#they way they talk about each other in interviews just makes me feel insane this shit goes DEEP | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cressidagrey · 2 months ago

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Home Sweet Home

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Oscar Piastri is just happy to be home with his girls. Lando Norris meets Felicity and Bee Piastri.

Notes: Part 3 of The mysterious Mrs. Piastri verse...

Warnings: one mention of a past eating disorder, also mention of toxic parents.

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

Oscar had made a terrible mistake.

Somewhere between takeoff and now—now being hour six of their flight home—he had underestimated just how relentless Lando Norris could be.

Six hours into the flight, and he was still in shock. Staring at Oscar like he had personally committed the greatest act of deception known to man.

“A wife,” Lando said for what had to be the hundredth time. “A WHOLE WIFE.”

Oscar exhaled slowly. “Yes, Lando.”

“And a child,” Lando continued, voice rising. “A WHOLE ACTUAL HUMAN CHILD.”

“Yes, Lando.”

Lando sat back in his seat, shaking his head. “I—I just—I don’t even know you, mate. You’re a stranger to me.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Oh my god.”

“All this time—all this time—I thought we were friends, Oscar,” Lando went on, pressing a hand to his chest like he was delivering a monologue. “I thought we were bros.”

Oscar stared at him. “We are friends.”

“Oh, are we?” Lando scoffed. “Because usually, friends tell each other when they have a wife and a child.”

Oscar pinched the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t not tell you on purpose.”

“That’s even worse!” Lando cried. “You just forgot to mention it? Oh yeah, by the way, I have a whole family—DO YOU HEAR HOW INSANE THAT SOUNDS?”

Oscar sighed. “I wasn’t hiding them, Lando.”

“YOU WERE OMITTING THEM.”

Oscar turned to him, unimpressed. “Would you like an apology?”

“Yes,” Lando said immediately. “Yes, I would.”

Oscar deadpanned. “I’m sorry.”

Lando gaped. “You are the worst.”

Oscar just shrugged, unbothered.

Lando groaned, dragging his hands down his face. “Alright, you know what? You owe me now. I get to meet them.”

Oscar blinked. “What?”

“Felicity and Bee,” Lando said firmly. “I get to meet them. You owe me that.”

Oscar tilted his head, considering. “…Fine.”

Lando froze. “Wait, really?”

Oscar nodded. “Yeah. Come over for dinner.”

Lando gasped. “Oh my god, this is HUGE. Okay, wait—what do I bring? Do I bring Bee a gift? What do kids even like? What does Felicity like? Should I bring—”

Oscar sighed, closing his eyes. This was going to be the longest flight of his life.

Lando was still talking.

Oscar was certain he hadn’t taken a single breath in the last five minutes.

“Okay, okay, do they like chocolate?” Lando mused, half to himself. “Or—oh! Maybe I should get Bee one of those cool toy cars? Like, you know, start ‘em young and all that.”

Oscar cracked one eye open. “She’s three, Lando.”

Lando scoffed. “So? Max probably had a go-kart before he could walk.”

Oscar sighed. “Yeah, well, Bee’s not Max.”

Lando waved a dismissive hand. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Okay, but—Felicity. What does she like? Should I bring wine? Is she a wine person?”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Lando, you’re coming over for dinner, not a royal banquet.”

“But I need to make a good first impression!” Lando insisted. “I need her to like me, Oscar.”

Oscar snorted. “Felicity is going to like you just fine.”

Lando narrowed his eyes. “You say that, but what if she thinks I’m an idiot?”

“Well,” Oscar said, sipping his water, “she’d be correct.”

Lando smacked him on the arm.

Oscar just chuckled, shaking his head. “Seriously, Lando, you don’t need to overthink this. Just bring yourself. Felicity isn’t going to grill you like a job interview.”

Lando still didn’t look convinced. “I just—I wanna be cool Uncle Lando, you know? I feel like I’m already behind since you didn’t even tell me about Bee—”

Oscar sighed. “Are we still on this?”

“Yes, obviously,” Lando shot back. “I am traumatized by the betrayal, Oscar. I am scarred. I am—”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Oh my god.”

“—I am a victim of your deception,” Lando finished dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest.

Oscar just stared at him, unimpressed.

Lando huffed. “Fine. But I will win over your wife and kid.”

Oscar smirked. “We’ll see.”

***

Grid Group Chat

Lando: EVERYONE SHUT UP. IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT.

Charles: Oh no.

Pierre: This can’t be good.

George: If this is another meme, I swear—

Lando: I AM MEETING OSCAR’S WIFE AND DAUGHTER FIRST. ME. BEFORE ALL OF YOU.

Carlos: WHAT???

Pierre: NOOOOOOOOOO.

Charles: HOW??

Max: Bold of you to assume I care.

Lando: DON’T LIE, MAX, YOU CARE.

George: But HOW did you manage this???

Lando: I annoyed him into submission.

Daniel: That is both impressive and unsurprising.

Carlos: I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS.

Lando: You should have seen him on the plane. He was suffering. He had to agree to get me to shut up.

Pierre: I AM SO JEALOUS RIGHT NOW.

Lewis: Lando, if you don’t report back with every single detail, we will never forgive you.

Lando: Oh, don’t worry. I will have a full debrief ready.

Charles: If you get to meet them before us, you have to ask all the questions.

Lando: Already planned.

Oscar: …I hate all of you.

Lando: Love you too, mate. Can’t wait for dinner!

***

The house was quiet when Oscar finally stepped inside. The kind of deep, settled quiet that only came when the entire world was asleep.

He toed off his shoes by the door, rolling his shoulders, exhaustion dragging at his limbs. But instead of heading straight for bed, he turned toward Bee’s room.

Oscar moved through the dark house quietly, socked feet barely making a sound on the wooden floor.

He was exhausted—jet lag weighing heavy on his limbs, the long day of interviews and racing chaos still ringing in his ears—but none of it mattered now. He was home.

And he wanted his daughter.

Bee was curled up in her bed, one arm flung over her stuffed koala, her hair a messy halo of dark waves against the pillow. She looked so peaceful, so content, that Oscar hesitated for a moment, feeling guilty for disturbing her. But then she stirred, smacking her lips in her sleep, and his heart clenched. He needed this.

Gently, he scooped her up, her tiny body warm and pliant against his chest. She barely reacted, only making a sleepy little noise before burrowing into him. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, inhaling the familiar scent of her apple shampoo.

“Missed you, Bumblebee,” he whispered, holding her close as he made his way back to the bedroom.

Felicity was curled up on her side, the blankets tangled around her. She stirred as Oscar climbed into bed, blinking blearily at him. “You stole our child,” she mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

Oscar huffed out a quiet laugh as he gently settled Bee between them. “Missed my girls.”

Felicity let out a quiet huff, but her gaze softened as she reached out to brush a strand of hair from Bee’s forehead. “You okay?” she murmured, eyes flicking up to his.

Oscar let out a breath, sinking into the pillows. “Yeah,” he admitted. “Just… tired.”

Felicity studied him for a moment before shifting closer, her hand finding his under the blankets. “Long day?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Kind of a life-changing one.”

Felicity smirked. “Yeah, well, you did let the entire world know about me.”

Oscar winced. “Sorry.”

She squeezed his hand. “I’m not mad.”

His gaze flicked to her, surprised.

Felicity smiled, small and a little tired. “I mean, I wouldn’t have minded a bit more warning, but…” She exhaled. “I guess it was bound to happen eventually.”

Oscar nodded, his thumb brushing absent circles against her palm. “Yeah.”

They lay in silence for a while, the weight of the day settling between them. Then Felicity shifted, resting her chin on his shoulder. “So… how bad was it?”

Oscar let out a quiet chuckle. “Lando is deeply betrayed. Charles nearly had an aneurysm. Daniel screamed.”

Felicity snorted. “Sounds about right.”

Oscar hummed. “They’re all asking about you.”

Felicity sighed. “I bet.”

He turned his head to look at her. “Lando’s coming over for dinner.”

She groaned, burying her face against his arm. “Oscar.”

He grinned. “Too late now.”

Felicity muttered something against his skin that sounded suspiciously like a curse. But she didn’t pull away.

Instead, she just sighed, pressing a sleepy kiss to his shoulder. “Fine,” she murmured. “But if he starts asking about the chickens, you’re handling it.”

Oscar smirked, his hand tightening around hers. “Deal.”

Bee stirred between them, letting out a tiny sigh before settling again. Oscar closed his eyes, exhaling slowly as Felicity’s fingers curled against his palm.

***

Oscar woke up to something warm and small sprawled across his chest, a weight that shifted every few seconds as tiny fingers poked at his face. He groaned, cracking an eye open to find Bee hovering over him, her dark curls a wild mess and her face barely an inch from his.

“Papa,” she whispered dramatically, her eyes wide with delight.

Oscar hummed sleepily. “Mmm.”

“You’re home,” she declared, as if it had just hit her all over again.

A small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. “I am.”

Bee gasped, like this was the most shocking revelation of her tiny life. “I missed you.”

Oscar reached up, ruffling her curls. “Missed you too, Bumblebee.”

Bee, clearly not satisfied, wiggled up onto his chest and threw her little arms around his neck, squeezing him as tight as her small limbs allowed. “SO much,” she emphasized, snuggling into him like she was afraid he’d disappear again.

Oscar chuckled, wrapping his arms around her. “That much, huh?”

Bee nodded against his shoulder before pulling back slightly. “Did you bring me something?”

Oscar huffed a laugh, brushing a hand over her wild curls. “I did, actually.”

Bee gasped, eyes wide with excitement. “Really?”

Oscar nodded. “It’s in my bag, but you have to let me wake up first.”

Bee considered this for a moment, then grabbed his face with both hands, squishing his cheeks together. “You are awake.”

Oscar let out a muffled laugh as Felicity snorted into her pillow.

“Okay, okay,” he relented, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll get up.”

Bee grinned triumphantly and immediately wriggled under the covers, snuggling into his side. “Not yet. Cuddles first.”

Oscar didn’t even hesitate. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close as she tucked her head against his chest. Felicity, still half-asleep, sighed and shifted closer, draping an arm over both of them.

Oscar let his eyes slip shut again, exhaling slowly. He was home. And nothing in the world—no podium, no trophy, no race win—could compare to this.

***

Lando had seen a lot of things in his life. He’d seen Max Verstappen get emotional about a cat. He’d seen Daniel Ricciardo take out an entire row of people with a space hopper. He had, unfortunately, witnessed Pierre Gasly getting far too competitive over a game of Uno.

But he had never seen anything like that.

This was insane.

He had thought he knew Oscar. That he had at least an inkling of what made his teammate tick.

And instead…instead…

“This can’t be right,” he muttered, checking the address again.

It was right.

When Oscar invited him over for dinner, Lando had assumed it would be at some sleek, modern place in the city—something minimalist, maybe a bit boring, like Oscar himself. But instead, his GPS had led him here: A farmhouse.

Not just any farmhouse—a whole-ass, fully refurbished, picturesque countryside dream, complete with a long gravel driveway, stables, and, unless Lando was hallucinating, actual chickens. And a long stretch of land that looked like it belonged in a movie about a grumpy farmer learning to love again…

Lando was still hung up on the chickens.

Chickens.

Lando sat in his car for a full minute, just staring.

Then he exhaled sharply and dragged a hand down his face.

The front door swung open at that moment, and Oscar appeared, looking far too casual for someone who had just been exposed as a secret farmer.

Lando took that as his sign to get out of his car.

“Hey,” Oscar said, like this wasn’t a completely insane situation.

Lando just gawked at him. Then at the house. Then at the literal barn behind it.

“What the fuck is this?”

Oscar blinked. “My house?”

“No, mate, this is a lifestyle,” Lando said, gesturing wildly. “This is—I don’t even know! When did you secretly become a farmer?”

Oscar looked vaguely amused. “I’m not a farmer.”

“You own a barn.”

“It’s just Felicity’s garage.”

Lando waved a hand wildly. “No. It’s a farm.”

Oscar shrugged. “It’s not a farm. We just have a bit of land.”

Lando gestured violently at the chickens. “THOSE ARE FARM ANIMALS.”

Oscar, ever unbothered, just nodded.

Lando gestured wildly. “Why do you have chickens?”

Oscar sighed like he’d been waiting for this reaction. “Because they lay eggs, Lando.”

“Oh, brilliant, thanks for that. Why do you have them at all?”

Oscar shrugged. “Because they are cheaper than buying the amount of eggs my daughter eats,” he said drily. “And she likes chasing them.”

Lando turned back to the house. Then to the barn. Then to the fenced-in area where he could see a couple of chickens strutting around like they owned the place.

He squinted. “Oscar, is this a bit?”

Oscar frowned. “What?”

“This whole, like, farmer aesthetic—is this some Australian thing I don’t understand?”

Oscar just shrugged. “I just like it.”

Lando exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face. “I knew you were secretly an old man, but mate, this is—this is next-level. You bought a whole-ass farmhouse?”

Oscar nodded again, completely deadpan. “First McLaren paycheck.”

Lando’s mouth fell open. “You—what?”

Oscar just shrugged. “I bought the house with my first McLaren paycheck. It’s quiet, it has space, it made sense for us.”

Lando dragged a hand down his face. “Mate, I spent my first paycheck on a supercar. You spent yours on a farm.”

“I didn’t need a supercar,” Oscar said drily. “I needed a home for my family.”

Lando opened his mouth, then closed it, because he had so many questions.

Before he could ask any of them, movement caught his eye inside the house. A woman stepped into view, and Lando faltered.

Felicity.

He had heard about her, of course. What he hadn’t been prepared for was this.

Lando just… stared.

Felicity was tiny. Max had mentioned him.

Still, it was something else to see her next to Oscar, when she didn’t even seem to reach his shoulder.

She looked like she barely cleared five feet, and if she weighed more than one of his tires, he’d be shocked. But that wasn’t even the worst part.

The worst part was that she was startlingly pretty.

Like, really pretty.

Lando blinked, trying to reboot his brain. Felicity had long, dark hair that fell in soft waves down her back, sharp eyes that were both amused and assessing, and the kind of delicate features that made her look like she belonged in a historical drama—not standing in a farmhouse, wiping grease off her hands with a towel.

“Hi,” she said, smiling.

Lando blinked back to reality. He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but all that came out was, “You’re so small.”

Felicity blinked at him, then tilted her head. “And you’re very loud.”

Oscar sighed. “Mate.”

Lando ignored him, still eyeing Felicity. “Like, I don’t understand how you exist. You look like you weigh less than my helmet.”

Felicity just smiled. “Nice to meet you too, Lando.”

Lando was about to respond when he spotted the little girl peeking out from behind Oscar’s leg. Bee.

A spitting image of her mother. But her expression was all Oscar —down to the blank stare and the slow, assessing blink. She was clinging to Oscar’s leg, half-hidden, watching Lando like he was some exotic zoo animal.

Lando blinked. “Oh my god. It’s real.”

Oscar sighed. “Lando—”

Bee clung even tighter, burying her face against Oscar’s leg.

Felicity snorted in amusement. “Bee, sweetheart, do you want to say hi?”

Bee shook her head without looking up.

Lando sighed. “Brutal.”

Felicity just smiled, reaching down to gently stroke Bee’s curls. “She’s just a little shy.”

Oscar patted Bee’s back absentmindedly. “It’s okay, bumblebee. Lando’s alright, I promise.”

Bee peeked up at him, whispering, “Are you sure?”

Lando gasped. “Hey!”

Bee clung tighter.

Oscar just looked at Lando, deadpan. “You’re not making a great first impression.”

Bee just blinked at him.

Then she tugged at Oscar’s sleeve and whispered, loud enough for everyone to hear, “He looks like a poodle.”

Oscar pressed his lips together like he was physically restraining himself.

Lando choked. “Excuse me?”

Bee studied Lando with her big brown eyes, then nodded, fully confident in her assessment. “Yeah. A poodle.”

Lando stared at her, then looked at Felicity, who had pressed her lips together just enough to suppress her laughter. He turned to Oscar, who coughed into his fist. “She’s very observant.”

“I do not look like a poodle.”

Bee peeked at him again, considering, then gave a tiny nod, like she had officially decided. “A fancy poodle.”

“Why do I look like a poodle?” Lando demanded

Bee just shrugged.

Oscar hummed. “You do kind of have poodle energy.”

Lando glared at him. “I do not.”

Bee just looked at him with the same deadpan expression Oscar always had.

Lando stared.

Bee stared back.

Lando turned to Oscar, absolutely horrified.

“Oh my God,” he whispered. “She’s you. She’s literally just you, but small.”

Bee studied him for a second, then looked at Oscar. “He’s weird.”

Oscar sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

Lando threw his hands up. “You raised another version of yourself. How was I supposed to prepare for that?”

Felicity finally lost it, laughing into her sleeve.

“Why don’t you come in, before the chickens decide to follow along?” Felicity suggested brightly.

Dinner at the Piastri household was not what Lando had expected.

For one, he had pictured something normal—maybe a modern house, a sleek kitchen, a normal dining table with normal chairs.

What he got instead was a massive wooden farmhouse table, slightly uneven floorboards, and a cozy, lived-in feel that made him wonder if he had stepped into some alternate universe version of Oscar’s life.

Bee had climbed into her seat, still watching Lando like she wasn’t sure if he was friend or foe. Felicity moved around the kitchen with easy familiarity, and Oscar—who was supposed to be a ruthless, calculating driver—was helping her like some kind of domesticated husband.

Lando still wasn’t over it.

He leaned over to Oscar. “I have so many questions.”

Oscar, barely looking up from where he was setting plates, said, “I’m sure you do.”

Lando pointed at him, then at the house. “You live in a farmhouse. You have chickens. And you’re out here—” he waved vaguely at the kitchen “—playing house?”

Oscar gave him a flat look. “What did you think I did when I wasn’t racing?”

“I don’t know!” Lando gestured wildly. “Not this!”

Oscar just smirked. “I like it here.”

Felicity came over then, setting down a dish, and Lando took the opportunity to direct his bewilderment at her. “How did this happen?”

She just smiled, sitting down next to Bee. “Well, Oscar bought the place after he signed with McLaren. We liked the space.”

Lando shook his head, still trying to process it. “You realize you’re both, like, 23 and living like retirees, right?”

Oscar hummed. “You say that, but I don’t see you leaving.”

Lando scowled, mostly because Oscar was right. The place was weirdly nice. Comfortable. Like it had a soul, which was more than he could say for some of the cold, modern houses drivers usually bought.

Dinner had barely started when Lando noticed Bee glancing toward the back door. He followed her gaze and frowned. “You—uh, you guys actually have chickens?”

Felicity hid a smile behind her glass of water. “Yes.”

Bee perked up. “I named them!”

Lando raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh yeah? What’d you name them?”

Bee took a dramatic breath, like she’d been waiting for someone to ask. Then, with the confidence of a small child who knew she was right, she began listing them off.

“There’s Verstappen, Hamilton, Rosberg, Vettel, Raikkonen, Alonso, Schumacher, Lauda, Mansell, Fangio and Senna!”

Lando blinked.

Oscar took a sip of his drink, unfazed. Felicity looked like she was biting back laughter.

“…I have questions,” Lando finally said.

Bee tilted her head at him. “Like what?”

Lando ran a hand down his face. “For one, they’re all girls.”

Bee nodded. “Yeah.”

Lando waited for an explanation, but Bee just stared at him like that was a perfectly normal response.

He turned to Oscar. “Are you hearing this?”

Oscar shrugged. “What do you want me to do? She likes F1.”

Lando gestured wildly. “Yeah, but she named a chicken after Senna.”

Bee frowned. “Senna is the best one.”

Oscar nodded seriously. “She is the fastest.”

Lando sighed, shaking his head as he picked at his food. “So, what—you just wake up in the morning and Senna’s out there setting purple sectors in the yard?”

Bee nodded solemnly. “She always gets to the food first.”

Oscar, deadpan, added, “She’s got a killer apex around the water trough.”

Lando pointed his fork at him. “I don’t know if I’m impressed or concerned.”

Felicity finally took mercy on him, resting her chin in her hand as she grinned. “Bee likes to time them when she throws out feed.”

Lando let out a weak laugh. “Of course she does.”

Oscar, entirely unbothered, patted Bee’s head. “You get used to it.”

Bee nodded in agreement, then picked up her fork and continued eating like she hadn’t just destroyed Lando Norris in five words or less.

Lando groaned, rubbing his temples. “This was supposed to be a normal dinner.”

Felicity snorted. “I don’t think we do normal here.”

Lando sighed. “No kidding. Do you have any more livestock around here? I don’t know, a herd of goats? Some cows? A donkey?”

“Nope, just the chickens,” Oscar assured him.

“And the stables?” Lando asked him pointely. Better make sure to actually ask Oscar specific questions so that there wouldn’t be another secret wife or baby disaster.

“That’s where we fix Mama’s cars!” Bee said brightly.

Lando blinked. “You’re what?”

“We’re fixing Mama’s Mustang!” Bee repeated proudly. “We took the whole engine apart and put it back together.”

Lando turned to Felicity, expecting some sort of clarification—maybe Bee had helped pass a wrench or something.

Instead, Felicity just nodded. “It’s a ‘67 Fastback. Needed a lot of work.”

Lando squinted. “Wait, you actually know how to fix cars?”

Felicity tilted her head. “Yes?”

“But you’re so—” He gestured vaguely at her small frame. “—tiny.”

Oscar groaned. “Here we go.”

Felicity raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“I don’t know! You just—don’t seem like the type to be under a car with an oil rag.”

Bee looked deeply offended on her mother’s behalf. “She’s really smart,” she huffed. “She knows everything.”

Lando held up his hands. “Alright, alright, I believe you.”

“She has a degree,” Bee added, as if that sealed the deal.

Lando blinked. “A what?”

Felicity smirked. “Mechanical engineering.”

Lando stared. “I—what?”

Oscar just sighed, like this was all very normal.

“He gets confused a lot,” Bee said sagely, staring at her father.

Lando threw his hands in the air. “Oh my god, she’s just like Oscar.”

Bee turned to Oscar, beaming, like that was the best compliment she’d ever received. “I am?”

Oscar, laughing, kissed the top of her head. “Of course you are, bumblebee.”

Lando was still reeling.

Oscar—quiet, unassuming, serious Oscar—was a dad. Not in some abstract way, like oh yeah, I have a kid somewhere, but in a fully involved, real-life, cut-up-her-food-for-her-and-check-if-her-drink-is-too-hot way.

And it was weird.

Bee had curled up against Oscar’s side, her tiny fingers absentmindedly twisting the fabric of his hoodie as she listened to the conversation. Every few minutes, Oscar would lean down and automatically adjust her position, like he was making sure she was comfortable without even thinking about it.

And that was the weirdest part.

Oscar wasn’t trying to be a dad. He just was.

Lando stared as Oscar reached for Bee’s fork and started cutting up the last few bites of food on her plate. Without looking, he held up a piece of carrot, and Bee, still focused on the conversation, just took it like this was a thing they did all the time.

Which, of course, it probably was.

Lando turned to Felicity, wide-eyed. “He’s a dad.”

Felicity blinked, unimpressed. “Yes, Lando, I know.”

“No, like—” Lando waved a hand wildly in Oscar’s direction. “Like, he’s a dad dad.”

Felicity arched a brow. “What, did you think he was pretending?”

“No, but like—” Lando leaned forward, whispering like it was a big secret. “He’s doing dad things.”

Oscar, still cutting up Bee’s food, glanced up. “What are you on about?”

Lando pointed at him. “That! That right there!”

Oscar frowned. “Cutting food?”

“Yes! Like a dad!”

Oscar blinked, unimpressed. “I am a dad.”

Lando groaned. “Yeah, I know, but like—I didn’t expect it to be this real.”

Oscar just shook his head, muttering, “Unbelievable,” before turning his attention back to Bee.

“Okay, bumblebee,” he said gently. “Three more bites, then you can be done.”

Bee, still curled up against him, yawned. “’M tired.”

Oscar kissed the top of her head. “I know, love. Just a few more, then it’s bedtime.”

And just like that, Bee nodded and obediently ate another bite.

Lando turned to Felicity. “You see this, right?”

Felicity smirked. “Yes, Lando, I see my husband being a father.”

Lando gestured wildly. “But like, he’s good at it! Since when is Oscar good at dad things?”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “I have been a dad for three years, mate.”

Lando huffed. “Yeah, but I didn’t see it happening. Like, I blinked, and suddenly you’re cutting food and saying bedtime voice things.”

Oscar raised a brow. “Bedtime voice things?”

Lando pointed at him. “Yeah! That thing you just did—‘Okay, bumblebee, three more bites, then bedtime.’” He mimicked, pitching his voice softer, gentler, so annoyingly dad-like.

Oscar sighed. “You’re actually insane.”

“I’m just saying, I thought I knew you!” Lando snapped. “And then I come over for dinner, and suddenly you’re a real-life father figure.”

Felicity snorted. “Did you think she raised herself?”

Lando threw his head back. “I don’t know! I thought maybe she just appeared one day fully formed, and Oscar just followed her around making sure she didn’t fall into a drain or something.”

Oscar gave him a flat look. “Lando.”

“What!?” Lando turned to Bee. “Bee, did you know your dad does dad things?”

Bee, very unimpressed, blinked up at him. “...Yes?”

Oscar, smug, just kissed the top of Bee’s head again. “Okay, sweetheart, last bite.”

Bee, still sleepy, opened her mouth without argument, letting Oscar feed her like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Lando stared.

And then, finally, slumped back in his chair with a dramatic sigh.

“I can’t believe it.” He shook his head, defeated. “You’re a dad dad.”

As Oscar stood from the table, Bee still clinging to his hoodie, he shot Felicity a small look. “I’ll get her settled,” he murmured.

Felicity nodded, watching as he carried their half-asleep daughter toward the hallway, murmuring something soft that neither she nor Lando could hear.

Lando stared after them, still looking like he’d been hit by a truck. “I can’t believe he’s an actual dad,” he muttered.

Felicity huffed a quiet laugh. “You’ve said that at least ten times in the last hour.”

“Well, yeah,” Lando gestured toward the hallway. “Because he is! Like, full-time, dedicated, knows-how-to-braid-hair dad.”

Felicity smirked. “He does know how to braid hair.”

Lando groaned. “See? That’s exactly what I mean!” He scrubbed a hand down his face, shaking his head. “Like, when did that happen?”

Felicity shrugged, reaching for her water glass. “Somewhere between marrying me and Bee showing up, I suppose.”

Lando let out a strangled noise. “Yeah, about that! You got married at eighteen!”

Felicity took a sip, unbothered. “Yes.”

“You married Oscar at eighteen.”

“Yes, Lando, I was there.”

“How does that even happen? How do you just wake up one day and decide to marry Oscar Piastri?”

Felicity let out a soft hum, glancing toward the hallway where Oscar had disappeared. “It’s a bit of a long story.”

Lando crossed his arms, leaning forward. “Well, I’ve got time.”

Felicity huffed a quiet laugh, setting her glass down. “Alright,” she said, folding her hands in front of her. “I guess it started when I met him.”

Lando perked up. “Which was…?”

Felicity exhaled, eyes distant. “When I was 15.”

Lando’s brows shot up. “So you were actually childhood sweethearts?”

Felicity smirked. “Not exactly. I was miserable back then.”

Lando’s expression sobered slightly. “Miserable?”

She nodded. “I was… one of those kids. You know, the ones who burn too bright, too fast. I did everything my parents wanted—ballet, violin, top of my class in school. I skipped grades, got sent to boarding school. I was gifted.” She said it like the word was a curse. “And by the time I was 15, I was burned out, miserable, and running on nothing but caffeine and the sheer force of expectations.” Her lips pressed together. “And I had an eating disorder I refused to acknowledge.”

Lando’s stomach twisted. “Oh.”

Felicity nodded. “Then I met Oscar.” A small smile played on her lips. “He was the new kid…and we were in the same math class. He stole my pen on accident,” she recounted with a smile. “And then suddenly…there was this boy who just—talked to me. Like I was a person, not just an academic achievement my parents could brag about.”

Lando swallowed. “Oscar did that?”

She nodded. “He was kind. Steady. The first person I ever met who made me feel like I wasn’t just a list of accomplishments. And, somehow, before I even knew what was happening, he became my best friend.”

Lando leaned back, blinking. “Wow.”

Felicity let out a quiet laugh. “Yes. And then, by the time we were eighteen, I think we both knew there was no one else we’d ever want.” She tilted her head. ��So we got married.”

Lando just stared.

Felicity quirked a brow. “What?”

He let out a long exhale. “You married Oscar at eighteen.”

“Yes.”

“And two years later, you had Bee.”

“Yes.”

Lando rubbed his temples. “You’re twenty-three and you have a whole family.”

Felicity shrugged. “And?”

Lando groaned. “And I still forget to pay my electricity bill on time!”

Felicity snorted. “That sounds like a you problem.”

Lando threw his hands up. “I just—I can’t believe it! Like, I knew you and Oscar were… you know, married, but I didn’t realize it was this.”

Felicity tilted her head. “This?”

“You know!” Lando gestured vaguely toward the hallway. “This! You two, raising a kid, being all married and in sync and doing, like, real adult things.”

Felicity arched a brow. “Would you prefer if we were fake married and doing pretend adult things?”

Lando groaned. “You know what I mean!”

Felicity smirked. “Yes, but I like watching you struggle.”

Lando slumped against the table, groaning dramatically. “I need a moment to process this.”

Felicity just laughed, reaching for her water again. “Take your time, Lando.”

Lando sighed, staring at the ceiling.

Oscar Piastri. Married. A whole dad.

Yeah, he was gonna need a minute.

Lando was still staring at the ceiling when Oscar walked back into the room, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie.

“She’s asleep,” he said, then arched a brow at Lando. “What’s wrong with him?”

Felicity smirked. “Existential crisis.”

Oscar sighed, walking over to drop into his seat. “Because of what, exactly?”

Lando flailed a hand toward him. “Because you’re a dad, mate! A whole, full-time, actual dad!”

Oscar frowned. “Yes?”

Lando groaned. “I know that, logically! I know you have a wife and a kid, and I knew about Bee, but I didn’t really know until I saw you doing, like, dad things.”

Oscar looked at Felicity, unimpressed. “Did you break Lando?”

She shrugged. “I don’t think it was very difficult.”

“Hey!” Lando huffed. “I just—mate, you’re married! And you’ve got this whole little family! And it’s weird because you’re Oscar Piastri.”

Oscar frowned. “What does that mean?”

“I mean,” Lando gestured wildly, “you’re so calm all the time. Like, completely unfazed, but then I come over for dinner and you’ve got a kid clinging to you, and your wife is explaining how she was some genius child prodigy who burned out at fifteen, and you married her at eighteen like it was no big deal—”

Oscar blinked. “It wasn’t.”

Lando groaned. “That’s exactly what I mean!”

Oscar just sighed. “Lando, it’s not that complicated.”

Lando gaped at him. “Not that—mate, you got married at eighteen!”

Oscar tilted his head, unbothered. “And?”

“And—!” Lando turned to Felicity for backup, but she was watching the conversation with obvious amusement. “And that’s not normal! That’s like, Hollywood teen drama levels of insane.”

Oscar just shrugged. “I don’t think so.”

“Of course you don’t.” Lando groaned, rubbing his hands over his face.

Felicity huffed a quiet laugh. “Do you need a moment?”

Lando threw his hands up. “Yes! Because apparently, I’ve been friends with a whole family man without even realizing it!” He turned to Oscar. “Like, how do you even do it? The whole ‘married with a kid’ thing while also being a full-time F1 driver?”

Oscar leaned back, thoughtful. “I just do.”

Lando groaned. “Why do I even ask?”

Oscar smirked. “I don’t know, mate. You seem to enjoy the pain.”

Lando sighed dramatically. “I think I need a drink.”

Felicity laughed. “We’ve got juice boxes.”

Lando groaned into his hands. “Unbelievable.”

Felicity smirked and got up, walking over to the fridge. She returned a moment later and slid a juice box across the table toward Lando.

“There you go.”

Lando looked down at it, then up at her, unimpressed. “You are messing with me.”

Oscar grinned. “Nah, mate, that’s prime juice right there.”

Felicity nodded seriously. “Apple juice. Bee’s favorite.”

Lando sighed, picking it up. “I hate both of you.”

Oscar just leaned back in his chair, completely relaxed, while Felicity looked thoroughly entertained. Lando stabbed the straw into the juice box and took a long sip, thinking.

Then he looked at Felicity. “Alright, tell me everything.”

She arched a brow. “About what?”

He gestured vaguely. “You. Oscar. How you met. How you ended up married at eighteen. Because no offense, mate,” he said, looking at Oscar, “you’re not exactly the whirlwind romance type.”

Oscar shrugged. “Yeah, well. It wasn’t exactly a whirlwind.”

Lando just stared at him.

“It wasn’t,” Oscar repeated. “We knew each other for three years by then. It was just logical.”

Felicity shrugged. “It made sense to us.”

Lando looked at Oscar. “And you didn’t think this was insane?”

Oscar shook his head. “No.”

“Why?”

Oscar just looked at Felicity. “Because it was her.”

And the way he said that…like it answered everything.

And Lando supposed…maybe it did.

Lando blinked. He sat back in his chair, staring at them. “I—okay. Yeah. I get it now.”

Felicity smirked. “Good.”

Lando pointed at them. “But I reserve the right to be shocked for at least another month.”

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Fine.”

Felicity grinned. “We’ll allow it.”

***

Grid Group Chat

Lando: BOYS. You are NOT going to believe what I just witnessed.

Carlos: Do tell.

George: If it’s about Oscar, I probably will believe it by now.

Lando: I met his wife and kid for the first time.

Charles: Oh???

Pierre: And?

Lando: First of all, Bee is terrifyingly smart and also called me a poodle.

Alex: …She’s right tho.

Lando: SHUT UP.

Lando: Second. OSCAR HAS CHICKENS.

George: …What.

Lando: Not just chickens. F1 THEMED CHICKENS.

Pierre: Explain.

Lando: They’re all named after F1 legends. He has a chicken named Senna.

Charles: SENNA???

Carlos: Wait wait wait. How many chickens does he HAVE???

Lando: Enough to fill a grid.

Lando: I met Senna, Prost, Schumacher, and Alonso.

Pierre: Please tell me they have beef.

Lando: Alonso the chicken literally chased me.

Fernando: As he should.

Lando: NOT THE POINT.

George: Where does he even keep all of them??

Lando: Oh. That’s the other thing.

Lando: Oscar lives on a farmhouse.

Alex: ???????

Lando: A FULLY REFURBISHED FARMHOUSE. WITH STABLES. AND CHICKENS.

Carlos: How have we never known this???

Lando: BECAUSE OSCAR IS SECRETLY 90 YEARS OLD.

Lando: Instead of using his first McLaren paycheck to buy something normal, he bought a FARM.

Charles: You’re telling me that Oscar used his first McLaren paycheck to buy a FARM???

Oscar: It was a good investment.

Lando: OH LOOK WHO SHOWED UP.

Pierre: Explain the chickens.

Oscar: Bee likes them.

Lando: AND SHE NAMED THEM AFTER WORLD CHAMPIONS.

Oscar: She likes racing.

Carlos: But they’re chickens.

Oscar: Fastest pecking order in the yard.

Lando: I CAN’T DO THIS.

Pierre: No but seriously, are we not going to talk about the fact that Oscar has just been living on a farm this whole time like some secret old man???

Oscar: I like the peace and quiet.

Pierre: With a kid AND chickens??

Oscar: You get used to it.

Lando: No. No I will not get used to this.

Lando: You have an entire WORLD CHAMPION GRID OF CHICKENS.

Oscar: And?

Fernando: He’s just committed to the sport.

Lewis: Hold on. Do I have a chicken alter ego?

Oscar: Yes.

Lando: YOU DIDN’T EVEN HESITATE.

Lewis: …What’s my chicken like?

Oscar: She’s a silkie. Very fast. Very dramatic. Squawks whenever she doesn’t get her way.

George: So…accurate.

Lewis: I’m not sure if I should be honored or offended.

Pierre: Who else is on this… chicken grid?

Oscar: There’s a Verstappen.

Max: Oh no.

Charles: THERE’S A MAX CHICKEN?!?

Oscar: Yes, there is. We call her Vera. She’s quick, always charging ahead. If there’s a race between the chickens, she wants to take part every time. And she’s not afraid to take out anyone who gets in her way. Pure aggression, all the time.

Charles: Sounds right.

Carlos: I can’t believe this is real.

Max: …You call her VERA?!

Oscar: Would you prefer me to start screaming VERSTAPPEN on the top of my lungs every time she bullies poor Tiana?!

Fernando: This is the greatest thing I’ve ever heard.

Lewis: No but seriously. Who else is on this grid?

Oscar: There’s a Vettel, but we call her Tiana. Very chill, keeps everyone in check…She’s always making sure there’s enough space for the young ones. She’s got a bit of a soft spot for them.

Oscar: Hamilton, aka Millie, of course.

Oscar: Raikkonen but we call her Kim. Stands in the corner and doesn’t interact with anyone. She’ll go about her business and only makes a sound when she absolutely has to.

Oscar: Alonso aka Allie…she squares off with Vera every day like it’s 2017 all over again.She’s got all the drama, the charisma, and the attitude. Always the center of attention, whether she wants to be or not.

Oscar: Mansell aka Mandy who has tried to escape the Chicken Coop more than once and also once nearly drowned herself on accient because she does not know fear.

Oscar: Schumacher aka Minnie. She's quick, she’s determined, and when she’s in the mood, she’ll show you just how sharp she is. Has a bit of that “never back down” attitude.

Oscar: Lauda who we call Niki. She’s all about precision and order. Doesn't do unnecessary things, and she’s very methodical. She only acts when she knows it’ll get results.

Oscar: Then there’s Fangio, or Farah. She’s got that quiet elegance to her. No rush, no drama, just pure class.

Oscar: Senna, fastest chicken in the yard.

Oscar: And Rosberg aka Rosie. She’s…a lot.

George: I NEED TO SEE THIS.

Charles: Mate. Same.

Carlos: When are we invited to the farm?

Oscar: …Never?

Pierre: Don’t be selfish.

Max: Yeah, let us see the chickens.

Oscar: If I let you come over, you’ll try to start a championship battle in the backyard.

Max: …No, I won’t.

Oscar: You 100% will.

Lando: MAX, WE COULD HAVE A WHOLE CHICKEN GRAND PRIX.

Max: …Okay, I’m in.

Oscar: I regret everything.

#formula 1 #f1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfiction #f1 smau #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid fanfiction #oscar piastri fanfic #oscar piastri #Oscar Piastri smau #Oscar Piastri fic #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri imagine #op81 fic #op81 imagine

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3liza · 4 days ago

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after meaning to get around to it for years i finally listened to almost the entirety of Sold a Story and it is as groundbreaking as everyone says it is. it's also the most confusing, to me, single event in American culture in my lifetime and my reasons for thinking that are pretty complex so im not sure theyre fully formed yet. there's a list of shit in this podcast that made me feel like i was going insane

i KNEW something was going on at a population level, i've been noticing it for years, people kept telling me i was imagining things, but i was RIGHT, two generations of kids have been reduced to barely-literate levels of language function because of this shit and you CAN see it and hear it while talking to people in the world!

the entire adoption of the Calkins programs in the first place were based on the majority of people responsible for American child education deciding basically overnight that "children don't need to learn phonics in order to become strong readers" which is literally and not figuratively equivalent to saying "children can learn algebra without learning what numbers are". it is so self-evidently false i dont even know how to respond to such an assertion. you have to be fundamentally devoid of common sense to think this is true. language is comprised of sounds (phonemes), sounds are represented by letters, letters make up the alphabet, the alphabet makes up words, and words make up sentences. you cant just skip over the parts of this you dont like, it's the basis of our entire civilization. "i dont need to learn individual notes i just want to play to saxophone" okay well. too bad? you cant

american primary education apparently has no communication whatsoever with the scientific fields of human behaviorism, pediatrics, neurology, linguistics, the science of learning generally, and there is next to zero communication between teachers who are actively responsible for educating children and the entire research field of educating children. they just dont talk to each other, at least in huge swaths of the country. in retrospect this is obvious, i just have been assuming incorrectly this entire time that maybe, surely, some aspect of how our public schools are administered is in some way being guided by scientific evidence and research. this has apparently not been the case for 20+ years. Lucy Calkins herself claims she "didn't know" that the research on how children acquire language had been essentially settled by the 1990s, she just wrote her stupid book based on her own self-assurance that what she THOUGHT children were doing when they learned language was correct. she ddin't check, she didnt ask about research or studies, she didn't test her hypothesis, she just told everyone she had figured out how to teach kids to read based on nothing but her own untested assumptions. and everyone was like "okay sounds good". every single person involved in this process is or was in a position of responsibility for educating american children. and almost none of them thought to ask "okay, but have you tested it? does it work?" because they didn't test it, and it doesnt work, and for some reason that was never even brought up

teachers kept being interviewed on this podcast who kept saying things like: "they never taught us how to teach children to read" and "they didn't teach us how children learn so i had no idea how it worked" and then explaining this was why they were so easily hoodwinked by the Calkins program. i don't understand this. what is actually taught during the two year degree programs at teaching colleges? if it's not child psychology, pedagogy, neurology, and actual techniques for teaching children, what are they teaching you to do there? one of my friends who went to a teaching college told me they mostly provided classes on lesson planning.

individual teachers apparently are not reading books or articles or papers on any of these subjects either. so having graduated from a teaching college knowing nothing about children, teaching, or even basic english literacy ("i didn't know how to teach phonics and no one told me" is another thing actual teachers kept saying on the podcast. girl, SESAME STREET can teach basic english phonics, and it does), almost none of them actually do any investigation on their own. they just show up to their workplace (the school) and "teach" whatever admin hands them. ?????????????? how is this possible?

i realized last night in a fugue of post-exertional malaise that the three-cueing method of teaching reading is training children to approach language very similarly to how a large language model does it. they laboriously instruct the children to guess what the next word in a sentence will be, often by actually covering the word with a post-it note and then cajoling and badgering the child until he guesses the word under the post-it, based on the vibes on the sentence he's reading. this doesnt teach you to read, it teaches you to act like youre reading

this isnt directly addressed in the podcast but we used to just teach everyone english like it was an actual system that has parts and rules and structures, because that's what a language is. everyone would start with phonics and the alphabet, then later do stuff like sentence diagramming and grammar, neither of which have been taught in primary schools in decades. i think i was probably the very last generation of kids to get ANY of that stuff unless they went to an exceptional school, and it was only because my 8th grade teacher knew it was important and went against school admin's instructions in order to teach it. the couple days of sentence diagramming and grammar he gave us, out of SPITE, have been more useful to me in reading and writing than the entire rest of primary english education i received in public school, and i didn't even go to a school that had adopted three-cueing stuff yet.

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arroganceisherfavoritecolor · 2 months ago

Note

Hamzah feining over YouTuber reader in one of slushy noobz video? And then them later making a video with each other

crush

˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆Hamzah and you, his YouTube crush, finally do a collab

warnings: fluff, flirting, hamzahs got a huge crush, mentions of food, bad grammar ofc

Hamzah and Martin had been brainstorming ideas for their next video. They considered going with another gameplay, but felt that idea was a bit overused. They thought of doing a baking video instead, but they most definitely didnt feel like going out and buying overpriced ingredients. They finally decided on a simple and new idea; looking at each other's TikTok feed.

So, here they sat in Hamzahs room, scrolling on Martins phone. "Dude, what the fuck is Noah Beck doing on your ForYou page?" Hamzah asked as he laughed down at the video of the thick-necked man. Martin smiled and rubbed his neck. "Yeah, sorry, just girly things," he said as he winked at the camera. Hamzah scrolled past the video and onto the next. Hamzah went through Martins feed for about 10 minutes before he began getting bored. "Boy, what are these videos," taunted Hamzah, handing over Martins phone. Martin side-eyed him and rolled his eyes. "Its not my fault I was written by a woman," he said, crossing his arms over his chest dramatically.

"Aye, its your turn now bro," Martin said, uncrossing his arms to sit up straight. Hamzahs attitude visibly shifted, almost as if he was hesitant. "Nah, nah. Here, lets see what you got goin on-" as Hamzah reached for Martins phone, he snatched it away. "Nuh-uh! You made me expose myself, now its your turn!" Martin grinned evilly at Hamzah. With a sigh, Hamzah grabbed his phone and typed in the password. He opened up TikTok and Martin took his phone out of his hand.

The first video on his ForYou page was an edit of Nettspend playing a live show. "Oh my goodness, of course," Martin laughed, scrolling past the video. Hamzah thanked his ForYou Page for not exposing him with the very first video. Hamzahs TikTok feed may have been filled with funny videos and cool edits, but Martin soon grew bored. "Hey, lets see whats in this search history," Martin said. As soon as Martin clicked the malevolent little magnifying glass in the top right corner, Hamzah felt his heart drop into his stomach. His brain tried to remember what he had last searched up.

By the time he realized he was done for, Martin was already listing off what the contents were. "Funny cat videos, PlayBoi Carti leak, and [username] edits...hey, isn't [username] that one girl?" asked Martin, looking over at a blushing Hamzah. He simply nodded his head, avoiding eye contact. "Bro, whats wrong? You got a little crushy-wushy on her?" Martin nudged Hamzah with his elbow, making him slap his arm away. "Shut up, bro," Hamzah said, looking away from the man beside him. "Well, might as well see what kind of edits people make of her," said Martin, clicking on the text.

As if things couldn't get any more embarrassing for Hamzah, the first video that was shown had already been favorited by him. The edit featured you in an interview. It was to the song Bitch Don't Kill My Vibe, specifically the violin instrumental. The video was cut to show moments of you smiling at the interviewer, talking in that soft tone Hamzah adored. "Dude, FAVORITING is insane work" Martin taunted. He was enjoying this way too much. Hamzah peeked over Martins shoulder and watched the edit play. He slowly began smirking as he watched the video, his eyes softening.

Martin glanced at Hamzah and started laughing. "Dude, you're actually breathing so heavy right now. Chill out," he said as he pushed Hamzah away. Hamzah snapped out of his trance and glared at Martin. "Ok, next," Martin scrolled past the video. The next edit was of you in your "Goodwill Try-On Haul" video. You pranced around in cute little tops and short dresses, looking like a million bucks. The comments were flooded with compliments on how great your body looked and how well you pulled off the clothes. Once again, the video had already been favorited by Hamzah. "Have you favorited every single one of these edits?" asked Martin, cocking up his eyebrow in suspicion. Hamzah simply looked away, trying to hide his forming smirk.

A few days had passed and the video had been posted. Unfortunately for Hamzah, when the video was sent to the editing team, Martin requested for them to keep the footage of Hamzahs little crush on you being exposed. Hamzah was livid with Martin when he saw the final product of the video. "Why the fuck would you keep that footage, dude" said Hamzah, his burning face buried in his hands. Martin rolled his eyes. "Bro, it's not that bad. Who knows, maybe [Name] will see it and be into it," he said in attempt to console his friend.

"I looked like a creep, shes gonna-" suddenly, Hamzah was interrupted with his phone buzzing. He snatched his phone off of the counter and opened it. Immediately, Hamzahs eyes widened in surprise. "Whats wrong?" asked Martin as he rushed over to his side.The two stared at the notification from Instagram that showed you not only followed Hamzah, but sent him a DM. He sat there, phone in hand and mouth slightly open. Martin grabbed Hamzahs shoulders. "See, bro! I told you!" he said, patting his best friends back. Hamzah quickly unlocked his phone and followed you back. He then opened his message requests and read your message.

"Hi Hamzah! I love your videos lol SlushyNoobz is one of my fave channels. I was wondering if you and Martin maybe wanted to do a collab sometime? I'll be in the Ottawa area next week, so just lmk :)."Martin turned to Hamzah. "So what, you down?" he asked. Hamzah nodded his head and began typing a response to send to you. "Hey [Name]. Me and Martin are down for next week. Just let me know whenever you wanna discuss what we should do for the video and all that👍🏽." Hamzah pressed send and closed his phone. His heart was beating like he'd just ran a mile, his hands were so sweaty that ity left a print on the cool glass of his phone. "Alright, the video..."

You stood in Martins kitchen, in between him and Hamzah. "Hey guys! Today, I'm with the SlushyNoobz who have graciously allowed me into their territory!" Hamzah and Martin waved to the camera. "Whats up everyone. Its your boys, the SlushyNoobz. We're gonna show [Name] what happens when she invades our turf," said Martin. Hamzah nodded his head along, awkwardly standing there. He tried his best not to seal glances at you every 2 seconds.

"Alright, you guys ready to get your asses kicked?" you said, smirking at the two men. Martin lifted the sleeve of his shirt and flexed his frail, pale arm. "Are me and Martin gonna have to go easy on you?" asked Hamzah, looking at you. His eyes went up and down on your body. You felt a familiar sensation in your stomach, nervous to be around Hamzah. "Nah, not at all," you said. You had been tagged countless times in reposts of the video where his crush on you was revealed. To say the least, you were quite flattered.

"Okay, so Martin and Hamzah are gonna go against me in a bake-off. We each have our own dishes we're gonna bake, and we'll have Mandy taste test them once they're done. Whichever Mandy likes the best wins," you explained to the viewers, your hands flying around as you spoke. Hamzah paid attention to every word that came out of your mouth like it was the most interesting thing he'd ever heard.

Martin rubbed his hands together eagerly. He looked to Hamzah with a grin, and they exchanged a knowing look. "Alright, we're thinking we should start this off with some chocolate chip cookies," Martin declared confidently. "Big ass cookies, stuffed with all sorts of goodies. Chocolate chunks, caramel, and maybe even some pretzels for crunch." You grinned and looked at Hamzah. "You hearing this? You think you can handle all that or what?" you asked, smiling. Hamzah grinned and nodded his head. "Yeah, I could handle all that and more," he said.

Throughout the video, Hamzah couldn't help but let his eyes linger on you a little longer than necessary, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. He tried to play it cool, not wanting to come on too strong, but you seemed to draw him in so easily. As you helped him measure out ingredients and mix batter, Hamzah brushed against your hand and arm, letting his fingers graze yours.

"So, like this?" he asked, mixing the batter with the technique you showed him. "Mhm, just like that," you said, guiding his movements gently. Hamzah turned to you and smiled. "Y'know, youre pretty good at this. You bake a lot in your free time or what?" You chuckled and moved your hands away from his. "Eh, kinda. I used to bake a lot, but I guess i've been busy lately with YouTube and what not," you said. Hamzah nodded his head.

As he opened his mouth to speak, Martin cut him off. "Hamzah, you mustn't fraternize with the enemy," he said as he grabbed the bowl of mixed batter. Hamzah smirked unapologetically as he nodded his head. "You're right, I take it back you suck at baking [Name]." Your eyes widened in fake outrage. "Really?" you said. You grabbed the spoon from the bowl you were using to mix your cake batter and flicked it towards Hamzah.

Pink batter landed on his cheek. Hamzah gasped and closed his eyes, a big smile plastered on his face. He opened his eyes and glared at you, still cheesing. "Oh yeah? That's what we're doing now?" he asked, stepping towards you. You giggled and put your hands in front of you to keep him from coming any closer. "Hey, chill out! Thats what you get for dissing me," you laughed out. Martin and Mandy watched from the side, using all of their self control to not tease you two.

Soon enough, after bantering and teasing, the baked goods were finally finished. Mandy tasted the cookies and the cake. The cookies weren't all that bad, despite the burnt caramel and charred exterior. Your strawberry cake was significantly better, topped off with vanilla frosting. "Yeah, [Name] wins for sure," said Mandy as she held her hand over her mouth. You smiled triumphantly as Martin glared at you.

You helped Martin and Hamzah clean up the kitchen. As the three of you tidied up, Hamzah made sure he was close to you. He watched as you wiped down the counter with precision, leaving a spotless trail with the dish rag.

Once the kitchen was spotless, Hamzah leaned back against the counter, crossing his arms over his broad chest. He watched as Martin walked out and you pack up your belongings, stealing glances at you when he thought no one was looking.

Hamzah walk towards where you stood. You looked up from your camera and smiled at him. "This was fun, Hamzah," you said as you folded up your equipment. Hamzah grinned at you and you could've sworn his cheeks were getting rosier by the second.

"So, whens our next video?"

(THIS WAS SO LONG BRUHH😭 but ty to @katsaresokool for requesting!!! <333 hope u guys liked this!)

#hamzahthefantastic #hamzah al emad #hamzah #hamzahthefantastic x reader #hamzah al emad x reader #hamzah x reader #slushynoobz #slushy noobz #thatmartinkid

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srjlvr · 2 years ago

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꒦꒷ enhypen ! the moment when fans started shipping them with you <3

idol-ot7!enhypen x idol-fem!reader .. fluff .. no warnings<3 not proofread!!

ε ї з — heeseung

fans started to notice how heeseung kept stealing glances at you when you were busy interviewing them.

you, a new mc in a rookie group got all heeseung’s attention. you’re giggling? heeseung giggles too. you’re smiling? heeseung’s smiling too.

“how do you feel about your comeback?” you made an eye contact with heeseung and your heart skipped a beat. “um…” he was left speechless because of the short interaction you both had.

jungwon took the mic and giggled, speaking instead of the stressed heeseung and making a joke about heeseung being too tired to focus.

fans couldn’t ignore how heeseung kept looking at you with a smile all smeared over his face, as if he just now fell in love with you.

not even a day passed after the interview and all the fans would go crazy with videos and tweets about you two.

“have you seen the way he looked at y/n? i swear we were all just witnessing this man falling in love with her for the first time”

ε ї з — jay

one of the things that your fans loved the most was to watch your lives and ask you questions.

you decided to do one on valentines day and one of the most common questions was if you got something for valentines day when you were younger.

“if i got something for valentines day…?” you repeated the question, thinking about your school days, “i did actually! it was a flower bouquet and a few chocolates with a cute little note on the side” you giggled remembering the cute gift you got.

“jay from enhypen was my classmate back then” you added right after.

fans went feral, making up conspiracies about you and jay being classmates and jay being the one who got you the valentine gift.

he went on live at the same day and his whole live was filled with questions about you and valentines day. he just giggled and confirmed that you and him indeed were classmates, no mentions of the valentines day gift at all.

that didn’t stop the fans from shipping the both of you and videos from yours and his lives became trending.

“jay and y/n confirmed being classmates! y/n also spoke about getting a valentines day gift and right after that she mentioned jay! if you’re asking me, jay has been crushing on her for a while ;)”

ε ї з — jake

a new jake en-log was uploaded and fans rushed to view jake’s vlog. jake was so excited to film a new en-log episode so he filmed everything literally everywhere.

he made a small tour in his room. completely forgetting your signed album that was hanged on his wall.

it didn’t help at all when you also posted a vlog and behind your room wall was an enhypen album, signed by jake—even though it was far, fans could recognize his signature

you and him once met, and he brought you one of your albums to sign on it, and you brought him one of enhypen’s album for him to sign on it.

both of your fans went crazy with theories about the two of you dating and giving each other signed albums as gifts.

“did you see their albums just hanging there on their room wall? they’re fr a power couple😭 jake teach us ways to get y/n signature on one of her albums!!”

ε ї з — sunghoon

a rumor has been going around lately that you and sunghoon were chosen as the new ambassadors for a famous brand.

the rumor kept on going until a new photoshoot came out, and not-so-surprisingly, it was a new photoshoot of you and sunghoon together, presenting you as the new ambassadors for the brand.

you and sunghoon stood extremely close to each other, posing extremely close to each other as well. you had an interaction that fans has never seen before between a fem and a male idols.

a few days later the brand posted a short video of the behind the scenes, showing the both of you really close to each other with such a good interaction between you two.

fans went insane, making your photoshoot trending everywhere and talking about it all the time. especially shipping the both of you nonstop.

“have you seen y/n’s and sunghoon’s photoshoot?? I’M GOING CRAZY OVER HERE!! i’m thankful for that brand for making them the new ambassadors and we better get new photoshoot every month🙇‍♀️”

ε ї з — sunoo

interaction between idols on award shows isn’t something new so are the reactions to other groups.

sunoo is already known as the king of kpop, who knows all the trends and new kpop songs. to other fans it wasn’t new when he was cheering for you when it was your performance, to his fans it wasn’t the case.

sunoo himself got up and danced to your performance, he cheered and chant for you, it’s something they’ve never seen before, even his members looked surprised.

you also went down the stage and interacted with other idols, when you got to sunoo, both of you danced together and had the cutest interaction ever.

the other fans started to notice the cute interaction and agreed that this is something they’ve never seen before.

sunoo and you went trending as the new kpop queen and king without even trying to do so.

“did you see their interaction and how he cheered? YOU CANT TELL ME THEY’RE NOT DATING!!😭😭 HE’S SUCH A SUPPORTIVE BOYFRIEND”

ε ї з — jungwon

new MCs were introduced, aka you and jungwon. the fans weren’t expecting for much interaction between you two. they mostly thought it’d be so awkward between you two at start.

it wasn’t the case at all. the minute the camera started rolling, you and jungwon had the best interaction MCs has ever had.

both of you looked a bit more than comfortable around each other, making jokes and playfully pushing the other.

the idols you interviewed together looked shocked mostly from the way the you acted around each other, they could’ve swore you two are dating but hiding it.

even you were asked multiple times by your idol friends you interviewed if you and jungwon are dating. the both of you left the whole kpop community in shock.

you made fans wait impatiently every week to see new interactions of the both of you, you got the kpop community wrapped around your fingers. both of you even won as the couple of kpop in one of the award shows.

“did you see their new interaction today? I CANT WAIT FOR THE NEXT WEEK HONESTLY!! if they’re not dating then i don’t believe in love at all”

ε ї з — ni-ki

you wanted to get some coffee since you craved for some. you argued with your manager and told her you’d be careful enough to not get recognized and she let you off.

ni-ki at the same time lost in a rock paper scissor game and had to buy coffee to all the members.

you both happened to go to the same coffee place without even knowing.

he accidentally bumped into you and the both of you had a short interaction of a ‘sorry’ and ‘it’s okay, no worries’ type of thing.

the fans who recognized you from afar and were respectful enough to not bother you, took some pictures of your short interaction with ni-ki, which made his fans and your fans go wild.

they immediately started shipping you, thinking that you were on your way to have a date together and didn’t have much interaction because you both were in public.

“they won’t go to the same place for no reason!! they probably bought some coffee and went on a date in a more private place after that!! they look so cute!!😭😭”

PERM TAG-LIST ; @sungwhoonz @ohdudehesflirting @unlikelysublimekryptonite @deobiis @manooffline @miumiuoi @in-somnias-world @lovelovelovebts

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cheolieji · 1 month ago

Note

Dearest Author, I do hope this missive finds thee in most splendid spirits. Might I, your humble subject, entreat Your Highness for the honour of requesting a most exquisite fanfiction?

14th member reader who's the same age as vernon & has a huge, MASSIVE crush on him since green room days and anger to hide it well until carats started noticing the way she looks at him and make vids on it

"Do u like me?" "For 12 years now, thanks for finally noticing :)"

I should be forever in thy debt. With the deepest gratitude and reverence, I remain—your devoted admirer

Penned in secrecy and sealed with affection,

— A Devoted Soul in Waiting ��

secret glances pt 1 - chwe hansol

wc: 1,370

warning: none

Idol au

guide for requesting on my page [17] check out the (pink highlighted) texts for my yes and no's

updatee: PART 2 & 3 (SG pt 2 || SG pt3)

A/N : This is a fuckin poem anon, you're insane lmao ily

lmk If you guys want a part two👀

You remember the first time you saw him, really saw him.

It wasn’t during practice or one of those chaotic group evaluations where everyone was too nervous to breathe. It wasn’t even during a recording session. It was in the green room, of all places. Somewhere in between the exhaustion of rehearsals and the sharp nerves of being on camera. You were sitting on the floor, stretching your legs, trying to ground yourself before stepping into the chaos again. Vernon was across the room, headphones on, bobbing his head to a beat only he could hear.

Something about him caught your attention. Maybe it was the calm in his expression, or the way he looked like the noise around him didn’t touch him at all. You didn’t know what to make of it at the time. You just knew that something in your chest shifted a little.

Back then, it was easy to brush it off. You were both still trainees, too young and too focused on debut to even think about feelings. You trained, you practiced, you worked hard every single day to prove yourself. You were just another kid with a dream and shaky confidence, trying to keep up with thirteen other boys. Fourteen, including yourself.

But still. Something about Vernon lingered.

You’ve always been good at hiding things.

Your nerves before a big stage. The exhaustion from hours of dance practice. The way your voice sometimes shakes during interviews when you talk about your journey with seventeen. But nothing, not even your best poker face, can hide the way you look at Vernon.

And now Carats know.

It started small. A few clips here and there from variety shows, behind-the-scenes, fan signs. One in particular from your rookie days when everything still felt surreal. You were sitting next to Vernon on one of those cramped green room couches, your legs barely touching, the camera zooming in at the exact moment you turned to look at him. Not just any look. The look.

Eyes soft. Smile unintentional. That one second became a screenshot, a meme, a freeze-frame moment in dozens of fan edits. Slowed down. Zoomed in. Captioned with sparkly fonts and phrases like, "She looked at him like he was the whole universe."

You told yourself it was just a bad camera angle. Or maybe you were zoning out. Maybe you were looking past him. But deep down, you knew the truth. You had been staring. Because you always stared. When he wasn’t looking, when he was laughing, when he was fidgeting with his rings. Always.

Vernon is your age, but sometimes it feels like he’s a step ahead. He’s always been calm, thoughtful, just a little strange in a way that makes you want to understand him more. You remember being sixteen and standing outside the practice room, listening to his verse in Adore U, and feeling your chest ache for reasons you couldn’t explain. Not nerves. Not fear. Just him.

You figured it would pass. Crushes do. Especially when you’re working as closely as you all do, constantly surrounded by each other. You told yourself it would fade. But it didn’t. If anything, it deepened.

Now it’s second nature. Laughing at his jokes like you would with anyone else. Nudging him during gameshows. Keeping enough space between you during dance formations. Pretending like your heart doesn’t race whenever he stands a little too close.

But sometimes you slip up. Your eyes wander. You forget the camera is still rolling.

And Carats? They notice everything.

One fan tweet reads, “Y/N LOOKS AT VERNON LIKE HE INVENTED LOVE.” Another post shows a slow-motion video of you smiling at him mid-interview, layered with soft piano music and the caption, “She’s so gone.”

You try to laugh it off. You like your privacy, and you’ve worked so hard to keep things professional. But the edits keep coming. TikToks. Photo comparisons. Fan threads analyzing your expressions. There’s even one video titled “Y/N’s secret crush on Vernon: A Timeline,” and it’s alarmingly accurate.

You try to do better. You make sure to engage with other members more. You keep your eyes trained on your cue cards during interviews. You smile at the fans more than you look at him.

But then he laughs at something Mingyu says. The kind of laugh that starts in his chest and spills out without him trying to stop it. You glance over. Just for a moment.

But the fans see it.

Later that night, Seungcheol corners you in the dorm hallway with a knowing look.

“Do you know what’s trending?” he asks, arms crossed.

You groan and cover your face. “Please don’t tell me.”

“Oh, I will,” he says, grinning. “They made an edit of you and Vernon like it’s the trailer to a romance drama. I think someone even added fake subtitles.”

You press your forehead against the wall and mumble, “I’m never showing my face again.”

“It’s kind of cute, honestly,” Seungcheol says. “But if you’re not into him, maybe stop looking at him like he’s the last glass of water in the desert.”

You don’t reply. Because how can you? How can you explain that it’s not something you do on purpose? That something about Vernon draws your gaze like a magnet, like gravity?

So you don’t say anything.

And of course, you never tell Vernon. Why would you? Things are comfortable the way they are. You talk late at night in the studio sometimes. You trade music recommendations. You laugh at the same dumb memes. That’s enough.

Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe he never will.

But sometimes, just sometimes, you catch him looking too.

And that alone is enough to keep you wondering.

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flowersdiceandlove · 5 months ago

Text

hi @allpiesforourown I just saw your Winx Club fandom Binghe post and it made me think of an au. So, modern au, both Shen Yuan and Binghe are involved in multiple fandoms and are both legendary posters in each of them. The thing is...they hate each other. Their online fights go down in fandom history. The Epic Battles of Peerless Cucumber and the Heavenly Pillar. There are fan accounts and Youtube videos dedicated to explaining their messy fights. There's a whole wiki page about it. Binghe has the most unhinged takes and Shen Yuan drives himself mad trying to reasonably dismantle those takes and why they are stupid and what is wrong with you?!?! But, Binghe comes back with somehow solid sounding arguments? That are somehow so crazy and make you lose all sense of right and wrong and turn everything on their head that you actually are like "wait, this guy might be onto something" until you actually remember the context and go "this guy is batshit insane! lock him up!"

So, they go head to head. A lot. Across many fandoms because they actually have the same taste in media to the point that they feel they can't escape each other. Every time they enter a new fandom, they see the comments and posts in the online communities and are like "you got to be effing kidding me!! That guy is HERE too?!?!?!!" Binghe also posts the same type of scathing reviews that Peerless Cucumber is infamous for, which are good, except for the unhinged takes sprinkled in with the logical. And that's what drives Shen Yuan so crazy. Because this "Heavenly Pillar" is actually a good critic and able to comprehend complex themes that so many others miss or misunderstand. He also completely misconstrues stuff with his unhinged takes.

And Binghe, he's just gonna fight to the death to defend his blorbos and ships.

The thing is, Shen Yuan is Binghe's tutor or something irl and Bingbing's got the biggest crush on him. Obviously. And, they talk about shows and books sometimes, and have good, deep discussions about them, finding they have a lot of the same tastes. Shen Yuan will lend Binghe a book or recommend a show and vice versa. They have fun. They do not share their online handles. Shen Yuan does not want this sweet little white sheep he's been tutoring since middle school knowing about some of the stuff he reads and messing up his image (he has an irl reputation to uphold!), and Binghe doesn't want his crush to know exactly how crazy he is and about all the teacher/tutor x student stuff he posts about, thinking it will dash his chances with his precious, sweet Yuan-gege. He's in college now, he might finally have his chance! So, they keep their online lives separate from their irl ones, not just with each other, but with everyone in their lives. Best not to mix them.

And so, things continue until one day, Peerless Cucumber suddenly becomes the Heavenly Pillar's number one supporter. He's going back and ripping apart everyone who's calling the heavenly pillar a lunatic and to lock him up saying "you don't know what's been through! there could be reasons he's like this! and are those takes really that bad!?!?" (yes. they are) People are reeling at the 180 seeming overnight that came out of nowhere after years of rivalry and hate thrown between them. He's also backing the Heavenly Pillar's takes and headcanons up by saying "yeah, I can see how it could be viewed that way. Totally valid." and then presenting a bunch of canon moments and bts and creator interviews to support it. (It's still all totally insane. But now there's two of them) It makes people actually start to question their sanity because Peerless Cucumber is normally the voice of reason, so if he's agreeing with the Heavenly Pillar, then are they the ones that are actually crazy??

Meanwhile, Shen Yuan is in his apartment, reading webnovels on his phone with his new boyfriend's head resting in his lap, idly petting his fluffy hair. Binghe's never been happier.

And, in case you were wondering, Binghe's Heavenly Pillar account has basically turned into a Peerless Cucumber Fan Account. He gushes in his replies to Peerless Cucumber, praising him, and saying how amazing his analysis' are. He'll also, in his own comments and posts, reference Peerless Cucumber posts constantly.

Yes, people are shipping them (they have for a long time, but now it's becoming a more widespread thing). Yes, they have wiki ship page. Yes, their ship name is PillarCum.

#scum villain self saving system #svsss #shen yuan #luo binghe #bingyuan #bingqiu #peerless cucumber #svsss modern au #do with this what you will

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amirawrah · 1 month ago

Text

⭐︎ a look into jude's relationship side

♥︎ word count: 8,622

♥︎ amirah: at last innit, my wilo's relationship side would always be on top but i really like this tho so i hope you all like thia too. i think i tried my best with it even tho i think im losing my jude juice but enjoy loves.🫶

───────────⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎⭐︎───────────

Jude is insanely proud to call you his girlfriend. He will find ways to bring you up in interviews, subtly (or not so subtly) mentioning “my girl” with the biggest smile.

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ The interviewer asked a question about Real Madrid’s recent win, but Jude's answer drifted somewhere else entirely.

“Well, the team’s been working hard, training’s been intense,” he started, nodding seriously, but then his gaze flicked toward someone just off-camera—you. The smile that spread across his face could’ve lit up Santiago Bernabéu. “But I’ve also got my girl keeping me grounded, you know? She’s been my peace through all the chaos.”

You could hear the PR manager let out a small sigh behind you—this was the third time he’d found a way to mention you during the post-match media rounds.

The interviewer chuckled, clearly charmed. “You always bring her up, man. Must be serious.”

“Yea of course,” Jude said without missing a beat. “She’s special. Keeps me focused, reminds me who I am when everything else gets loud. I’d be lost without her, honestly.”

Your cheeks burned, heat rushing to them despite the cool breeze drifting through the stadium tunnel. You tried to hide behind your phone, but you knew he’d seen the way your smile widened, how your eyes softened.

Later that night, curled up on the couch in his hoodie and your fluffy socks, he pressed a kiss to your temple and whispered, “I hope you know how proud I am to be yours. I’ll never stop talking about you. Ever.”

You rolled your eyes with a grin. “You’re gonna make people sick with how obsessed you are.”

“Let them be sick,” he laughed, pulling you closer. “I’ve got the best girl in the world—why would I keep that quiet?” ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

He’s a big hand on your thigh guy when you’re sitting next to each other—whether you’re chilling at home or courtside at a game or something.

Late-night FaceTimes if he’s away for matches, even if he’s exhausted. If he falls asleep while talking to you, he wakes up the next morning with the goofiest grin.

Protective, but not possessive. If he ever hears someone talking about you sideways, he gives them a look, and they immediately rethink their choices.

Loves to post you subtly—like an artsy pic of you tying your shoes, or a blurry shot of you laughing, captioned with something dumb like “Don’t let her fool you, she’s actually evil.”

Physical touch is a must—forehead kisses, back hugs, and pulling you into him when you're walking together. He loves resting his chin on your shoulder.

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ You didn’t need to look behind you to know it was Jude. His arms wrapped around your waist from behind, strong and familiar, pulling you into the warmth of his chest as he buried his face into the curve of your neck.

“Mmm, missed you,” he mumbled, voice thick from sleep. He’d only been in the other room, but Jude acted like every second apart was a mini heartbreak.

“You were gone for five minutes,” you teased, leaning back into him.

“Too long,” he said, smiling into your skin before pressing a slow kiss to your shoulder. “You smell good. What is that?”

“Peace,” you whispered, grinning.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your back, and you could feel the way his fingers traced lazy patterns along your waist. You started moving toward the kitchen, and just like that, he followed—fingers still linked with yours—before looping an arm around your shoulders and tugging you closer as you walked.

Every few steps, he’d give your hand a squeeze or nudge your temple with his chin. And when you finally stopped to pour yourself some tea, he rested his chin on your shoulder, watching quietly.

“This is my favorite view,” he said softly, his arms sliding around your waist again. “You. Right here. Just like this.”

You turned to face him, and before you could even speak, he pressed a kiss to your forehead, lingering for a moment like he was grounding himself in you.

“You’re clingy today,” you whispered, smiling up at him.

“Always am,” he shrugged, unapologetic. “Can’t help it. I love you so much.”

And with another forehead kiss and his arms around you like you were his entire universe, you believed every word. ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

You two have a secret handshake—Jude made it up one day, and now he refuses to dap you up any other way.

Keeps your relationship somewhat private, but everyone knows how much he adores you.

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ You weren’t in his Instagram photos, not really. A blurry hand reaching for coffee in the corner of the frame, your silhouette reflected in his sunglasses, your shoes next to his on a balcony in Ibiza. Jude had mastered the art of the “soft launch”—private, but not secret.

And yet… everyone knew.

The way he looked at you when he thought no one was watching? Yeah, people noticed. The way his whole face softened when your name came up in conversation? His teammates teased him about it relentlessly.

You were at a Real Madrid training session, tucked quietly off to the side, chatting with a staff member. Jude was supposed to be cooling down—but instead, he was walking straight toward you with that lazy, half-smile he only gave you.

“Bro’s whipped,” you heard Cama mutter under his breath, and someone else laugh.

Jude didn’t care. He came up behind you and rested his hand low on your back, fingers brushing the hem of your hoodie. Not a word, just a quiet, grounding touch that said mine without saying anything at all.

“You good, love?” he asked, low enough for only you to hear.

You nodded, biting your lip to hide your smile. “Go stretch.”

He leaned in, lips brushing your cheek, then whispered with a grin, “I’d rather stretch with you later.”

You swatted his arm and shook your head, cheeks warm.

Later that day, he posted a carousel on Instagram: one moody photo of the pitch, a candid of his boots, a video of a sunset—and the last slide, a blurry photo of you laughing, head thrown back, sunglasses on, your face barely visible.

No tag. No caption. Just a heart emoji.

The comments were a mix of detective work and soft chaos:

“We know that laugh anywhere.”

“Jude pls just hard launch her already.”

“His whole aura changes when he talks about her I can’t.”

“Idc who she is, just know he’s in LOVE love.”

And he was.

Even if the world never got a clear picture of you, everyone could see it in the way he smiled when he said “my girl.” ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

When he posts you on his story, it’s either a fire pic of you looking stunning or the most unhinged, blurry pic with “look at this menace” as the caption.

If you're at his games, he always looks for you in the stands. If he scores? He’s pointing at you immediately.

Whispers in your ear in public just to see you laugh, then acts like he said nothing.

You make fun of his accent sometimes, and he’ll mock yours right back.

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ You were both curled up on the couch, sharing popcorn and watching a movie you weren’t even paying attention to anymore. Jude had just said something—something completely ordinary—but the way he said it made you snort.

“Lemme just grab me coat,” you repeated, mimicking his Birmingham accent with exaggerated vowels and wide eyes.

Jude turned slowly toward you, brows raised. “That’s how you think I sound?”

You nodded seriously. “Exactly like that. ‘Me coat,’ ‘me boots,’ like we’re in a medieval tavern or somethin.”

“Oh, you wanna talk accents now?” he grinned, shifting to face you fully. “Go on then, say ‘water.”

You narrowed your eyes, refusing.

“Go on, babe. Just say it. Say water.”

You sighed dramatically. “Water.”

Jude clutched his chest like you’d personally offended the Queen. “Wah-tuh? Nah, that’s criminal. Where’s the ‘t’? It just disappeared! It’s in witness protection!”

You burst out laughing. “It’s not witness protection, you muppet—it’s a regional dialect!”

“Yeah? Well your regional dialect makes it sound like you’re choking on a vowel,” he teased, eyes sparkling.

You stuck your tongue out at him and he leaned forward, catching your face in his hands like he was studying you.

“I love your accent,” he said suddenly, softer now. “Even when you butcher mine.”

You raised a brow. “You love when I butcher your accent?”

“Yeah,” he smirked. “’Cause then I get to do this—” He cleared his throat, then said in your voice, “‘Jude, can you rub my feet? Jude, can you bring me snacks?’”

“Wow.” You threw a pillow at him, but he caught it midair. “That’s exactly what I sound like.”

“You’re welcome,” he said proudly.

Later, as you lay together in the quiet, his hand tracing shapes on your arm, he whispered, “Say it again.”

You blinked sleepily. “Say what?”

“Water. Just once more. For me.”

You groaned. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Never,” he laughed, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “Say it again, then.” ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

You two have that best friends and lovers dynamic. One second, you’re being all soft with each other; the next, you’re arguing over who would survive longer in a zombie apocalypse.

Your best conversations happen when it’s just the two of you, late at night, half-asleep, tangled up in the sheets, talking about everything and nothing.

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ The world outside had finally gone still. No press, no training, no obligations—just the two of you, wrapped up in the quiet.

The sheets were twisted around your legs, one of Jude’s arms draped lazily across your waist, his fingers tracing slow circles on your skin. The only light in the room came from the soft amber glow of the bedside lamp he insisted on keeping on, “just in case you want water or somethin’.”

You were facing each other, noses nearly touching, his curls slightly flattened from your pillow. His voice was low, scratchy from sleep, and he was talking about something completely random.

“…and then I said, ‘Bro, why would you wear that in public?’ Like he looked like a traffic cone.”

You laughed, soft and muffled, trying not to wake the world outside your little bubble. “You’re mean.”

“I’m honest,” he grinned, eyes fluttering half shut.

There was a long beat of silence. Not uncomfortable. Just peaceful.

Then he asked, “Do you think this—us—is gonna last forever?”

You blinked, heart skipping a little. Not from nerves, but from the softness in his voice. Like he was handing you something fragile and precious.

You nodded slowly, brushing your fingers against his jaw. “I think it already feels like forever. Like I’ve known you in every version of my life.”

He smiled, eyes gleaming even in the dim light. “Yeah. You feel like home, y’know?”

A yawn slipped from his mouth mid-sentence and he buried his face in your neck, mumbling something about how good your skin felt.

You giggled, threading your fingers through his hair. “What if we wake up tomorrow and forget this whole conversation?”

“Then I’ll just tell you again,” he whispered, voice now a sleepy hum. “Every night and Forever.”

And with that, his breathing slowed, syncing with yours. The night held the two of you like a secret, tangled in sheets and sleepy truths, talking about everything and nothing—right where love lives. ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

He has this way of looking at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention—like you hung the stars just for him.

Sometimes, you’ll catch him staring, and he’ll just smirk. “What? I can’t admire my girl?”

Loves it when you play with his fingers absentmindedly while you’re watching TV.

Loves when you sit on the bathroom counter and talk to him while he gets ready for training.

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ You were still in his t-shirt—massive on you, hanging just above your thighs—as you hopped up onto the bathroom counter, legs swinging gently. The early morning light spilled through the window, painting the tiles golden, and Jude was standing at the sink, toothbrush in hand, shirtless, curls still damp from his quick shower.

This had become a ritual: you, on the counter, rambling about everything from your dream last night to what you wanted for breakfast, while he got ready for training.

“…and then for some reason, I was chasing a llama through Westfield with a shopping trolley. I don’t know what that means, but I woke up so stressed.”

Jude spat out his toothpaste, laughing. “A llama? In Westfield?”

“Don’t judge me, dream logic doesn’t have to make sense.”

He reached for his moisturizer and glanced over at you, his eyes lingering just a second longer than necessary. “You’re so cute in the mornings. Still half-asleep, talkin’ nonsense, legs swingin’ like a little kid.”

“I’ll kick you,” you warned, grinning.

He leaned in and kissed your knee. “Yeah, go on then. Do it.”

You watched as he rubbed product into his face, muscles moving under smooth skin, his reflection calm and focused. You loved this version of him—off the pitch, still soft around the edges, yours.

“I like this,” you said quietly.

He looked up, meeting your eyes in the mirror. “What?”

“This. You. Getting ready. Me sitting here. Talking about llamas.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that made your chest ache a little. “Yeah? You know I only ever take this long 'cause I like when you sit there and talk to me.”

You blinked. “Wait, so you drag out your skincare routine just to keep me here longer?”

“Every morning,” he shrugged with a wink, grabbing his cologne. “Gotta soak you in before I go.”

You rolled your eyes, heart full. “You’re such a simp.”

He stepped between your knees and leaned in, pressing a warm kiss to your forehead. “For you? Always.” ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

If you’re cooking, he’ll come up behind you, wrap his arms around your waist, and press a kiss to your neck like it’s second nature.

If you’re on a plane together, he lets you sleep on his shoulder and makes sure you have a blanket.

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ The plane was somewhere over the Atlantic, cruising through a sea of stars and clouds, dimmed cabin lights casting a sleepy glow over everything. Most of the team had passed out hours ago, scattered through first class in hoodies and eye masks, legs stretched and headphones in.

But you?

You were curled up next to Jude, your head nestled perfectly into the curve of his shoulder, his Real Madrid zip-up jacket draped over your lap like a makeshift blanket.

He hadn’t moved since you dozed off—partly because he didn’t want to wake you, partly because he was savoring it. Your breath was warm against his neck, your hand resting lightly on his chest. Every now and then, you’d shift slightly, and he’d adjust without a word—tugging the blanket higher, brushing your hair away from your face, pressing the softest kiss to the top of your head.

He looked down at you, eyes soft, heart doing that quiet ache thing it always did when you were like this—peaceful, trusting, his.

You stirred a little, mumbling something incoherent, and he leaned in.

“Shhh,” he whispered, voice barely audible. “Sleep, baby. I got you.”

A flight attendant walked by, smiled when she saw you both. Jude just nodded politely, then turned back to you—his girl, fast asleep on his shoulder, wrapped in his jacket, flying somewhere between dreams and reality.

And in that moment, at 30,000 feet, he’d never felt more grounded.⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

Jude will never let you live down any embarrassing moment. Trips over nothing? “Damn, babe, you okay? Want me to carry you everywhere now?”

If you’re ever apart for too long, best believe he’s making up for it the second he sees you again. Long, tight hugs where he just breathes you in before whispering, “Missed you, baby.”

Texts You Mid-Training: Even when he’s busy, he sneaks a text like "Thinking about you. Hope you're having a good day ❤️”

Texts You From Across the Room: If you’re in a group setting, he’ll send you a stupid message like “You look mad cute over there” or “Let’s leave and get McDonald’s.”

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ The room was buzzing—laughter, glasses clinking, music low in the background. You were seated across from Jude at a long dinner table, surrounded by mutual friends, some of his teammates, their partners, and way too many inside jokes flying around.

You were mid-conversation with someone when your phone lit up in your lap.

Jude 🤍 you look mad cute over there let’s dip and get maccies. just you + me + fries.

You bit your lip to hide your smile.

You looked up across the table. Jude was pretending to listen to whatever Vini was saying, chin resting in his palm, but the corner of his mouth twitched when your eyes met. He winked, quick and subtle, like he hadn’t just offered to abandon this semi-fancy dinner for fast food and alone time with you.

You texted back:

you’re insufferable. and yes, obviously.

His reply came instantly:

Jude 🤍 knew it. meet me by the coat rack in 10. we’ll ghost like legends.

You glanced at him again, and this time he was fully smiling. Not big and showy. Just that smug, quiet little smirk he got when he knew he had you wrapped around his finger—though, truthfully, you had him just as bad.

Ten minutes later, you were slipping on your coat as Jude “went to the bathroom,” and the next thing you knew, you were in his car, windows slightly fogged, shoes kicked off, sharing a large fries and singing terribly to the radio.

No cameras. No pressure. Just the two of you and a bag of McNuggets, laughing like you hadn’t just ditched a room full of people for something a little more you. ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

Steals Your Skincare Products: “Babe, what does this serum do?” Next thing you know, he’s fully committed to your skincare routine.

Puppy Dog Eyes When He Wants Something: “Baaaabe,” he drags out, giving you that look when he wants you to get up and grab something for him—even though he’s closer to it.

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ You were curled up on the couch, wrapped in your favorite blanket, halfway through an episode of Love Island, snacks perfectly balanced on your lap. Comfort mode: fully activated.

Jude was on the other end of the sofa, literally closer to the remote, phone charger, and the half-empty bottle of water on the table. But of course… that didn’t stop him.

“Baaaaabe,” he whined, voice stretching the word like he was auditioning for a soap opera. You didn’t even look up.

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I was gonna ask,” he pouted.

“I do. You want me to get something that’s exactly three inches from your hand.”

“Okay but I’m comfortable,” he argued, which made you turn your head slowly and give him the look.

“I’m literally cocooned in this blanket. If I move, it’s over.”

He blinked. Then—there it was. The look. Puppy dog eyes, bottom lip slightly out, that soft little head tilt like he was the most pitiful boy in the world.

“Pleaseeee,” he said in the smallest voice. “My girl. My angel. My sweet love.”

You squinted at him. “Don’t try to butter me up.”

“I’d never,” he gasped dramatically. “But also… the charger’s just there. And my phone’s on 2%.”

You groaned but shoved the blanket off anyway, grabbing the charger and tossing it at him with the flair of a dramatic lead in a West End play.

“Happy now?”

He grinned, plugging it in and leaning over to kiss your cheek. “Ecstatic. Thank you, my love.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks were warm. Because yeah—he was a menace. A spoiled, dramatic, clingy menace.

But he was your menace. ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

One time you two went to a photobooth and he kept the picture in his locker

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ It had been one of those rare afternoons—just the two of you, no media, no training, no schedule. You were wandering through some tucked-away street in Madrid, iced coffees in hand, when you passed a tiny old-school photo booth tucked between a bakery and a record shop.

Jude stopped, took one look at it, and grinned. “Get in.”

You blinked. “Now?”

“Yeah,” he said, already pulling the curtain back. “We’re making core memories.”

The machine barely fit you both, knees bumping, laughter echoing off the tiny walls.

The first photo was mid-laugh—you hadn’t even been ready.

The second, you both tried to be serious but cracked up halfway through.

The third, he kissed your cheek, completely catching you off guard.

And the fourth?

He looked right at the camera, grinning.

You looked right at him.

When the strip slid out a few seconds later, you both stood there, staring at it, giggling like kids.

But Jude pocketed it.

“What—don’t I get a copy?”

“Nah,” he smirked, tucking it into his wallet. “This one’s for me.”

You thought nothing of it at the time.

Months later, one of the Real Madrid staff posted a behind-the-scenes locker room pic on Instagram—nothing wild, just a celebration moment after a big win.

But in the corner, barely visible, taped inside Jude’s open locker…

There it was.

The photo strip.

Slightly crumpled, edges worn, but still stuck right there next to his wrist tape and boots.

You zoomed in instantly, heart doing that stupid flutter.

The next time you saw him, you leaned against the doorframe of his room and said, “So… locker decorations, huh?”

He didn’t even try to act cool. Just grinned and shrugged, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“It’s my favorite photo. Why wouldn’t I keep it close?” ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

The type to pull you in by your jaw for a deep, slow kiss before a match—just to get you flustered.

Will randomly kiss your shoulder if you’re sitting next to him, no reason needed.

If you ever feel insecure, he’s on it immediately. He won’t let you say anything negative about yourself. “Nah, I don’t want to hear that. You’re perfect to me.”

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ It was late—too late to be overthinking, but there you were, lying in bed, scrolling through photos on your phone. You’d been doing it for a while now, swiping through your feed, comparing, wondering, self-doubting.

Jude had been on his phone too, but his attention was split. He glanced over at you, saw the way your brow furrowed, the way you tucked your lip between your teeth.

“Babe?” he asked, his voice low and soft, pulling you from your thoughts. “You okay?”

You shrugged, offering a half-smile. “Yeah, just… nothing really.”

He wasn’t buying it. Not for a second.

He turned over, propping himself up on one elbow, studying you with that warm, concerned look of his. “Don’t lie to me. What’s going on?”

You hesitated, then sighed. “I just… I don’t know. I feel a bit off. Like, maybe I’m not doing enough, or—”

“Stop,” he cut you off immediately, his hand gently cupping your face. His thumb brushed the skin of your cheek like he was trying to erase the uncertainty there. “No. I don’t want to hear any of that.”

You blinked, confused. “What?”

“You’re perfect. To me. Always have been. Always will be.” His voice was firm, no hesitation. “And I don’t want you thinking otherwise. Not for one second. So if you’re gonna talk like that about yourself again, I’m walking out of this room.”

Your eyes softened, the words from earlier fading away in the warmth of his gaze. “But I—”

“No buts.” He kissed your forehead lightly, his lips lingering a moment longer than necessary. “You’re everything I need, okay? And if you ever feel like you’re less than that, I’m right here. You’ve got no reason to feel anything less than amazing.”

A breath you didn’t know you were holding released. “I love you,” you whispered, your heart swelling.

He smiled, that soft, content smile you loved. “I love you more. But I’ll always remind you how perfect you are, even if you forget.”

You cuddled into his side, feeling like the weight of all your insecurities had been lifted, replaced with the quiet certainty of his love.

And as he pulled you closer, gently pressing a kiss to your temple, you knew you had everything you needed—because with him, you felt more than enough. ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

If someone flirts with you in front of him? He leans in and whispers in your ear, “You love making me mad, don’t you?” with that smug smirk of his.

If you’re ever in public and he catches you staring at him, he’ll lean in close, voice all deep, and say, “If you keep looking at me like that, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Will casually whisper something highly inappropriate in your ear during a party just to see your reaction. When you hit him, he just laughs. “What? I was just saying the truth.”

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ The party was in full swing—loud music, chatter filling the air, and everyone mingling around. You were standing near the bar with a few of Jude’s teammates, a glass of wine in your hand as you chatted about nothing in particular, enjoying the warmth of the evening.

And then, from behind, you felt his presence—Jude sliding in beside you, his arm brushing against yours as he leaned in close.

“Hey babe,” he murmured, his voice low, almost teasing. You barely had time to turn toward him before his lips were right next to your ear, his warm breath sending a shiver down your spine.

"You're looking incredibly hot tonight... Honestly, I’m not sure how I haven’t dragged you to the nearest bathroom yet.”

Your eyes widened, heart skipping a beat as you spun around to face him. “Jude!” you hissed, wide-eyed, but there was no stopping the smirk tugging at his lips.

He looked so damn innocent, but you could see the glint of mischief in his eyes. “What? I was just saying the truth,” he shrugged, laughing as your face flushed in embarrassment.

You swatted his chest playfully, but that only made him laugh harder. “I can’t believe you sometimes,” you muttered, trying to shake off the heat rising to your cheeks. “You’re lucky I’m not making this whole party uncomfortable.”

He chuckled, wrapping his arm around your waist. “I didn’t think you’d mind that much. But I’ll admit… I love how you react.”

You shot him an exasperated look, but inside, you couldn't help but smile. He always had a way of making you blush, even in the most inappropriate moments.

“Jude,” you warned, “don’t test me, okay?”

He leaned in for a quick kiss on your cheek, laughing again as he pulled back. “You love me, though. And you know it.”

You rolled your eyes but let him pull you closer, the teasing smile never leaving his face.

“Just wait,” you muttered under your breath, “I’ll get you back.”

He raised an eyebrow, that teasing gleam still in his eye. “I’m looking forward to it.” ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

When he’s feeling especially cocky, he runs his fingers over your lips while grinning. “So pretty… what else can that mouth do?”

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ The atmosphere was a little different tonight—a bit more playful, a little charged with energy. You two were lounging on the couch at home after a night out with friends. The lights were dimmed, music softly playing in the background, and Jude was as relaxed as ever, his arm draped lazily over the back of the couch, his leg resting across yours.

You were mid-conversation, talking about something completely innocent—maybe a funny story about your day—but Jude wasn’t really listening.

He was watching you, eyes lingering on your lips as you spoke, a smug little grin slowly spreading across his face. You didn’t notice at first, too caught up in your own words, but then his hand slid closer, his fingers brushing lightly against your lower lip.

His grin grew wider. “So pretty…” he murmured, voice lower than usual, his thumb tracing over your lips gently. “What else can that mouth do?”

Your breath hitched, eyes darting up to his, catching the glint of mischief in his eyes. You opened your mouth to say something, but the words got stuck in your throat, your pulse quickening at the way he was watching you.

Jude was loving this—this was exactly the kind of cocky energy he thrived on. His fingers lingered just a little longer, pressing against your lips with a teasing, slow swipe, waiting for a reaction.

You finally managed to clear your throat, trying to stay composed, but you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. “You’re such a menace,” you laughed, trying to brush off the sudden rush of nerves.

“Am I?” He leaned in closer, lowering his voice even more. “Or am I just being honest?”

You shot him a playful look, your hand reaching up to push his teasing hand away, but he caught your wrist, his eyes never leaving yours.

“I’d love to see tho…” His lips hovered just inches from yours, and you could practically feel the tension crackling between you.

You leaned in, closing the space between you, but just before your lips touched his, you pulled back with a teasing grin of your own.

“I think you already know,” you whispered, watching his smirk falter slightly as his breath caught.

He leaned back, looking both impressed and a little defeated. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

You winked, giving him a playful shove. “You started it.”⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

If you’re teasing him, he shuts you up with a kiss—gripping your face and kissing you so good that you completely forget what you were saying. Pulls you into his lap and runs his hands slowly down your back, deepening the kiss just when you think he’s done.

His voice drops when he’s in control. That deep, slow, teasing tone that makes your legs weak. “Oh, you’re quiet now? That’s cute.”

If he’s frustrated after a game, best believe he’s taking it out somewhere else. “Long day, love. Think you can help me relax?”

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ The locker room was still buzzing with post-game chatter, but Jude was already a little distant—his mind too wrapped up in the frustration from the match. He had played well, sure, but something about the game hadn’t sat right with him. Maybe it was a missed opportunity or a mistake he couldn’t shake. Either way, he was feeling the pressure.

You could tell the moment he stepped through the door, his jaw clenched, his brow furrowed as he made his way to you. His teammates were still laughing, but he didn’t seem to hear any of it. His eyes were on you.

“Hey,” you said softly, trying to get his attention as he walked over to you, his heavy boots thudding against the floor. You didn’t need to ask what was wrong—he was clearly frustrated.

He leaned down, brushing a lock of your hair behind your ear, his voice dropping low. “Long day, love.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Tough game?”

“Yeah,” he muttered, pulling you closer by the waist. His lips hovered near your ear, a quiet, almost possessive tone in his voice. “Think you can help me relax?”

The words made your heart skip a beat, the tension between you two shifting from casual concern to something far more intense. You could tell he needed to unwind, and you were more than happy to help, but you couldn’t ignore the way his fingers grazed your skin, or the heat in his eyes that made your pulse race.

“Relax, huh?” You teased, arching an eyebrow as you slid your hands up his chest, your fingertips lightly brushing against his collarbone. “And what exactly do you have in mind, Mr. Bellingham?”

He gave you that grin—the one that made your insides twist with anticipation. “I think you know exactly what I mean.”

Before you could respond, he gently tugged you into him, his lips pressing against yours in a deep, needy kiss. The kind that left no room for words, only the need to be closer, to forget the world outside of this moment.

He pulled back just enough to speak, his breath warm against your lips. “I need you, babe. You’re the only thing that’s gonna take my mind off this game.”

You nodded, your hands slipping around his neck as you melted into him. “Then let me take care of you.”

And with that, everything else faded away—the game, the frustration, the world outside. It was just the two of you, tangled in the quiet after the storm. ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

If you so much as whimper in his ear? He smirks immediately. “Oh? You like that, huh?”

Hotel room energy? Dangerous. He’s got nowhere to be, no training, just you and all the time in the world.

He loves running errands with you—even something as boring as grocery shopping. He’s pushing the cart, being silly, putting random snacks in, and pretending not to hear you when you tell him to put them back.

Denise absolutely adores you. From the moment she met you, she could tell you made Jude happy. “You bring out the best in him.”

Loves doing girls' days with you—shopping, brunch, spa days. Sometimes it’s just the two of you because Jude “complains too much when we take too long.”

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ It was a Saturday morning when Denise called, as usual. She’d been hinting for days about a girls' day, and you had a feeling she was more than ready for it. Jude was off with his teammates, so it was just the two of you, and the thought of a relaxing day away from the boys had you looking forward to it.

“Brunch first, then spa?” she asked, voice full of energy. “I know a place with the best mimosas.”

You grinned. “Sounds perfect.”

It was one of those rare days when you could let go of everything—no interviews, no cameras, just you, Denise, and a bit of fun. You met up at a cozy café, enjoying the morning sunlight pouring through the windows as you chatted over eggs benedict and fresh fruit.

Denise, as always, was full of stories. She told you about Jude’s childhood mischief, how he used to steal cookies when he was little, and how she could never stay mad at him for long. “He’s always been a good boy, even when he’s up to no good,” she laughed, sipping her coffee.

You laughed along, feeling the warmth of her words. “You really raised him right.”

Denise’s smile softened, a proud glint in her eyes. “He’s always been special, but you… you bring out the best in him.”

You blinked, touched by her words. “D…”

She waved her hand dismissively, her tone light but sincere. “It’s true. From the moment I met you, I could see how happy he was. You’re one of the best things that ever happened to him, and I’m so glad he found you.”

You felt a flutter in your chest, her words making you smile. “I’m just happy to be in his life. And yours, too.”

After brunch, you two hit up the shopping mall, roaming from store to store, trying on clothes, laughing at each other’s outfit choices. Jude’s complaints about you both taking too long were often brought up, especially when you made Denise laugh until she nearly spilled her iced coffee.

“Jude always says we take forever,” you said, pulling out a pair of shoes you thought would be perfect for a date night. “Honestly, he’s just grumpy because he doesn’t have the patience for this.”

Denise grinned. “That’s because he doesn’t get it. You and I—” she gestured between the two of you, “—we know how to shop properly.”

By the time you both made it to the spa, you were relaxed and feeling like you’d just experienced a little slice of heaven. Denise was the best kind of company: no stress, no pressure, just fun.

As you sank into the massage chair, Denise gave you a wink. “Next time, I say we turn off our phones, Jude complains too much.”

You burst out laughing. “I’m down for that.” ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

The first time you met Mark, he was lowkey intimidating, but within five minutes, he was cracking jokes and making you feel at home.

He’s a big storyteller, especially about Jude and Jobe as kids. If you’re ever at the Bellingham house, expect to hear childhood embarrassments on repeat.

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ It was your second time at the Bellingham house, and you were still getting used to the chaotic energy that always filled the place. You had already spent time with Jude and Jobe, but this time, Mark was home, and you were more than a little curious to see what the dad of the Bellingham family was like in person.

When you first met him, you were a little intimidated—he had that aura of authority, the kind of man whose gaze could make anyone stand a little straighter. But the moment he greeted you with a warm handshake and a half-grin, any nervousness melted away. His voice was deep and full of humor as he immediately began cracking jokes about Jude and Jobe, easing you into the conversation without even trying.

“So, when these two were younger…” Mark started, leaning back in his chair as he sipped his coffee. “I had to spend hours in the backyard trying to teach Jude how to ride a bike. But the kid? He refused to listen to me.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Oh yeah.” Mark chuckled, shaking his head. “He was convinced that if he just went fast enough, he’d be able to float. Like a superhero or something. So, one day, I look up, and there he is, barreling down the driveway, pedaling like mad. Guess what? The kid didn’t float, but he sure ended up in the bushes.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, picturing a young Jude with all his determination, even if it meant a few bumps and bruises.

“Jobe, on the other hand…” Mark’s grin widened. “He was always the sneaky one. We had to hide all the cookies because he had a serious sweet tooth. One night, we caught him trying to sneak an entire box of biscuits under his bed. He didn’t think we’d notice, but the crumbs? The crumbs told a different story.”

You leaned back in your chair, grinning at the mental image of the younger Bellingham brothers getting into all kinds of mischief.

Mark’s storytelling was infectious. His laughter filled the room as he kept dishing out embarrassing memories, not just about Jude but also about himself. You could see where Jude got his charm and sense of humor from—Mark clearly loved to laugh, and he didn’t mind making fun of himself to keep the mood light.

As the stories continued, you felt completely at ease, as if you’d been a part of their family for years. It was hard to imagine that you’d ever been intimidated by Mark, because now, he felt like the kind of guy who could make anyone feel welcome.

“Anyway,” Mark said, finishing his story and giving you a mischievous grin. “You’ll be hearing a lot more of these embarrassing stories if you keep hanging around.”

You smiled, feeling completely at home. “I’m starting to think I might have to start collecting my own stories to tell about Jude.”

“Please,” Mark laughed. “I’m sure he’s got a few things to hide. But just remember, I have decades of ammunition on him.” ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

If you and Jude ever argue, Jobe is nosy as hell. He’ll pop up like, “Damn, what he do now?”

Lowkey wingman—if Jude is being dumb, Jobe will tell him. “Bro, just buy her flowers or something. You’re moving mad.”

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ You and Jude were in the middle of one of those perfectly normal, but totally unnecessary arguments. It had started over something silly, like whether or not he remembered to grab your favorite snacks during his grocery run. You were both talking over each other, trying to get your points across, but neither of you was really listening anymore.

"Jude, it’s not about the snacks!" you huffed, crossing your arms.

"It’s the principle!" he shot back, his voice rising slightly.

You rolled your eyes. "The principle? Really?"

The room was tense, both of you clearly frustrated, but neither willing to be the first to back down.

Just as things were starting to get heated, the door creaked open, and in walked Jobe, casually leaning against the doorframe with a curious look on his face.

"Damn," he said, eyes widening in exaggerated shock. "What’d he do now?"

You couldn't help but let out a small laugh, the tension breaking just a bit. Jude groaned, throwing his head back and muttering under his breath. "Not now, Jobe."

Jobe raised an eyebrow and took a few steps further into the room, giving you both a once-over before nodding to himself. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but I do know that you two always look mad cute together. So what’s this about?”

You exchanged a look with Jude, both of you still a little riled up, but now there was an undeniable sense of awkwardness thanks to Jobe's nosy intervention.

“You really gonna let her get away with that?” Jobe said, pointing at Jude with a sly grin. “Bruh, just buy her flowers or something. You’re moving mad.”

Jude blinked. "Flowers? Really?"

Jobe gave him a knowing look. "Trust me, man. They fix everything. Women like flowers. You know, the nice kind, not those half-dead daisies you tried to give her last month."

You couldn’t help but laugh at Jobe’s honesty. Jude sighed dramatically, looking like he wanted to protest but knew deep down that Jobe had a point. "Fine," Jude muttered, rubbing his face. "Flowers. Can you leave now, Jobe?"

Jobe grinned, clearly having accomplished his mission. “I’ll leave you two to work this out, but don’t say I didn’t try to help.” He gave you a wink and casually strolled out of the room, leaving you and Jude in the quiet aftermath.

Jude turned to you with a sheepish smile, running a hand through his hair. "You know, he’s not wrong. I should’ve just gotten the flowers."

"Yeah, you should have," you said, crossing your arms and softening, your earlier frustration melting away. “But I’m glad Jobe stepped in. I think he saved you.”

Jude let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "I swear, he’s like my personal therapist sometimes."

"Maybe you should start listening to him more often," you teased, giving him a playful nudge.

"Don’t worry," Jude said, pulling you in for a hug. "Next time, flowers. I promise." ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

Football debates at the dinner table—Mark and Jude get so into it, and you just sit back, sipping your drink, waiting for it to end.

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ Dinner at the Bellingham house always started off normal enough—Mark telling stories, Jobe sneaking bites before everyone sat down, and Jude’s hand resting on your thigh under the table like clockwork.

But somehow… somehow it always ended the same way.

“Listen, I’m just saying,” Mark began, fork pointing dramatically in Jude’s direction, “midfielders today don’t dictate the game the way they used to. Y’all are all about flair now. Where’s the control?”

Jude leaned back in his chair, mouth full of rice, eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Control? Dad, you watched my last match, right? I was the control.”

“Oh, please,” Mark scoffed. “You had, what, 89% pass accuracy? You’re good, Jude, but you ain’t Zidane.”

That was the spark. And just like that, the match was underway.

You slowly leaned back in your chair, picking up your glass of wine—tonight, it was rosé, your favorite—and took a long sip. Jobe looked over at you, already smirking. “Round three,” he whispered.

You nodded. “Let them cook.”

“Dad, you always bring up Zidane. Times have changed! No one plays like it’s 2004 anymore.”

“And that’s the problem,” Mark shot back. “You all play like you’re trying to be TikTok highlights. Where’s the patience? The build-up play?”

You glanced at Jobe again, both of you silently enjoying the show. This was better than reality TV. Jude’s plate was half-forgotten, Mark was gesturing with a spoon like it was a mic, and honestly, if someone said "4-4-2" one more time, you were going to throw a dinner roll.

Eventually, when Jude started pulling up stats on his phone like it was a courtroom trial, you calmly reached for the last piece of garlic bread and leaned over to Jobe.

“Think they’ll still be arguing when we’re doing the dishes?”

Jobe snorted. “They’ll still be arguing when we’re in bed.”

You raised your glass. “To generational football beef.”

“Cheers to that.” ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

The type to carry your bag for you but tease you about how much stuff you packed. “Babe, are you moving there permanently or what?”

Matching airport fits because he swears y’all gotta travel in style. You take a mirror selfie before every flight.

Wants to do everything—from luxury experiences to acting like tourists with a paper map, he’s down for it all.

Takes the most ridiculous tourist pictures—poses dramatically in front of monuments, acts like a travel vlogger, and films you for memories.

If you go out for drinks by the beach, he’ll pull you onto his lap, arm around your waist, being extra touchy because vacation Jude has no self-control.

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ The sun was dipping low over the ocean, casting everything in that hazy gold glow that made your skin look extra dreamy and Jude absolutely feral. A salty breeze kissed your shoulders as the two of you sat out on the deck of a little beach bar—barefoot, slightly tipsy, with music playing low in the background and a half-melted daiquiri in your hand.

Jude was already watching you like you were the sunset, his fingers lazily tracing your thigh under the table.

You raised a brow. “You good, Bellingham?”

Without answering, he reached out, effortlessly pulling you onto his lap like it was second nature. His arm wrapped around your waist, his other hand flattening on your bare thigh.

“Mmm, better now,” he murmured, nose brushing your jaw as he pressed a soft kiss to the curve of your neck.

You laughed, sipping your drink with one hand, the other resting on the back of his head. “You’re so clingy on vacation.”

“Can’t help it,” he said, grinning against your skin. “You wear sundresses and lip gloss and expect me to behave?”

“You never behave.”

He shrugged, pressing another kiss to your shoulder this time, slower, more deliberate. “Not when you’re this close. Not when it’s just us. Not when you’re mine.”

You felt him smile against your skin as he added, “Also, I’m a few sips away from carrying you back to our room and forgetting this bar exists.”

You rolled your eyes, pretending to be unimpressed—but you stayed right there in his lap, happily tangled in him, letting vacation Jude be as extra and touchy as he wanted.

Because honestly? You liked him just like this. ⭐︎

extra...

⭐︎ You’d just gone to the bar to grab another drink for Jude—mostly because he gave you that look and said, “Baaaabe, I can’t feel my legs,” which was code for I don’t want to move, please and thank you.

So you went. Alone. For two minutes.

And that’s apparently all it took.

“Didn’t expect to see someone like you out here,” said a guy in a too-tight shirt and mirrored sunglasses, leaning a little too close as you waited on the bartender. “You local?”

You offered the most polite fake smile known to humankind. “Nope. Just here with my boyfriend.”

“That so?” he smirked, like that was an invitation instead of a boundary. “Bet he doesn’t appreciate you the way—”

“Yeah, she’s definitely here with her boyfriend,” came Jude’s voice—calm, cool, but edged with that warning tone you’d learned to recognize instantly.

You turned, relief flooding through you at the sight of him—shirt slightly open, curls messy from the wind, and sunglasses pushed up onto his head. Beach Jude was already fine, but possessive beach Jude? Whole other level.

He slipped his arm around your waist without missing a beat and tugged you back into his chest like he was reclaiming what was his. “You alright, love?” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple, then shooting the guy a tight smile. “Didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”

The other guy mumbled something and slunk off. You didn’t even clock where—too busy looking up at Jude’s smug, satisfied smirk.

“You’re so dramatic,” you whispered, unable to hide your grin.

He shrugged, rubbing slow circles into your hip with his thumb. “You like it.”

You leaned in close, brushing your lips just beside his. “I really do.”

And when the bartender handed you the drinks, Jude took yours, nodded in thanks, then leaned down and whispered in your ear, “Let’s go back. I’ve got… ideas.”

Vacation Jude had no self-control.

And you were absolutely fine with that. ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

Snowball fights—he doesn’t hold back. But if he accidentally hits you too hard? Immediate guilt mode. “Babe, I’m sorry, come here—wait, don’t hit me back!”

Cuddles in front of the fireplace—warm blankets, his arms wrapped around you, pressing lazy kisses to your forehead.

Hot cocoa dates where he lets you steal sips of his, even though you definitely have your own.

Probably the type to Immediately jumps on the bed when you enter the hotel room.

──────────────────────────────────────────

⭐︎ The moment the hotel room door clicked shut behind you, you barely had time to toe off your sandals before—

Thud.

Jude was already starfished in the middle of the bed, arms and legs spread out like he’d claimed a whole kingdom.

“Bags down, shoes off, I am one with the mattress,” he mumbled dramatically into the plush hotel duvet. “Don’t even think about moving me.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You had one job. One. Put the key card in the light slot. Where’s the light—Jude!”

He peeked up, grinning like the menace he was. “I got distracted by how soft this bed is.”

“Mmhm. And the fact that you sprinted like a child?”

“Listen,” he said, rolling over and propping his head up with one arm. “It’s not a vacation till I belly flop onto a hotel bed. It’s tradition.”

You just shook your head, flicked the light on, and padded over to the edge of the bed.

“I’m not moving,” he warned. “This is now my spot.”

“You’re literally in the middle.”

“My spot.”

“You’re impossible,” you said, climbing onto the bed anyway, knees pressing into the comforter as you tried to navigate around his limbs.

He instantly grabbed you, pulling you down into his chest with zero effort.

“See?” he said smugly, voice muffled against your neck. “Comfy, right?”

You groaned into his curls. “You’re annoying.”

“You love me though.”

You rolled your eyes, but your hand was already in his hair. “Unfortunately.”

He chuckled, all warm and smug, and nuzzled into you. “We should order room service.”

“It’s 2 a.m.”

“I know,” he yawned. “You want fries or waffles?”

You smiled into his shoulder, sleep already tugging at your eyes. “Both.” ⭐︎

───────────────────────────────

Takes mirror selfies with you in the big bathroom, flexing like an influencer.

When it’s time to leave, Jude always gets a little sad, holding you close before the flight back. “Can we just stay here forever?” and then you remind him that he has training

Posts an Instagram dump of your trip, and his caption is always something cute like “My favorite person.”

#relationship side with mirah🌺#mirahsworks🦫#jude bellingham #jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham oneshot #jude bellingham x black reader #rma #real madrid cf #real madrid #footballer x black oc #footballer x black reader #footballer x reader #football x reader #football #england nt

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leclucklerc · 5 months ago

Text

Hard Carry CL16 - 05. Her House

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x driver!reader

Summary: Charles went to y/n's house for the first time

Word Count: 4.3K

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This is bad, thought Charles frantically. This is baddd.

The journey from his car to y/n’s front door goes in a flash as Charles is in the middle of panicking. He didn’t expect this. He didn’t expect y/n to stop on her track as she was exiting his car and offered him to go up to her house.

Charles didn’t expect that he would stand here, in y/n’s house, rooted on his spot.

He could feel his eyes move frantically around the room, taking everything in. Though, with the way his heart thundered inside his chest as if there was a mini earthquake happening in there, he doesn’t think he can concentrate on his surroundings anyway.

“Follow me,” said y/n, beckoning him to come closer.

This is insane.

What’s happening here? He thought hysterically as he followed the older woman.

Charles was just attending a party that his pr manager asked him to. It’s a party hosted by one of the would-be sponsors for F1’s next season. Considering the financial situation of Sauber, the guy basically forced Charles to attend in order to make the sponsor happy and, in turn, willing to sponsor Sauber for the upcoming years.

Lorenzo was supposed to come, but he got sick and canceled on him. No problem, Charles had always been a sociable person. Despite this being his first year in F1, he had spent years in the racing world in general. He knows how sponsors work and what was expected of him during the party.

He had come prepared. He had read about the sponsors and the overview of them. Hell, he even checked the party attendance and searched some of them in case he needed to make small talk about something that he was unfamiliar with.

What he didn’t expect was to see both Max and y/n.

Charles knows that both Red Bull and Porsche will be at the party. However, he didn’t expect that the teams would send their drivers personally, too. After all, both are the prized drivers of their teams. He thought that attending a sponsor party would be something beneath them.

His and Max’s relationship is a bit… weird.

They’ve been racing against each other since they were kids. Often headbutting against each other – figuratively and literally. If someone asked Charles who is his biggest rival in the sport, he could confidently say that it was Max. Someone that he always chased after during the lower categories. Someone who is somehow always ahead of him in almost everything.

Outside of Max, his relationship with y/n is… it’s comfortable. He had always idolized the older driver. Someone that he aimed to be able to match someday. A person that had seemed to be so out of reach just a mere months ago. A woman that he had watched longingly through magazines or interviews.

Someone that he had watched as she stood on top of a podium as he stood there, looking up to her.

He had thought that after reaching F1, after finally sharing the same track as her, the gap between the two of them would feel smaller. That he has a chance to reach her someday. But somehow, ever since he met her during testing, it only made him realize how large the gap between the two of them is.

Y/n had always been really nice to him. She had welcomed him ever since their first meeting with an open arm, even willing to talk to him after a bad weekend for her. Hell, they even jog together earlier in the week!

But there’s still a gap between the two of them. The gap is so wide that Charles will probably have to spend years to close it.

That’s why he didn’t expect the woman to acknowledge him. He doesn’t have any expectations of any interaction with the woman outside of a small nod of acknowledgment or a small wave from across the room. But y/n had smiled so wide and blinding that it had lit up the room. She had waved her arms, yelling at him-

“Charles?”

Charles blinked, head snapping towards the other driver who was standing in front of him.

“You’re spacing out,” said the woman with a grin. “I was asking you if you want anything to drink?”

“Ah!?” he yelped, straightening his posture on the cream-colored sofa that he was sitting on. “Uh- Water is fine! Really fine.”

God, why did he stutter!? Y/n was being nice to offer him to come up to her apartment to thank him! It’s not like something will happen-

Or maybe?

Nope. Nopenopenope. Forget that thought, Charles. Erase that thought immediately. It’s not good for his heart.

Oblivious to his internal panic, y/n let out a hum before she disappeared to where she thinks is the kitchen.

Now that the object of his panic had disappeared, he let his eyes finally take a look at his surroundings. It’s a penthouse at one of the apartment buildings in Monaco. Peeking through the window from his position, he could see the view of Monaco during the night from here.

It’s the track, he thought, averting his gaze from the window to the rest of the room, Watching the race from this place must’ve been amazing.

There are rows of helmets and trophies surrounding the television in front of him. He could see the helmets that y/n wore years back, as well as the countless of accolades that she had managed to gather throughout her career. His eyes linger on the three Driver’s Championship Trophies before finally averting his eyes from them with a great struggle.

It’s clear that this is an expensive apartment of the most luxurious ones in Monaco.

But, he thought, after he finished looking around the room. It’s so bare.

While it’s completely furnished, Charles noticed a lack of any personal touches in the apartment. Besides the helmet and the trophy cabinet, the rest of the apartment looks like something out of a showroom.

Modern furniture that looked new and barely used. The color scheme of cream and white without any stain on any of the furniture. Spotless.

There are no photos or personal belongings. There’s no sign of this place being lived by someone.

It’s cold.

The image of his childhood home appeared on his head. Of the rows and rows of family pictures scattered across the house. Of the small personal knick-knacks – his mother’s collection of fridge magnets, Arthur’s shoes being all over the place, Lorenzo’s tower of books being stuffed in one corner, or Charles’ collections of small figurines being placed on top of the counter. Everything that made his house a home. Everything that shows the personality of everyone who lives in the place.

“Did you wait long?” asked y/n, appearing again with two glasses of water in her hand.

“No,” he answers immediately, swiveling his head towards the woman who takes a seat beside him. “Um- this is a nice house.”

Now that they’re in better lighting compared to the party earlier, he notices that she’s still wearing the dress that she wore for the party. It’s a red dress that hugged her delicate curves. Clearly, it was made to make her into an even more beautiful woman, something that he thought was not possible considering how beautiful she already was.

Y/n raised an eyebrow at that before she let out a hum. “Thanks,” she said. “I didn’t decorate it, but it seems the interior designer did a good work.”

He flushed a bit at that. She sounds a bit detached.

“So, are you nervous for tomorrow?” asked the woman, changing their topic. She reached towards her glass, gulping the water in one gulp. “Monaco had always been an exciting race for the reporters, so expect a lot of unexpected questions.”

“Yeah, my PR manager briefed me about things that I should pay attention to,” he replied, hands fidgeting with each other. “Do you have any tips?”

Her eyes crinkled in amusement. “Just don’t say anything stupid, I guess?” she laughed. “Other drivers – especially the experienced ones – like to say stupid shit. Don’t follow their example.”

Charles laughed at that. “Thanks, I wasn’t planning to, but I’ll take note nonetheless,” he said.

“Please,” she said, grinning. “Considering how it is now, it would be funny if you went viral for all the wrong reasons during your first season here. And stressing your PR manager to the point they went bald, it’s a third-year driver exclusive package only.”

“Oh?” he said, amusement clear on his face. “Is that why your PR manager went bald?” He remembers the solemn man who accompanies y/n during interviews or who stands at the back of the room during a press conference.

He looks like a serious man. Someone who seems to always be looking or writing something on hie iPad. Now that he thinks about it, her PR manager seems to resemble the Porsche team principal a bit. Compared to his own PR manager, the manager has a lot more stress and a more rigid smile.

“I’m saying that because of experience, you know,” said y/n, grin only widening as she plopped back on the sofa, shoulder relaxing. “He went bald because of all the antics that I did during my first year here. I swear, he already tried to leave the team several times since then.”

Charles knows what she means by all the antics that she did during her first year here.

First year y/n had been different from the current y/n. She always speaks so brazenly and basically always challenges the media and everyone every chance she gets. She openly gloats in front of older drivers and criticizes them harshly. She underestimated reporters and always gave them the middle finger. Not caring for her reputation.

It was a far cry from her current media darling image.

But well, the media was harsh during those years. They mercilessly and brutally demeaned her. Always looking at her with pity and questionable gaze. Gazes that didn’t believe in her worth as a driver. The label that they had put into her – the female driver who managed to get into F1 through connections – had almost harmed her reputation countless times during her first year in the sport.

To think that she’s a three-time driver champion now.

“You must’ve watched a lot of the Monaco GP, huh?” asked y/n, head propped on her hand.

“Yeah,” he said. “One of my friends has an apartment right by the track; we usually watched it there.”

She let out a low whistle before her gaze turned towards one of the large windows that the apartment provides. “You can see the race too from here, apparently,” said the other driver. “It was one of the realtor’s main selling points. They say you can basically watch the Monaco GP for basically free of charge from here. Well, it’s not like I’ve ever been here during the races.”

Charles blinked. “What about your friends and family?” he asked.

“I don’t think I have enough trust in most of my friends to just hand them the key to this place,” she said wryly. “And the ones that I trust enough would’ve probably watched it from the garage.”

At this, she went quiet for a bit. Charles let her.

“And family? My dad owns the team. He’ll watch it from the garage too. Or the VIP Lounge.”

Oh yeah, he almost forgot the fact.

It seems this is a topic that she doesn’t want to divulge further. Charles won’t press if she doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. Hastily, he tried to change the topic. “So, do you have any favorite race? I mean- races that you like to watch when you’re not driving.”

“Oh?” she said, intrigued. The female driver seems to be thinking about the answer for some time before she finally decides. “I don’t really watch other categories, though. Maybe Moto GP? I don’t know how to drive a motorcycle, so I thought it would be interesting to watch.”

“You can’t drive a motorcycle?” he laughed. It’s a bit of an absurd thinking that there’s a vehicle that y/n l/n can’t ride. The woman is an absolute monster in an F1 car after all. With the way she drives during races, Charles believes that there’s no vehicle in the world that she can’t drive. “That’s a bit unexpected.”

“I specialize in driving cars if you haven’t noticed,” she stopped a bit at this. “I know how to drive a bike, though!” she frowned. “I just don’t understand how Moto GP drivers are able to drive their motorcycle that close to the ground during the turns. Isn’t that dangerous?”

“They would say the same thing every time they watch us drive a car 350 km per hour with barely any protections,” he said drily.

Y/n let out an amused laugh at that. “What can you say? It is an extreme sport. F1 that is. It’s actually pretty safe now,” she said. “There’s a lot of debate regarding the halo, but I thought it’s a good addition if it means it will make us safer.”

Jules, he thought, almost idly. Of the smiling man who often frequented his house ever since he was young. Of the man who always readily gave him any kind of advice that he needed.

Of the man who had basically saved his racing career.

If the Halo had come into existence years before, the man probably would still be here. Laughing and talking with Charles on the grid.

He perished any thought of what if.

“What about you?” asked y/n. “What’s your favorite race that you’ve ever watched?”

The answer is easier than what he had expected. It’s a bit terrifying to be honest, how one race can have so much impact for him even after so many years had passed. After all, it had become one of the most integral memories that he has.

Charles can remember it almost vividly. In 2012, he’s still in the middle of transitioning into the international karting series. Still, a budding race driver that hasn’t had the chance to try a single-seater car.

During that year, just like any other year during that time of the year, he had arrived at one of his friend’s apartments that’s overlooking the racing track. He had been excited to watch Ferrari and their two drivers. To see if they can regain their glory once again just like during their golden years.

He remembers standing there with his friends, laughter echoing through the air and the sound of the F1 car wheezing beneath them echoing through the country.

Of him watching the Monaco GP on his friend’s apartment balcony. Of the thrum of his blood and heart as he watched the race happen underneath it. Imagining the far-off possibility of him being able to do the race in the future. Of his want and greed to achieve his dream as an F1 driver.

Of him, for the very first time, not watching the red car on track.

Of how his gaze keeps going back to the midnight black car. A car with the color of the night sky in the middle of Monaco’s road.

Of the woman who had climbed out of the car with a race suit as dark as her car. The bright white helmet is a stark contrast to the overall theme of her team. Then, the woman opened her helmet, hair tumbling down out of the helmet, and something even brighter than the helmet appeared on the woman’s lips.

He watched as the woman let out a loud laugh, basically running towards her team – also all clad in black, shrouded in darkness – as they celebrated her podium together.

The same smile that’s etched across the woman’s face during the podium. Of him staring at her, awe clear on his face.

“Your first Monaco GP,” he answered, staring at the woman that had been standing on the 2012 Monaco GP podium and now, sitting right next to him.

Funny how life works.

Y/n blinked. “Oh?” she asked, head tilting. It’s clear that she didn’t expect that answer from him. “Any special reason for that?”

Monaco GP, in y/n’s dazzling first season as an F1 driver, doesn’t have any notable feat or any personal record. She didn’t win the race, and it was not her first podium. It was not the race where she scored her first points, nor it is her first race in F1.

It’s just that-

“It was the race where I became a fan of you,” Charles answered with a grin. Still remembered the thunder inside his chest and the intense want that appeared in him as he watched the race. “You were amazing in that race.”

It was the race that erased any kind of prejudice that he had for her. The race that had proved him wrong. The race that had shown him how bright y/n l/n is.

How she is an amazing race driver.

How she was one of the greatest that he had ever seen.

It was the race, that shows how much y/n l/n loves racing. The race that shows how much she loves being a Formula 1 driver despite the many many critics that were aimed towards her. How the woman, couldn’t care less about anything as long as she’s able to reach for the stars.

To Charles, that’s one of the amazing qualities that y/n possessed. One of the things that he admires so much of her.

Y/n chuckled. “That’s sweet, you know?” she said, reaching her hand towards his hair to ruffle it.

Charles won’t lie and say that the gesture didn’t fluster him. The warmth of y/n’s hand is a comforting weight on top of his head. How almost immediately, his mind cleared up as he stared at the woman in front of him. Of her bright eyes and how the light cast a beautiful shadow across her face.

Beautiful, he thought. He knows that y/n is beautiful, but this is insane.

Charles is going insane.

Going to y/n’s apartment this late at night is an insane decision for him. Sitting here on her sofa, with a glass of water in front of him and y/n herself sitting next to him, is an insane decision that he made. Having a casual conversation like this with her while she’s looking so beautiful and in that dress is insane for him.

This is insane, but Charles likes it. Charles loves it. He loves it too much that he craves for more.

(Greedy, he thinks.)

There were thousands of things that he wanted to say, and yet it stuck in his throat as if he didn’t know how to talk. As if the words are too big and too complicated for him to process. He gulped, not believing himself to not say anything stupid. “What about other racing categories that you want to try out?” asked Charles instead, trying to stop the ringing in his ear and the blood rushing towards his face.

Y/n retracted her hand. He missed the warmth almost immediately, barely stopping himself from chasing it.

“I think the 24-hour Le Mans would be interesting,” she said, toying with a lock of her hair. “it’s a fascinating concept.”

Charles has to agree on that. “Le Mans sounds awesome; I also want to try it somewhere in the future.”

“Should we partner up then?” she said, leaning forward, smiling. “Me, you, and probably… Max?”

His previous good mood immediately soured at the mention of his rival. “Why Max?” he complained, immediately remembering the Dutch throughout their karting days and other less-than-pleasant memories.

“I want to see the both of you bicker with each other.”

Charles spluttered, face reddening. He didn’t think that his rivalry with Max was that obvious to the point that y/n would take notice.

The woman seems to take some kind of amusement in his internal struggle. “What? You didn’t think it was obvious?” she asked as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Maybe it was. He didn’t know. He can’t seem to think whenever he’s around y/n.

“Well-“

Y/n actually let out a large laugh at, head thrown back as if he just said the most amusing thing in the world. “You’re really cute, you know?”

Cute.

Cutecutecute.

She called him cute. What in the ever-loving fuck is happening? He doesn’t know. He can’t comprehend this. He wants to understand. Desperately so. Before he’s saying something so stupid that he’ll regret it for the rest of his life-

“You’re beautiful,” blurted out Charles.

It took him a couple of seconds to realize what he just said, and his previous attempt of trying to stop the blood from rushing to his face immediately failed as he could feel how red and hot his face was. He can only sit there, eyes wide and mouth gaping open. Not quite believing the words that he had just said.

Y/n, too, is still sitting in front of him and staring at him.

He doesn’t know how much time passed between them. Maybe it’s mere seconds. Or maybe it’s hours. All he could think about was his own panicked heart and how beautiful y/n was in front of him.

All of a sudden, a smile appeared on her face. Her hand, which was previously toying with her hair, reached forward, cradling his face almost delicately. Charles gaped, the mind can’t process the sudden warmth and softness that he could feel from y/n’s hand on his face.

What-

What is happening!?

At that, y/n suddenly leaned forward, their shoulders touching as she stopped so close to his face that he swears that she could hear the sound of his heart. It’s hot. The air is hot. Her breath was hot as she sat there, staring at Charles as if she could see his very soul.

“You know you’re sweet, right?” she said, almost a whisper.

He can’t breathe.

Almost instinctively, he closed his eyes, feeling her breath caress his lips, and at that moment, he could almost taste the softness of her lips-

A finger bopped his nose.

Immediately, he opens his eyes. Bright green eyes stared at y/n own bright ones, and he could see the teasing smile on the woman’s face.

“Ah,” she breathed out, still so close and her hand still cradling his face. He can still feel their breath intertwining together, and his mind still can’t process what is happening. “Are you expecting something else, mon chéri?”

Fuck, he thought, still staring at the woman in front of him with wide eyes. Fuck fuck fuck.

Charles can’t hear anything from how loud the ringing is on his ear as well as the blood rushing on top. He wants to look somewhere else, somewhere else that’s safer for his racing heart. But oddly, he can’t look away.

He can only stare at this woman in front of him. The woman who is still staring at him with that bright eyes of her and that amused smile.

“I-!” said Charles, abruptly standing up, creating some distance between the two of them. “I need to-!”

What does he need to do?

(Y/n sitting there so close to him. Breathe hot on his lips and their shoulder touching each other. He can feel the warmth that he craved so badly before on his face. Cradling it almost delicately.

Y/n is sitting there, eyes bright as she stares at Charles. Looking at his soul.

He would’ve borne the entirety of his soul to her if she asked to.)

He needs to go.

“I need to go!” he announced, trying not to look at y/n. Trying to forget her bright eyes and the way she cradled his face.

He needs-

He needs to-

Charles needs a cold shower.

“I’ll see you tomorrow-“ he stared at the clock. It’s the next day already. They have media day today. Charles will need to focus. “I mean, see you later!” continued the man as he marched towards the front door, not even daring to look back.

He thinks that if he ever looked back, if he ever caught a glimpse of y/n there still in that beautiful dress that she was wearing for the party earlier, he would never go home. He would stay and only able enough nerve to stare at her dumbly. It’s almost a vain attempt as suddenly, he could hear y/n’s laugh ringing across the apartment.

It’s a beautiful sound, just like her. Everything about her is beautiful. From her self to her soul.

Stopping at the front door, he reached towards the doorknob before his resolve crumbled, and he looked back for one last time.

Y/n is still sitting there, leaning back on the sofa. One of her dress’ thin straps had fallen from one shoulder as she stared at him with an amused smile clear on her face. Her hair cascaded down her back, and her bright eyes were clearly staring at him, something he can’t quite comprehend already in her eyes.

“Goodbye, Char,” she said, giving him a wave. Something so similar that she had done to him earlier tonight during the party. “See you later.”

The path between y/n’s apartment and his car is a blur. He didn’t remember how he arrived at his car. However, the moment he entered the vehicle, he let out a groan as he leaned forward, clutching the steering wheel as if his life depended on it.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice muffled. “This is bad.”

He thinks not even a cold shower will help.

Y/n sat there, staring at the door that had been slammed close by the younger driver.

Sighing, she leaned back on the sofa. “This is bad,” muttered the woman, cradling her hot face with her hand.

A flash of Charles’ face appeared on her mind. Of his flushed face and reddened ear. Of his wide eyes and hands that just won’t stop fiddling with each other ever since he arrived at her apartment.

Of a stray thought that appeared on her mind throughout her conversation with Charles.

Cute.

“This is bad,” she repeated, sounding resigned. “It’s so fun to tease him like that.”

Will it be a sin to do it some more?

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