vivid because it changed everything. It was the start of his F1 career. And also … the start of everything that led to that email.
“Logan?” Gary’s voice cuts through the fog in Logan’s mind, pulling him back to the present. “Are you even listening? This is huge, mate. You’re going to be in F1.”
Logan’s throat is dry, his mind racing with possibilities, with consequences. He remembers how he felt the first time he heard these words — pure elation, followed by a rush of nerves. But now, with the knowledge of what’s to come, all he feels is dread.
This is his chance to change things. To make sure it doesn’t end the way it did yesterday. He’s been given a do-over, a second chance, and he can’t afford to mess it up.
Logan takes a deep breath, forcing himself to stay calm. “Gary,” he says, his voice rough from sleep and the alcohol, “I don’t think I should take the offer.”
Gary stops mid-stride, turning to face Logan with a look of utter disbelief. “What did you just say?”
“I don’t think I should take the offer,” Logan repeats, more firmly this time, even though his heart is pounding in his chest. “It’s too soon.”
“Too soon?” Gary looks at him like he’s just sprouted another head. “Logan, this is Williams. It’s F1. There is no such thing as ‘too soon’ when an opportunity like this comes around. What are you talking about?”
Logan stands up, pacing the small room, trying to gather his thoughts. How does he explain this without sounding completely insane? He can’t tell Gary what he knows — what he’s seen, what’s happened. But he also can’t go down the same path again. Not when he knows where it leads.
“I just … I don’t think I’m ready,” Logan says, finally turning to face Gary. “If I rush into F1 now, it could end badly. I need more time. More experience.”
Gary’s expression shifts from disbelief to concern. “Logan, listen to yourself. You’ve been preparing for this your whole life. You’re as ready as anyone can be. If you pass this up, there’s no guarantee another chance like it will come along. You know that.”
Logan shakes his head. “I know it sounds crazy, but … I have a feeling that if I take this now, it’ll be a mistake. A big one. I’ll end up in a situation where I’m not able to deliver, where the pressure is too much. And that’s not good for anyone — me, the team, my career.”
Gary is silent for a long moment, studying Logan with an intensity that makes him squirm. “Where’s this coming from? You were over the moon about this before. What changed?”
Logan hesitates, searching for the right words. “I just … I’ve been thinking a lot about the future. About what I want my career to look like. And I don’t want to be one of those drivers who gets rushed into F1 and then crashes out because they weren’t ready. I want to do it right. I want to be fully prepared.”
“You don’t get to be fully prepared in this sport,” Gary says, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. “This is Formula 1. It’s sink or swim, and you know that. You’re not going to get a better opportunity than this, Logan.”
Logan feels a knot of frustration tightening in his chest. He knows Gary is right, in a way. This is F1. It’s not supposed to be easy. But he also knows that if he takes this offer, if he goes down the same road, it’ll end in disaster.
“I get that,” Logan says, his voice firm. “But I’ve made up my mind. I’m not going to take the seat. Not this time.”
Gary stares at him, his expression a mixture of shock and confusion. “Logan, this could be career suicide. You understand that, right?”
Logan nods, swallowing hard. “I do. But I’d rather take that risk than go into something I know I’m not ready for and crash out in a blaze of failure. I can’t do that. I won’t.”
Gary runs a hand over his face, clearly struggling to comprehend what’s happening. “This isn’t like you. You’re not one to back down from a challenge. Why are you doing this?”
Because I know how it ends, Logan thinks, but he doesn’t say it out loud. Instead, he takes a deep breath and says, “Because I want to do this right. I want to have a long career in F1, not a short one that ends in disappointment. And to do that, I need to be smart about the choices I make now.”
Gary lets out a slow breath, clearly conflicted. “This is … I don’t even know what to say, Logan. You’re turning down a seat in F1. That’s not something you do lightly.”
“I’m not doing it lightly,” Logan assures him, though his heart is racing. “I’ve thought about this a lot, and it’s the right decision for me.”
There’s a long silence as Gary processes this. Logan can almost see the gears turning in his head, the calculations, the weighing of options. He knows how hard this must be for Gary to accept — hell, it’s hard for Logan to accept, and he’s the one making the decision. But he has to stick to his guns. He has to believe that this is the right choice.
Finally, Gary lets out a resigned sigh. “Alright, Logan. If this is really what you want, I’ll back you. But you need to understand the risks. This could close doors for you. Big ones.”
Logan nods, his stomach twisting with anxiety. “I know. But I also know that if I take this now, it could end up closing even more doors in the long run.”
Gary studies him for a long moment, then gives a slow nod. “Alright. I’ll let Jost know. But don’t expect him to be happy about it.”
Logan feels a mixture of relief and dread. “I won’t. But thanks, Gary. I know this isn’t easy.”
Gary gives him a tight smile, still clearly grappling with the decision. “No, it’s not. But you’re the one driving the car, Logan. Just make sure you know what you’re doing.”
Logan nods, watching as Gary turns and leaves the room, the door closing softly behind him. He stands there for a moment, taking in the silence, the surrealness of what just happened. He’s just turned down a seat in F1. The one thing he thought he wanted more than anything. But as the anxiety ebbs, a new feeling takes its place — determination.
This time, things are going to be different. He’s going to do it right, even if it means making the hard choices. Logan takes a deep breath, feeling a strange sense of calm settle over him. This is his second chance, and he’s not going to waste it.
***
The 2023 F2 season ends in a flurry of champagne, confetti, and flashing cameras. Logan stands on the top step of the podium, the P1 trophy clutched in his hands, a grin splitting his face. He’s done it. He’s proved to everyone — most of all to himself — that he was ready. This time, he didn’t rush, didn’t let the pressure consume him. And it’s paid off. He’s the Formula 2 Drivers’ Champion.
But as the celebration winds down and reality sets in, Logan faces a new challenge. Despite his victory, the F1 grid is full, and F2 champions can’t return to the series. He could take a reserve role, bide his time, wait for a seat to open up. But that’s not what he wants. He’s not willing to spend another year on the sidelines, waiting for an opportunity that may never come.
So when the offer from IndyCar comes, Logan doesn’t hesitate. He’s heard the stories — about the speed, the fierce competition, the thrill of racing on ovals. It’s not Formula 1, but it’s still racing at the highest level. And right now, that’s what he needs.
The decision surprises everyone. The media buzzes with speculation, but Logan remains focused. He knows what he’s doing. This is a new path, one that he’s chosen for himself, not because it was expected of him. He’s determined to make it work.
A few weeks later, Logan finds himself in the heart of Indianapolis, standing outside the office of Mario Andretti. The legendary name still carries a weight of history and reverence, even in this new world of racing. It feels surreal, like stepping into a different era of motorsport.
Inside the office, Mario is all business. The contract is laid out on the table between them, a simple piece of paper that represents Logan’s future. Mario goes over the details with the kind of thoroughness that only comes from years of experience, but Logan can barely focus. His mind is racing, thoughts darting between the past season, the unknown future, and the thrill of what he’s about to embark on.
“Everything looks good?” Mario asks, breaking Logan from his thoughts.
Logan blinks, then nods, forcing himself to concentrate. “Yeah, it’s perfect.”
Mario slides the pen across the table. “Then let’s make it official.”
Logan takes the pen, feeling the weight of the moment as he signs his name at the bottom of the contract. It’s done. He’s an IndyCar driver now.
Mario nods in approval, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smile. “Welcome to the team, Logan. We’re excited to have you.”
“Thank you,” Logan says, meaning it. This is a new beginning, and he’s ready for it.
They shake hands, and Mario stands, motioning towards the door. “I’d love to chat more, but I’ve got to head out. My granddaughter’s picking me up for lunch.”
Logan heads out of the office, his mind still reeling from the whirlwind of emotions. He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the person rounding the corner until it’s too late. They collide, and Logan’s first instinct is to reach out, steadying the person as they stumble backward.
“Whoa, I’m so sorry,” he blurts out, his hands gripping her arms as he helps her regain her balance.
“It’s okay,” you reply, laughing softly as you look up at him. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
Logan’s breath catches in his throat as he looks down at you, the apology dying on his lips. You’re beautiful — stunning, even — with eyes that seem to sparkle with life and a smile that’s warm and inviting. For a moment, all he can do is stare, struck by how perfect you seem, like someone who’s stepped straight out of a dream.
“You alright?” You ask, tilting your head slightly as you study him.
Logan snaps out of it, quickly releasing his hold on you and stepping back. “Yeah, sorry again. I didn’t see you there.”
The door to Mario’s office opens, and the man himself steps out, his eyes narrowing slightly as he takes in the scene. “Everything okay out here?”
You turn to your grandfather, smiling brightly. “Just a little bump, Grandpa. Nothing to worry about.”
Mario’s expression softens as he looks at you, the sternness replaced by affection. “Good. I don’t want anyone getting hurt before lunch.”
You laugh, the sound light and carefree, and Logan finds himself smiling along, despite the awkwardness of the situation.
“Logan,” Mario says, turning to him, “I’d like you to meet my granddaughter.”
Logan’s heart skips a beat. This is Mario’s granddaughter? Of course, she is. It makes sense now, the confidence in your stance, the way you carry yourself. You’re part of a racing dynasty, just like Mario.
“Logan Sargeant,” Mario continues, introducing him to you. “He’s going to be racing with us next season.”
You offer him your hand, your smile never faltering. “It’s nice to meet you, Logan. I’ve heard a lot about you.”
Logan takes your hand, feeling a jolt of electricity as your fingers brush against his. “Uh, yeah. Nice to meet you too.”
You glance at Mario, then back at Logan. “We’re heading out for lunch. You should join us.”
Logan’s mind goes blank for a second, and all he can do is blink at you, trying to process what you just said. “Lunch? With you and … Mr. Andretti?”
You laugh again, and Logan thinks it might be the best sound he has ever heard. “Yeah, with us. Unless you have somewhere else you need to be?”
“No, no,” Logan stammers, trying to regain some composure. “I’d love to join you.”
Mario claps Logan on the shoulder, his laughter booming through the hallway. “Looks like you’ve made an impression already, kid. Come on, let’s get out of here before the press catches wind of this.”
Logan nods, still somewhat dazed as he follows you and Mario out of the building. His mind is a whirlwind of thoughts — about the contract he just signed, the new chapter he’s stepping into, and now, about you. He can’t quite believe his luck. Not only is he starting a new adventure in IndyCar, but he’s also just met someone who, in the span of a few minutes, has completely captivated him.
As they walk to Mario’s car, Logan steals glances at you, trying to be subtle but failing miserably. You seem so at ease, chatting with your grandfather, your laughter punctuating the conversation. There’s a lightness about you, a warmth that’s infectious, and Logan finds himself drawn to it, to you.
“Logan,” you say, turning to him as you reach the car. “So, what made you decide to join IndyCar? It’s not every day an F2 champion makes that leap.”
Logan pauses, caught off guard by the directness of your question. “Well, uh,” he begins, trying to find the right words, “I guess I just wanted something different. F1 wasn’t an option, and I didn’t want to sit around waiting for a seat to open up. IndyCar seemed like the right challenge. Something new, but still competitive.”
You nod, clearly intrigued. “That makes sense. It’s a bold move, but I think it’ll pay off.”
“Bold,” Logan repeats, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It is,” you assure him, your eyes sparkling. “I admire people who take risks. Especially when they’re as calculated as yours seems to be.”
Mario clears his throat, a knowing grin on his face as he watches the two of you. “Alright, kids, enough shop talk. Let’s get some food.”
You and Logan exchange a smile before sliding into the back seat of the car. The conversation flows easily, despite Logan’s initial nerves. You ask him about his time in F2, what it was like racing on the different tracks, how he handled the pressure. Logan finds himself opening up more than he expected, the words coming easily under your encouraging gaze.
Mario chimes in every now and then, adding his own insights, but it’s clear he’s content to let the two of you do most of the talking. He watches with an amused glint in his eye, as if he’s already figured out something that Logan is just beginning to realize.
By the time you reach the restaurant, Logan feels like he’s known you for much longer than the short time you’ve actually spent together. There’s an ease between you that he’s rarely felt with anyone else, a connection that seems to have sparked almost instantly.
Inside the restaurant, Mario insists on taking the head of the table, leaving you and Logan to sit across from each other. As you settle in, you continue to ask Logan questions, but now they’re more personal — what does he do outside of racing? What’s his favorite movie? Does he have any hidden talents?
Logan answers as best he can, though he’s still reeling a bit from how quickly this day has turned into something he never expected. He’s just signed with IndyCar, but more than that, he’s sitting across from someone who makes his heart race faster than any car ever could.
“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, Logan,” Mario says suddenly, breaking into the conversation. “I’ve seen a lot of young drivers come and go, but you … you’ve got something special. Just keep your focus, and you’ll go far.”
“Thank you, Mr. Andretti,” Logan says, his voice sincere. “That means a lot, coming from you.”
“Call me Mario,” he replies with a wave of his hand. “We’re family now, after all.”
Logan smiles, feeling a warmth spread through him at the word “family.” It’s strange, how quickly things have shifted, how he’s gone from a solitary driver trying to make his way in the world to someone who might actually belong here, in this new place, with these new people.
As the lunch continues, Logan finds himself growing more comfortable, the initial awkwardness fading away. You keep the conversation lively, sharing stories about your grandfather, about your own life, and Logan can’t help but be drawn to your passion, your intelligence, your warmth. It’s clear that you’re not just Mario Andretti’s granddaughter — you’re your own person, with your own dreams and ambitions.
Eventually, the meal winds down, and Mario excuses himself to take a phone call, leaving you and Logan alone at the table. The silence that follows isn’t uncomfortable, but charged, filled with the unspoken things neither of you have quite put into words yet.
“So,” you say, leaning forward slightly, a teasing smile on your lips, “what do you think of Indy so far?”
Logan grins, feeling a boldness he didn’t expect. “Well, it just got a whole lot more interesting.”
You laugh, your eyes twinkling with amusement. “I’m glad to hear it. I have a feeling you’re going to fit in just fine here.”
“Yeah,” Logan says, his voice softening as he looks at you, really looks at you. “I think I am too.”
You hold his gaze, the connection between you growing stronger with each passing second. For a moment, the world outside seems to fade away, leaving just the two of you, caught in this moment that feels almost like fate.
Before the silence can stretch too long, Mario returns, his phone call finished. He glances between the two of you, his eyes twinkling with a knowing look that makes Logan’s ears burn. “Ready to head out?”
You nod, standing up and giving Logan one last, lingering smile. “It was nice meeting you, Logan. I’m sure we’ll see each other around.”
Logan stands as well, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves. “Definitely. I’m looking forward to it.”
As you and Mario head out of the restaurant, Logan lingers for a moment, watching you go. He can’t quite believe what just happened, but one thing is certain — his life just got a lot more complicated, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.
As he walks out into the bright sunlight, Logan can’t stop the smile that spreads across his face. He’s taken a leap into the unknown, and it feels like the start of something incredible.
***
The roar of the crowd is deafening, vibrating through the very core of the Speedway as Logan crosses the finish line first. It’s the 107th running of the Indianapolis 500, and he’s just won it. The realization hits him like a tidal wave, almost knocking the breath out of him. He’s an Indy 500 champion. In his rookie season, no less.
The engine growls as he coasts to a stop, and for a moment, all he can do is sit there, hands trembling on the steering wheel. His heart pounds in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins, and he lets out a breathless laugh, disbelief and elation mingling into something indescribable.
“Logan Sargeant wins the Indy 500!” The announcer’s voice echoes through the speakers, barely audible over the cheers of the crowd. He hears it, but it still feels surreal, like something out of a dream.
The pit crew rushes over, the celebration already in full swing as they haul him out of the car. He’s immediately surrounded by a sea of people — team members, media, officials — everyone wanting a piece of this historic moment. But through it all, there’s one thing on his mind. One person.
You.
He’s searching the crowd, trying to spot you among the chaos. His vision is blurred with sweat and tears, but then he sees you — pushing your way through the throng of people, a look of pure joy on your face. You’re clapping, laughing, your eyes shining with pride, and all Logan can think is how he needs to get to you.
But first, there’s tradition to uphold.
One of the crew hands him the iconic bottle of milk, the symbol of victory. Logan takes it, still in a daze, and tilts it back, taking a long swig. The cold liquid is refreshing, cutting through the heat of the moment, and he can’t help but laugh as he lowers the bottle, milk dripping down his chin.
Without hesitation, he lifts the bottle above his head and pours the rest over himself. The milk runs down his face, soaking into his race suit, and the crowd goes wild, the noise level somehow reaching new heights. He feels on top of the world — unstoppable, invincible.
And then he spots you again, closer now, just on the edge of the crowd. Logan doesn’t think, doesn’t pause to consider anything else. He just moves, pushing through the throng of people until he’s standing right in front of you.
You’re smiling up at him, eyes bright with something that makes his heart race faster than it did on the final lap. Before he can stop himself, Logan reaches out, pulls you in, and kisses you.
It’s the kind of kiss that’s been building for months — the culmination of all the moments, all the glances, all the unspoken words between you. You taste like the victory he’s just claimed, like the adrenaline that’s still pumping through his veins, like everything he’s been chasing since he first set foot in this world.
When you finally pull back, you’re both breathless, milk dripping from Logan’s face and onto yours. You laugh, and the sound is the sweetest thing he’s ever heard.
“You’re lucky I’m not lactose intolerant,” you tease, licking the milk from his lips with a grin that’s both playful and suggestive. “But honestly? It’d be worth it even if I was.”
Logan laughs, a deep, full-bodied sound that comes from a place of pure, unfiltered happiness. He feels like he’s floating, like nothing in the world could possibly bring him down from this high. Not now, not ever.
“Best win of my life,” he says, his voice rough with emotion, still holding you close, as if afraid that letting go might make this moment disappear.
You tilt your head, still smiling up at him with those eyes that have captivated him from the start. “I’d hope so,” you say softly. “You just won the Indy 500.”
He shakes his head, a playful grin on his face. “No, I mean this.” He gestures between the two of you, the words hanging in the air, heavy with meaning.
For a second, you just stare at him, the noise of the crowd fading into the background, the world narrowing down to just the two of you. And then you’re laughing, throwing your arms around his neck, pulling him into another kiss.
This one is softer, sweeter — less about the heat of the moment and more about the connection between you, the way everything just seems to fit when you’re together. Logan loses himself in it, in you, in this moment that feels like the culmination of everything he’s ever wanted.
When you finally break apart, the noise of the crowd floods back in, the celebration continuing around you. But it doesn’t matter. Nothing else matters except the way you’re looking at him, like he’s the only person in the world.
“Come on,” you say, tugging him towards the podium. “You’ve got a trophy to collect.”
Logan follows, still holding onto your hand, not willing to let you go just yet. The team is waiting, cheering him on, and as they hoist him up onto their shoulders, Logan realizes that this — this moment, this feeling — is what he’s been racing for all along.
Standing on the podium, the trophy in his hands, Logan looks out at the sea of faces, at the fans cheering his name, at the team celebrating their victory. But his eyes find you in the crowd, and that’s where they stay.
You’re smiling up at him, and Logan knows, deep down, that this is just the beginning. The beginning of something incredible, something he never saw coming but can’t imagine living without.
As the anthem plays and the confetti rains down, Logan lifts the trophy high, his heart full to bursting. He’s done it — he’s won the Indy 500. But more than that, he’s found something, someone, who makes all of it mean so much more.
And as he looks down at you, standing there with that bright, beautiful smile, Logan knows that he’s not just a champion. He’s the luckiest guy in the world.
***
The soft hum of the office fills the silence as Logan sits across from Mario, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. The past year has been a whirlwind — plenty of IndyCar wins, that unforgettable victory at the Indy 500, and the life he’s built with you by his side. It’s been everything he didn’t know he needed, but now, as he sits in Mario’s office, there’s an air of something significant, something life-altering in the way Mario looks at him.
Mario clears his throat, leaning forward on his desk, hands clasped. “Logan,” he begins, voice steady, serious. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking — planning, actually — and I need to talk to you about something important.”
Logan’s heart skips a beat, the weight of Mario’s words sinking in. He nods, leaning forward slightly, feeling the anticipation coil tight in his chest. “What is it?” He asks, voice steady despite the flurry of nerves.
Mario takes a deep breath, then looks Logan squarely in the eye. “We’re buying Haas F1 Team. The deal’s already in motion, and we’ll be restructuring everything from the ground up to make our entrance into Formula 1 in 2026.”
The words hang in the air, heavy with implication. Logan’s breath catches in his throat, and for a moment, he’s not sure if he’s heard Mario correctly. “Formula 1?” He echoes, almost disbelieving. His mind races, a thousand thoughts colliding at once. “You’re serious?”
“As serious as it gets,” Mario replies, his expression unwavering. “I’ve wanted this for a long time, Logan. And now, with everything coming together, it’s finally happening. But here’s the thing-” he pauses, his gaze locking onto Logan’s with an intensity that leaves no room for doubt, “I can’t think of anyone better suited to lead this team as our driver than you.”
The words hit Logan like a freight train. He stares at Mario, unable to speak, his heart thudding wildly in his chest. Formula 1 has always been the dream, the pinnacle of everything he’s worked for. The chance he thought he’d lost — twice, if he counts the strange twist of fate that had brought him here in the first place.
“Logan, I know this is a lot to take in,” Mario continues, his tone softer now, understanding. “But I believe in you. You’ve proven yourself time and time again, in F2, in IndyCar — hell, you won the Indy 500 in your first season. And I know you still have that fire for F1. This is your shot, kid. And I want you to take it.”
Logan feels the lump in his throat as Mario’s words sink in. The room seems to close in around him, the gravity of the moment pressing down like a physical weight. He’s had a lot of success in IndyCar, more than he ever imagined, and it brought him you — his reason to smile, his anchor in the storm. But Formula 1? That’s the dream he’s never fully let go of, even when he tried to convince himself otherwise.
He swallows hard, forcing the words out past the emotion threatening to choke him. “I-I don’t know what to say,” he admits, his voice thick. “I mean, this is … I didn’t think I’d ever get another chance like this.”
Mario smiles, the kind of smile that’s equal parts pride and encouragement. “I know it’s a lot, Logan. And it’s not an easy decision, especially considering everything you’ve built here in IndyCar. But I have no doubt in my mind that you’re the right person for this. You’ve got what it takes to succeed in F1, and I’m not just talking about talent. You’ve got heart, determination, and the ability to learn from your mistakes. That’s what makes a champion.”
Logan’s mind races, the possibilities spinning out in front of him. He thinks about everything he’s worked for, everything he’s achieved. And then he thinks about you — how you’ve been there with him through it all, supporting him, believing in him even when he doubted himself.
He takes a deep breath, his decision already forming in his mind, solidifying with each passing second. “Okay,” he says, meeting Mario’s gaze head-on. “I’ll do it. I want this, Mario. I want to prove to myself that I can do it right this time.”
Mario’s grin widens, and he stands up, offering Logan his hand. “Welcome to Andretti F1 Team. We’re going to do great things together.”
Logan shakes his hand, the reality of it all starting to settle in. He’s going to be a Formula 1 driver again. It’s terrifying, exhilarating, everything he’s ever wanted all over again. As he stands there, absorbing the magnitude of what’s just happened, he feels a strange mix of emotions — elation, fear, anticipation, and something else that he can’t quite name.
Mario walks him to the door, still talking about the next steps, the plans they have for the team, but Logan’s mind is half-focused on something else, someone else. As the door swings open, the conversation comes to a halt. The sight that greets them both brings a grin to Mario’s face and a burst of laughter from Logan.
You’re standing there, your ear pressed to the door, looking guilty as hell when you realize you’ve been caught. You straighten up quickly, trying to play it off, but the blush spreading across your cheeks gives you away.
“Eavesdropping, huh?” Logan teases, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow. There’s a lightness in his voice that wasn’t there moments ago, the news already settling into a place of excitement rather than apprehension.
You bite your lip, trying to suppress a smile, but failing miserably. “I, um … I might have been curious,” you admit, your eyes twinkling with mischief.
Mario chuckles, shaking his head. “Looks like we’ve got a new team spy, Logan. Better watch out.”
Logan can’t help the grin that spreads across his face. He steps out of the office, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “You know, you didn’t have to spy,” he says, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “I would’ve told you everything.”
You look up at him, your smile fading slightly as something more serious takes its place in your eyes. “I just … I wanted to know if it was good news,” you say quietly. “I know how much F1 means to you.”
Logan feels his heart clench at your words, at the sincerity in your voice. You’ve always understood him, always known what drives him, what keeps him going. He cups your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin. “It’s great news,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m getting a second shot at F1, and I’m not going to mess it up this time.”
Your smile returns, bright and full of the same determination he feels. “I know you won’t,” you say confidently. “You’re going to do amazing things, Logie. And I’ll be right there with you.”
Logan’s chest tightens with emotion, the intensity of the moment overwhelming him. He leans down, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’m so lucky to have you,” he murmurs, his voice thick with gratitude. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
You laugh softly, the sound like music to his ears. “Good thing you won’t have to find out,” you reply, your tone teasing but laced with affection.
Logan’s heart swells, and before he can stop himself, he lifts you off your feet, spinning you around in a circle. You yelp in surprise, then burst into laughter, the sound filling the hallway.
He sets you down gently, your laughter fading into a soft smile as you look up at him. There’s a moment of quiet, the world around you fading away as the reality of what’s happening sinks in. Logan leans in, capturing your lips in a kiss that’s both tender and passionate, a promise of what’s to come.
When you finally pull back, breathless and smiling, Logan feels a sense of calm settle over him. Everything is falling into place, and for the first time in a long while, he feels like he’s exactly where he’s meant to be.
With you by his side, he knows he can face whatever comes next.
“Ready to take on the world?” You ask, your voice light but your eyes serious.
Logan grins, squeezing your hand. “As long as I’ve got you, I’m ready for anything.”
And with that, he leads you down the hallway, the future stretching out before him, bright and full of promise.
***
The sun is barely up, casting long shadows across the Albert Park Circuit, but the air is already alive with anticipation. It’s the first day of preseason testing for the 2026 Formula 1 season, and the paddock is buzzing with the usual mix of excitement and nerves.
Teams are unpacking crates, engineers are huddled over laptops, and the unmistakable scent of burning rubber is already in the air. But for Logan, walking through the paddock with you on his arm, it feels like stepping into a dream — one he’s worked too damn hard to make a reality.
He adjusts the collar of his Andretti jacket, the weight of the moment not lost on him. This is it. His second chance — though, thanks to the bizarre twist of fate, no one else knows it’s his second. Everyone around him sees a rookie, an American hopeful making his debut with Andretti’s new F1 team. But Logan knows better. He’s here with experience that no one can fathom, and he’s determined not to waste it.
As you walk beside him, your hand resting lightly on his arm, he can’t help but steal a glance at you. There’s a brightness in your eyes, a mix of pride and excitement that mirrors his own. “You okay?” He asks, squeezing your hand gently.
You look up at him and smile, the kind of smile that makes his heart do a little flip. “I’m more than okay,” you reply. “I’m with you, and we’re about to watch you live your dream. What could be better than that?”
Logan grins, feeling a warmth spread through his chest. You’ve been his rock through everything — the highs, the lows, the strange, unexplainable journey that brought him back here. He’s never been more certain that you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.
As you make your way through the paddock, heads turn. It’s not just because Logan is here with the legendary Andretti team, but because of the woman at his side. He catches a few curious glances, some surprised, others appreciative, and he can’t blame them. You’re a sight to behold, and he’s proud to be walking in with you.
But then, out of the corner of his eye, Logan spots a familiar face. Oscar Piastri, decked out in McLaren colors, is standing near the entrance to the pit lane, chatting with a few team members. It’s been years since they last spoke properly — back when they were both climbing the ranks in the junior series, fighting tooth and nail for every inch of track.
They were close once, but life pulled them in different directions — Oscar to McLaren, Logan to IndyCar. And now, here they are, both in Formula 1, albeit on different paths.
Logan feels a wave of nostalgia, and before he can overthink it, he’s steering you in Oscar’s direction. As you approach, Oscar looks up, and for a split second, there’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes before it melts into a wide, genuine smile.
“Logan Sargeant,” Oscar says, his Australian accent as thick as ever. He steps forward, hand outstretched, and Logan takes it, shaking firmly. “I’ll be damned. You actually made it.”
Logan chuckles, the sound more relaxed than he feels. “Yeah, I guess I did. It’s been a long road, but here I am.”
Oscar’s smile widens, his grip on Logan’s hand lingering for just a moment longer. “It’s good to see you, mate. I was wondering when you’d show up in F1. Figured you were having too much fun in IndyCar to come back.”
“There was a lot to love about IndyCar,” Logan admits, glancing at you with a fond smile. “But F1 was always the dream, you know? Couldn’t pass up a chance like this.”
Oscar nods, understanding clear in his expression. “I get it. And with Andretti, no less. That’s a hell of a team to start with. You’re going to shake things up around here, I can tell.”
Logan shrugs, trying to play it cool even as his heart pounds with the reality of it all. “That’s the plan. But enough about me. How’s life at McLaren? You guys ready to give us a run for our money?”
Oscar laughs, the sound light and easy. “Always. McLaren’s been working their asses off, and I’m feeling good about this season. But don’t think I’ll go easy on you just because we’re old friends.”
Logan grins, feeling the competitive spark that’s always driven him reignite. “I wouldn’t expect anything less. Besides, it’s been a while since we’ve gone wheel-to-wheel. I’m looking forward to it.”
Oscar’s gaze shifts to you, his curiosity evident. “And who’s this?” He asks, his tone polite but genuinely interested.
Logan’s grin softens as he looks at you. “This is my better half,” he says, his voice filled with affection. “She’s the one who keeps me sane.”
You smile at Oscar, offering your hand. “It’s great to finally meet you, Oscar. Logan’s told me a lot about you.”
Oscar shakes your hand, his smile warm and welcoming. “All good things, I hope.”
“Mostly,” you tease, throwing Logan a playful glance.
Logan laughs, feeling a lightness in his chest he hasn’t felt in a while. It’s good to be here, good to be surrounded by the familiar banter and camaraderie that he’s missed. He knows the road ahead is going to be tough — F1 is nothing if not ruthless — but with you by his side and old friends welcoming him back, he feels more ready than ever to face whatever comes his way.
Oscar steps back, his gaze shifting between the two of you. “Well, I’d better let you guys get settled in. But hey, we should catch up properly later. Maybe grab a drink after testing?”
Logan nods, appreciating the offer. “Definitely. It’s been too long.”
As Oscar walks away, Logan watches him for a moment, the memories of their shared past mingling with the excitement of the present. It’s surreal, being here again, but this time with the weight of everything he’s learned, everything he’s fought for.
You tug gently on his arm, pulling him out of his thoughts. “What are you thinking about?” You ask, your voice soft and curious.
Logan smiles down at you, squeezing your hand. “Just how different things are now,” he admits. “But in a good way. I’ve got a second shot at this, and I’m not going to waste it.”
You nod, your eyes shining with the same determination he feels. “And I’ll be right there with you, every step of the way.”
Logan feels a swell of emotion, gratitude, and love that he can’t quite put into words. Instead, he leans down, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
The two of you continue walking, the sounds of the paddock fading into the background as you focus on each other. The day ahead is full of unknowns — testing, strategy meetings, the inevitable pressure of proving himself — but with you by his side, Logan feels ready for anything.
As you make your way to the Andretti garage, the team members greet Logan with nods and smiles, and he can see the mix of curiosity and expectation in their eyes. They’re all in this together, building something new, something that has the potential to be great. And Logan is determined to be the driver they need, the one who can lead them to success.
You squeeze his hand, drawing his attention back to you. “You’re going to do amazing, Logan. I can feel it.”
He smiles, the confidence in your voice bolstering his own. “Thanks. I’m just glad you’re here with me.”
“Always,” you reply, your gaze unwavering.
As the day progresses, Logan finds himself falling into the rhythm of the paddock. The familiar sounds of engines roaring to life, the chatter of engineers discussing data, the focused intensity that permeates every corner — it’s like he never left. But this time, there’s a new layer to it all, a sense of belonging that he didn’t fully grasp the first time around.
He exchanges nods and brief conversations with other drivers as they pass by, some offering congratulations, others sizing him up as the new competition. It’s all part of the game, the unspoken dance of respect and rivalry that defines the sport. But through it all, Logan keeps you close, your presence grounding him in the midst of the chaos.
As the day draws to a close, Logan finds himself back in the garage, the car stripped down and the team poring over the data from the day’s sessions. He’s tired, the kind of exhaustion that comes from both physical exertion and mental focus, but it’s the good kind of tired — the kind that tells him he’s exactly where he needs to be.
You’re standing nearby, chatting with one of the engineers, your laughter mingling with the sounds of the garage. Logan watches you for a moment, a smile tugging at his lips. You’ve always had a way of fitting in, of making everyone around you feel at ease, and he’s grateful for that — for you.
As if sensing his gaze, you look over at him and smile, that familiar warmth in your eyes. You make your way over to him, and when you reach him, Logan pulls you into his arms, holding you close. The noise of the garage fades into the background, leaving just the two of you in this moment.
“You did great today,” you say.
Logan holds you a little tighter, resting his chin on the top of your head. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” he murmurs.
You pull back slightly, just enough to look up at him, your eyes filled with a mix of pride and affection. “You’re the one out there driving, Logan. But I’m glad I can be here for you.”
He smiles, leaning down to press a soft kiss to your lips. “It means everything to me that you are,” he whispers.
For a moment, the chaos of the garage and the world outside fades, leaving just the two of you standing together, ready to face whatever comes next. Logan knows the road ahead won’t be easy, but with you by his side, he’s more than ready to take on the challenge.
***
The media room is buzzing with the usual pre-race energy, a mix of nerves and excitement crackling in the air as the drivers settle in behind the table. Logan’s seated between Oscar and Charles, the bright lights overhead casting sharp shadows across their faces. The backdrop behind them, plastered with sponsor logos and the official F1 emblem, feels almost like a stage, the press in front of them the audience waiting for their performance.
Logan shifts in his seat, glancing down at the bottled water in front of him. The press conference has been the usual mix of questions so far — how the cars are handling, expectations for the season, the general camaraderie between the drivers. But there’s an undercurrent, a sense that something more pointed is coming.
A journalist from the back finally stands, her voice clear and direct as she catches Logan’s attention. “Logan,” she begins, holding her recorder up, “there’s been some observation that every time you see James Vowles, your expression seems to … change. Almost like you’re not too thrilled to be around him. Any comment on that?”
There’s a moment of silence in the room, a collective breath held. Logan feels the gaze of every person on him, including the drivers beside him. He lets out a quiet laugh, trying to play it cool, but he can’t help the way his mind flashes back to the last time he’d faced Vowles, the man’s condescending tone, the cold dismissal that had sent him spiraling.
Oscar shifts beside him, giving him a sideways glance, probably wondering where this is going. Logan catches the edge of his own reflection in the shiny surface of the table and forces his expression into something neutral, even though the old bitterness is clawing its way up from the pit of his stomach.
“Bad vibes,” Logan says finally, his voice carrying just enough humor to keep it light, though there’s an unmistakable edge to it. “That’s what my girlfriend would say. He just … gives off bad vibes.”
There’s a ripple of laughter through the room, the tension breaking slightly. But the journalist isn’t done yet. “Bad vibes? Care to elaborate on that?”
Logan shrugs, trying to brush it off with a casualness he doesn’t quite feel. “You know, it’s one of those things. Sometimes you just don’t click with someone, right? It’s nothing serious.”
Charles, on his other side, leans into his mic, flashing a grin. “You’re not going to make us all paranoid about our vibes now, are you?”
The room laughs again, and Logan takes the opportunity to sip his water, hoping the moment will pass. But he can feel the weight of the past pressing against him, the memories of how it all went down before he’d found himself in this second chance. He knows better than anyone that this sport is a game of perceptions, of how you carry yourself, and he can’t afford to let the past taint his future.
Another journalist jumps in, steering the conversation toward safer waters — questions about the new car, how he’s adjusting to the Andretti team. Logan answers on autopilot, the usual lines about feeling confident, about how the team has been amazing. But in the back of his mind, he’s still thinking about that flash of disgust he couldn’t hide, the way his skin prickled when he saw Vowles earlier that day.
When the press conference finally wraps up, and the drivers are ushered out of the room, Oscar hangs back, falling into step beside Logan as they head toward the paddock. “So,” Oscar starts, keeping his voice low, “bad vibes, huh?”
Logan lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, a half-smile tugging at his lips. “You know how it is,” he says, trying to keep it light, though he knows Oscar can see right through him.
Oscar just nods, not pushing any further, and Logan’s grateful for that. They walk in silence for a moment, the din of the paddock growing louder as they approach, engineers and team members bustling around them.
“Honestly, mate,” Oscar says after a beat, “if anyone’s going to bring some good vibes into F1, it’s you. I’m glad you’re here.”
Logan glances over, and there’s sincerity in Oscar’s expression that makes Logan’s chest tighten, the weight of everything he’s carried with him lightening just a bit. “Thanks, Oscar. That means a lot.”
They reach the Andretti motorhome, where you’re waiting for Logan, your eyes lighting up the moment you spot him. He feels a warmth spread through him at the sight, a reminder of what really matters.
You push off the wall you’d been leaning against, falling into step beside him. “So, how’d it go in there?”
Logan smirks, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as they walk. “Let’s just say my reputation for honesty might have gotten a bit more solidified.”
You tilt your head up at him, a teasing glint in your eyes. “That bad, huh?”
He chuckles, shaking his head. “Not bad, just … honest.”
You glance at Oscar, who’s still walking beside you, and give him a knowing look. “He always has to make things interesting, doesn’t he?”
Oscar grins, nodding in agreement. “Never a dull moment with this one.”
As you make your way back into the motorhome, Logan feels the tension of the day starting to ebb away. The familiar scent of coffee and fuel, the low hum of conversations around him, and the comforting presence of you by his side — it all feels right. Despite everything, he knows this is where he belongs.
Once inside, the motorhome offers a brief respite from the chaotic energy outside. The team is prepping for final checks, and Logan knows he should be focusing on the task ahead, but there’s something nagging at him, a need to explain himself, to make sure you understand.
You catch the way his brows furrow slightly, the way his grip on your shoulder tightens for a moment before he lets go. “What’s up?”
He hesitates, running a hand through his hair, looking for the right words. “I just … I don’t want to come off like I’m carrying a grudge or anything. That comment about Vowles — it probably sounded harsher than I meant it.”
You step closer, your hand finding his, grounding him. “Logan, it’s okay. Everyone has people they don’t vibe with. It doesn’t mean anything more than that.”
He nods, the tightness in his chest loosening as he looks into your eyes, seeing the unwavering support there. “You always know what to say, don’t you?”
You smile, squeezing his hand. “It’s a gift. Plus, you make it easy.”
Oscar clears his throat, and both of you look over to see him trying not to grin. “I’m going to leave you two to it. Just don’t forget we have a race to focus on.”
Logan laughs, shaking his head as Oscar heads out. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll be right out.”
When Oscar’s gone, Logan turns back to you, his expression softening. “Thanks for being here. Really.”
You lean up, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Always.”
As you both make your way out to the garage, the sounds of the team preparing for the weekend reach your ears, and Logan feels that familiar rush of adrenaline, the anticipation of what’s to come. The memory of the press conference, of Vowles, fades into the background. What matters now is the race ahead, the chance to prove himself once again, and the knowledge that whatever happens, you’re right there with him.
He glances over at you as they approach the car, and you catch him staring, raising an eyebrow in question. “What?”
Logan just smiles, shaking his head. “Nothing. Just thinking about how lucky I am.”
You roll your eyes, though there’s a smile playing on your lips. “You better believe it, Sargeant. Now, go out there and show them what you’ve got.”
He nods, feeling more centered than he has all day. With a final squeeze of your hand, he steps into the garage, ready to take on whatever comes next, knowing that no matter what happens on the track, he’s already won in the ways that truly matter.
***
The roar of the engines reverberates through the paddock, a constant hum that thrums in Logan’s chest as he steps into the Andretti garage. It’s yet another race weekend, and the energy is electric, a mix of anticipation and nerves hanging in the air.
The team is buzzing around him, mechanics fine-tuning the car, engineers buried in data, but Logan’s focus is on the familiar figure leaning casually against the back wall, arms crossed, watching the hustle with an almost serene smile.
Logan stops in his tracks, eyebrows raising in surprise. It’s not that Mario isn’t around — he’s a constant presence in the team, always keeping an eye on things — but he usually doesn’t show up this early in the weekend, and certainly not with that look on his face.
It’s a smile Logan recognizes all too well, a mix of pride and mischief that means only one thing: Mario knows something that everyone else doesn’t, and it’s going to shake things up.
Logan weaves his way through the garage, sidestepping the organized chaos until he’s standing in front of Mario. “You look like you’re up to something,” Logan says, crossing his arms to mirror the older man’s posture. “What’s going on?”
Mario’s smile widens just a fraction, his eyes glinting with a secret. “Now, what makes you think I’m up to anything, kid?”
Logan chuckles, shaking his head. “Because I know that look. You’ve got news.”
Mario doesn’t respond immediately. Instead, he pushes off the wall and motions for Logan to follow him to a quieter corner of the garage, away from the prying eyes and ears of the rest of the team. Logan follows, his curiosity piqued. Whatever Mario’s about to tell him, it’s big.
When they’re sufficiently out of earshot, Mario leans in slightly, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You remember how I told you a while back that we were working on something big for the team?”
Logan nods, his interest fully captured. “Yeah. What’s up?”
Mario’s smile turns almost wicked. “Well, it seems that James Vowles and Williams think they’re going to secure Adrian Newey for next season.”
Logan’s eyes widen slightly. Newey is a legend in the sport, the kind of designer who can turn a good team into a championship-winning one. If Williams were to get him, it would be a game-changer. “Wait, you said they think they’re going to get him?”
“Exactly.” Mario’s grin is practically gleeful now. “What they don’t know is that Adrian’s already in talks with us. In fact, we’re just about ready to sign the deal.”
Logan lets out a low whistle, the magnitude of the news sinking in. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious. By this time next week, Adrian Newey will be working for Andretti.”
Logan can’t help the wide smile that spreads across his face. This is huge, a move that will send shockwaves through the paddock. With Newey on board, Andretti’s chances of becoming a front-runner in F1 just skyrocketed. “I can’t believe it,” Logan says, shaking his head in disbelief. “That’s going to change everything.”
Mario nods, satisfaction evident in his expression. “It’s a big deal, no doubt about it. But we’ve still got work to do. We can’t get complacent, not with what’s at stake. But this … this is a big step in the right direction.”
Logan’s mind is already racing ahead, thinking about what this means for the team, for his own career. The idea of driving a car designed by Newey is almost surreal. “When are you going to announce it?”
“Not until everything’s signed and sealed,” Mario replies. “But once it’s done, we’ll make sure the whole world knows. And Williams … well, they’re in for a nasty surprise.”
Logan laughs, the sound coming out more exhilarated than he intended. The idea of one-upping Vowles, especially after everything that’s happened between them, is deeply satisfying. “I can’t wait to see the look on Vowles’ face when he finds out.”
Mario pats Logan on the shoulder, the gesture filled with a camaraderie that Logan has come to cherish. “Neither can I, kid. Neither can I.”
As they walk back towards the main part of the garage, Logan’s mind is still reeling from the news. He’s been focused on the present, on making sure he performs at his best every time he’s out on the track, but this … this opens up a whole new realm of possibilities. With Newey on board, there’s no telling what they can achieve.
When you spot him from across the garage, the look on his face must give away that something’s up because you immediately make your way over, your expression curious. “What’s going on?” You ask as soon as you’re close enough.
Logan glances around, making sure no one is within earshot, and then leans in, his voice low. “Mario just dropped a bombshell. Andretti’s about to sign Adrian Newey.”
Your eyes widen in shock, and Logan watches as a grin spreads across your face, mirroring his own excitement. “No way. That’s … huge!”
“I know,” Logan says, still barely able to believe it himself. “This changes everything.”
You reach out, placing a hand on his arm, your voice filled with pride. “You’re going to be driving a car designed by Newey. Do you realize how amazing that is?”
Logan nods, the reality of it finally sinking in. “Yeah, I do. It’s … I can’t even put it into words.”
You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. “You don’t have to. I can see it on your face.”
For a moment, Logan just stands there, soaking it all in. The garage is still bustling around them, the team oblivious to the monumental news that’s just been dropped in their laps. But Logan knows that soon enough, everything is going to change. This is the kind of move that can define a career, that can take a team from being contenders to being champions.
But more than that, it’s a chance for redemption. A chance to prove to everyone — including himself — that he belongs here, that he’s capable of more than anyone ever gave him credit for. The past is behind him now, and with you by his side, and Newey in the garage, the future looks brighter than ever.
Logan glances over at you, seeing the pride and excitement in your eyes, and feels a surge of gratitude. For the second chance he’s been given, for the team that believes in him, and for you, the person who’s been there through it all.
“We’re going to do something amazing, you know that?” Logan says, his voice filled with conviction.
You nod, your smile soft but full of certainty. “I know. And I can’t wait to see it.”
Neither can Logan.
***
Logan’s heart is still pounding from the rush of the race as he stands on the podium, feeling the weight of the Miami sun on his shoulders. The crowd roars below him, a sea of red, white, and blue as far as the eye can see, their energy pulsing through his veins. He can hardly believe it. A podium at his home race, in front of a crowd that feels like family, is something he’d dreamed about since he was a kid.
He turns, looking out over the crowd, his eyes scanning for you. You’re there, as you always are, standing with the Andretti team, your smile brighter than the sun. The mechanics are cheering, patting each other on the back, but Logan only has eyes for you. It’s like everything else falls away — the noise, the cameras, the pressure of the season — all of it fades into the background. All that matters is the way you’re looking at him, like he’s your entire world.
He takes a deep breath, the realization of what he’s about to do washing over him. His hands shake, just slightly, as he reaches up and touches the chain around his neck, feeling the weight of the ring that’s been hidden there for weeks, waiting for this moment.
Without another thought, he drops to one knee, right there on the podium. The world seems to stop as he looks up at you, the crowd going silent in his mind. He hears the sharp intake of breath from the Andretti crew, sees the shock on your face as you register what’s happening.
“Hey,” he says, his voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through him. “I … I don’t know if I can put into words what you mean to me. You’ve been with me through everything — the wins, the losses, the crazy twists and turns. And I can’t imagine going through any of it without you by my side.” He pauses, the weight of the moment sinking in. “So I guess what I’m trying to say is … will you marry me?”
Your eyes widen, and for a second, you’re frozen in place, staring at him in disbelief. Then, as if breaking free from a spell, you laugh, a sound that’s pure joy, and nod vigorously. The next thing Logan knows, you’re being lifted onto the podium by the mechanics, tears of happiness streaming down your face as you launch yourself into his arms.
“Yes,” you say, your voice trembling with emotion. “Yes, of course, I will!”
The crowd erupts into cheers, the noise deafening as Logan slides the ring onto your finger. He pulls you close, his lips finding yours in a kiss that tastes like victory, love, and everything good in the world. The mechanics are going wild, chanting your names, and someone — Logan thinks it might be Mario — pops open a bottle of champagne, spraying it over everyone.
It’s chaotic, it’s perfect, and it’s a moment that Logan knows he’ll remember for the rest of his life. As he holds you close, feeling the warmth of your body against his, he realizes that this — right here, with you in his arms, and his home crowd cheering around him — is the true victory. The rest is just a bonus.
He pulls back slightly, just enough to look into your eyes. “You know,” he says, his voice low so only you can hear, “I always knew I was lucky. But this … this is something else entirely.”
You smile, the kind of smile that makes his heart skip a beat, and lean in to kiss him again. “We’re both lucky, Logan,” you whisper against his lips. “And this is just the beginning.”
***
The paddock is buzzing with activity, the hum of engines and the chatter of mechanics creating a familiar symphony that Logan finds oddly comforting. It’s the start of another race weekend, but this one feels different. There’s an undercurrent of excitement in the air, a mix of nerves and anticipation that has nothing to do with the cars or the track.
Logan slips away from the Andretti garage, his eyes scanning the bustling paddock as he makes his way toward the Williams garage. He’s done his best to stay clear of them ever since re-entering Formula 1, but today is different. Today, he has a reason to be there — a reason that brings a small, almost mischievous smile to his lips.
The Williams garage is a flurry of motion, mechanics and engineers huddled over laptops, surrounded by toolboxes and tires. The sight brings a wave of nostalgia crashing over Logan, but he quickly pushes it aside. He isn’t here for a trip down memory lane.
Spotting Alex Albon near the back, Logan weaves through the chaos, his steps light and easy despite the tension he can feel crawling up his spine. Alex is engrossed in a conversation with his race engineer, but when Logan steps up, he looks up in surprise.
“Logan!” Alex greets, his face splitting into a wide grin. “What are you doing here? Slumming it with the backmarkers?”
“Something like that,” Logan replies, his tone light as he pulls a small, cream-colored envelope from his jacket pocket. He hands it to Alex, who takes it with a curious tilt of his head. “Figured I should deliver this in person.”
Alex flips the envelope over, his eyes widening slightly as he reads the names printed in elegant script on the front — his and Lily’s. He breaks into a grin, already understanding what it is before he even opens it.
“No way,” Alex says, pulling out the invitation and quickly scanning the details. “You’re really doing it, huh? Getting hitched?”
Logan chuckles, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at the thought. “Yeah, we are. And we’d love for you and Lily to be there.”
“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Alex replies, his grin softening into something more sincere. “Congrats, man. You two are great together.”
Logan nods, grateful for the genuine well-wishes. He’s about to say something else when a flicker of movement catches his eye. Glancing up, he sees James Vowles standing a few feet away, his expression unreadable as he watches the exchange between Logan and Alex.
For a brief moment, the past rushes back — the frustration, the disappointment, the sense of being discarded like a broken part. Logan feels a familiar pang of bitterness, but he quickly tamps it down. He isn’t that person anymore. He’s moved on, and he’s got better things — better people — in his life now.
Still, he can’t help himself.
He meets James’ gaze head-on, his smile shifting into something a bit more pointed, more deliberate. “Oh, James?” He says, his voice carrying just enough to be heard over the noise of the garage. “Seems like your invitation must’ve gotten lost in the mail. Real shame.”
James’ eyes narrow slightly, his jaw tightening, but he doesn’t respond. The tension between them is almost tangible, thickening the air around them. Logan holds his gaze for a moment longer, then shrugs exaggeratingly before turning his attention back to Alex.
“Anyway, hope to see you there,” Logan says, clapping Alex on the shoulder before stepping back. “Tell Lily we’re looking forward to it.”
“Will do,” Alex replies, still smiling but with a touch of unease as he glances between Logan and James.
Logan doesn’t linger. He turns on his heel and strides back through the garage, the small, satisfied grin still tugging at his lips. He can feel James’ eyes boring into his back, but he doesn’t care. Let him stew, Logan thinks. He’s got more important things on his mind.
As he exits the garage and steps back into the sun-drenched paddock, Logan takes a deep breath, feeling lighter, freer. The thought of the wedding, of you waiting for him back in the Andretti garage, fills him with a sense of contentment that he never thought he’d find in the world of Formula 1.
He spots you before you see him, standing with Mario and a few other Andretti team members, animatedly talking about something. Your laughter rings out over the noise of the paddock, and Logan feels his heart swell with affection.
It’s funny how things work out, he thinks. How life has a way of surprising you, of turning things around when you least expect it. He’s come a long way from that lost, angry kid who thought he’d never get a second chance. And now, here he is, standing on the cusp of a future that’s brighter than anything he could have imagined.
He picks up his pace, eager to get back to you, to tell you about the exchange with Alex and the little jab he couldn’t resist throwing at James. But as he draws closer, you turn and catch sight of him, your face lighting up in a way that makes his breath catch in his throat.
“Hey, you,” you call out, stepping away from the group to meet him halfway. “Did you get it done?”
Logan nods, a grin spreading across his face. “Yeah, I did. Alex and Lily are in.”
“And Vowles?” You ask, a knowing glint in your eyes.
Logan chuckles, slipping an arm around your waist as he leans in to press a quick kiss to your lips. “Let’s just say … he didn’t make the cut.”
You laugh, the sound pure and full of joy, and it’s the best thing Logan’s heard all day. “Good. You don’t need that kind of negativity at our wedding.”
“No, I don’t,” Logan agrees, feeling a rush of relief that you’re by his side, making even the most awkward encounters bearable. “And anyway, we’ve got more than enough people who actually care about us.”
You nod, your expression softening as you look up at him. “Yeah, we do. And I can’t wait to celebrate with them — with you.”
Logan feels a warmth spread through him, the same warmth he’s felt ever since the day he realized just how much you meant to him. It’s a feeling that never gets old, no matter how many podiums or victories he racks up. Because at the end of the day, it’s moments like this — simple, shared moments with you — that matter the most.
As the two of you head back toward the Andretti garage, Logan can’t help but think about how far he’s come. From the chaos of that first season in Formula 1, the heartbreak of being dropped, to the wild success of his time in IndyCar, and now, back in the sport he loves, with you by his side.
He knows there will be more challenges ahead — there always are in this world. But for now, he’s content to focus on the here and now, on the love he’s found and the life he’s building with you.
And as you walk together through the paddock, the sun casting long shadows on the ground, Logan can’t help but feel like the luckiest guy in the world. Not because of the cars, or the fame, or even the victories, but because of you — because you’re the one thing in his life that makes all the twists and turns worth it.
And he wouldn’t trade that for anything.
***
The roar of the crowd is deafening, a wall of sound that crashes against Logan as he stands on top of the podium. His hands grip the trophy tightly, the cold metal grounding him as the reality of it all sinks in. He’s done it. Logan Sargeant, the kid from Florida who almost lost everything, is now the World Drivers’ Champion.
The first American to do so since Mario Andretti himself.
He’s fought hard for this moment, clawed his way back from the brink of obscurity, and now here he is, at the pinnacle of motorsport. The champagne sprays around him, but all Logan can focus on is the sight of you, beaming up at him from the edge of the podium. You’re standing beside Mario, who’s wearing a grin as wide as Logan’s ever seen. You’re bouncing on the balls of your feet, hands clasped together, eyes sparkling with a mix of pride and joy.
He barely registers the other drivers beside him, the interviews, or the flashes of cameras. Everything narrows to you and the overwhelming sense of accomplishment swelling in his chest. You’ve been there through it all, from the moment he took that leap of faith into IndyCar, to the sleepless nights before his first season back in Formula 1. Every high and every low has led to this, and you’ve never wavered.
Logan can’t help the way his gaze shifts slightly to the left, where James Vowles stands at the edge of the crowd, arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin line. There’s a tightness to his expression, a bitterness that Logan recognizes all too well.
But as much as he’d love to revel in that small victory, he finds that he doesn’t care. Not really. The vindication is sweet, sure, but it pales in comparison to the sight of you and the emotions radiating from you like the warmest of suns.
You notice him looking at you, and you blow him a kiss, laughing when he pretends to catch it, holding it to his chest. There’s no place he’d rather be than right here, right now, with you by his side.
The ceremony starts to wrap up, and as the photographers move in closer for shots, Logan can see Mario nudging you forward. You’re waving your hands at your grandfather, as if to say no, you’re fine where you are, but Mario’s having none of it. The mechanics and team members part to let you through, and Logan watches with an ever-growing smile as you finally make your way up onto the podium.
When you reach him, Logan pulls you into his arms without hesitation, lifting you off your feet as the crowd goes wild. He spins you around, feeling the way you cling to him, your laughter ringing out in his ear.
“You did it,” you say when he finally sets you down, your voice thick with emotion.
“No,” Logan corrects, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. “We did it.”
You roll your eyes playfully, but there’s no hiding the way your eyes glisten. “You’re unbelievable.”
“And you love me for it,” Logan teases, leaning in to press his forehead against yours.
“Yeah,” you whisper, “I really do.”
The moment is interrupted by Mario clearing his throat, and Logan turns to see him holding a bottle of champagne, a wicked glint in his eyes. “Now, are we celebrating or what?”
Logan laughs, grabbing the bottle and popping the cork, spraying the contents over you and Mario, who both shout in surprise. The rest of the team quickly follows suit, and soon, the podium is a chaotic mess of laughter, champagne, and pure, unfiltered joy.
As the celebrations continue around him, Logan takes a step back, watching the scene unfold. His heart swells with a sense of contentment he’s never felt before. He’s always been driven, always had his eyes set on the next goal, the next race, the next win. But standing here, with you by his side, he realizes that he’s found something even more important than all of that.
He’s found a home.
A family.
And he’s never letting go.
The night carries on in a blur of congratulatory hugs, media obligations, and team celebrations. But as the crowd starts to thin and the energy begins to mellow, Logan finds himself sitting on the edge of the podium, his legs dangling off the side. The cool night air brushes against his skin, the sounds of the city in the distance providing a soft backdrop to the dwindling celebrations.
You find him there, sitting in silence, and without a word, you join him. You lean into his side, and he wraps an arm around you, pulling you close.
“It’s still sinking in,” Logan admits after a while. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this feeling.”
You tilt your head up to look at him, your eyes filled with warmth. “You’ve earned it, Logan. Every single bit of it. Don’t ever doubt that.”
He nods, resting his chin on top of your head. “It just feels … surreal. Like I’m living in a dream.”
“Well, if this is a dream,” you say, a mischievous smile playing on your lips, “then it’s one I never want to wake up from.”
Logan chuckles softly, his heart swelling with affection. “You and me both.”
The two of you sit there in comfortable silence, watching as the final remnants of the celebration begin to fade. The stadium lights dim, and the night sky takes over, a blanket of stars twinkling above you. It’s peaceful, a stark contrast to the chaos of the day, and Logan can’t help but feel grateful for this quiet moment with you.
“I used to think winning was everything,” Logan says after a while, his voice barely above a whisper. “That nothing else mattered as long as I crossed the finish line first.”
“And now?” You ask, your tone gentle, inviting him to continue.
“Now I know that it’s not just about the win,” Logan replies, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “It’s about the journey. The people who stand by you, who lift you up when you’re down, who make the victories sweeter and the losses bearable. It’s about finding something worth fighting for, and never letting go of it.”
You smile, your fingers intertwining with his. “Sounds like you’ve learned a lot.”
Logan nods, turning his head to look at you. “I have. And it’s all because of you.”
You laugh softly, shaking your head. “I think you’re giving me too much credit.”
“Not at all,” Logan says, his voice firm. “You’ve been my rock, my anchor. I wouldn’t be here without you.”
You look at him, your eyes shining with unshed tears. “Logan …”
“I mean it,” he says, his voice gentle yet unwavering. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
You don’t respond with words; instead, you lean in, capturing his lips in a soft, lingering kiss. It’s a kiss filled with promises, with unspoken words, and with a love that has grown stronger with every challenge, every victory, every moment shared.
When you finally pull away, Logan rests his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, his heart full. “I love you,” he whispers, the words carrying the weight of all he feels.
“I love you too,” you reply, your voice just as soft, just as full of emotion.
The world fades away as the two of you sit there, wrapped up in each other. Logan knows that there will be more challenges ahead, more races to win, more obstacles to overcome. But as long as he has you by his side, he knows that he can face anything.
Because, in the end, it’s not just about the racing. It’s about the people who make it all worthwhile.
And for Logan Sargeant, that person is you.
As the night deepens and the city quiets, Logan realizes that this is just the beginning. The beginning of a new chapter, a new journey, with you right beside him. And whatever the future holds, he knows one thing for certain:
He’s exactly where he’s meant to be.
And with you, he’s already won.
#f1 imagine#f1#f1 fic#f1 fanfic#f1 fanfiction#f1 x reader#f1 x you#logan sargeant#ls2#logan sargeant imagine#logan sargeant x reader#logan sargeant x you#logan sargeant fic#logan sargeant fluff#logan sargeant fanfiction#logan sargeant blurb#f1 fluff#f1 blurb#f1 one shot#f1 x y/n#f1 drabble#f1 fandom#f1blr#f1 x female reader#logan sargeant x y/n#williams racing#williams#logan sargeant one shot#logan sargeant drabble
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fan interactions | oscar piastri
pairing: oscar piastri x shy!reader
summary: you tend to shy away from all interactions and oscar has never had a problem with that. he can’t deny that seeing you interact with his fans isn’t a sight he enjoys, though.
warnings: none!!
every race weekend you are able to attend follows a familiar pattern for you: you arrive at the track with oscar, your heart pounding with excitement and anxiety as the noise, the crowds and the high energy overwhelming you. sticking close to your boyfriend’s side, holding onto his arms or hand is the best comfort you can get. oscar’s presence beside you acts as your shield, your safe haven in the whirlwind of it all.
today is no different. as you walk through the bustling paddock, you stick close to oscar, basically hiding behind him. he holds your hand reassuringly, his touch grounding you in the chaos and you enjoy being able to cling to him. you know he understands how you feel, always making sure you’re comfortable, never pushing you to interact more than you’re ready for, and you appreciate it so much. all of your life, people have tried to force you into becoming more social, but it never helped you, only made you more uncomfortable, so oscar’s understanding means the world.
today, though, something unexpected happens. as you pass by a group of fans, one of them, a young girl with a friendly smile, catches your eye. she steps forward, her excitement palpable.
“hi!” she exclaims. “you’re oscar’s girlfriend, right?” her are eyes wide with admiration as she questions you.
you nod shyly, trying to force your voice above a whisper. “yes, i am.”
the fan beams at you, reaching into her bag. “i made this for you. it’s a bracelet with oscar’s racing colours and his number! i hope you like it.”
she hands you a beautiful bracelet woven with intricate patterns in orange and gold. your heart swells with warmth at the kind gesture. “thank you so much, it’s lovely,” you say softly, your fingers trembling slightly as you take the bracelet and slips it around your wrist.
“can i take a picture of you wearing it?” the fan asks, her eyes sparkling with hope.
overwhelmed by the attention, you try your best to seem calm and confident, but your hands are shaking slightly as you nod your head.
the fan takes a quick photo while you muster up your best smile. her gratitude is evident in her eyes as she thanks you. “thank you so so much! you’re so sweet.”
you manage a small genuine smile in return, feeling a mix of nerves and happiness. as the fan takes a step back, you turn to catch up with your boyfriend. when he feels your presence besides him, oscar turns to you, his eyes full of pride.
“you handled that so well,” he says, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “i know it’s not easy for you, but you were amazing.”
you blush, looking down at the bracelet. “i was so nervous,” you laugh awkwardly. “but she was really nice.”
oscar chuckles softly, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “you were adorable. i think it’s cute how shy you get. and i love seeing you smile like that.”
your heart flutters at his words, butterflies forming in your stomach. being with oscar made you feel so special. something about his intense attention and affection makes you feel like the most important person in the world. moments like these only work to further remind you just how deeply he understands and appreciates you. you lean into him, wrapping your hands around his bicep as you continue walking into the paddock.
“thank you,” you whisper, grateful for his constant support. “i really don’t know what i’d do without you.”
he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. “you don’t have to do anything alone. i’m always gonna be here for you.”
his promise makes a brighter, even more beautiful smile appear on your face. walking towards the mclaren hospitality, feeling his soft skin beneath your fingers reminds you just how lucky you are. the luckiest girl in the world perhaps.
#f1#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#formula 1#formula 1 x reader#mclaren#mclaren racing#op81#op81 imagine#op81 x reader#oscar piastri x yn#oscar piastri x you#oscar piastri imagine#oscar piastri#oscar piastri x reader
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ILLICIT AFFAIRS (2/3) | CS55
summary : You tap on his profile again, almost like you’re double-checking to make sure this isn’t some kind of glitch. But no. Apparently, it’s real. You thought it was just a one-night stand. Maybe it still is. But who the hell follows their one-night stand’s Instagram?
or: Carlos proposes a deal to counter your argument that no he cannot catch a two-hour plane ride for a bootycall— phone sex.
wc : 7.5k
an : uh.. hi again 🫶 this was super fun to write!! :> im so glad ppl seemed to enjoy pt 1
He’s hyperaware of the heat radiating from your skin, the faint sheen of sweat glistening against the dim light, and the way your fingers lazily trace patterns across his chest.
When it’s over, Carlos feels the weight of you collapse onto his chest, your soft breaths mingling with his own as both of you struggle to steady yourselves.
He knows this should be the part where he gets up, grabs a drink, maybe offers you a towel.
Instead, his hands wander down your back, his fingertips finding those tiny dimples near the base of your spine. He traces slow, absentminded circles, grinning when you squirm against him with a halfhearted giggle that bubbles up like a melody he didn’t know he liked.
“Ticklish, huh?” he teases, his voice low and teasing, though it lacks the sharpness he usually reserves for these fleeting encounters.
“Maybe,” you mumble into his chest, your voice muffled and sleepy.
He chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.
It’s the kind of thing he doesn’t normally do.
Too intimate, too dangerous. But with you, it feels natural, easy.
And therein lies the problem.
He pulls out, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead when you let out a quiet whine.
With a practiced motion, he removes the condom, ties it off, and tosses it into the bin before slipping back into bed beside you, not even a minute later.
The two of you lie there in the quiet, the air between you filled with the soft sound of your breathing.
Carlos stares at the ceiling, his mind racing even as his body feels like it’s sinking into the mattress.
This was supposed to be simple.
One night. No strings.
But you’re fun. Too fun, really.
It's not that he’s never met women who are funny, or ones who’ve turned an evening into something more than just a tangle of bodies.
It’s just that, for the most part, that’s all it is. An unspoken agreement that they'll share the night, and then part ways. A blank, if not lustful, exchange.
You, on the other hand, have spent the whole night surprising him, throwing him off-kilter in a way he didn’t think he’d enjoy.
The banter, the teasing, the way you’d wrinkle your nose at him when you didn’t believe his answers.
It all stuck with him in a way he knows it shouldn’t.
“You want tiramisu?” he asks suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence.
You lift your head, your sleepy eyes meeting his with a confused smile. “What?”
“Tiramisu,” he repeats, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Do you still want some?”
Your laugh is so unexpected and genuine that it catches him off guard. It’s light, carefree, and the way your nose scrunches in that way he's becoming to fond makes his chest tighten.
“I just… gave you the best sex of your life,” you say, propping yourself up on your elbow, your grin mischievous. “And you’re offering me dessert?”
Carlos raises an eyebrow, his smirk widening. “What can I say? I’m a man of priorities.”
“Priorities, huh?” You snort, shaking your head. “So what, tiramisu’s your way of saying ‘thanks for the good time’?”
“Something like that.” He shrugs, though the glint in his eyes betray his amusement.
You narrow your eyes at him, but there’s no real malice in your gaze. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously charming,” he counters without missing a beat, his grin turning cocky.
You roll your eyes, but the way you settle back against his chest tells him you’re not as annoyed as you pretend to be.
And that’s when it hits him, the thought sinking like a stone in his gut.
He likes this. Likes you.
Maybe not romantically. Not yet at least. But definitely more than he should.
The realization is unwelcome, gnawing at the edges of his carefully constructed rules.
This is a one-night stand. That’s all it’s supposed to be.
But here you are, lying on his chest like you belong there, laughing at his dumb jokes and making his heart flip in a way that feels too good to ignore.
The thought itself makes him sick.
“Alright,” you say suddenly, breaking him out of his spiral. “Fine. Let’s get tiramisu.”
He blinks at you, startled by your casual agreement. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you nod, grinning. “But only if you admit I was better than you.”
Carlos groans, his head tipping back against the pillow. “I’m never admitting that.”
You laugh again, soft and sweet, and Carlos knows, despite himself, that he’s in trouble.
He places the order moments later.
You’re still sprawled on the bed, a lazy grin playing on your lips.
“Do you always use tiramisu as a post-sex strategy?” you ask, your voice light but curious.
He smirks, sitting on the edge of the bed and tossing his phone onto the nightstand. “Only for people who deserve it.”
You snort, rolling onto your stomach to prop your chin on your hands. “Lucky me.”
“Lucky me,” he counters, glancing over his shoulder at you. The way your hair falls across your face, messy and untamed, makes his chest tighten.
When the dessert arrives, Carlos grabs it from the door, careful not to let the guy bringing it up see the faint red marks on his neck.
He returns with the elaborate cloche, holding it up triumphantly. “Food is served.”
You both sit cross-legged on the bed, the plate between you.
Carlos hands you a fork, watching as you take your first bite. Your eyes widen in exaggerated delight.
“Wow. This might be better than sex,” you joke, though the mischievous glint in your eye says otherwise.
Carlos chuckles, shaking his head. “You wound me again.”
“Well, maybe if you’d ordered two...” you tease, but your tone softens as you gesture for him to take his own bite.
The tiramisu is good. Great, even. But Carlos barely notices.
He’s too focused on the way you laugh when you get a bit of cream on your nose, or how your lips curve as you savor each bite.
You’re funny, in a way that feels effortless. It’s not just the jokes or the teasing; it’s the way you bring a lightness to the room, the way you make him feel like this moment is the only thing that matters.
And there's that thought again.
He shouldn’t be feeling this way.
He barely even knows you.
Carlos watches you scrape the last bit of tiramisu from the plate, your eyes gleaming with triumph as you lick the fork clean.
He leans back against the headboard, arms crossed, a mock glare plastered across his face.
“Didn’t even save me the last bite,” he says, shaking his head. “Unreal.”
“You snooze, you lose,” you reply smugly, placing the empty plate on the nightstand with a flourish.
“I was letting you enjoy it,” Carlos argues, sitting up straighter. “It’s called being a gentleman. Look it up.”
You snort, rolling your eyes. “A gentleman wouldn’t sulk over dessert.”
“A gentleman wouldn’t have to sulk if someone had manners,” he shoots back, a playful grin tugging at his lips.
You throw your head back, laughing, and Carlos feels a strange pang in his chest.
He quickly smothers it, keeping his expression light, his tone teasing.
“Don’t worry,” you say between giggles. “I’ll order you a second one. You’ll survive.”
“Don’t bother,” he says, waving you off dramatically. “I’ll just starve. Waste away. Die in this very bed.”
“Oh, stop it,” you say, swatting his arm. “You’re so dramatic.”
“Dramatic? Me?” He feigns shock, pressing a hand to his chest like you’ve mortally wounded him. “I’m the picture of restraint.”
You narrow your eyes at him, a smirk playing on your lips. “Restraint? Coming from the guy who ate my pussy out earlier like a starved man?”
“That’s called quality service,” he says, completely deadpan. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
“Quality service,” you repeat, raising an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”
He smiles, nodding.
This is what you deserve.
Lighthearted fun, no heavy emotions weighing you down.
He’s an expert at keeping things that way, at making sure there’s nothing to hold onto when the moment ends.
It’s what he promised you. And it’s what he’s going to give you.
Because anything more would be unfair.
Carlos slides out of bed quietly, careful not to disturb you as you stretch languidly under the covers.
His shirt, now crumpled, is pulled over his head in one swift motion, followed by his jeans.
He pauses for a moment, running a hand through his hair, the weight of the night settling on him like a second skin.
You watch him with a raised brow, propped up on your elbow. “I thought I was supposed to be the one getting kicked out?”
The corner of his mouth twitches as he glances at you, shaking his head. “It’s a hotel, not my permanent residence,” he retorts, his voice tinged with amusement. “I’ll go.”
The playfulness in your tone doesn’t escape him, and he can’t help but snort softly. “Besides, you look too comfortable to be evicted.”
You laugh, tucking the sheets around you. “Chivalry isn’t dead, huh?”
“Not tonight,” he quips, grabbing his wallet and keys from the nightstand.
For a moment, neither of you speaks.
The weight of reality hangs in the air, but you don’t acknowledge it. Instead, you watch as he slips on his shoes, movements practiced and deliberate.
“You don’t have to, you know,” you say finally, your voice softer now. “Leave, I mean.”
He pauses at the door, his hand resting on the handle. “I do,” he replies, looking back at you with a small, almost sad smile. “But thanks for making tonight worth it.”
You roll your eyes, but there’s a warmth to your expression. “You’re a sap, you know that?”
“Guilty,” he says, offering you a mock tip-of-the-hat, before stepping out.
As the door clicks shut behind him, Carlos exhales, the cool night air hitting him as he makes his way down the hall.
His chest feels tight, but he pushes the feeling aside, forcing himself to focus on the sound of his footsteps echoing against the hotel’s tiled floor.
It’s better this way, he tells himself. Simple. Clean. No messy feelings to untangle in the morning.
—-
The next morning, Carlos slowly stirs awake, groaning as the sunlight filters through the blinds, casting a soft glow across the room.
His muscles feel heavy, his head a little foggy.
Last night is a blur, but the warmth of it lingers. The weight of your presence, the quiet moments between laughs, the way your eyes shone...
He stretches, cracking his back, but then, like a sudden punch to the gut, it hits him.
The NDA.
“Shit,” he mutters, sitting up so fast it makes his head spin.
He runs a hand over his face, the realization sinking in.
How could he forget that?
He’s been drilled on it, the legal side of things, the contracts, all of it.
He tries to calm himself, taking a deep breath.
You wouldn’t talk. You wouldn’t risk your own career for some tabloid fodder. You’re famous too, after all. Not in the same way, but enough that the press would chew you up if you decided to spill anything.
But still. His PR team would rip him apart.
His manager? Worse. And the worst part? He’d promised—promised—to behave for at least a month. A month.
And if Carlos is anything, he’s a man of his word.
“Dios mío,” he groans, grabbing his phone from the bedside table.
He scrolls through his messages, finding your number quickly. The last text exchange, brief and teasing, makes him pause.
He hesitates for a moment, wondering if texting you about this will only make things worse. Then again, what could be worse than his manager screaming in his ear while tabloids run wild?
His thumbs hover over the keyboard before he types out:
Carlos Hey. So... I realized I forgot to make you sign an NDA last night. My bad.
He deletes it immediately. Too casual.
Carlos Morning. Hope you slept well. Quick thing, meant to get an NDA signed last night. Oops.
Carlos Don’t think you’d spill, but PR would freak. Let me know if you’re alright with me sending one over?
Carlos hesitates for a moment before adding:
Carlos Also, thanks again for last night. You’re fun to be around, even if you’re a little too good at teasing me.
He hits send before he can second-guess himself, tossing his phone onto the bed with a resigned sigh.
Now all he could do was wait and hope that:
1. You wouldn’t be offended.
2. His manager wouldn’t find out about this oversight.
—-
You blink into the morning light, squinting at the phone buzzing on the nightstand like it’s trying to crawl off the table.
You groggily grab it, seeing Carlos' name pop up with a new message.
You stretch, still half asleep, and glance over the message.
The first thing that hits you is the casual tone of it, which instantly makes you raise an eyebrow. NDA?
You don’t exactly need one, at least, you didn’t think you did. But then again, it makes sense. It’s a weird industry, and it’s not like you haven’t signed your fair share of these ridiculous things before.
You laugh a little at the thought, recalling the night before. The way everything felt so effortless, so easy, and now, here he is, texting you about NDAs like it’s the most normal thing in the world.
You picture him sitting in a hotel room, pacing, maybe even nervously fidgeting with his phone like some kind of over-caffeinated, nervous wreck.
You click on his message again, rereading it.
It’s... kind of adorable, the way he’s trying to play it cool about the whole thing. You grin.
And then you spot the part where he thanks you for last night. You’re fun to be around, even if you’re a little too good at teasing me.
That makes you smile, your cheeks warming a little.
You know what he's trying to do, being all casual and kind of sweet. But you can’t help it; it’s working.
You were just teasing him for fun, but hearing him say that? Well, it kind of feels nice.
But you don’t let it linger for long.
You know the drill. You’ve signed NDAs more times than you care to count, and it’s not like you’d ever be stupid enough to leak anything. That’s not even on the table.
Sure, there are some ridiculous tabloid stories out there, but you’re not about to give them the satisfaction.
Your career and reputation are worth more than any cheap headline.
You’re not the kind of person who’d throw away your dignity for a bit of gossip, not to mention that Carlos probably wouldn’t either.
He may be a little reckless, but you get it. Both of you have something to protect, and you respect that.
You stare at your phone, a little smile tugging at your lips. You decide to just keep it simple. He’s worrying, but you’re not about to make things more complicated.
You type out your reply:
you Don't worry about it. They're not getting anything out of me.
you I’ve signed worse things than an NDA, and I’m not about to be the person to ruin your career. If it can even be ruined at this point
you Go ahead and send it over. I’ve got you
By the time afternoon rolls around, you've handled the whole NDA situation with surprising ease.
The paperwork is signed, sealed, and done in record time.
You would have expected more back-and-forth, but Carlos kept it simple. Sent the document, answered your questions, and now it’s behind you.
No drama, no complications.
You step out of the hotel with a relieved breath, feeling like the morning's oddities are finally behind you.
But then there's that nagging little detail: Charles.
Charles, who always has a million questions when you don’t stick to your usual routine.
You grab a coffee on your way back to your room, the scent a comforting excuse for your absence.
It's just something simple. Something that won’t trigger his radar.
You know Charles too well.
A well-timed story about running out for caffeine sounds harmless enough.
And if not, well..
You’ll make it work.
—-
The next week, you’re nursing a mild headache, the kind that makes the sound of your alarm feel like a personal betrayal.
As you peel your face off the pillow, the regret for every sip of alcohol you’d had the night before hits you with the force of a freight train.
You really should stop letting Daniel and Landon drag you to every club under the sun.
Your hair’s a mess, your pajamas are a little too wrinkled for comfort, and you move with the grace of a sleep-deprived zombie who’s been deprived of both sleep and caffeine.
First stop? Coffee. Always coffee.
You shuffle into the kitchen, eyes half-lidded, and reach for your favorite mug, the one that’s seen better days. The faded design, "World's Okayest Sister," is probably more fitting this morning than ever before.
You measure the coffee grounds with mechanical precision, almost like your body’s running on autopilot.
The machine hums to life, and you watch it, waiting impatiently as the rich aroma of coffee fills the kitchen.
If you stare hard enough, maybe it'll brew faster.
Once the mug is filled, you lift it to your lips and take a long, heavenly sip.
The warmth radiates through you like a tiny, much-needed hug. It's not perfect, but it’s coffee, and that’s all that matters right now.
With the cup cradled in your hands, you shuffle back to your phone, which is still sitting on the counter from last night.
Scrolling through the notifications, you pause, your thumb hovering over the screen.
And then you see it.
carlossainz55 followed you.
Your coffee mug pauses midair, precariously balanced as you blink once, twice, trying to process what you’re seeing.
No, surely you’re still asleep.
That has to be it.
You’re dreaming. It’s the only logical explanation.
But no, the notification doesn’t disappear when you squint at it. It stays there, glaring at you, daring you to react.
Carlos’ profile pops up on your screen.
His name. His profile picture, all charm and confidence. His grid, filled with race shots, candid moments, sponsoring deals and that annoyingly perfect smile.
And there it is, glaringly obvious: “Follows you.”
You tap on his profile again, almost like you’re double-checking to make sure this isn’t some kind of glitch.
But no.
Apparently, it’s real.
You thought it was just a one-night stand. Maybe it still is.
But who the hell follows their one-night stand’s Instagram?
You stare back at the notification, still processing it, still waiting for something to make sense of this.
The world feels like it's moving at half speed as you squint at the screen.
Maybe it’s a mistake, you think. Some part of you wants to just close the app and forget it.
But the notification doesn’t disappear.
It lingers. Mocking you.
It’s not like you hadn’t thought about him.
Hell, how could you not? The night had been... well, amazing. The chemistry, the way everything just clicked, the way he made you laugh, how easy it all felt, like you’d known each other far longer than you really had.
The sex? Stellar. Absolutely 10/10. Probably something you'd brag about to your friends in a very classy, not-at-all-suggestive way if you hadn’t signed that NDA.
But now... this.
Him following you on Instagram?
It's like getting slapped in the face with a wet fish that had somehow been lit on fire.
What does this even mean? Are you supposed to act like it’s totally normal? Like you didn’t just have a mind-blowing night that now, suddenly, has an Instagram follow attached to it like a weird souvenir?
Is this how Carlos tells people he’s into them? Like, “Hey, I’ll follow you on Instagram, but let’s keep it low-key, like how I casually post sponsored content about luxury watches that cost more than your rent.”
Maybe he follows everyone he hooks up with?
But no, he’s Carlos Sainz Jr.
This is a guy who gets paid in gold bars, signs contracts that come with their own zip code, and has a fanbase that could start a small country. He's the type who has a personal assistant for his personal assistant.
The fact that he’s following you feels like finding out that Beyoncé follows you. It’s just.. weird.
You inhale sharply, suddenly remembering how to breathe, and glance at the clock.
It’s way too early for this kind of chaos.
You take another sip of coffee, as though caffeine might somehow help you process what’s unfolding.
Your thumb hovers over the follow-back button. Do you? Should you?
Of course, you do.
You tap the button before you can overthink it, and the little blue “Follow” turns into a subdued grey “Following.”
You sit there for a moment, staring at your phone, waiting for… something.
A notification.
A message.
Maybe a rogue pigeon delivering a note written in Carlos’ annoyingly neat handwriting. But nothing happens.
Nada.
“Cool,” you mutter to yourself, setting the phone down as if you’re trying to pretend nothing happened.
You take a deep breath, forcing your mind to focus on literally anything else. Like taxes. Or organizing your sock drawer. Anything but the lingering feeling of weirdness in your gut.
For the rest of the day, you pretend to be busy.
You check your notifications like a paranoid criminal every hour, convinced that your phone is holding some secret conversation you’ve missed.
But no. Nothing. Just the usual nonsense. Some ads, a message from your mom about dinner, a reminder to wash your laundry.
One day turns into two. Then three. The silence becomes more deafening, and you start to wonder if you imagined the whole thing.
Did Carlos actually follow you? Did you dream the entire sequence?
By the end of the week, your life is back to normal. The frantic phone-checking ceases. It's forgotten, a memory that’s faded to black like an expired coupon.
Then, seven days later, your phone lights up, the notification banner buzzing with the energy of a surprise party that you didn’t ask for.
carlossainz55 So, do you always follow people and then pretend they don’t exist?
You blink.
Twice.
Maybe you missed something?
You almost drop your phone because you’re so unprepared for whatever this is.
It feels like being tackled by a puppy while holding a glass of wine. You were doing fine, and then suddenly, everything’s upside down.
yourhandle Excuse me? You followed me first
carlossainz55 Details. The silence was deafening
yourhandle I figured you were busy being, you know, a world-famous rally driver. No time for little people like me
carlossainz55 I make time for the important things
You snort into your coffee, half-amused, half-annoyed. The casual way he says it makes you want to roll your eyes, but you're also weirdly charmed.
yourhandle So, what prompted this sudden message? Lose a bet?
carlossainz55 I was cleaning out my DMs and remembered there was one person I forgot to annoy
yourhandle Wow. I’m honored
carlossainz55 You should be
carlossainz55 By the way, how’s your brother? Still glaring at pictures of me?
yourhandle Probably. I think he keeps a dartboard somewhere with your face on it
carlossainz55 Tell him he needs better aim. I’m still standing
yourhandle He's practicing
carlossainz55 If he needs lessons, tell him I’m available
yourhandle Yeah, I’ll let him know. I’m sure he’d love some quality bonding time with you
The conversation flows easily, light and teasing, like you’re two middle schoolers passing notes in class.
Except the notes are digital, and the subject isn’t Mrs. Henderson’s questionable choice in socks but rather the unspoken elephant in the room.
You both dance around it like you’re in twelve-year-olds, neither of you brave, or stupid, enough to confront it head-on.
At least not until Carlos, true to form, decides that subtlety is for mortals.
carlossainz55 So… about that night…
You freeze, suddenly less comforted and more “oh no, where is this going?”
yourhandle What about it?
carlossainz55 I was just thinking...
yourhandle Dangerous start
carlossainz55 ...we should do it again.
Your jaw drops. This man. This actual man.
Subtle as a brick to the face.
Your brain short-circuits for a moment, staring at your phone like it just insulted your family.
yourhandle Excuse me?
carlossainz55 You heard me. Round two. Let’s make it happen
yourhandle Carlos, you don’t just text someone a week later and propose a sequel. That’s not how this works
carlossainz55 Why not? It’s efficient. I’m a very busy man
yourhandle Busy doing what? Posing with expensive cars and pretending to care about energy drinks?
carlossainz55 Exactly. It’s a tough life
You snort, shaking your head.
He’s absolutely ridiculous, and yet you can’t stop yourself from responding.
yourhandle And what makes you think I’d even say yes?
carlossainz55 Because the first round was great. Admit it.
You hesitate, not wanting to give him the satisfaction.
But he’s not wrong.
yourhandle Okay, fine. It was great. But that doesn’t mean I’m jumping at the chance for a repeat performance.
carlossainz55 Come on, live a little. I’ll even let you pick the time and place
yourhandle Oh, how generous of you
carlossainz55 I try my best
You roll your eyes so hard they practically fall out of your head.
But deep down, you’re kind of enjoying this absurd back-and-forth.
He’s bold, sure, but there’s something oddly charming about his audacity.
yourhandle I’ll think about it
carlossainz55 That’s a yes. I’ll pencil you in
yourhandle Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sainz
carlossainz55 Too late
The next day, your phone pings with a message. It’s too early for coherent thoughts, but you know it’s him.
You squint at the screen, and sure enough:
carlossainz55 So… have you decided? Sex?
You blink. Twice. Is he serious? Of course, he is. It���s Carlos.
yourhandle Wow. No preamble? No “How are you?” Just straight to it?
carlossainz55 I’m efficient
yourhandle I think the word you're looking for is shameless
carlossainz55 That too. So? Are you free?
yourhandle Oh, totally free. Let me just clear my very busy schedule of pretending to have my life together. Where are you, anyway?
carlossainz55 Mallorca. Family stuff. You?
yourhandle Monaco. Basically living in Charles’ yacht at this point. You know, as one does. Mostly trying to avoid being swallowed by the summer rumor mill
There’s a long pause. You can practically hear him doing the mental math.
carlossainz55 Okay, so… two-hour flight? That’s nothing. I can be there by dinner
yourhandle Carlos, are you seriously suggesting flying across countries for a booty call?
carlossainz55 I’ve done more for less
yourhandle This is why the planet’s dying
carlossainz55 Okay, okay. Saving the dolphins. What’s the eco-friendly option here?
You roll your eyes, fully expecting the next message to be ridiculous.
And, of course, it doesn’t disappoint.
carlossainz55 Phone sex
yourhandle I’m sorry, what?
carlossainz55 Efficient. Sustainable. Zero emissions. It’s the responsible choice
yourhandle Carlos, do you even know how phone sex works?
carlossainz55 No, but I’m adaptable. Like learning a new track. Same principles
yourhandle You did NOT just compare dirty talk to racing strategies
carlossainz55 Why not? Both require focus, timing, and precision. And confidence, of course
You groan, half in disbelief, half because you’re genuinely entertained.
yourhandle Carlos, this is absurd. You’re absurd
carlossainz55 Absurdly charming
yourhandle Absurdly something, that’s for sure
carlossainz55 So? Are we doing this? Or are you too chicken?
You laugh, shaking your head, still not sure how you ended up here— bantering with a world-famous driver about... phone sex.
You’re almost impressed by how persistent he is.
yourhandle Carlos, I swear, you’re something else.
carlossainz55 I know. It’s a gift
---
Carlos is nervous.
He shouldn’t be.
He’s Carlos Sainz Jr—cool under pressure, smooth behind the wheel, and cocky enough to make people swoon without lifting a finger.
Yet here he is, pacing his room like a lovesick teenager, nerves coiling tighter with each passing second.
Why is he nervous?
He already knows the answer— Because it’s you.
Because for the past week, you’ve been haunting his every waking thought.
Every stolen moment has been spent thinking about the way your lips had parted for him, the way your eyes had rolled back when he sank deep inside you, the way your voice, breathless and wrecked, had gasped his name like it was your favorite prayer.
He’s pathetic, really.
Fisting his cock every night like some horny rookie, chasing memories of you that refuse to fade.
He remembers every little detail too vividly.
Your soft whimpers, the flush of your cheeks, the dazed way you’d looked up at him with a mixture of awe and need.
It’s seven minutes until your scheduled call.
Scheduled.
Like this is some professional meeting and not an invitation to lose his mind over you through a goddamn phone.
He swears under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face as he feels the familiar heat pooling low in his belly.
“Joder,” he mutters, already hard just thinking about you.
He sits back against the headboard, sliding his boxers down his thighs.
His cock springs free, aching and flushed, already leaking like he’s some desperate virgin. He swears again, low and guttural, wrapping his hand around the base as if it’ll calm him down.
It doesn’t.
Carlos spits into his palm, slicking himself up with a firm grip.
His hips twitch at the first stroke, and he hisses through his teeth, already so sensitive he’s on the edge of losing it.
He shuts his eyes, letting his mind drift to you. Fuck. Your pretty little cunt, so tight and wet around him, gripping him like you never wanted to let go.
He can still hear the way you’d moaned his name, sweet and broken, like you couldn’t get enough of him.
He strokes himself harder, his fist moving in slick, desperate pumps.
His breathing grows heavier, each exhale mingled with a groan as his hips lift to meet his hand.
“Good girl,” he mutters, his voice low and rough, the words slipping out without thought.
His mind is full of you.
How perfect you’d looked when he’d buried his face between your thighs, your legs trembling as he devoured you.
He remembers the way you’d begged for him, the way your fingers had tugged at his hair as he licked and sucked until you fell apart.
“Fuck,” he groans, his pace quickening. His free hand grips the sheets, knuckles white as he imagines your face again.
Your lips parted, your expression blissful and wrecked as he pushed you over the edge.
He’s close, teetering on the edge of release, his cock throbbing in his fist.
“Such a good girl,” he slurs, his hips bucking uncontrollably. “Taking me so well—mierda—just like that...”
The thought of your cunt fluttering around him, your breathy cries echoing in his ears, pushes him over.
With a guttural groan, he spills over his hand, thick ropes of cum painting his stomach as he rides out his high.
His chest heaves as he comes down, the pleasure fading and leaving behind a warm haze and just a little shame.
He stares at the mess he’s made, breathing heavily as he mutters a soft curse.
And then the phone buzzes. Your name lights up the screen.
Carlos firmly believes that every man has a refractory period, it's simple biology.
But as his cock twitches at the sight of your name lighting up his phone screen, he starts to question everything he’s ever known.
It’s almost embarrassing how quickly he hardens again, his body responding to you like you’ve got some magical hold over him.
He huffs out a breath, staring down at the mess he’s made on his stomach, the sticky evidence of how utterly gone he is for you.
With a shaky hand, he answers the call.
His voice comes out softer, more composed than he feels. “Hey.”
Your reply is immediate, and the sound of your voice sends another jolt straight to his cock. “Hey.”
Carlos clenches his jaw, fighting the urge to whine. His body’s so sensitive it aches.
“You nervous?” he asks, his tone laced with a teasing edge to hide how wrecked he feels.
“A little,” you admit, your voice breathy.
He exhales through his nose, his lips quirking up into a smirk. “Then let’s fix that, shall we?”
—
There’s a pause, and then he murmurs, “Do you mind if I take the lead, sweetheart?”
You bite your lip, heat pooling low in your belly at the pet name. “No, Carlos.”
“Good girl.” The words roll off his tongue, slow and deliberate, and you feel the throb of need between your legs intensify.
“Are you in your underwear right now?” he asks, his voice dropping to a low rumble.
You glance down at yourself, cheeks flushing. “Mhm...”
“Tell me what they look like.”
“They’re red,” you whisper, your voice shy.
Carlos grins, his tone playful. “My favorite color. Take them off for me, baby.”
Your breath hitches, and you slip them off, letting them fall to the floor.
“Are you wet for me?” he asks, his voice husky.
“Very,” you admit, your cheeks burning.
“Let me hear.”
You hesitate, unsure how to respond. “How do I-?”
Carlos chuckles, the sound deep and rich. “Slip a finger in, baby. Let me hear how soaked you are for me.”
You inhale shakily, doing as he says.
The moment your finger slides in, you let out a soft whimper.
It’s not enough.
It’s nowhere near enough.
“Fuck,” Carlos groans, the sound making your pussy clench. “You are wet. God, baby, I’d kill to be there right now. All those pretty juices going to waste... I’d lick you clean.”
You whine at his words, your hips shifting against your hand as you try to chase the feeling.
“I know, I know,” he soothes, though his voice is strained, like he’s holding himself back. “Start moving that finger, sweet girl.”
You obey, your breath hitching as you pump your finger slowly. It’s good, but it’s not enough. Not compared to Carlos.
“Carlos,” you whimper, your voice breaking. “Please...”
His laugh is soft, teasing. “Need more?”
“Yes,” you gasp, your hips bucking into your hand. “Yes, please-”
“Okay, baby. Add another finger for me.”
You do, slipping in another finger with a hiss. The stretch feels better, but it still pales in comparison to what you really want.
“Thank you,” you mewl, your head tipping back against the pillow as you fuck yourself slowly.
Carlos groans, his hand wrapping around his cock again, unable to stop himself. “That’s it, baby. Fuck yourself for me. Let me hear those pretty little sounds.”
Your thighs tremble as you press your palm harder against your aching clit, your hips rolling instinctively.
The heat pooling low in your belly is unbearable, and every tiny movement sends sparks racing across your skin.
On the other end of the phone, Carlos has been quiet, but you can hear it, his uneven breathing, the faint hitch in his breath that tells you he’s not unaffected.
You let out a soft, broken moan, unable to keep quiet, and his breath catches audibly.
“Are you…” Your voice is trembling, slurred with need as you choke out the words, “…are you touching yourself?”
“Of course I am,” he groans, his voice wrecked. “How could I not? Fuck, you’ve got me so hard I can’t think straight.”
The image of him stroking himself, his cock slick and swollen, his jaw clenched as his chest heaves, sends a rush of heat to your core.
You grind your hips against your palm, pressing harder against your clit as your thighs tremble.
“I wish you were here,” you whimper, your voice breathless. “Wish I could feel you. I’d be so full, Carlos. I’d clench around you so tight, just like this-”
The sound of your stuttered moan nearly sends him over the edge right there.
Each gasp, each whimper, each broken sob of his name over the line is another jolt to his already oversensitive cock.
He’s gripping himself tightly, too tightly, the pain blending with pleasure until he can’t tell where one starts and the other ends.
His grip falters for a moment before he picks up the pace, stroking himself mercilessly despite the ache in his stomach and the burn of overstimulation.
“You sound so fucking good,” he rasps, his voice cracking slightly as he fights to keep it together. “God, I wish I could see you right now- wish I could spread those legs and watch you touch yourself for me.”
Your shaky whimpers only spur him on. “Carlos… I-I’m so close.”
“Yeah?” His tone dips, almost desperate. “You gonna cum for me, sweet girl? Gonna make those pretty little noises when you fall apart?”
You grind your clit against your palm, your back arching as you nod, even though he can’t see you. “Yes- yes, Carlos-”
He groans, his hand faltering slightly as his cock twitches in his grip.
He’s so fucking close, but it’s almost unbearable now, every stroke of his hand sending shocks through his overstimulated body.
“Fuck, I can hear how wet you are,” he grits out, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip to stop the whines threatening to spill out.
“Wish I could taste you. God, I’d bury my face in that pussy and never come up for air.”
You gasp, the sound high-pitched and desperate, and he knows you’re right on the edge.
You can hear the faint, wet sound of his hand moving faster, matching your pace.
“Think about me, baby,” he murmurs, his voice rough and commanding. “Think about how good I’d feel inside you, stretching you, filling you. You’d take me so well, wouldn’t you? So tight, so wet for me.”
The filthy words rip a broken moan from your throat, your hips bucking wildly as you grind against your palm.
“Carlos,” you gasp again, your voice high-pitched and desperate.
“Come for me,” he whispers, his voice wrecked and raw. “Be a good girl and let me hear you fall apart. Let me hear how much you fucking need me.”
The moment your cries reach their peak, his hips buck involuntarily, his cock pulsing painfully in his hand.
“Carlos!” you scream, your voice cracking as you tumble over the edge.
Hearing his name on your lips like that almost breaks him. His body is trembling, his stomach tight, and the overstimulation is nearly unbearable.
He grits his teeth, his hand still moving as he chases his own release. “Fuck- fuck, baby, you sound so good- so perfect-”
Carlos can barely breathe now. His hand is slick with his own cum from earlier, and every stroke feels like fire, but he can’t stop. He won’t stop.
“God, you’re gonna kill me,” he groans, his voice shaking. “I’m so fucking close- fuck, I can’t-”
His words cut off as his orgasm crashes over him, his vision going white as his cock pulses in his hand.
It’s too much, way too much, but he strokes himself through it anyway, biting back the sobs of pleasure-pain threatening to escape.
When he finally collapses back against the pillows, utterly wrecked, he hears your soft, breathy laughter on the other end of the line. "Are you okay?"
Carlos exhales shakily, his chest still heaving as the aftershocks ripple through him. He wipes a hand over his face, his body buzzing and completely wrecked, but he manages to keep his voice even as he speaks.
"Yeah," he lies, his tone almost too casual. "Just… pent up, I guess."
The truth, though, is that he’s fried. His hand aches, his cock is oversensitive, and his nerves feel like they’ve been set on fire.
But he’d go through it all again, every unbearable second, just to hear the way you came undone for him.
“So,” he asks after a beat, breaking the heavy silence. “How’d I do? Be honest. I can take it.”
There’s a pause on your end, followed by a soft laugh that makes his chest tighten. “Was that really your first time?”
He snorts, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “I mean, yeah. First time on the phone, anyway. Not my first time… y’know.”
“Uh-huh,” you tease, and he can hear the smirk in your voice. “Because you sounded like a pro. Like, suspiciously good.”
“Suspiciously good?” he echoes, feigning offense. “I’m just naturally talented, thank you very much.”
“You’re definitely talented,” you admit, your voice soft and warm. “Very good.”
He grins, letting the compliment settle into his chest like a warm weight. “Thank you,” he says, a little smug.
Then, without missing a beat, he adds, “Now, clean yourself up and drink some water.”
“Bossy,” you shoot back, laughing.
“Always,” he quips, his grin widening. “And I’ll keep saying it because I care. Hydrate, or I’ll call you again just to nag.”
“Fine, fine,” you relent, your tone playful. “I’ll get some water, but only because you’re so convincing.”
He chuckles, wishing he could actually take care of you.
He imagines bringing you a glass of water, wiping you down gently, maybe even cooking you something if you were hungry.
But he can’t. Not tonight, anyway.
“So,” he says, shifting the conversation, “how’s everything else? What’s new with you?”
You hum, and he listens as you shuffle around, likely cleaning yourself up as instructed. “Not much. Work’s been… chaotic. But in a good way, I guess? Keeps me busy.”
"I know that feeling," he says, grabbing a handful of tissues and grimacing as he cleans up the ridiculous mess pooling on his stomach. He swipes at it with quick, efficient movements, though the sheer volume makes him pause for a second.
"Dios mío," he mutters under his breath, shaking his head.
“The season’s kicking back up soon, and summer training’s been brutal,” he continues, his voice a little strained as he carefully wipes himself clean.
When he reaches lower, the sensitivity makes him wince, a sharp hiss escaping through clenched teeth.
His body’s wrecked, his nerves shot, and he’s not sure if it’s pleasure or pain anymore.
You are definitely not good for his health.
“Brutal, huh?” you tease. “Poor baby. All that fame and fortune must make it so hard to be you.”
“Hey, don’t knock it,” he retorts, laughing. “I’ve got to stay in top shape so I can keep looking good for you.”
“Oh, that’s why?” you shoot back, giggling. “Not, like, for the whole racing thing?”
“That’s just a side gig,” he jokes. “The real goal is impressing you. Obviously.”
You both laugh, the conversation easing into a comfortable rhythm.
He listens to you talk about your day, chiming in with little quips and teasing remarks that make you laugh.
It’s easy, natural, and he almost forgets that you’re miles apart.
Eventually, you yawn softly, and he can hear the tiredness in your voice. “I should let you go,” you say reluctantly.
“Yeah,” he agrees, though the thought of ending the call makes him a little regretful. “Get some rest.”
“You too,” you reply softly. “And Carlos?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For… tonight. For everything.”
His voice softens. “Anytime, baby.”
When the call ends, he stares at the ceiling for a long moment, the silence of his room pressing in around him.
He sighs, running a hand over his face, and mutters to himself, “You’re so fucked, Sainz.”
—-
series taglist :
@5sospenguinqueen @wadupppp @waytooobsessedwithlife @weekendlusting
#x reader#formula one#formula one x reader#formula 1#carlos sainz x reader#carlos sainz#carlos sainz x you#formula 1 x female reader#formula 1 x reader#cs55 imagine#cs55 x y/n#cs55 x reader#cs55 x you#cs55 fic#cs55 smut#carlos sainz jr x reader#carlos sainz jr x you#carlos sainz smut#f1 x reader#f1 imagine#f1 fanfic#f1#f1 fic#f1 rpf#f1 x you
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widower! nanami who found himself lingering by the window in the evenings, catching glimpses of you tending to your garden or sitting on your porch with a cup of tea.
nanami kento couldn't quite explain the comfort he found out he could feel just because of your presence.
ever since he moved here and met you, with your bright smile and your kindness to a grieving soul like him, it brought a quiet solace amidst the storm in his broken heart.
widower! nanami who, despite his reluctance to let anyone in, found himself knocking on your door one rainy evening to return the favor you have him when he first moved in.
he stood there, holding that it bottle of red wine and his little whisper of a quiet "thank you for the bread."
you smiled at him tenderly, not caring for his shyness or his awkwardness. "its my pleasure, neighbor. come by anytime. i'll make something good for you.we'll have a good conversation over this wine."
he blinks at you, slowly turning flustered as you nodded. "ah….yes. that would….that would be lovely."
widower! nanami who, over time, found that conversations day by day with you started to feel like a lifeline.
you always spoke with warmth and patience, never prying but always listening. you shared stories of your life, your interests, and little joys that painted the world in colors he thought he'd forgotten.
somehow, it was the good distraction he needed from the quiet. its a way to keep himself present to the world around him, when he would have let himself wallow in the loneliness. and it was because you made him feel safe. he was thankful to you for making him feel normal.
widower! nanami who caught himself smiling—truly smiling—when you laughed at one of his dry jokes. even though you knew that it wasn't that funny.
it was a small moment, one that fould have been a footnote to a day lived in this life but it reminded him of the man he used to be before grief consumed him. he was reminded that he was someone.
widower! nanami who, one night, confessed to you over tea on your porch that he hadn’t felt this kind of peace in years. that he hadn't found himself living in so long.
you didn’t respond with pity or empty reassurances. instead, you looked at him and smiled with empathy. you simply placed a gentle hand over his.
“take your time. healing isn’t a race, kento–kun.”
he nodded at you then and then he smiled, squeezing your hand with his other free hand in thanks. he was grateful that it was you who understood him best.
widower! nanami who realized that the heavy ache he had long felt in his chest was slowly being replaced by something different—something warm and hopeful. something that reminded him of life beyond loss.
widower! nanami who started looking forward to the mornings again, who started thinking about what to wear on his daily walks, knowing he might see you across the garden fence or hear your knock on his door.
little by little, he began to live, not just exist.and that was something he felt like was a gift that could only have come from someone as good as you.
widower! nanami who, for the first time in years, started waking up early not out of duty, but out of anticipation. he’d make coffee and glance out his kitchen window, hoping to catch the sight of you stepping outside to greet the day.
when you did, he’d offer a small wave, and sometimes, you’d wave back with a smile so genuine it warmed something deep within him.
"good morning, kento—kun!" you greeted cheerfully, waving from your garden, kneeling over your sunflowers.
he smiled at you, waving back shyly. he stops from his walk to make sure he sees you and you see him. "good morning to you too."
"come here, ill give you some sunflowers! oh, and come join me for breakfast. i have new bread for you to test!"
widower! nanami who found excuses to linger in his front yard when you were outside enjoying the sun and the breeze of the summer winds.
one time, he found himself pretending to fix his mailbox or tidy up the bushes—just for the chance to exchange a few words with you. sometimes he'd say he found a new cat fiend taking his produce from the garden.
he found as many excuses as he could, just to be with you. just to have a moment to see you smile. just to have those moments of connection with you, ones that no matter how brief, became a balm for his weary soul.
widower! nanami who one day noticed you struggling to carry groceries from your car and instinctively walked over to help.
he hadn’t felt the urge to extend himself in so long, but with you, it felt natural. you had joked about him being your knight in shining armor, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he laughed—really laughed.
and soon enough you followed, laughing and bellowing with joy beaming in your eyes. nanami kento was sure it was the loveliest symphony he'd ever heard.
widower! nanami who began to share little by little all those pieces of himself with you, bits of his past life that he hadn’t spoken about in years.
you were such a darling to him, listening without judgment, your eyes filled with endless empathy and care for him. and when he mentioned his late wife, you didn’t recoil or change the subject. instead you held his hand in the hardest moment in a long long while.
instead, you smiled at him kindly and said to him ever so softly, “she must have been an incredible person to have been loved by someone like you.”
nanami kento was touched. he could have sworn he had truly found the wonder of the world when he looked st you in that moment. you were all that was good and he knew it.
widower! nanami who found himself opening up more and more, slowly but surely. you didn’t push him to move faster than he was ready, but your quiet understanding made him feel safe—something he hadn’t felt in a long time.
in the world which was rough and cruel, there was only kindness when he looked in your eyes. a kindness that was made specifically for him by the warmth of your existence.
widower! nanami who, one evening, invited you over for dinner. it was the first time he’d cooked for someone since she’d passed, and though his hands shook as he prepared the meal, your smile of gratitude when you arrived made it worth it.
you both shared stories over simple dishes, the evening stretching into the night as conversation flowed effortlessly between you. you laughed, you sang, you cheered. it was something that nanami kento would not forget.
"thank you for inviting me to dinner, really." you told him, smiling from ear to ear. "everything was fantastic, kento."
"you shouldn't thank me. if anything i should thank you." he says, a small smile on his lips. "im happy to thank you with something like this, even if its so simple."
you giggled. "simple is best, no?"
he nodded, his eyes fondly looking at you. "indeed it is."
widower! nanami who, after you’d left that night, stood in the doorway of his home and realized he did not feel like any place he was in was as empty as it once was. somehow, the world seemed illuminated in light.
there were still shadows of his grief, yes, but for the first time in years, he felt a flicker of something he thought he’d lost forever—and that was hope.
there was hope that there was something after the pain. that there was warmth inside of him growing for the hope of continuing to live a life with a smile on his face.
widower! nanami who began to wonder if, maybe, it was okay to let the walls he’d built around his heart start to crumble, one small piece at a time.
would you catch him if he let himself fall? or would the weight of his past be too much for you to bear? would you be the one who could stand by him despite the world weighs heavy on his shoulder?
widower! nanami who decided one quiet evening, as he watched the light in your window, as you danced to your favorite song, that he couldn’t keep waiting for the perfect moment to act. life had already shown him how fragile time could be.
he didn’t want to waste another second letting fear hold him back, no. he was still alive. and there were many colors of life he still had to know. and one of it was the color of your joy when music makes you happy.
widower! nanami who knocked on your door the next morning, uncharacteristically nervous, clutching a small bouquet of sunflowers he’d picked up on a whim.
when you opened the door, seeing him with that look of surprise. but it was easy to see the bright light in your eyes. you were truly delighted to see him before your eyes.
he cleared his throat and said softly, “i wasn’t sure what flowers you’d like, but these felt…bright. like you.”
widower! nanami who took you out on a simple walk later that day, both of your hands brushing together gently as you strolled through the neighborhood.
the silence between you wasn’t awkward, that was to be sure. but filled with an unspoken understanding, a connection neither of you needed to explain. it was contentment, in the look of love being as tender as the touch of love even in tender brushes.
widower! nanami who stopped abruptly by a quiet park bench, turning to face you with a look that was equal parts vulnerability and determination.
you smiled at him as you waited for him to say something. the way you looked at him, it was as though he was the only one in the world. it was as though he was a galaxy you marvel at each and every night. it was like he was the morning sunrise tenderly brushing against you in the fleeting echoes of dawn.
“i don’t know how to do this correctly, not anymore." he admitted. “and i don’t know if i'll ever stop grieving her. but… i know that when i’m with you, the world doesn’t feel as heavy. and i think i want to try, if you’ll have me.”
widower! nanami who felt the weight of the world lift just a little when you smiled up at him, your hand slipping into his with quiet assurance. you nodded at him.
“I’m not asking you to forget." you said gently. “but maybe we can figure this out together…..if you would have me."
he smiled at you, bright eyed. "i'd love to have you. happily."
you giggled. "then it's settled. you are stuck with me."
"i could say the same thing about you too." kento laughs.
widower! nanami who, for the first time in years, allowed himself to hope—not just for healing, but for happiness, for love, and for the possibility of a future where he didn’t have to face the world alone.
because he knew that life would be fine now, life could be worth living. and its thanks to you, you whom became his relief in this world, as long as time may allow.
#jjk#jujutsu kaisen#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen x you#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#jujutsu kaisen x y/n#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento x you#nanami kento x y/n#nanami kento x gender neutral reader#kento nanami x reader#kento nanami x you#kento nanami x y/n#nanami x reader#nanami x you#nanami x y/n#kento x reader#kento x y/n#kento x you#nanami fluff#nanami kento fluff#nanamin#kento nanami#nanami kento#jjk nanami#jujutsu nanami#jjk fluff#kayu writes ! ! !
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Hii!
Could I request Sylus with a reader that’s too scared to love?
Like, she runs away from his advances and tries to escape every move he makes. Because she’s shy + she has scars from her past which make her believe she’s unlovable, and hasn’t recieved much love in her life anyway. How would he react?
Thank you so much for your time! I hope you have an amazing day💕
(Also I’m really sorry if you’ve already done this)
sylus isn’t a man who’d give up so easily
The evening was quiet, with only the soft hum of the city outside Sylus’s office. You had been tasked with bringing him a few reports but as usual, being in his presence made you fumble. Every time he looked at you, you could feel your heart race and each lingering glance or playful comment from him only made you more nervous.
Sylus, however, seemed to find amusement in your shyness. Every time you turned away or stammered, he’d smirk, clearly aware of the effect he had on you. Over time, he’d started dropping little hints, subtle and not-so-subtle remarks that were hard to ignore.
A gentle touch on your shoulder, leaning close to whisper something unnecessary, calling you sweet names like “kitten” and “sweetie.” Yet, every time he got too close, you found yourself dodging out of reach, mumbling an excuse and leaving in a rush.
Tonight, however, he wasn’t letting it slide.
As you handed him the last report, you felt his gaze linger, his eyes scanning you with that familiar, intense look. Before you could even make up an excuse, he caught your wrist, pulling you gently but firmly against him until you could feel the heat radiating from his body.
“Going somewhere?” His voice was a low, teasing murmur, his hand still gripping your wrist. You tried to pull back but he stepped forward, effectively trapping you between him and the desk.
“Sylus, I… I should go” you stammered, cheeks flushed as you avoided his gaze, focusing on anything but his piercing red eyes.
But he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Why do you keep running, kitten?” His voice was smooth, filled with a teasing edge but there was something genuine in his eyes, something intense. “You can’t keep pretending you don’t know what’s going on here.”
You swallowed, feeling your heart race, words slipping from you in a panicked rush. “I just… I don’t think I’m… lovable.” You bit your lip, looking away, feeling your insecurities bubble up. “I’ve been told that before. By someone else.”
His gaze softened for a moment, but then his smirk returned, and he leaned in closer. “Is that so?” His voice was gentle but his teasing tone remained. “You really think I’d put up with your running just for the fun of it?” He brushed his thumb over your cheek, his touch both reassuring and electrifying. “Your ex was an idiot, sweetheart.”
You looked down, still struggling to believe him. “But why me? Why not someone else?”
“Because you’re impossible to resist” he replied, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “And because no one else would have the nerve to run from me every chance they get.” He chuckled, leaning even closer, his breath warm against your ear. “But you’re not running this time, kitten. I won’t let you.”
There was something so final in his words, a promise wrapped in every teasing syllable. He brushed his lips across your temple, murmuring, “You’re mine, if you’d just stop running long enough to realize it.”
Your cheeks burned but for once, you stayed still, letting his warmth seep in, letting yourself believe.
#love and deepspace#lnds sylus#love and deepspace sylus#l&ds sylus#lads sylus#sylus#sylus x reader#sylus x you
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Your tags on the Elven Queen vs Laois "close to a mixed race child" and the differences and. The fact that Marcille as well half elf head magic advisor, him canonically wanting his misfit friends help him run the country (whether capable or not). She can't even pull the "older and wiser" card with Yaad "I'm older then all you long life races" around. She thinks about how somehow this all boils into a fairly successful kingdom and gets a migraine
Godddd I spent so much time thinking about dungeon meshi politics yesterday.
I genuinely don’t think the Queen of Elves would have a change of heart towards mixed-blood people. I think it would stress Kabru the FUCK out because the political tensions this would cause (but also he’d be a smug about making the elves angry, serves them right.)
The dwarves are a different story. Even if the King also hated mixed-bloods, most dwarves look to their local governance than the King. It’s also common for dwarves & gnomes to have families together, so at the very least, dwarves are accepting mixed-bloods as long as they’re both long lived races.
Even if they weren’t, it’d be funny if dwarves became more progressive culturally just because they hate elves so much shfhshdhsjs AGAIN. THE POLITICAL IMPLICATIONS OF THIS.
Imagine. Marcille feeling guilty and targeted simply for being mixed-blood on a royal council. Trying not to feel like her whole existence is undermining the legitimacy of Laios’s new kingdom.
And the worst part? she’s GAY
LIKE!!! we don’t know how accepting this world is of gay people. And ngl I sometimes think it’s more interesting when stories have homophobia. We know the village the Toudens grew up in was fairly conservative. We know Otta is a canonical lesbian, but she was, yknow… arrested.
What if Laios, wishing the best for his little sister and one of his closest friends, legalizes gay marriage in Melini. What if their marriage isn’t recognized in other countries? What if people start to move to Melini BECAUSE they want to get married. What if Melini is seen as some silly, backwards, laughing-stock of a kingdom. God, Kabru would be like “listen I love what we’re doing here but I’m trying not to start an outright WAR. 😭”
Oh god I haven’t even touched on Falin’s chimerism. That’s probably also a sore subject. WHEW!
#dungeon meshi#dungeon meshi spoilers#anyway. i’m cooking#would yall kill me if I made a farcille fankid……………….#lets make this whole situation WORSE
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Vernon is THAT type of boyfriend !
This is my personal opinion and perspective. It may not accurately reflect their real-life personalities or behaviors.
Vernon is so chill as a boyfriend, but it’s the kind of chill that makes you feel completely at ease. He’s like a human comfort zone—low-key, calm, and always giving you space to just be. But don’t mistake that for indifference; he cares deeply, he’s just not one for grand, dramatic gestures.
He’s a naturally observant boyfriend, noticing the little things about you without even trying. You change your hairstyle slightly? He clocks it immediately but doesn’t make a big fuss, just smiles like, yeah, I see you. He’s also surprisingly good at remembering random details about you—like your favorite niche snack or that song you casually mentioned once... SEVENTEEN will never believe or agree with this tho—
He doesn’t always know how to express his feelings with words, but he shows his love in the most Vernon-esque ways: sharing his playlist, tagging you in the weirdest memes, or randomly sending you blurry photos of something that made him think of you. His love language is so subtle, but once you get it, it’s everything.
Vernon isn’t one for PDA as much as others—subtle, but in private, he’s a whole different story. Oh god, that side of him. He’s the type to quietly pull you closer, resting his chin on your shoulder or tucking you against his chest while you’re watching something together. It’s so casual yet so intimate, you can’t help but melt.
He has this offbeat sense of humor that constantly catches you off guard. One moment he’s saying something incredibly profound, and the next he’s referencing the most random thing in pop culture. You’re either laughing uncontrollably or just staring at him like, how does his brain even work?
He’s super laid-back when it comes to arguments or disagreements. Vernon doesn’t raise his voice or get overly emotional; instead, he calmly listens, nods, and takes his time to process. It’s almost infuriating how logical and level-headed he is, but it’s also why fights with him don’t spiral out of control.
There’s a quiet intensity to him that makes him so intriguing. He doesn’t say a lot, but when he does, it’s meaningful. And when he looks at you—like, really looks at you—you can feel your heart skip a beat because holy hell, it’s like he’s seeing into your soul TT.
Vernon isn’t overly romantic in the traditional sense, but he’s full of unexpected gestures that hit you right in the feels. He’d casually buy you something you mentioned wanting weeks ago or show up at your door with your favorite drink because he thought you’d need it after a long day.
He’s the ultimate vibe-setter in your relationship. Late-night drives with his playlist? Yes. Chilling in comfortable silence while doing your own thing? Also yes. But when the mood shifts, oh boy. There’s something about the way he lingers in close proximity, his hand brushing against yours, that makes your heart race. Like, please HELP.
If you ever surprise him with affection, he gets this slightly flustered, awkward smile that makes you want to kiss him on the spot. He’s so effortlessly adorable, yet so unaware of it, and you’re just sitting there like, he’s so cute. (omg I can’t.)
He’s not the overly protective type, but he does have this quiet way of looking out for you. It’s in the way he makes sure you’re comfortable or checks in with you after a tough day. He might not say much, but his actions always speak volumes.
Vernon is surprisingly suggestive in his own low-key way. A fleeting touch here, a smirk there—it’s all so subtle but incredibly effective. And don’t get me started on how casually confident he can be when he’s teasing you, like, sir, where did this come from??
Being with Vernon feels like being with your best friend and your biggest crush rolled into one. He’s so down-to-earth and genuine, yet there’s this quiet magnetism about him that keeps you hooked. It’s the perfect mix of comfort and excitement, and honestly, you’re just obsessed.
#vernon x reader#svt reactions#seventeen reactions#svt scenarios#seventeen scenarios#svt imagines#seventeen imagines#seventeen#scoups seventeen#jeonghan seventeen#joshua seventeen#jun seventeen#hoshi seventeen#wonwoo seventeen#woozi seventeen#dk seventeen#mingyu seventeen#minghao seventeen#seungkwan seventeen#vernon seventeen#dino seventeen#svt x reader#★— mylovesstuffs#mylovesstuffs 2025
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Stolen Hearts and Cuddles
Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin x Reader
Summary: While cuddling, Jake tells Y/N that she made him believe in love at first sight.
Warning: Tooth rotting fluff.
Notes: Hello, this is my first Jake fic. I just watched twisters with my family last week, and it got me back in my Glen Powell feels (Always been down bad for him the movie just reignited that spark lmao), so yeah I hope you enjoy byeeee.
The sun has set, and the soft glow from the table lamp casts a warm, cozy light across the living room. You’re nestled together on the plush leather couch, your head resting on Jake's chest as you listen to the gentle hum of the city outside your window. The faint aroma of popcorn lingers in the air, remnants of your impromptu movie night.
Jake's arm is draped protectively around you, his fingers tracing absent-minded patterns on your shoulder. You find solace in these moments – the simplicity of being close to him, away from the chaos of the naval base and the pressure of his duties as a aviator.
“Y’know,” Jake's voice breaks the comfortable silence, a confident lilt even in his softer moments, “I used to think love at first sight was just a myth. A fairytale people tell themselves to make life seem a little more magical.”
Tilting your head slightly, you look up at him, your curious eyes meeting his green, mischievous yet earnest gaze. “Oh really?” you tease, a playful smile dancing on your lips. “The great Lieutenant Jake Seresin, charmer extraordinaire, didn’t believe in love?”
A chuckle rumbles from his chest, making you vibrate with the sound. “Hard to believe, huh?” he smirks. “But yeah, I was always about the next mission, the next challenge. Love seemed like a distraction.”
Your fingers play with the hem of his navy blue T-shirt, your touch sending electric shivers down his spine. “So, what changed?” you ask softly, genuinely intrigued.
Jake’s expression softens, the cockiness melting away to reveal the depth of his feelings. He gently cups your face with his hand, his thumb caressing your cheek. “You,” he says simply. “You changed everything.”
Your heart flutters at his words, and you lean into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palm against your skin. “How?” you whisper, your voice barely audible.
Jake’s eyes lock with yours, reflecting a sincerity that’s often hidden behind his confident exterior. “The first time I saw you, it felt like someone had flipped a switch inside me. Suddenly, life wasn't just about flying high and chasing adrenaline. It was about finding a way to keep you by my side, to protect you, to love you.”
He takes a deep breath, as if steadying himself to say something deeply personal. “You didn’t just capture my attention, Y/N. You stole my heart. Completely and irrevocably. And for the first time, I realized that love isn’t a distraction. It’s what makes all the risks worth taking.”
You feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, your emotions welling up at his heartfelt confession. “Jake…” you begin, but he gently hushes you, his gaze soft yet intense.
“I’m serious, Y/N. You’re my everything. My whole world. The one I’d sacrifice everything for,” he continues, his voice filled with unwavering conviction. “And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that to you.”
You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer as your lips meet in a tender, passionate kiss. Each touch, each breath seems to reaffirm your bond, a silent promise of the future you will build together.
When you finally pull away, you rest your forehead against his, your heart racing. “I love you, Jake. More than words can say.”
“I love you more baby,” he replies, his voice a soft murmur in the intimate space you share. “More than you could ever know.”
You settle back into his comfortable embrace, the weight of the world outside disappearing as you lose yourself in each other. In that moment, in the safety of your love, you find a tranquility you have never known before.
As you drift off to sleep, the world outside continues to spin, but for you and Jake, your universe is right there on that couch – wrapped in each other's arms, in a cocoon of stolen hearts and unyielding love.
#jake seresin#top gun maverick#jake seresin x you#jake seresin x reader#jake hangman seresin#hangman x reader#jake hangman x reader#top gun fanfiction#jake hangman seresin x reader#hangman x you#tgm#top gun#jake seresin fanfiction#jake seresin fic#jake seresin imagine#hangman fanfiction#hangman imagine#glen powell#glen powell fanfic
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F1 GRID | the daughter of a rival team principal
୨ৎ : featuring : max verstappen, lewis hamilton, george russell, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris, oscar piastri ୨ৎ : synopsis : the daughter of a team prinicipal finds love in another team ୨ৎ : requested : yes
୨ৎ : genre : romance ୨ৎ : tws : father-daughter arguing ୨ৎ : word count : 4799 (~685 words each)
୨ masterlist ৎ
ᡣ𐭩 a/n : this was so fun to write i love it (charles was a personal favorite >.<)
ʚ・max verstappen
you’ve always known what was expected of you. as the daughter of mercedes f1’s team principal, your life has been one of luxury, pressure, and constant public scrutiny. your father’s legacy has always loomed large over you, and you’ve been trained your whole life to uphold it. but tonight, at a charity event during the off-season, something shifts.
you never expected to meet him. max verstappen—red bull’s star driver, known for his dry humor and sharp wit—has always been in the rival camp. you’ve heard about him, but when you finally talk to him, it’s different. his banter is sharp, but there’s something about the way he looks at you that makes your heart race. it’s not the usual flirtation you’ve experienced with other drivers; it’s deeper, more genuine.
a conversation turns into a quiet moment away from the crowd, and before you know it, you’re both caught in an unspoken connection. you try to convince yourself it’s just the heat of the moment, but the chemistry between you two is undeniable. as the night ends, the weight of your family’s rivalry presses on you. you can’t be with him. not him. not a red bull driver.
but the connection is too strong. as the weeks go by, you find yourself texting max in secret, sneaking around after races, and spending stolen hours together. you’re falling for him, and it terrifies you. you’re not just risking your own heart; you’re risking your family, your reputation, and the wrath of the media. but when max looks at you with those eyes—full of intensity and something more—you can’t stop yourself.
the pressure builds with every passing day. your family expects you to uphold mercedes’ honor, and you know your father would never approve. meanwhile, max—who’s used to constant scrutiny—becomes frustrated. he’s tired of hiding, tired of sneaking around, and you start to feel the weight of it all. the secrecy is suffocating, but you’re scared of what will happen if the world finds out.
then, during a crucial race weekend, everything explodes. mercedes and red bull are neck-and-neck, both fighting for the title. after the race, max wins, and mercedes is left picking up the pieces. that night, you and max decide it’s enough. you’re done hiding.
you sit across from your father and max’s team principal, the air thick with tension. your father’s face is a mixture of shock and fury as he demands to know why you would choose max. “he’s from red bull,” he says, as if that’s enough of a reason for you to walk away. max’s principal isn’t much better, questioning how this relationship could possibly work.
but max speaks up. “i’m not just a driver,” he says, his voice calm but unwavering. “i’m with her because i love her. i’m not hiding anymore.”
the room falls into a heavy silence. your father’s eyes narrow, a flicker of frustration crossing his features, but as he looks at you—really looks at you—he sees something he can’t ignore. the sincerity in your eyes, the depth of your feelings for max, is undeniable. this isn’t a passing phase or a rebellious act. it’s real.
“you really love my daughter?” your father’s voice is no longer harsh, but laced with something else—caution, perhaps even a hint of understanding.
max doesn’t hesitate. “i do. i love your daughter.”
your father exhales sharply, the weight of his words lingering in the air. “if you ever break her heart, i swear to god, i’ll make sure your engine never sees the finish line again.”
max, looking both relieved and earnest, nods. “i would never, sir. i’d never hurt her.”
over time, both families begin to soften. the media circus doesn’t go away, but the tension between your families does. slowly, the world starts to accept what you already knew: love doesn’t care about the rivalry between teams. it doesn’t care about the rules.
max wins another race. this time, you’re there, not hiding, not pretending. the cameras flash around you, and you stand by his side, proud. he looks at you with that same intensity, but now, it’s not a secret. your love is out in the open, stronger than ever.
and as you walk off the podium together, hand in hand, you realize that no matter what the future holds, you’ve already won. together.
ʚ・lewis hamilton
you’ve always been part of the f1 world, living in the shadow of your father, the red bull team principal. but one night, everything changes when you're forced to attend a press conference with him. you’re trying to stay out of the spotlight, your eyes gliding over the room, until they land on him: lewis hamilton. despite the rivalry between red bull and mercedes, something shifts when your gazes meet—an undeniable connection, one that neither of you can ignore.
after the press conference ends, lewis, ever the charmer, approaches you with that trademark grin. “so, you're the red bull princess, huh?” he says, his voice playful, though there's something deeper in his eyes. you nod, taken aback by the intensity of the moment.
"you don’t look like the type to be stuck behind a desk," he adds with a smirk, his tone light but his gaze searching yours.
you laugh, trying to hide how your heart skips a beat. "guess i’m not."
the next few weeks are a blur of stolen glances and quiet exchanges. with every conversation, every private moment, you both feel the connection deepening, though the tension between your families grows. your father’s rivalry with mercedes runs deep, and the last thing you need is for the media to catch wind of anything. but as the whispers start, you can’t fight the pull between you and lewis any longer.
the secrecy wears on you both. the constant sneaking around, meeting in hidden corners, avoiding the constant press. it’s like living a double life, and eventually, it becomes too much. you feel suffocated by the pressure of hiding your love, and lewis, frustrated and restless, isn’t happy either.
then comes a pivotal race. both red bull and mercedes are facing setbacks, and the competition is fierce. the tension is at an all-time high. after the race, the world is still buzzing with the results, but you can't think about anything else. you need to see him.
as the race concludes, you rush through the paddock, your heart racing. cameras flash all around you, but you don’t care. you spot him—lewis, standing in the pit, grinning like he just won the world. without thinking, you run straight to him. the noise of the world fades as you leap into his arms, and he catches you effortlessly, spinning you around in a burst of joy. it’s a moment of pure freedom—a declaration that you’re done hiding.
the cameras capture everything: your arms around him, your laughter echoing through the chaos. the media goes wild. your father, watching the broadcast from his office, doesn’t know whether to laugh or shout. he stares at the screen, eyes widening in disbelief as you and lewis embrace on live tv.
"what the hell…?" he mutters under his breath. his fists clench, watching his daughter—his little girl—defy everything he’s worked for, the legacy of red bull and its rivalry with mercedes. for a moment, he’s stunned, unsure of what to think.
later, when you sit down with him, you brace for the confrontation. but instead of anger, he looks at you with a quiet understanding in his eyes. “you’re my little girl,” he starts, voice softer than you expect. “i’ve spent my life trying to protect you, to keep you away from this madness. but if this is who you love… then i’ll support you. even if it’s from a rival team.”
you feel the weight of his words settle in your chest. the rivalry still exists, but in that moment, you realize that family comes first. your father’s approval means more than anything, and his acceptance gives you the freedom to live your truth.
ʚ・george russell
it’s a late afternoon at the track, the sun casting long shadows over the paddock as the roar of engines fills the air. you’re standing near your father, the principal of red bull racing, watching the teams prepare for another race. it’s business as usual—except, today, something feels different.
as you glance around, your eyes land on him: george russell. mercedes’ promising young driver, always composed and focused. but today, it’s not the usual competitive edge you notice. instead, you spot a technical issue on his car, a minor glitch in the system that could cost him on track. without thinking, you stride forward, your pulse quickening with a mix of adrenaline and nerves.
“george,” you call, your voice cutting through the air.
he looks up, surprised to see you, but a flicker of recognition crosses his face. “y/n,” he says with a slight grin. “what’s going on?”
you point to his car. “there’s an issue with the engine cooling system. you need to recalibrate the sensors, or it’s going to overheat during the race.”
george raises an eyebrow. “and what would you know about that?”
you shrug, a playful smile on your lips. “i come with my dad to work almost everyday, i'd like to think i’ve picked up a few things.”
he laughs softly, shaking his head. “i guess i’ll trust you then. but i’m not sure if i should be worried about red bull’s tech advice.”
“don’t worry,” you reply, “i won’t sabotage you… too much.”
the banter flows easily between you, and there’s an undeniable chemistry that neither of you can ignore. but as you walk away, your mind starts to race. you’re intrigued by him—his dry wit, his easy smile—but you know better than to get too close. your father’s rivalry with mercedes runs deep, and you’ve been raised to see them as the enemy, not a potential partner.
over the next few weeks, you and george find yourselves crossing paths more often. each meeting is brief, a stolen moment outside the paddock or in the midst of chaos during a race weekend. you talk about cars, racing strategies, and even your shared interests beyond the track. there’s an easy connection, a bond that grows deeper with every conversation.
the secrecy of your meetings becomes a burden. you’re both constantly looking over your shoulders, afraid of getting caught. the fear of your families finding out and the potential consequences of your secret relationship weigh on you. yet, with every stolen kiss and quiet exchange, your feelings for george only grow stronger. the risk of it all feels worth it when he’s around.
however, the stress of hiding the relationship begins to strain you both. george’s success on the track only adds pressure. every victory for him is a reminder of the ever-present distance between you two. your father’s disapproval weighs heavily on your conscience, and it’s starting to affect your work.
during a pivotal race, both teams face challenges—red bull’s strategy falters, and mercedes struggles with tire issues. you and george exchange secret messages, working together to help each other’s teams without crossing the line.
as both teams fight to salvage their positions, your collaboration becomes more than technical support—it’s a defiant stand against the rivalry. the race ends with both teams barely staying afloat, but you and george share a quiet triumph, knowing you made a difference.
the media catches on, and the truth comes to light. both families are shocked, but as they see the depth of your love, your father’s anger softens. slowly, the walls between red bull and mercedes begin to crumble.
you and george publicly announce your relationship, standing together before the media, no longer hiding. the rivalry may still exist, but your love has bridged the gap, and together, you step into a new chapter where love, not competition, drives you forward.
later, your father calls you and george into his office, a wry smile on his face. after a moment of silence, he looks at you both, then shrugs. “i suppose if you’re really in love, i can’t stop you. just know… i can’t promise i won’t use my daughter to sabotage mercedes from time to time.”
you and george laugh, and your father chuckles, his eyes softening. "but seriously," he adds, "i trust you both. just don’t make me regret it."
with that, the tension breaks, and for the first time, the future of both families feels a little brighter.
ʚ・carlos sainz
the press room was buzzing with the usual chatter—drivers answering questions, team principals looking sharp, and the sound of cameras clicking at every moment. you were there as part of your father’s entourage, the daughter of mclaren’s team principal. you’d been to countless media events, but today, something felt different.
the crowd parted as a familiar face made his way through: carlos sainz, ferrari’s star driver. his warm smile met yours from across the room. you’d seen him race plenty of times, but there was something about his presence that stood out today—something that made your heart beat a little faster.
you’d heard stories of how intense the rivalry between mclaren and ferrari was. it was ingrained in you from a young age, something your father had hammered into your head. he was fierce about his loyalty to mclaren, and he expected nothing less from you. but despite that, the moment your eyes met carlos’s, you felt an undeniable pull.
he smiled at you, as if recognizing that spark too, and before long, the two of you found yourselves chatting during a brief lull in the press event. he was charming, his wit sharp, and his dry humor caught you off guard. you laughed more easily than you expected, feeling the weight of your father’s expectations and the animosity between your teams fade away in the warmth of his presence.
“you know,” carlos said with a grin, “i’ve always thought mclaren had some of the best engineers. too bad we’re always on opposite sides of the fight.”
you smirked. “guess it’s more fun that way, isn’t it? keeps things interesting.”
the chemistry between you was immediate, and in that brief conversation, you realized you wanted more. but you couldn’t—could you? your father would never approve. ferrari and mclaren had been bitter rivals for as long as anyone could remember. still, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something real between you and carlos.
over the next few races, you both found ways to keep in touch, meeting up in secret whenever possible. the stolen moments became your escape, a brief reprieve from the weight of being the daughter of mclaren’s team principal and the strain of hiding your growing feelings for a ferrari driver. every touch, every glance was like a silent promise, and with each passing day, it became harder to keep things a secret.
but the pressure was mounting. the media was getting more curious about the subtle tension between you and carlos. you had to be careful. every word, every action had to be carefully measured.
then came the race that changed everything. the tension between mclaren and ferrari reached its peak. your team was struggling—strategy issues, tire troubles, nothing was going according to plan. and then there was carlos, pulling off a brilliant move and clinching the victory for ferrari. the crowd roared, but for you, the noise faded into the background. all you could focus on was the moment he crossed the finish line, knowing you couldn’t stay hidden anymore.
you rushed through the chaos, your heart pounding in your chest. the cameras were everywhere, but you didn’t care. you didn’t think. you just ran. when you reached him, you didn’t hesitate. you jumped into his arms, and in one swift motion, he spun you around, laughing in joy.
the world saw it all. it was a moment of defiance—no longer hiding your love for him, despite everything you’d been taught about team loyalty and rivalry. the media exploded, cameras flashing as they captured the intimate moment. the tension between mclaren and ferrari had never felt more real, and yet, in that moment, it didn’t matter. you were with carlos, and that was all that mattered.
back at the paddock, you could feel your father’s eyes on you from the distance. he hadn’t yet approached, but you knew the storm was coming. when he finally did, his expression was unreadable, his jaw clenched in frustration.
“what the hell is this?” he demanded, his voice low but sharp.
you took a deep breath, walking toward him. “dad, i… i’m in love with him.”
for a moment, the silence stretched between you. then, your father’s gaze softened, just a little. he let out a long sigh, glancing back at carlos, who was now waiting a few feet away, watching the exchange with uncertainty.
“you really love him?” your father asked, his voice unsteady for the first time.
you nodded, meeting his eyes. “i do. it’s not a fling, dad. i promise you.”
he stood there for a long moment, his gaze flicking back and forth between you and carlos. then, in a move that surprised you, he chuckled—a little bitterly, but still, a chuckle.
“well, if you’re serious about this, i guess i can’t stop you,” he said, the tension in his shoulders easing. “but don’t expect me to go easy on ferrari next season.”
you laughed, relief flooding through you. “deal.”
and just like that, the walls that had once seemed insurmountable between your world and carlos’s began to crumble. the rivalry between mclaren and ferrari wouldn’t disappear overnight, but maybe—just maybe—the future of racing didn’t have to be defined by the battles between teams.
as you stood there, hand in hand with carlos, you realized that love had bridged the gap. you weren’t just the daughter of mclaren’s team principal anymore. you were someone who had found something real, despite all the odds. and that was enough.
the road ahead would be challenging, but with carlos by your side, you were ready to face it all—together.
ʚ・charles leclerc
you’d spent your entire life draped in mclaren orange, fiercely loyal to your father’s team. everyone at the paddock knew you—not as just the team principal’s kid but as a sharp-tongued, quick-witted presence who had zero tolerance for nonsense. so, when charles leclerc, ferrari’s golden boy, casually strolled over during a media event and commented on your bold mclaren jacket, you didn’t miss a beat.
“bold choice for you to critique fashion,” you said, raising a brow. “didn’t you wear that same ferrari polo yesterday? or is it just your uniform now?”
charles blinked before breaking into a grin. “it’s called consistency, chérie. something mclaren might want to try with their cars.”
your jaw dropped, but his cheeky smirk made it impossible to stay annoyed. instead, you laughed. “touché, leclerc. but let’s see how consistent you are on track this weekend.”
it started with playful banter, but the more you ran into charles during race weekends, the more intrigued you became. beneath his smooth charm and the ferrari-red facade was a kind, passionate guy with dreams that matched yours. the chemistry was undeniable, and soon, stolen moments between press conferences turned into late-night conversations over text, and quiet dinners away from the spotlight.
every meeting felt like rebellion—not just against your father’s expectations but against the entire cutthroat nature of the sport. you’d grown up in this world of rivalries, but with charles, you started to see it differently. the sport didn’t have to divide people; it could bring them together.
still, you knew what you were risking. your father had built his career on the rivalry with ferrari, and your mother… well, she’d always been the level-headed one in the family.
the turning point came after a thrilling race in monaco. charles took p1 in a breathtaking finish, and as he climbed out of his car, the crowd roared. you stood at the edge of the podium celebrations, your heart racing—not for mclaren, but for him.
as he spotted you in the crowd, you didn’t care who was watching. you pushed past the cameras and ran up to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him in front of everyone. the world faded away, leaving only the two of you in that moment.
later, when the footage made its inevitable rounds, your father called you into his office. his expression was thunderous, but before he could launch into a tirade, your mother interjected.
“oh, please,” she said, rolling her eyes. “love is love. let her live her life.”
your father looked between you and your mother, his frustration melting into reluctant acceptance. “fine,” he said, sighing heavily. “but if this boy breaks your heart, i’ll have him banned from every paddock on earth. do you hear me?”
“loud and clear,” you said, grinning.
charles became more than just a rival driver; he became your partner. the road wasn’t easy—balancing the pressures of your families, the media, and the sport itself was a challenge—but together, you proved that love could transcend the boundaries of loyalty and rivalry.
in time, even your father warmed up to charles, admitting that maybe ferrari wasn’t entirely the enemy. your relationship became a symbol of change, inspiring others to see beyond the rivalries and focus on what truly mattered.
and as you stood with charles at the end of yet another race, hand in hand, you knew you’d crossed the finish line—not just for love but for a new chapter in both your lives.
ʚ・lando norris
you weren’t supposed to be here—not in the simulator room of a mclaren facility. as the daughter of ferrari’s team principal, you had absolutely no business wandering into enemy territory. but your father had dragged you to yet another pre-season media day, and curiosity (plus boredom) got the better of you.
what you didn’t expect was to find lando norris, slouched in the simulator seat, muttering under his breath as he reset for yet another lap.
“maybe if this sim wasn’t ancient, i wouldn’t be two-tenths off,” he grumbled, smacking the steering wheel in frustration.
you couldn’t help yourself. “ever thought about turning left for a change?”
lando’s head snapped up, startled, before his lips curved into a grin. “great. ferrari’s princess is here to give me driving tips. what’s next? you gonna show me how to do a pit stop?”
“someone has to,” you shot back, stepping into the room. “clearly, mclaren hasn’t figured it out yet.”
his laugh was genuine, softening the edges of his earlier frustration. “careful, or people will think you’re defecting.”
“oh, please,” you said with a smirk. “if i wanted to sabotage ferrari’s reputation, i’d just let you borrow one of our cars.”
what started as playful banter quickly spiraled into something more.
the teasing didn’t stop after that. you’d bump into him at races or media events, and without fail, lando always had something to say.
“so, which ferrari secret are you leaking today?” he’d whisper as you passed him in the paddock.
“wouldn’t you like to know?” you’d reply, raising an eyebrow.
but beneath the sarcasm, there was something else—an undeniable connection that neither of you could ignore. it wasn’t long before stolen moments turned into late-night chats, and teasing jabs softened into something deeper.
you started meeting in secret, far from the prying eyes of the paddock. sometimes it was at quiet restaurants in cities where races were held, other times it was just sitting on the tailgate of his rental car, talking about everything but racing.
“do you ever get tired of all the rivalry crap?” you asked one night, staring at the stars.
“all the time,” he admitted. “but i’ve got to say, it’s a lot more fun with you around. even if you’re technically the enemy.”
you rolled your eyes. “please. if i were the enemy, you wouldn’t still be here.”
the turning point came after a pivotal race. ferrari had a disastrous weekend—your father’s strategy calls backfired, and both cars finished far outside the points. meanwhile, lando claimed p1, his first win of the season.
you should’ve stayed in the ferrari garage, consoling your team and putting on a brave face. instead, your feet carried you to parc fermé, straight into lando’s arms.
“you’re not supposed to be here,” he teased, grinning as he pulled you into a hug.
“yeah, well, someone has to congratulate you properly,” you said, your voice muffled against his chest.
the cameras were everywhere, catching the moment as lando lifted you off the ground and spun you around. by the time your feet touched the ground, you knew there was no hiding anymore.
when your father saw the footage, his face turned a shade of red you didn’t think was physically possible. “you hugged him. on camera. at parc fermé,” he fumed, pacing the ferrari motorhome.
“yeah, dad, i did,” you said, arms crossed. “and i’m not sorry about it.”
your mother, sitting calmly in the corner, rolled her eyes. “oh, please, let them be. even if it’s… inconvenient.”
your father stopped pacing, glaring at her before turning to you. “fine. but if he breaks your heart, i swear i’ll sabotage his car myself.”
when you relayed the conversation to lando later, he laughed, pulling you close. “your dad’s terrifying, you know.”
“yeah, but he loves me,” you said with a grin. “and he’ll come around. eventually.”
lando kissed your forehead, his voice soft. “good, because i’m not going anywhere.”
ʚ・oscar piastri
the first time you met oscar piastri, it wasn’t under the most glamorous circumstances. as ferrari’s golden child, your father had sent you to oversee a joint project with mclaren, which was code for "keep an eye on the competition."
you were mid-yawn at the coffee machine in mclaren's hospitality area, waiting for the machine to finally churn out your much-needed cappuccino, when a voice interrupted you.
“some of us actually have work to do, you know.”
you turned, glaring at the culprit—none other than oscar piastri, standing there with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.
“well, some of us need caffeine to tolerate said work,” you shot back, not budging.
he smirked. “right, because ferrari's success clearly hinges on how long you hog the coffee machine.”
“it’s only fair since mclaren’s been stealing all the glory lately,” you retorted, crossing your arms.
his laugh was low and unexpected, and it caught you off guard. “touché. but seriously, i need my coffee.”
you rolled your eyes but stepped aside, gesturing dramatically. “be my guest, glory-stealer.”
what started as sharp-witted banter evolved into something… else. the project forced you into countless meetings, strategy sessions, and shared moments of quiet in the paddock.
late nights at the track turned into debates about racing philosophies—he’d argue for precision, and you’d counter with passion. more than once, you’d find yourself splitting snacks when the paddock catering failed you both.
“you’re really committed to this whole ‘traitor’ thing, aren’t you?” he teased one evening, munching on a shared bag of chips.
“it’s called strategic sabotage,” you deadpanned, stealing another chip. “someone has to keep mclaren humble.”
he grinned, leaning a little closer. “you’re terrible at hiding your motives, you know.”
“and you’re terrible at hiding how much you love this,” you said, gesturing between the two of you.
he didn’t deny it.
after a grueling race weekend, where mclaren edged out ferrari in the standings, you found yourself in the paddock sulking with a bottle of water.
oscar appeared out of nowhere, slipping a folded piece of paper into your hand.
“don’t open it now,” he murmured before walking off, his usual nonchalant demeanor intact.
curious, you waited until you were alone to unfold it.
"we make a good team."
the words were simple, scribbled in his messy handwriting, but they hit you harder than you expected.
your flushed face must’ve been a dead giveaway because your father cornered you that evening.
“do you want to explain why you look like a lovesick teenager?” he asked, arms crossed.
you froze, trying to come up with a convincing lie, but he sighed before you could. “it’s piastri, isn’t it? of all the drivers—him?”
“it’s not—” you stopped yourself. lying wouldn’t work. “okay, yes, it’s him. and he makes me happy, dad.”
your father stared at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. finally, he muttered, “fine. but if he so much as breathes in the wrong direction, i'll send a hit out for him.”
you couldn’t help but laugh, relief flooding you.
when you saw oscar later that night, you couldn’t resist telling him about your father’s “conditions.”
oscar grinned as he wrapped an arm around you. “i think i can live with that.”
© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate
#f1 fanfic#f1 imagine#f1 x reader#formula 1#f1 instagram au#fanfiction#carlos sainz x reader#f1 fic#max verstappen x reader#lando norris x reader#formula one#boyfriend texts#f1 smau#f1 texts#f1 fluff#carlos sainz fluff#crack texts#f1#max verstappen#lewis hamilton#carlos sainz#charles leclerc#lando norris#oscar piastri#george russell#charles leclerc x reader#oscar piastri x reader#max verstappen fluff#smau#𐐪♡︎₊˚ ― jungwnies
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Next Step With You
Alexia Putellas x Reader
Summary: You and Alexia finally have the talk about Kids…
Note: I’ve been gone for so fucking long because of how insanely busy i’ve been but, i’m totally hoping on posting constantly and not keeping empty promises 😭..i’ve had an insane amount of writers block also so keep that in mind!! This isn’t my best work but it’ll have to do !
You never thought that you would be in love. You thought you were unlovable or maybe incapable of finding your ‘true one’. You presumed that maybe it was your strong personality or your high standards that caused these problems. You always had trouble with relationships, and had a couple horror stories when it came to your past love life. You always that you were the problem, until you met Alexia. She made you feel something that you never thought you would be able to experience. You felt giddy inside, and content. There wasn’t a dull moment between her and I.
Alexia was charming, and very charismatic and she also has a strong personality which drew you into her. Recently you guys have been entering a new chapter of your relationship. This year would be marking the 4th year you have been together. You couldn’t see your life without Alexia, it just wouldn’t feel right. You wanted to bring new milestones to you guys relationship. Everything you envision had Alexia in it.
You wanted to add an addition to you guys relationship badly..You wanted to build a family between the two of you. You only started feeling this way until you saw how attentive Alexia was towards kids, it always made you wonder how she’d be if you guys had kids. You knew deep down in your heart that Alexia would be an amazing mother, but you didn’t know if Alexia wanted to take that next step with you or if she was even ready. It’s something you’ve been hesitant to bring up, these loud thoughts always stayed in the back of your mind. You don’t wanna scare her away..imagine how crazy you’d looked if she didn’t feel the same way..i mean what if she thought you were a total nut case. This steered you away from Alexia, making you kind of cold and distance.
This situation made you second guess a lot of things. You took an immature approach, usually the average person would talk it out with there significant other in an healthy manner, but you being you, were quite stubborn and decided to isolate yourself. You started declining her offers to go out when she put the idea out there. You guys once long text messages turned into short and brief on your end no matter how hard the poor woman tried to carry the conversation.
You assumed Alexia didn’t notice how cold you’ve been ..Oh boy were you wrong. She was was in deep stress her mind was constantly racing wondering what she could’ve possibly done wrong. Trying to remember moments where she could’ve possibly said the wrong thing that might’ve hurt or offended you in any way. She was determined to get to the bottom of this and handle it quickly, she genuinely couldn’t take not having you around any longer.
After settling down and drowning in her thoughts she decided the only way to get your attention is by catching you at in unexpected moment. She decided she’d venture to your apartment without giving you any head’s up. She didn’t want you to find another excuse to brush her off and ignore her, she wanted to talk to you and get you back. She was determined and ready to do whatever it takes.
The determined blonde quickly grabbed her phone and car keys headed straight for your flat ready to corner you.
You were brought out of a day dream when you heard a knock on your apartment door. You got up and walked over to your door with confusion written all over your face. You weren’t expecting a visitor or any packages. Shock washed over you when you were met with a very agitated and worried blonde. The last person you wanted to see.
Your once confused face was replaced with a very shocked expression.
“Um..hi?” you muttered out in surprise at what you were faced with.
“Why have you been ignoring me” Said the hazel eyed woman as she pushed through into your apartment door.
“i..i haven’t been, i’ve just been very busy i-“ you said as you staggered your words.
“Don’t like to me, you know how much i hate when people lie” the blonde woman said cutting you off in your lousy excuse as to why you haven’t been very present in you guys relationship.
“You’ve been brushing me off, you’ve been texting me less and less. I want to know what i did wrong so i could fix it”. She said with fury in her voice.
“There’s nothing you can do, to stop me from me feeling how i feel right now Alexia” You said nervously.
“Then what is it! I need to know what it is so we can fix it. I want us to fix this” she said waving her hand between you and her.
“I feel like if i tell you what it is, our relationship would be over” you said with a meek expression.
“amor whatever it is we can try and get past it, i just have to know” she said gently as she walked towards you grabbing your hands as a form of comfort. She could tell you were nervous about what you wanted to say next.
“There’s things that i want to do in our relationship that you might not be ready for Alexia, and i don’t want that to jeopardize what we have.” You said conflicted on weather you should open up to her or not
“Hey, no matter what is bothering you, we can fix it and hopefully move past it..i promise” she said as she rubbed her thumb across my hand.
“I want us to have kids..i want to have kids with you, and i didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want to scare you off i didn’t want you to think i’m so crazy person. I see myself starting a family with you..” You said with fear in your voice. You were almost quivering with fear on how she would react. You were shut down when you heard the woman in front of you hysterically laugh.
Oh no…she thought you were a joke, she must think you’re a loser..you told yourself, emotions bathing in a pool insecurity. You broke your hand away from her turning away in rejection. “ I knew this would happen, i just knew you wouldn’t take me seriously” you said with hurt and regret in your voice.
You turned your body away from her not wanting her to see how hurt you truly were.
“I’m sorry, come here” she said trying to make you turn towards her.
“i’m not laughing at you about what you said, i’m laughing because why wouldn’t you think i want that also?” she said chuckling lightly. She placed her fairly large hands on her face cupping your cheeks softly and said “why would i want to do that. There isn’t anyone i wouldn’t rather start a family with” she said shaking her head at your ridiculousness.
“I just thought that maybe you’d think that we’re moving to fast, i was just scared” you said looking into her hazel eyes.
“vale, firstly their isn’t anyway i could see life without you..let alone my future with you not being in it, if you told me how you felt ahead of time this wouldn’t be our outcome” she said has she brushed her thumb against your cheekbone
“Amor, you have to communicate with me when you’re feeling this vale ?” she said shaking her head to try to get me to understand. Which i nodded in response.
I leaned in and pecked the blonde’s lips, you were suddenly thrown over her shoulder, making you giggle in surprise “Let’s practice making that baby sí!” as she carried you to your apartment bedroom.
I’ll grammar check later !!
#barca femeni#woso x reader#woso community#woso imagine#woso#barca#alexia putellas one shot#alexia putellas imagine#alexia putellas x reader#alexia putellas#alexia x reader
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❝FIDELITY❞ |part7
MASTERLIST -`✮´- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank
Summary: Kook!Reader’s world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely person—JJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.
Warnings: mentioning fighting, blood
Selly’s note: Once again, english isn’t my first language🫣🥺 I’m sorry if there’s mistakes💗
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You held your mother’s hand, trying to take deep breaths. Some days were unbearable. Scents alone could ruin your entire day. But then there were the good days, when everything felt just a bit easier, and the smells didn’t seem as overwhelming—they were perfect.
Those were the days when life felt like a rainbow stretching across your world, as if you could eat a thousand candies and never gain a pound. Pure joy, like the kind you felt as a child, when the weight of the world didn’t exist.
Luckily, today was one of those better days. The nausea was minimal—just the usual discomfort you’d gotten used to. The smells didn’t bother you much. Even when you were mildly irritated, you managed to brush it off.
Excitement hummed in your chest. Today wasn’t just any routine check-up—it was the day you’d find out the baby’s gender.
There weren’t many people you wanted with you for this moment. You didn’t even have to ask your mom; of course, she’d be there.
She’d softened her approach lately, you could tell. Regret lingered in her initial reactions, and she was trying to be kinder now. Even though she still thought it was early days, she had been making an effort to meet you where you were.
“You okay, sweetheart?” she asked, her voice full of concern. You nodded, your hand instinctively resting on your stomach.
“Just… feeling a little overwhelmed,” you admitted. She nodded in understanding, reaching out to clasp your hand in both of hers. Her smile was warm, genuine. “It’s going to be okay, I promise,” she reassured you.
Her arm wrapped around your shoulders, and as she pulled you close, a calmness settled over you. She placed a kiss on your temple, and for a moment, you believed her.
Three months and a week in. By all calculations, this was the perfect time to find out the baby’s gender.
You hated the smell of the hospital. But today, you were grateful it wasn’t making you nauseous.
“Shall we begin?” Dr. Hart’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts. You turned your head quickly, your grip on your mother’s hand tightening. You nodded, signaling that you were ready.
Letting go of her hand, you raised your shirt to reveal your belly. When Dr. Hart handed you a tissue to protect your clothes, you tucked it into the waistband of your shorts without hesitation.
“Alright,” the doctor said calmly, holding up the bottle of gel. “This might feel a bit cold. Let’s take a look, shall we?”
You nodded again, and when the gel touched your skin, a shiver ran through you. The coldness was sharp, but it was soon replaced by the gentle pressure of the ultrasound wand.
Your eyes drifted to the ceiling, trying to center yourself. Why were you so nervous? Finding out the gender made everything feel so much more real, so much more permanent. It was overwhelming, this responsibility. But it was yours to bear. New beginnings were always scary—this was no different. You would adjust. You had to.
The sound of a heartbeat filled the room, breaking through your racing thoughts. Your gaze shot from the ceiling to the monitor.
“That’s your baby’s heartbeat,” Dr. Hart said with a smile, adjusting the screen to show the grainy black-and-white image.
Your hands were clammy as you stared at the monitor. You tightened your grip on your mother’s hand, trying to steady your breathing.
It was real. The heartbeat was steady, strong, undeniable. There was a life inside you. Your baby.
The thought hit you like a wave, leaving you momentarily breathless. Tears threatened, but you didn’t have the energy to cry. You just… marveled. It was surreal.
You closed your eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath as you tilted your head back.
Your mother’s touch in your hair reminded you of her presence. When you opened your eyes, her face was full of joy, her gaze bouncing between you and the screen. Her smile widened when your eyes met, and it was contagious—you smiled back, despite yourself.
“It’s beautiful,” your mom whispered, her voice blending with the rhythmic sound of the heartbeat. Dr. Hart chuckled softly, nodding in agreement as she continued to examine the screen. “It really is.”
You couldn’t speak. You simply nodded, your focus glued to the tiny movements on the monitor. A lump formed in your throat as you swallowed hard, determined not to cry. Not from sadness this time—this was happiness.
Dr. Hart gestured at the screen, her voice warm and steady. “Everything looks great so far—healthy growth, perfect positioning. And, if you’d like, I can tell you the gender today.”
Your eyes widened in surprise, and without thinking, you nodded eagerly. “Yes,” you blurted out. The word spilled from your lips before you could stop it. You wanted to know with all your heart.
You hadn’t even had the time to think about what you wanted. You’d been so focused on the future, on survival, that you hadn’t allowed yourself to imagine this moment. But now, it was here.
“I want to know.”
You didn’t care whether it was a boy or a girl. Healthy was all that mattered. Though, deep down, you couldn’t deny the hope—one you didn’t even want to admit to yourself—that the baby wouldn’t resemble him. You didn’t want the reminder.
You glanced at your mom. Her smile was wide and reassuring, her joy as infectious as ever. You were grateful for her presence. You wished your dad could have been there too, but he was out of town. He’d wanted to come, truly, but work had kept him away.
Still, you appreciated the support they both offered in their own ways. It felt like, for once, life was on your side. You’d prayed for this, and it was happening.
Dr. Hart’s smile grew as she studied the screen. “Congratulations—it looks like you’re having a baby girl.”
Your mother’s delighted squeal filled the room. She practically jumped in place, still holding your hand, her laughter bubbling over. “I knew it! I knew it! My baby’s baby!”
It took you a moment to process her words. A shaky breath escaped your lips as tears welled in your eyes. Your mom’s kisses rained down on your hair, her joy boundless.
A baby girl.
Your little girl.
You remembered your mom jokingly wishing you’d have a child just like you—and now, it seemed, that wish was coming true. You couldn’t stop smiling, even as the weight of the realization settled over you.
Could you handle being a mom? You’d spent so much time worrying about that, you’d never let yourself imagine this moment. But now, all you could see were the possibilities—her eyes, her laugh, the moments you’d share together. It felt so real. So close.
Your mom met your gaze, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. She nodded at you, her expression full of pride and love. Her hands cradled your face as she whispered, “She’ll be as strong as you.”
The kiss she pressed to your forehead was soft, and you breathed deeply, letting yourself feel the comfort of that moment.
For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself relax. You silently thanked the heavens for this moment, for this peace that felt untouchable. Maybe all you needed was to hear your baby’s heartbeat, to know she was thriving.
The steady rhythm of her heart in the background seemed to remind you: no matter how scared you were, you weren’t alone in this.
“She’s very healthy,” Dr. Hart said with a smile, handing you a cloth to clean off the gel. You quickly wiped your stomach, your heart full to bursting.
Your hands trembled as the reality sank in. It was almost too much to believe—like you might wake up and find it was all a dream. But you didn’t want to wake up. You didn’t want to lose this happiness.
With your mom’s hand on your back, you left the hospital, your heart lighter than it had been in months. There was a long road ahead, but for now, you let yourself feel the joy. You climbed into the car, the journey ahead—boats and drives—barely crossing your mind. All you knew was that you’d take every step with a heart full of hope.
You had decided the mainland would be a safer option than the island for a hospital visit like this. It was still the right choice for you. Even if the journey was a bit complicated, it felt secure, and you actually enjoyed it.
This way, everything would be better.
When your mother started the car, you fastened your seatbelt. As your eyes roamed the surroundings, you couldn’t help but admire how beautiful the area was. The idea of building a new life here wasn’t far-fetched; it was starting to feel right.
You couldn't stop imagining all the moments you’d share with your little girl here. A smile crept across your lips as you glanced at a park you were passing. You watched mothers interacting with their children, and the thought of being one of them someday filled you with peace. Knowing that one day you’d be the one playing there with your daughter—it was priceless.
The car slowed down, and your mother gestured ahead. “What do you think about something with a little garden?” she asked, pointing to a row of cottages along the road. “She could run around, and maybe someday we’d even set up a swing.” Her voice was cheerful; she was enjoying the thought as much as you were. You couldn’t help but giggle as your eyes wandered over the homes.
“They look cute,” you said, examining them while your mother nodded quickly, as though she already had the whole thing planned out.
“Don’t they?” she said with enthusiasm. You nodded, starting to believe this really was the perfect place to build a future.
“And it’s a great school district. I’m sure you’ll be comfortable here. There’s even a park nearby,” she added. Her excitement made you laugh uncontrollably.
“Mom, she’s not even born yet,” you reminded her with a chuckle, feeling like she might start saving for college any moment now.
Your mom rolled her eyes, laughing as you instinctively placed a hand on your belly.
“I’m just saying, sweetheart—there’s no harm in planning ahead,” she said warmly.
You kept smiling as you took in the sight of the houses. It was comforting, thinking about your unborn child’s future. Dreaming about her, imagining what life here could be like. The idea of leaving all your bad memories behind felt so good.
Starting fresh in a place where your daughter could grow up far away from the island—away from everyone there—felt right. You liked the thought of not needing to look perfect or hold everything together for others.
There was something about this place. The energy here felt brighter, livelier than the island. The trees seemed greener, the streets cleaner, the homes more charming, the people kinder.
When you reached the marina, you watched your mom park the car. Stepping out, you took a deep breath of the fresh air that hit your face.
You just knew you loved it here. You realized you wanted to stay a little longer, to explore the area, imagining the memories you could create with your daughter. You wanted to dream about those moments, even though they hadn’t happened yet.
You were so excited that you found yourself questioning if it was all real.
As your mom walked toward the dock, you turned around for one last look at the place. No. This wouldn’t be the last time you came here. You felt like you had a lifetime to spend in this place. It seemed better in every way.
It felt like a place where you wouldn’t hesitate to step outside. Even now, the thought of returning to the island brought a heaviness to your chest, as though you were stepping into a dark tunnel. But here, every moment felt bright.
The idea of a home sounded nice—quiet, steady, hers.
Settling beside your mom, you took in the salty sea air. Neither of you spoke much. Instead, you both savored the evening sun and the soothing sound of the waves.
It had been an unusually tiring day. You hadn’t done much, but your whole body ached. The warmth of the sun paired with the cool breeze created the perfect balance, lulling you into a drowsy state.
You didn’t even notice when your eyes drifted shut. But the slight pressure on your arm woke you, making you realize you’d arrived back at the island.
You stretched out your arms and unlinked them. “You can sleep at home, sweetheart. Come on,” your mom said softly. Rubbing your eyes and straightening your clothes, you followed her. Your steps were sluggish as you trailed behind her. You just wanted to get home and sleep until you couldn’t anymore.
If you could, you’d ask them to leave you alone for 24 hours so you could sleep.
As you got back into the car with your mom, you let out a sigh. Normally, you enjoyed road trips, but this time, it felt unbearable. You just wanted to be in your bed—where you belonged. You deserved some rest. After all, you were a pregnant woman.
“Do you think I should move?”
You didn’t know where the question came from. You were just full of doubts.
Your mom took her eyes off the road for a second to glance at you, her eyebrows raised. “Well,” she said, taking a deep breath as she focused back on driving. Reaching over, she took your hand. “If it’ll make you feel better.”
Looking at your hand in hers, you took a deep breath. The sky had grown darker. You leaned your head against the window, fear stirring in your chest. You wanted so badly to move, but there was a part of you that was scared. “What if I don’t feel good there?”
Your mom gave your hand a reassuring squeeze, her voice steady and warm. “Then you come back. We’ll figure it out. We’ll keep trying until we find where you feel right.”
You lifted your head from the window to look at her, meeting her gaze. There was a tender smile on her face.
“Don’t think for a second that our doors will ever be closed to you. Never. If you decide it’s not the right place—even if it’s your first day—you’ve got a home to come back to. Always.”
Warmth flooded your chest. Hearing her say that was invaluable. You knew they wouldn’t turn you away, but still, it felt good to hear. You wanted this new place so badly. But what if it didn’t turn out to be what you’d imagined?
“I’m scared,” you whispered.
“There’s no need to be. You’ve got this. And you’ve got me,” she said, her voice filled with quiet determination, as if willing you to believe in yourself.
“We’ll do this whenever you’re ready. There’s no rush.” You nodded, unable to summon the strength to say more.
The car ride was quiet at first. You stared out the window, watching the scenery blur by—cypress trees swaying in the wind, the ocean sparkling in the distance.
The silence in the car wasn’t unsettling. There was a familiar comfort in her mother’s presence. The steady hum of the engine and the slight vibration of the wheels grounded her as her thoughts wandered.
Your eyes drifted to the trees along the roadside, their trunks illuminated in the soft orange glow of the setting sun. It felt as though they were whispering to you.
Your hand instinctively went to your belly. There was a life there—tiny, but growing each day. The thought warmed her, but it also terrified you.
Your mother broke the silence with a gentle tone. “You know,” she began, “do you want to know what I felt when I found out I was pregnant with you?”
The question caught you off guard. Your mother rarely shared memories like this, but her voice invited her in. “Were you scared?” you asked softly.
Her mother smiled faintly, nodding. “Oh, terrified. I was a mess. But at the same time, there was this… hope. Like everything in my life suddenly had meaning. And that hope—it makes you strong.”
Your chest tightened. You turned your gaze back to the window, swallowing hard. “What if I make mistakes?” you whispered, voice barely audible.
Your mom smiled, her voice rich with love. “You will make mistakes. We all do. But that little one? She’ll love you through them. Because you’re her mom.”
Tears pricked your eyes, though they didn’t fall. Her throat felt tight. The words your mom said so easily now felt like the most precious truths in the world.
“Still…” you said. “Should I stay here? On the island? Or somewhere else?” The question tumbled out again, as if you couldn’t stop yourself. You felt like no matter how many times she heard the answer, you’d always feel uncertain.
Your mom paused for a moment before responding with a thoughtful expression. “If being here makes you happy, stay. If you’re somewhere else and happy, stay there. But remember this—home isn’t about the house. You build a home with love, with patience. That little one just needs you to be there.”
Your eyes filled with tears you wouldn’t shed. Somehow, your mom’s words made everything feel possible and terrifying all at once. You nodded quietly, letting the weight of your mother’s wisdom settle into your heart.
With those words, a bit of the tightness within you seems to ease. You glance down at the hand resting on your stomach, and in that moment, your mother’s words give you a small surge of strength.
You hated the suffocating sense of dread that settled over you the moment you stepped onto this stupid island. It felt like the shadows themselves were closing in on you, draining you of air. Like you were already drowning.
As the car entered the narrow roads, the headlights bounced off cracked concrete walls and the weathered faces of old buildings. Your mom gripped the steering wheel tightly, swerving carefully to avoid potholes. The world outside was unnervingly quiet, as if everyone had retreated into their homes, leaving the streets deserted for just the two of you. The faint hum of the radio played in the background, but the silence in the car was far deeper.
You stared out the window, though your thoughts were miles away from the neighborhood outside. Your eyes darted around, catching fleeting glimpses of the world beyond the glass—until something stirred in your peripheral vision.
Something didn’t sit right. Instinctively, you felt it. As if—something was off. “Mom, slow down,” you said, your voice startled but firm.
“I’m not going that fast, sweetheart.” No, it wasn’t about speed. Something was wrong. If you didn’t look back, you thought you might pass out.
“Mom, stop the car.” Your tone was laced with urgency now.
“What is it?” she asked, glancing at you but not slowing down.
“Just stop the car!” you snapped, sharper this time, your eyes still glued to the figure outside. “Please.” At last, your mom hit the brakes.
Your gaze didn’t waver. You recognized that face—though it was barely visible under the dim light. Even if blood and shadows obscured it, you knew. That stupid hair. Those dumb clothes. That ridiculous boot.
“What’s going on?” your mom asked, but you were already opening your door.
“I think I know him.”
You didn’t just think it. Deep down, you were certain. You couldn’t make out his face clearly, but even his posture screamed it was him.
You moved quickly, rounding the back of the car as you heard the distant creak of your mom’s door opening. She called your name, but you didn’t turn around.
Maybe you didn’t catch his attention at first, but something must’ve tipped him off. His head lifted. Your eyes met. And deep down, you already knew.
You’d recognize that stupid mop of hair from a mile away.
JJ was slumped against a wall, looking seconds away from collapsing entirely. One shoulder drooped awkwardly, and his clothes were soaked in blood. When his blue eyes finally noticed you, they weren’t like you remembered. They were dull. Tired.
Your steps quickened, a tight knot of anxiety building in your chest. The first time you’d met him, he’d nearly looked like this too. But not this bad. And now, things were different. You were—friends, kind of.
“JJ.” His name left your lips as you reached him. He smiled faintly, head sagging as you caught him. “What happened?” Panic seeped into your voice.
He looked awful.
His brow was split open, clothes torn to shreds. Bruises—dark and ugly—lined his neck. It was terrifying.
“You should see the other—” he mumbled before his knees buckled. You held him tighter, feeling your mom approach from behind. You shot her a pleading look.
“Mom, we need to get him to a hospital.”
Before she could reply, JJ groaned, attempting to wriggle free. He stumbled. He couldn’t even stand straight, yet he was fighting like a fool.
“I’m fine! I’m fine.”
Was he serious? He could barely walk. His clothes were drenched in blood, bruises painted across his face, and he thought he was fine?
Was he trying to insult your intelligence?
“You’re clearly not. Mom, help me. We’re taking him to the hospital.” But when you tried to steady him again, he jerked back, collapsing onto the pavement. He sprawled there, motionless, eyes shut.
“No. Absolutely not. I said I’m fine.” His voice was barely audible, slurred. Fine? He was out of his mind.
Your mom called your name, snapping you out of it. Her expression was a mix of confusion and worry. “Who is this? A friend of yours?” she asked, still processing the scene.
“Yes,” you answered curtly, sparing no details. Stepping closer to JJ, you hesitated, noticing blood trickling down his shirt. The sight made your stomach churn. You weren’t going to stand there and watch him bleed out in the middle of the street.
Behind you, your mom spoke again. “What happened to him? Is he hurt? We can’t leave him like this.”
JJ shook his head weakly, mumbling to himself, “No… just leave me. I’m fine.” His voice was so faint it was barely there. None of it made sense.
“There’s no fine here!” you snapped, your voice harsher now. Even your mom seemed startled. But this wasn’t just for him—it was for her too. “I’m not leaving him.”
Your mom hesitated, then nodded slowly. She didn’t know JJ, but she didn’t need to recognize him to figure out he was a Pogue. “Okay,” she said, her resolve breaking. “Let’s get him to the car. We can’t leave him like this.”
JJ tried protesting one last time, his half-lidded gaze barely focusing on you. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t scared of him passing out—or worse. He looked wrecked. “Fine. But no hospitals. Just...no.”
You exhaled sharply. He wasn’t going to move unless you agreed. Finally, you closed your eyes, exasperated. He was killing you with this stubbornness. He needed help, and yet he was making demands. “Shit— okay.”
This time, he didn’t fight. Carefully, you draped his arm over your shoulder, your mom supporting his other side. His weight dragged both of you down, but you didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was getting him somewhere safe.
Once you got him into the car, you let out a shaky breath. You tried not to see it as some sort of personal moment. He’d helped you before, after all. The car was quiet, save for the hum of the engine and JJ’s shallow breaths. You glanced at him, his head resting against the window, eyes half-closed. You silently prayed he wouldn’t pass out.
“You didn’t have to pick me up,” he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. At least he was talking. That was something. You turned to him, your expression softening. “And you didn’t have to act invincible.”
Your mom hadn’t fully grasped the situation yet but started driving toward home. You, meanwhile, kept stealing glances at JJ in the rearview mirror.
-
To say you were worried would be an understatement—you were terrified.
It wasn’t the first time you’d seen him like this. Months ago, when you’d first met, he’d been almost as bad. But back then, you didn’t know each other. You were practically strangers.
Now? Things were different. Seeing him like this shook you. It made you realize something.
You considered him a friend.
He wasn’t just the guy who’d show up with supplies when you needed something. Somewhere along the way, you’d started to see him as someone close enough to share pieces of your life with.
Hell, he was one of the four people on this godforsaken island who knew you were pregnant.
You trusted him.
Seeing someone you know like this—bruised, battered, and barely holding on—how terrifying is that?
For a moment, you genuinely thought he might have a brain hemorrhage. You’d tended to him, watched him slip into unconsciousness, and feared he wouldn’t wake up. He looked utterly wrecked.
You didn’t know what had happened. You hated the not knowing, especially because he never asked about you. All he’d ever inquired about was the baby—and even then, he’d respected your boundaries, letting you share only what you wanted. He hadn’t even asked if it was Rafe’s. He could’ve, but he didn’t.
But you couldn’t help your own curiosity. What had led him to this state? You wanted to know. And more than anything, you wanted it never to happen again. He was your… friend. At least, you thought so. He’d helped you as much as you’d helped him.
The hospital was off the table—he made that crystal clear. So, you didn’t take him. But seeing him like this? It shook you.
First, you gently cleaned the blood off his face and arm with a damp cloth. Then you patched up the gash above his brow. When you pulled his torn shirt off, your breath caught. His body was a patchwork of dark bruises, covering nearly every inch. You didn’t want to look too long—it felt intrusive, wrong even.
It wasn’t like last week when he shamelessly changed his shirt in front of you. This was different. He was vulnerable, beaten, and unconscious.
When his eyes fluttered open, you were leaning against the bathroom tiles, watching. His gaze was hazy, like he was trying to piece together where he was. Finally, his eyes locked onto you. They scanned you briefly, taking in the damp cloth in your hand, the bucket behind you, and the open first-aid kit on the floor.
“You didn’t have to drag me here,” he muttered, his voice scratchy and low.
Still talking like an idiot.
You avoided his eyes, focusing instead on the stubborn bloodstain on his forehead. “Right, because leaving you to bleed out on the street was the better option.”
He tried to smirk—of course, he did—but winced instead when you pressed the cloth a little too hard against his brow. You pulled back quickly, a flash of guilt crossing your face, but you didn’t apologize.
“Do you always get yourself into this kind of trouble?” The question wasn’t even genuine. It was more of an observation. Every time you saw him, he was banged up. It was ridiculous. No one got into this many fights by accident.
What if it hadn’t been you who found him? What if he’d collapsed? Hit his head? Then what?
How could anyone be so damn reckless?
“All the time,” he said, his tone laced with smugness. It made you grit your teeth. Was he trying to kill himself, or was he just this dense?
You tended to his wounds in silence, simmering with a frustration you couldn’t quite place. Was it because you considered this idiot a friend? Or because this idiot had come dangerously close to getting himself killed tonight?
When you were done, you began gathering up the dirty gauze and supplies. He shifted, trying to sit up.
“If Nurse shift is over, I’ll be on my way now,” he said, gripping the edge of the tub for support. The first-aid kit slipped from your hands as you turned, catching him just before he fell over.
“Yeah, about that—you’re not going anywhere.”
His brows knitted together in defiance, but you shoved him back gently until he was sitting on the toilet. You needed him to stay put while you cleaned up. Like a dog told to sit and stay.
“You don’t get to decide that,” he snapped.
You threw the last piece of gauze into the trash, pointing a sharp finger at him. “Well, it looks like you can’t decide either. You can’t even walk straight. Stop being an idiot.”
He huffed and fell silent, though his scowl remained firmly in place. He might hate being told what to do, but you weren’t about to let him stumble back onto the street like this. You were better than that.
When you finished cleaning up, you walked over and tried to help him to his feet. Of course, he made it as difficult as possible, practically deadweight in your arms, until he finally relented and started cooperating.
You led him to the guest room and helped him onto the bed. He smirked, gesturing to the large, king-sized mattress. “Nice digs. Didn’t know I rated five stars.”
You rolled your eyes, too tired to engage. He was infuriating sometimes, but there was no way you were kicking him out. Not in this state. He needed time to recover.
“Don’t even think about sneaking out,” you warned, watching him settle into the bed. He didn’t respond, just stared at the ceiling, a blank expression on his face.
You waited for a sarcastic comeback, but none came. As you reached the door, you hesitated, glancing back at him.
You hated yourself for it—for caring so damn much.
“Who did this?”
When JJ finally opened his eyes and stared up at the ceiling, you heard him exhale deeply. If this was a Kook thing, you knew you could handle it. Hell, you’d even get your lawyer uncle involved if it came to that.
“It doesn’t matter.” His dismissive tone made you take a step closer, stopping about a meter from the bed with your arms crossed. All he had to do was say the word—accept a little help for once in his life. But of course, that wasn’t his style. JJ had to deal with things on his own. Always.
“I can help—”
“You can’t help me!” He cut you off, raising his voice as he started to sit up. For a brief moment, you seriously considered shoving him back down into the mattress. Sometimes you hated him so much—
“Stuff like this happens to Pogues. It’s just how it is. You’re a Kook, so sit back and observe like you’re supposed to. Stop asking questions.”
His words, paired with the attitude he wore like armor, had you rolling your eyes as you let out a bitter laugh. You paced the room, trying to shake off the frustration boiling under your skin.
“Always with this Kook-Pogue bullshit! Since when is helping someone in need such a crime? Was I supposed to leave you to die in the street?”
JJ laughed then, sharp and manic, nodding as if you’d said the most logical thing in the world. “Yes! That’s exactly what you should’ve done! God, you’re so annoying. I can’t deal with you right now.”
And this is someone you called a friend.
That motherfucker.
There wasn’t even a reason for him to be mad at you. You weren’t the one who’d beaten him up. You weren’t the one who put him in this position. You were just trying to help. But this was what happened when you cared for someone who didn’t deserve it.
You stared at him, shaking your head. The disappointment you felt wasn’t just in him—it was in yourself. You’d gone so far as to consider this idiot your friend. It made you sick.
“Don’t worry. You won’t have to see my annoying face anymore. I’m moving to the mainland, jerk.” Turning on your heel, you walked toward the door, ready to be done with this.
JJ could be… JJ. Sometimes that meant he lashed out at the wrong people, taking his anger out on those who didn’t deserve it. He hated showing weakness, hated sharing his struggles. Even though he knew you were only trying to help, he didn’t want you to see him like this. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be seen.
Hearing your name fall from his lips stopped you in your tracks. You turned back to face him, your expression unreadable. The anger that had burned in his eyes moments ago had vanished. He just looked…tired.
“I’m not running away.” His eyes met yours, and the ridiculousness of his statement was almost laughable. He should’ve been apologizing, but of course, he couldn’t even manage that.
“My dad. I’m mad at my dad, not you. I’m sorry. You’re not annoying—well, you are, but not in a way I can’t handle. And… thanks.”
The words spilled out of him so fast that all you could do was nod in response. His constant mood swings—he had to be bipolar or something.
You thought about leaving the room. You hated him, you really did, but at the same time, you understood him. And you hated yourself even more for that. It made you want to throttle him.
You stepped closer to the bed, his eyes never leaving you. “If you ever yell at me like that again, I will bury you right here.” Your tone was sharp, dripping with warning.
A faint smirk tugged at JJ’s lips as he nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Stay awake for a while.” He nodded again, but his brows furrowed as he looked around the room.
“How? Is this some kind of anti-tech isolation chamber or something? There’s nothing here to keep me awake—besides you.”
You rolled your eyes, not in the mood to humor him. “Not a chance.”
JJ sighed dramatically, tossing his head back. You knew if you left, he’d fall asleep immediately. And there you stood by the door, arms crossed, debating what to do. His reckless attitude tested your patience more than you liked to admit. You didn’t even know why you were still here. You didn’t want to stay, but leaving him like this felt… wrong.
After the way he’d acted, he deserved every bit of the mess he was in. Honestly, he should’ve been thanking you for not shoving his smug attitude down his throat.
JJ let out a heavy sigh, still staring at the ceiling. “If you’re not leaving, at least hand me that bottle.” He nodded toward the water bottle on the nightstand.
You narrowed your eyes at him, not moving. “Who said I wasn’t leaving?”
Your own bluntness surprised you, but JJ’s smirk only made you angrier. “Of course,” he said lightly, like it was nothing worth debating.
You couldn’t see yourself staying much longer. Not without wanting to strangle him. But as you turned, JJ cleared his throat.
“The mainland, huh? For the baby?”
You wanted to yell at him, to throw his earlier anger right back in his face, but you were too tired. You just wanted this night to end. You’d already dealt with enough of his drama.
“Yes. And by the way, it’s a girl.”
JJ turned to look at you, his eyebrows shooting up as a slow grin spread across his face. “Thank God. Nobody could survive a second Rafe Cameron.”
Normally, that comment would’ve pissed you off, but you couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. He wasn’t wrong. One Rafe was bad enough—no one needed a second.
“If you need anything there, let me know,” he said.
You nodded, knowing he meant it.
The two of you sat in silence for a while. You realized then how hard it would be for him to stay awake with nothing to do in this empty room. If it were you, you’d have fallen asleep immediately.
“So… wanna play games on my phone?”
#obx#jj fanfiction#jj maybank#jj serie#obx jj#obx jj maybank#rafe cameron#obx cast#obx fic#obx4#outerbanks rafe#rafe cameron fanfiction#rafe cameron smut#rafe outer banks#rafe obx#rafe x reader#obx fanfiction#rafe cameron x you#rafe fic#rafe x you#sarah cameron#kiara obx#kiara carrera#john b routledge
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Crash Course Correction
Lando Norris x Reader x Max Verstappen
Summary: the Austrian Grand Prix left your boyfriends less than pleased with each other, so you decide to do something about it
The tension in the air is palpable as you stride into the living room, your eyes darting between Max and Lando. They’re seated on opposite ends of the couch, arms crossed, deliberately avoiding each other’s gaze.
The aftermath of their crash at the Austrian Grand Prix still lingers, a cloud of unresolved anger and frustration hanging over them.
You take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what’s to come. “Alright, boys,” you announce, your voice firm but tinged with exasperation. “This ends now.”
Max’s head snaps up, his blue eyes narrowing. “What are you on about?”
Lando, unable to resist, chimes in with a snort. “Probably about how you can’t drive for shit.”
“Me?” Max’s voice rises an octave. “You’re the one who-”
“Enough!” You cut them off, hands on your hips. “I’ve had it with this childish bickering. You two are going to sit here and work this out, or so help me, you’ll both be sleeping on this couch until you do.”
The threat hangs in the air for a moment before Lando breaks the silence. “You can’t be serious.”
“Oh, I’m dead serious,” you reply, your tone leaving no room for argument. “I love you both, but I’m not dealing with this anymore. Sort it out.”
Max leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees. “Y/N, come on. It’s not that simple. He-”
“No excuses,” you interrupt. “Talk to each other, not to me. I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.” With that, you turn on your heel and march out of the room, leaving the two drivers to face each other.
For a long moment, neither speaks. The ticking of the clock on the wall seems to grow louder with each passing second.
Finally, Lando breaks. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair.
Max grunts in agreement. “Yeah, well, welcome to life with Y/N. Stubborn as hell.”
“You’re one to talk,” Lando retorts, but there’s less heat in his words now.
Max sighs, leaning back into the couch. “Look, about the race ...”
Lando tenses. “What about it?”
“I ... I might have been a bit aggressive in that turn,” Max admits grudgingly.
Lando’s eyebrows shoot up. “A bit?”
“Hey, you weren’t exactly backing off either,” Max counters, but his tone is more defensive than accusatory.
Lando opens his mouth to argue, then closes it, considering. “Fair point,” he concedes after a moment. “I guess we were both pushing pretty hard.”
The admission seems to ease some of the tension in the room. Max nods, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “It’s what we do, isn’t it? Push to the limit.”
“Yeah,” Lando agrees, a matching smile forming. “Sometimes we just ... overstep that limit.”
There’s another pause, but this one feels less strained. Max breaks it, his voice softer now. “I am sorry, you know. For how it ended up. It wasn’t what I wanted.”
Lando’s expression softens. “I know. Me too. It’s just ... frustrating, you know? We both lost out on a podium.”
Max nods emphatically. “Tell me about it. The team was not happy.”
“Christian give you an earful?” Lando asks, a hint of sympathy in his voice.
Max groans. “Like you wouldn’t believe. You?”
“Zak was ... not thrilled,” Lando admits with a grimace. “But I think Andrea was even worse.”
They share a look of mutual understanding, the shared experience of team disappointment bridging the gap between them.
“You know,” Max says slowly, “maybe we should ... I don’t know, talk more? In the paddock, I mean. Try to avoid these situations.”
Lando tilts his head, considering. “Yeah, that could help. Better communication, less ... assuming the other will back off.”
“Exactly,” Max agrees, warming to the idea. “We’re both competitive as hell, but maybe we can find a way to race hard without ... well, this.”
Lando nods, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “I’d like that. It’s more fun when we’re both actually finishing the race.”
Max chuckles. “Can’t argue with that logic.”
The atmosphere in the room has shifted dramatically, the earlier tension replaced by a tentative camaraderie. They’re both quiet for a moment, processing the change.
“So,” Lando ventures, “think this counts as making up? Because I really don’t fancy sleeping on this couch. It’s not exactly built for comfort.”
Max laughs outright at that. “God, no. My back would never forgive me.” He pauses, then calls out, “Schatje? You can come back now. We’ve sorted it.”
You poke your head around the corner, eyeing them suspiciously. “Have you really? Or are you just saying that to get out of couch duty?”
Lando holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Cross my heart. We’ve had a proper talk and everything.”
You step fully into the room, your gaze moving between them. “And? What did you decide?”
Max and Lando exchange a glance before Max speaks. “We’re going to work on communicating better about what happens on the track. Try to avoid these ... incidents.”
“And off track?” You prompt, not quite satisfied.
Lando jumps in. “We’re good, love. Really. Water under the bridge and all that.”
You study them for a moment longer before your posture relaxes. “Alright, I believe you. But if I hear one more word about that crash ...”
“You won’t,” Max assures you quickly. “Promise.”
You nod, finally allowing yourself to smile. “Good. Now, who wants dinner? I’m starving.”
As you turn to head back to the kitchen, Lando calls out, “Hey, Y/N?”
You pause, looking back. “Yeah?”
He grins, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Just for the record, if we had to sleep on the couch ... would it have been together, or ...”
You roll your eyes, but can’t help the laugh that escapes. “In your dreams, Norris.”
Max snorts. “As if I’d share a couch with you anyway. You kick in your sleep.”
“Oi!” Lando protests. “I’ll have you know I’m a perfect sleeping companion.”
“Sure you are,” Max teases. “That’s why Y/N always complains about your snoring.”
You decide to intervene before they can start bickering again, albeit more playfully this time. “Alright, children. Less arguing, more helping with dinner.”
They both groan dramatically but get up to follow you into the kitchen. As you start pulling out ingredients, you can’t help but smile at the easy banter now flowing between them.
“So,” Max says, leaning against the counter, “what’s for dinner?”
You shrug. “I was thinking pasta. Simple and quick.”
Lando perks up. “Ooh, can we have garlic bread too?”
“Only if you make it,” you counter, tossing him a loaf of Italian bread.
He catches it with a grin. “Challenge accepted.”
As Lando busies himself with the garlic bread and you start on the pasta sauce, Max hovers nearby, looking slightly lost.
“Don’t just stand there,” you chide gently. “Make yourself useful. Chop some vegetables or something.”
Max grimaces. “You know I’m useless in the kitchen.”
Lando laughs. “Come on, Max. Even you can’t mess up chopping vegetables. Here, I’ll show you.”
To your surprise, Max allows Lando to guide him through the process, their earlier animosity completely forgotten. You watch them with a warm feeling in your chest, grateful that your plan worked out better than you could have hoped.
As the kitchen fills with the aroma of garlic and herbs, the conversation flows easily between the three of you. Racing stories blend with personal anecdotes, punctuated by laughter and the occasional playful jab.
“Remember that time in Monaco,” Lando says between giggles, “when Daniel thought it’d be a good idea to-”
“Oh God,” Max groans, but he’s smiling. “Don’t remind me. I still can’t look at inflatable flamingos the same way.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Do I even want to know?”
They exchange a look before answering in unison, “Probably not.”
The pasta is almost done when Max suddenly says, “You know, I’m glad we sorted this out.”
Lando nods, his expression sincere. “Me too. It’s ... nice, this. Being able to just be together without the pressure.”
“Yeah,” Max agrees softly. “Sometimes I forget we’re not just rivals, you know? We’re ... partners.”
The word hangs in the air for a moment, weighted with meaning. You hold your breath, waiting to see how Lando will respond.
A slow smile spreads across Lando’s face. “Yeah, we are. Even if you are a pain in the arse sometimes.”
Max laughs, the sound full and genuine. “Right back at you, mate.”
You can’t help but join in their laughter, relief and happiness bubbling up inside you. This is what you’d hoped for — not just a truce, but a real reconnection.
As you all sit down to eat, the conversation continues to flow. You find yourself content to just listen, watching the way Max and Lando interact. There’s a new ease between them, a understanding that goes beyond their shared profession.
“You know,” you say during a lull in the conversation, “I’m proud of you both. For working this out.”
They both look slightly embarrassed at the praise, but pleased nonetheless.
“Well,” Lando says, a teasing lilt to his voice, “we couldn’t very well let you win, could we? Threatening us with the couch, honestly.”
You stick your tongue out at him. “Hey, it worked, didn’t it?”
Max chuckles. “She’s got us there.”
As the evening winds down, you find yourself curled up on the couch between them, a movie playing on the TV. It’s some action flick that none of you are really paying attention to, too content in each other’s company.
“Hey,” Max says softly, his arm draped around your shoulders. “Thanks for this. For ... pushing us to talk.”
Lando hums in agreement from your other side. “Yeah, we can be right idiots sometimes. It’s good to have someone to knock some sense into us.”
You smile, warmth spreading through you. “That’s what I’m here for. Someone has to keep you two in line.”
They both laugh at that, the sound harmonizing in a way that makes your heart swell.
As the credits roll on the forgotten movie, you realize that this — this moment of peace and companionship — is exactly what you’d been hoping for.
It’s not always easy loving two Formula 1 drivers. The competition, the pressure, the constant travel ... it can all take its toll.
But moments like this? They make it all worthwhile.
You snuggle deeper into the couch, surrounded by the warmth of the two men you love. “So,” you say, unable to resist one last tease, “I guess you’ve both earned your bed privileges back, huh?”
Max and Lando exchange a look over your head before Max speaks. “Actually ... I was thinking maybe we could all just stay here for a bit longer. This is ... nice.”
Lando nods in agreement. “Yeah, no rush to move. Unless you want to, of course,” he adds quickly.
You smile, touched by their reluctance to end the moment. “Here is perfect,” you assure them.
As you settle in for another movie, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, that crash was a blessing in disguise. It forced a confrontation that needed to happen, cleared the air in a way that casual interaction never could.
And now, curled up between Max and Lando, their earlier rivalry forgotten in favor of shared laughter and warm companionship, you know that whatever challenges come next, you’ll face them together.
As a team.
As a family.
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You put that info dump about jockeys in the tags of the info dump post, but oh my stars do I need you to write an actual post about it if you have the time! Or if you've already done that, point me in the direction of where I can find it, because dude, am I invested now!!!!
Oh I can go on about jockeys forever. Let’s do a crash (ha) course while dressing my jockey OC, Killie. Killie is an Irish-British racing jockey over the flat AND jumps, operating in the UK.
NOTE TW below the cut for injuries, weight talk and references to disordered eating, because, regrettably: professional horse jockeys. Infuriating people.
We start with Killie’s fairly battered and frankly very tiny body. At 4’10” Killie is comfortably at the bottom range of jockeys, who usually range from 4’10 to 5’7”. There’s no height limit; there is a weight limit. A naturally small man at about 118 lbs of fairly fit racing weight, Killie is in condition to race on the flat in the UK without too much starvation, dehydration, and substance abuse those are just his hobbies. Jockeys and their gear are weighed before and after each race. Weight limits for jockeys include their body, personal gear, riding gear and safety equipment.
Flat jockeys - who race horses on a plain circular track, like the Kentucky Derby - must be lighter and smaller than jump jockeys. In the USA, flat jockeys tend to be about 118 lbs, the weight of a potential Kentucky Derby competitor. In the UK, flat jockeys and their gear can now go up to 142 lbs, thanks to increased welfare standards; this includes the 3lb allowance for the body protector that UK jockeys must wear as of 2018, and, as of 2013, Flat jockeys in the UK can now have an additional 1 lb of allowance for warm clothing in winter.
Jump jockeys, who race in steeplechases (USA) like the Grand National (UK) aka races with jumps - are allowed to be slightly heavier, and often taller with it, as their sport requires even more strength and stamina.
Jockeys have to be able to maintain ~118 lbs of very fit, fighting-quality muscle, every day of the week. Thus, most jockeys are short, averaging 5’2” in a sport dominated by men, because that’s the cost of packing on enough muscle for the required strength/stamina. add in excellent horsemanship, high pain tolerance, lack of natural fear/truly bonkers physical courage, the ability to go for days without food and other pleasures of life, an ongoing commitment to fitness, excellent mental arithmetic/timekeeping skills, and the ability to tolerate abysmal working conditions, to understand why most short people aren’t immediately natural jockeys. Taller jockeys are becoming ever more common, as the conditions that shaped the historically legendary small jockeys (enslavement/slaver starvation, concentration camps/Nazi starvation, birth complication/premature birth, bad nutrition) are thankfully becoming far less common. This is in turn driving pushes towards higher weight limits, which can only be a good thing.
Why aren’t jockeys all little people? Because it isn’t just about being small - it’s more important to be light and strong. Jockeys generally don’t have medical conditions underpinning their size, and are not generally considered part of the little people community, although their size may overlap with little people. It’s important to repeat that the working conditions of jockeys are still bad; they're a loose collection of freelancers who very rarely become contractors, they don’t bargain collectively, have nominal professional associations, and have 500 years of absurdly feudal working conditions to battle. Little people who are motivated to handle horses could have a comparable time - and genuine union protection! and fans! and visibility! and benefits! and safety coordinators! and less substance abuse! And clothing! - by working as stunt actors. Jockeys just have a shitty job, so when we ask why marginalised people don’t dominate the field, we have to look at working conditions.
Why don’t more women (who tend to be a bit smaller statistically) go into racing? Some of it is historical sexism, but again, the working conditions. Female jockeys have raced throughout history, and are active today. Men and women compete equally in horse racing without any gender segregation or handicap (or even different clothing) and with no statistical difference in performance. Of course, male and female horses also compete alongside each other, for what it’s worth! equestrian sports are generally refreshingly free of TERF nonsense about Masculinity Being An Advantage (it isn’t, in human or horse.) but again, it isn’t a choice career for people with better options, so to improve diversity/inclusivity the working conditions should be addressed first, not the other way around.
Also note: horse racing is declining in popularity. With its preferred audiences traditionally being "stupidly posh aristocrats who wear alarming fascinators" and "conservative working-class old men who shout at TVs in sports bars," with a side order of "sketchy gambling-addicted weirdos," the sport doesn't really appeal to, for example, Tumblr users. Millennial-and-younger generations basically just ignore the whole industry. Most people can't name a single racing jockey; people could maybe name Secretariat, one of the most famous named animals in history, who had a film about him.
At any rate, Killie comes by his frame honestly - he is just generationally tiny and lanky, from a family of jockeys.
Killie starts his outfit in “jockey” briefs and a very lightweight high-neck top. Remember that the carry weight of his gear comes out of his weight allowance, which also includes his own body and riding equipment, so he’s wearing a lightweight mesh skivvy, even in cold weather.
The terminology of jockey briefs and the Jockey underwear brand come from horse racing. "Jockey" comes from the British/Scottish word "jock," for a young boy; jockey being a diminutive of this. The phrase "jock" as in "sportsman, opposite of nerd" in the USA comes from "jockstrap", which is apparently a completely separate underwear-related sporting etymology.
Men and women wear the same clothes, which are sold to everyone equally; there aren’t “girl versions” for racing gear, just heavy or lightweight gear. Women usually add a sports bra, and men have personal preferences for briefs to keep things contained. However, anecdotally, some women race in 'men’s' underwear - and some male jockeys wear 'women’s' underwear to keep gear weight down - so whatever. Pantyhose can be worn to prevent chafing, add a vague layer of warmth, fight the see-through effect of racing breeches, and are a compromise for socks, which would add unnecessary weight.
If there was a reason to leave off his base layer, Killie could cheat by wearing a neck wrap - basically a high collar with a bib that would make it LOOK like he was wearing something under his silks.
Today, in the UK and Australia, jockeys wear body protectors! These are fairly new to the sport and aren’t even remotely universal in the USA. Body protectors can shield the spine, lungs and heart from falls, kicks, and crush injuries.
Killie has also added his high-waisted racing breeches. These are basically-see-through polyester breeches of unbelievable thinness and lightness. Unlike normal riding breeches/jodhpurs, they don’t offer much at all in the way of comfort/grip/protection.
Pull-ups are a kind of tight compression tube that bridge the breeches/boots gap, preventing chafing and making sure that breeches taper into the boot.
Time for silks!
Silks, or racing colours, are colourful high-necked thin jackets that are buttoned over the body protector and tucked into the breeches. Silks represent the owner of the racehorse, for example the Queen of England or Godolphin Stables. Jockeys don’t own racehorses or own/choose silks.
Killie is a licensed jockey under contract to a stable - a highly desirable position. this means that he has HIS OWN PERSONAL SILKS, which actually fit him on purpose. He also knows the horses he rides. This is a very rare and comfortable post - the gold standard for champion jockeys, and what everyone in the profession is desperately hoping for.
Most everyday jobbing jockeys are paid £100 per ride, plus a cut of the purse if they win (but most jockeys in a race necessarily don’t win.) jobbing jockeys are chosen by racehorse owners like itinerant labourers or puppies from a box. Jockeys compete desperately to be offered the best mounts. The owners’ silks are kept in a changing room and when a jockey is chosen by an owner to ride a particular horse, they are handed the owner’s silks to put on over their base layer. These silks are unisex and one-size-fits-all, so jockeys tuck them into breeches to hide when they’re too large, and small jockeys use hair elastics to roll back and secure the sleeves.
People have a vague idea from heartwarming movies that the racehorse, owner, trainer and jockey are familiar with each other - perhaps they have a beautiful relationship. It’s important to remember the real pecking order here: the owner is usually a billionaire or royalty. The racehorse is usually a valuable, highly-bred animal with a proper dollar value on it, which the billionaire loves as an extension of their own wealth and power and beauty and influence. And the jockey is a sort of disposable starving dog that talks, which you graciously choose from the pack, based on their stats, like someone picking a Mario Kart, and assign to make your horsey win. Sometimes “just before the race” is the first time the jockey even touches the horse they’re about to ride! At any rate, the patterned jacket is chucked at the jockey to button on over their clothes(unless they’re Killie and have their own.) They also stretch a thin flexible matching cover over their helmet.
The design of the silks is ancient in intention; everyone can intuit that it’s resonant with medieval alliances and heraldry and tournaments, and the wearing of colours facilitates your ability pick out “your” mounted knight from a scrum of other screaming horses and bodies. Today they help commentators and the audience to see their horses. All silks must be unique, with colour/design/pattern being registered in databases. You can play with the British Horseracing Authority's silks database to see whether your design of silks would be available!
Killie is wearing his racing boots. They're flexible, made of very leather, with practically no sole, and weigh less than half a pound.
Killie wears racing gloves - these are optional, and often fingerless since jockeys like to feel the reins. He also has goggles. Jockeys usually take multiple pairs, perched on their helmet and pulled down in turn. You can have tinted ones for sun/rain, but they’re most important for keeping mud and stones out of your eyes at 40mph. They’re very lightweight, and when they become too dirty to see through, you pull them down to hang around your neck and then pull down the next pair over your eyes. here's jockey Gary Stevens after a muddy race with several pairs of goggles pulled down.
Killie's got his helmet, so now he's dressed. He needs to add his gear. Again, the jockey's body and their gear are part of the same weight allowance; a lighter jockey can have heavier gear. Here is UK jockey Hollie Doyle showing hers:
Interestingly, the weight of the saddle (plus stirrups, girth, and lead cloth) belongs in the jockey's weight allowance. (The racehorse brings its own bridle and saddlecloth.) Hollie is shown here with multiple saddles - for various riding conditions, weights, etc. Racing saddles only weigh about 1-2 pounds - contrasted with the 20lb of a normal English riding saddle - and are basically a strap that the stirrups hang from, since jockeys mostly stand up to ride.
This concludes "Getting Cillian Dressed, the Awkward Little Sod That He Is." Thank you so much for joining me and prompting this.
Appendix:
I depict Killie as a lightly bruised skeleton wrapped in a thin layer of mental problems, with the temperament of an unloved stray dog. This is not a nice state for a fellow to live in, so if I were to give him a happy ending, I would like Killie to age into a sort of healthy, roguish Franny Norton type (Franny, below, is the older jockey in white base layer. He raced for over 30 years and retired in 2024.) So if Killie were to be developed as a character, he would be poised for having some kind of fictional redemption arc that aligns with the overall improvement of working conditions for jockeys in 2025 and the potential redemption arc of his whole profession. it is possible, and increasingly less rare, for jockeys to be More Normal than Killie - as they very much should be!! the take-home message here should be that the profession has the potential to improve and may even do so. Emphasis on jockey and racehorse welfare would only help.
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3: the favourite snacks // series m.list
note: ohhh... it's kinda cute here ;) how are we liking them? lmk ur thoughts! oc's moment to shine is coming soon !!!
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//
As usual, Jungkook interrupts your reading time. Before, it didn’t mean much. Before, he would quietly sit beside you and mind his own business until he got out of his mind bored. Then, he would bug you and you would have no choice but to put your book down. You didn't mind it before. Before, it was whatever.
However, the scene is different today.
Today, he ran to the library after his lecture and couldn’t find you. Disappointed, Jungkook turned his heels to head home… But as fate would have it; he found you along the way.
At the sight of you, right then and there, Jungkook decided that this was his favourite season.
The season of you.
How could it not be when this… You… Are just so beautiful? As you sit on the grass, leaning against the tree trunk, the wind gently blows cherry blossom petals around you. It’s beautiful. It looks magical.. Like it was fake. I mean, it had to be right? You look so perfect. It looks like those made-up scenes in movies. Jungkook rubs his eyes to make sure it isn’t. This is real life.
This is you.
However, his dream-like state of mind is shaken awake when he approaches you, and you refuse to give him the time of day.
First, he stands in front of you and greets you warmly. You ignore him. Then, he sits down beside you and nudges you. Even though your body moves to his push, you still remain silent. Now, this is his last attempt before he loses his mind.
Jungkook inches closer to you. You sit still, doing your best not to move away. You have to stay put. You have to stand your ground! But life gets 10 times more difficult because he smells so good. As he leans forward, he fixes your hair, and you're awestruck. He tucks your hair behind your ear, sending chills down your spine. You swear it’s just the cool breeze, but you know in your heart it’s him.
He makes your heart race.
He smells good.
He looks good, too.
It's no wonder your body betrays you. You squirm from his touch, unable to hold yourself still. It’s gentle and light—but it’s just so ticklish! As you react, Jungkook offers a smug smile. In return, you push his hand away and huff at him.
“I’m not talking to you.”
Jungkook’s smile drops.
“What? Why?” His mind spins with confusion. Meanwhile, you keep a straight face and go back to reading. “What did I do?”
Keeping your book up, you answer him without really answering him.
“You know what you did.”
Jungkook thinks for a moment. What could he have done? The last time he saw you was a few days ago. You two met up to have a quick study session together. It was the same routine! What could he have done wrong since then? Rather, what did he do wrong then?
“... I’m not really sure what I did wrong… Can I have a hint or something?” His tone is genuine and curious, making it harder for you to dish-out your anger.
So, you don’t respond.
Impatient and annoyed at your pettiness, he grabs your book and lowers it to see your face.
Infuriated, you whine. “Hey! I’m reading—”
“—And I’m trying to talk to you.” Jungkook snaps. "Come on, ___. What's going on? Talk to me, please."
You glare at him, completely baffled at his audacity. Does he seriously think that he can play dumb? He can't. You won't let him.
“Well, I’m not talking to you.”
With an eyebrow raised, he speaks out his thoughts. “Why not? I don’t think I did anything wrong—”
“You lied to me!” You blurt. “You lied to me, and you know it. I looked so stupid!”
Jungkook’s throat feels dry.
Lied to you?
About what?
He tries to run everything he has ever said to you back. He tries to remember everything from the moment you two first met to this very moment now… Every story he has ever said and every tiny side comment—yet, he can’t think of a time he was dishonest. He had no reason to lie to you! Talking to you is so easy because you’re such a good listener. If anything, talking to you has compelled him to be more honest… Jungkook reflects and concludes: no. He is not a liar. Besides, it’s not like he was hiding anything—
“You can skate,” you reveal.
Jungkook blinks.
“Who told you?”
Fed up, you shove your book to Jungkook's chest. He lets it hit him and drop before reaching for your hands. Quickly, you swipe them away from him. No way is he holding your hand! Not after all the crap he just pulled.
Crossing your arms, you begin to confront him. “Yoongi and Jin were drinking last night. They called me and teased me about how dumb I was… How naive I was because you knew how to skate the entire time! I took the time to teach you how to skate because you kept falling—a-and to what? Find out you were pretending the entire time? W-why would you do that? Why would you lie to me?”
Oh, it’s bad.
It’s pathetically horrible how Jungkook is so into you right now.
It melts his heart how you could be this serious and hurt over this little fib. This has to be the cutest thing you could ever do… Be mad at him for wanting to hold your hand just because he was mischievous about it.
He wants to laugh. He wants to tell you that you’re cute and the entire thing was just a stupid boy-coded play… But, considering how bruise-hearted you’re acting… Jungkook thinks twice about it.
Then, he decides to give in and abide by your needs.
Answers.
You want answers and answers is what he’ll give you.
“First of all: you’re not dumb,” Jungkook reassures you. You make a sour face and shake your head at him.
Groaning, you tell him: “Yes, I am! I looked like a total idiot trying to teach you how to skate when you’re literally a hockey player—”
“Second, I’m not a hockey player,” he chuckles.
With a half smile, you return: “Right… You’re just a liar.”
Okay.
… He deserved that.
Jungkook doesn’t know what to say or do… Honestly, what are you supposed to say or do? The issue is ridiculous but at the same time, he understands you feel deceived. So… now what?
Honesty.
“Okay… I admit it,” Jungkook sighs, accepting his defeat. “I lied to you about not knowing how to skate. I’m a liar. I’m sorry—”
“Ah ha!” you point your finger at him. Then, you poke his chest. “That's why I’m not talking to you—”
“But I’m apologizing—”
You shush him. “Doesn’t matter. At least, not right now. Like... Oh my goodness, Jungkook! I’m so embarrassed! It’s bad enough that—”
“—That I like you?” Jungkook interrupts you. You’re tongue-tied, unable to find words to deny or confirm. With shaky eyes, he does his best to look at you with the sincerest gaze. “I refuse to apologize for my feelings."
"It's not about your feelings—"
Jungkook plays smart. He's all in anyways. "Okay. Fine, it's not about my feelings. It's about yours, okay? ___, I’m sorry, okay? I just wanted to hold your hand… Is it that bad? Am I that awful for wanting to hold your hand?”
Slowly, you shake your head. You didn't meant to make him feel bad about his feelings for you! That wasn't the point. The point was... Well..
Oh, god.
What was the point again?
Your words beat your thoughts. “N-no… I just… I don’t understand why you didn’t just tell me.”
Jungkook looks at you softly, and it makes your heart stumble. Booping your nose, his lips curve into a smirk.
“It’s called flirting, dummy.”
“Hmph,” you pout, turning your face away from him. Under your breath, you mutter, “... So you’re calling me dumb too, huh?”
Jungkook panics. “W-what? No! That’s not what I—”
Without much thought, he grabs your hand and squeezes it. You turn to him, eyeing the way he’s holding your hand. You send him a look, and immediately, he drops your hand and puts it up in surrender. Then, he reaches for his backpack and unzips it.
“Look! I know my apology doesn’t mean much to you right now, but it’s true. I am so sooo sorry, ___. I’ll deal with the guys. I’ll tell them to shut up and drop it. You’re not dumb—okay?” Jungkook digs inside his backpack and pulls out a plastic bag filled with various items. “Snacks! I was at the convenience store... Then, I suddenly thought of you. So, I bought your favourite snacks. Then I headed to the library but then you weren’t there… And now I’m here—a-and there’s so many! So many snacks, ___! There’s banana milk, some Yakult, and oh, I even bought that cup with the fancy ice—”
“... Is that pocky?” You shift, taking a small peek.
Jungkook’s eyes light up. He nods, shaking the bag in front of you. “Almond crush… Cos I have a crush on you—” You sit up and send him a warning look. Jungkook leans his body back and laughs. “Okay, okay, okay! Sorry! Almond crush is for me… The strawberry pocky is for you… Your favourite, cutie.”
Biting your bottom lip, you give in.
Your heart can refuse Jungkook, but it remains powerless against strawberry pocky. Jungkook takes out your strawberry pocky first. You’re drooling at this point… Before you can hold your hand out and ask for the pocky, Jungkook already opens it for you. When he successfully gets through the box and rips the wrapper, he offers the pocky to you as a peace offering.
Unspoken, he knows he’s forgiven the minute you take it from his hands.
Yet, he plays it safe. He waits for you to get a few bites in and for the smile on your face to appear. Once it does, he smiles cheekily at you.
“Still mad at me?”
Between chews, you reply, “Let me think..."
"Whatever you need to do, my smart girl."
You shove a few more pieces of pocky in your mouth. After you chew and he laughs at you, you voice your decision.
"Nope... Not mad at you anymore. We’re good.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes as he reaches for the top of your head. He ruffles your hair and continues to laugh to himself… Perhaps, it wasn’t just about the lie. You were hangry. Mentally, he notes to always keep strawberry pocky in his bag. In case of future screw-ups or of hangry ___ moments.
When he’s sure your mood has improved completely, he opens his pocky.
You watch as he does so. Jungkook takes a bite out of his pocky stick and moans in approval. As he eats, he takes a moment to look out at the view of the rest of the field. Jungkook takes it all in. Other students are sitting on the grass, under the other cherry blossom trees, and even playing. It's a calm late afternoon, and he can't help but think about how much he likes this moment.
How the raspberry lemonade sky is peering over the horizon. How you're beside him. How cool the spring breeze is... It just feels so good to be with you.
“This is a nice spot!" He tells you. "I like the view. I like you—"
"You're ruining my peace," you complain. Shutting your eyes, you focus on the pocky. "But yeah, it's a nice spot. I found it while I had that whole week of avoiding you."
Jungkook laughs. "So I found your new hideout? Sorry, not sorry."
You shrug and point at the Yakult inside the bag. He digs in the bag and takes it out. Like the pocky, he prepares it before giving it to you. When he hands you the drink, you take a sip.
"Can this be our spot?"
You choke.
Jungkook's shoulders drop, finding it hilarious and also a little offending at the same time. Was it really this hard to flirt with you? Are you this childish? He never noticed.
It's annoying that his feelings only grow even more.
"Oh my god," he moves closer to you and pats your back. You take another sip to help relieve your throat. As you recover, he lectures you. "Fine. You can have this damn spot."
When he moves back to his spot, you sit and stare at him. Jungkook continues to eat his pocky. Moving on, he pushes the conversation forward.
"Ahh, I forgot how good this is. Almond is the best.”
You tilt your head at him, wondering what it’s like to be completely wrong about a simple thing. It's like all your pressing thoughts dismissed themselves.
“Strawberry is better,” you claim. You say it rather simply. You say it honestly.
Jungkook copies your head tilt.
“Strawberry is overhyped,” he argues with you. “Almond is more expensive. The ingredients are more worth it. It’s not just a fruit-flavored cream—”
You huff at him. “Strawberry is not overhyped! Just because it’s cheaper doesn’t mean it’s worth less—”
“Actually… It does.”
The anger that you had earlier? The one that went away? Yeah… It’s back.
Fuming, you begin your rant. “Strawberry is classic. Almond was made because people got bored of chocolate, so they added almonds to trick people into thinking it was completely different… It's the same thing! Strawberry is an original flavour like—” As you explain, you put another stick in between your lips and suck on the cream. “Mhmm! It’s the best—”
Your words cut off.
Not because Jungkook retaliates.
Not because you’re chewing your pocky.
No.
It’s because Jungkook dips his head low and takes a bite out of the other end of your pocky stick. He pulls away rather quickly, but it happens…
It happened.
His lips brushed against yours.
Oh my god.
Jeon Jungkook kissed you!
Wide-eyed, you pause for a second. Then, you panic. “W-what—”
“Mhmm.. I guess it’s okay,” Jungkook swallows his bite. “I think I still like—”
“Y-you kissed me!” you exclaim, bringing your hands to your lips.
Jungkook blinks at you.
“No, I didn’t.”
“J-Jungkook," you breathe, “are you gaslighting me? You literally just kissed me!”
Your mind is spinning.
How the heck did that just happen? One second you’re defending strawberry pocky with your life, and the next… You feel more alive than ever. Jungkook has always been sneaky, but you never expected this. It was so innocent yet so mischievous—you have no words!
Perhaps, your inability to explain how you truly feel is what frustrates you and causes you to sound so naggy.
On the other hand, Jungkook knew exactly what he was doing. He has no issues facing the repercussions. In his heart, he knows he’s just following it… So, why does it matter? This is him taking a chance. This is him… Winning.
This is you folding.
“___, that was not a kiss.” Jungkook reasons with you. “Why? Are you upset because you wanted it to be?"
No words.
"It's okay to be disappointed," he adds. "I'm disappointed you don't want to share this spot with me. The library is boring as fuck so I don't really want it to be our spot, you know—"
“Y-you’ve got to be k-kidding me!” you cry. “Leave the library alone, you hater."
"... Okay?" Jungkook snickers. "You're greedy today. Do you always have to be right? Is that a thing I should know about you, future girlfriend?"
"Future what?" your eyes bulge. "O-okay, fine. Fine! You win. It wasn’t a kiss. It was horrible anyway. I expected more—”
Jungkook squints at you. “We didn’t even kiss, and you’re already accusing me of being a bad kisser? Damn, at least let me prove you wrong.”
Shaking your head profusely. “T-that’s not what I’m saying! I’m sure you’re an excellent kisser—in fact, I should brace myself, right? B-because you’re probably going to kiss me one of these day, and I’ll—”
“Do you want me to kiss you?”
You pause.
“W-what?”
“You heard the question,” Jungkook inches closer to you. In your mind, your body stiffens… In reality, you’re melting. Your body slightly leans in towards him and Jungkook has to bite his lip to stop himself from smiling. “Do you want me to kiss you?”
“Y-you already did.”
“You said it wasn't a kiss... Who's the liar now?"
You stay silent. Partly because you have no words and partly because you're afraid of what will happen if you don't speak.
Jungkook presses on. "You’re not answering my question…”
Silence.
Then, as he speaks again, you realize you're stuck either way… You’re too shy to actually say the words, but he will take your silence, and find the truth. Or... You can say it for yourself. So, okay.
Fine.
You give in.
“Y-you can do what you want. I just… I thought you already kissed me.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes at you for the second time this afternoon. “No, silly… If I kissed you, it would’ve been like this—”
Before you know it, it happens.
It really happens.
Soft, slow, and sweetly—Jeon Jungkook kisses you.
He kisses you under the cherry blossom tree with the raspberry lemonade sky above, and the spring breeze. He kisses you until you can't breathe, and your heart falls for him. Jungkook kisses you in your spot.
The spot.
Yours and his.
#bts fanfic#jk fic#jk scenario#jk imagine#jungkook x yn#jungkook fanfic#jungkook drabble series#jungkook uni au#jungkook f2l#bts friends to lovers#bts uni au#bts scenario#bts x yn#bts drabble series
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