ssprayberrythings

[ssprayberrythings]

Dates with Joe- Ice Cream Kisses 🍨#4

✨Masterlist✨

Ice Cream Kisses - Joe Jonas

The summer air was warm but forgiving, softened by a light breeze that stirred the edges of their shirts and fluttered the napkins on the table. The pastel-painted ice cream boutique behind them was a hidden gem they’d stumbled upon—one of those places that felt like it belonged in a movie, where time moved a little slower and things tasted a little sweeter.

The summer air wrapped around them like a warm hug, golden light pouring over the sleepy boardwalk and making everything feel a little more cinematic than real. They had stumbled upon the little ice cream shop by accident and pastel walls, beachy music, and a chalkboard menu scribbled with names like Mint to Be and Love You Berry Much.

She ordered raspberry chocolate chunk in a cone. He got chocolate chip in a bowl with a playful shrug. “I’m a bowl guy. It’s less risky. No melting chaos.”

“You’re missing half the fun,” she teased.

They were tucked at a small round table under a striped umbrella, nestled in a courtyard behind the shop. The iron chairs squeaked when they shifted, and the planter next to them overflowed with lavender and daisies. It was quiet except for a few passing cars and the far-off sound of waves. Their cozy little table was tucked in a shaded courtyard behind the shop, surrounded by flower planters and fairy lights just starting to glow in the early evening.

Joe took a big bite of his ice cream and made an exaggerated face of satisfaction. “Oh man. I would fight someone for this.”

She laughed. “It’s that good?”

He nodded, a little dramatic. “Like Grammy-worthy. For desserts.”

She giggled, cradling her cone of raspberry chocolate chunk. “Even better than texting me back?”

“Hmm. It’s a close tie,” he teased, then added, more softly, “But I’m really glad I did.”

“Can I try some?” She smiled.

“Say please,” he said with a cheeky grin.

Instead, she reached her spoon into his bowl without hesitation. “Please is implied.”

“Manners? Gone,” he teased, then held out a bite for her. She tasted it and closed her eyes briefly.

“Okay, fine. That’s pretty amazing.”

He gestured to her cone. “Your turn. Hand it over.”

She broke off a corner of her cone with a bit of raspberry chocolate chunk and fed it to him, giggling as a flake of cone crunched between his teeth.

Joe took the bite, pretending to be reverent. “Wow. Yours tastes like a Nicholas Sparks book in the form ice cream.” He smiled.

She laughed . “That’s accurate!”

They kept going back and forth, passing bites and asking questions, their legs brushing under the table.

“What were you like as a kid?” she asked.

“Loud. Imaginative. Constantly putting on shows,” he replied. “What about you?”

“Shy. But secretly dramatic in my head.”

Joe grinned. “Still are, I bet.”

“Sometimes.” She said moving her hair behind one ear.

As Joe leaned back in his chair and made a face at his half-melted bowl, trying to scoop the last good bite, she couldn’t help but smile at how completely him he looked. Laid-back. Effortlessly charming. Hair a little messy from the breeze.

She grabbed her phone off the table and snapped a picture of Joe mid bite before he noticed.

He froze. “Wait, did you just take a picture of me with a spoon hanging out of my mouth?” He laughed

“Yes and you look absolutely adorable. It might need to be your next album cover.” She laughed.

He laughed. “Was it at least a good angle?”

“You looked adorable. Like a golden retriever in human form.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment. But only if you send it to me.”

She blushed slightly, pretending to look busy with her cone. “Maybe I will.”

He leaned in, voice lower, flirty. “I’d trade you for a selfie later. Or an another date as fun as this one.”

Her heart flipped at the ease of it. He looked at her like he already knew this was going somewhere further. Joe set down his bowl of chocolate chip ice cream, grinning like a kid at recess. “Okay, not to be dramatic, but this is probably the best decision I’ve made all week. I love going on dates with you and I would like to continue to.” He added.

“Can you live with that?” She giggled.

“I can live with that,” he said, resting his elbow on the table and looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered right now.

They talked between bites, sharing old stories and laughing at things they never expected to say out loud.

A little while later, he leaned back in his chair, eyes full of mischief. “Okay, serious question. If you could have a superpower that only worked on Thursdays… what would it be?”

She blinked. “Only Thursdays?”

“Teleportation,” she said instantly. “To skip traffic. Or just show up somewhere romantic without warning.”

He looked impressed. “A woman after my own heart.”

“What about you?”

“I’d want to freeze time,” he said, looking at her. “On days like this.”

She felt her cheeks warm and looked down at her cone, smiling. “That’s a good one.”

Joe reached across the table and gently wiped a smear of pink ice cream from the corner of her lip with his thumb. His touch lingered just long enough for her to forget how to breathe.

“You’re really cute, you know that?” he said.

She glanced up at him through her lashes. “I was just thinking the same about you.”

He stood slowly and walked around to her side of the table, hand outstretched. “Come here you!”

Her heart jumped as she took his hand and stood. He didn’t let go.

With the sun soft behind him and his hair catching just a little breeze, Joe leaned in close. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you since you fed me that first bite.”

She smiled. “What took you so long?”

He learned in and kissed her right there, slow and warm and sweet—like chocolate chip and raspberries and every good thing about summer. One hand stayed at her waist, the other curled around the back of her neck. She melted into it, into him, into everything that felt a little too perfect to be real.

When they finally pulled away, he pressed his forehead to hers and whispered, “Ice cream kisses on a summer afternoon. Kinda hard to beat.”

She laughed breathlessly. “Ummm right and I’m keeping that line.”

He smiled. “It’s all yours.”

And when they sat back down, a little closer this time, their empty bowls and sticky spoons told the story: two flavors, one perfect memory, and a whole summer waiting to be written.

[ssprayberrythings]

Walls- Joe Jonas

Chapter 3: Behind Closed Doors

✨Masterlist✨

The final chords still rang in Joe's chest as the stage lights dimmed and the roar of Madison Square Garden thundered in his ears. He jogged down the steps, sweat cooling on his skin, crew clapping him on the back as he passed. But he barely heard them. His eyes were already searching, heart pounding harder now than it had during the set.

Claire.

He had seen her slip out during the encore, her blonde hair catching the glow as she turned down a narrow hall that led toward one of the side balconies. He muttered her name under his breath like a prayer, weaving past cases and cables. "Where are you, Claire?"

The hallway opened into the balcony entrance, the door heavy against his palm. He shoved it open and stepped into the night air.

Empty.

The city stretched out around him, lights glittering like a million little secrets. The cool air rushed over his damp skin, but the space where she should have been was bare. His stomach dropped.

He stood still for a moment, gripping his curls with one hand, pulling them back from his forehead as if that could ease the weight pressing against him. A sigh tore out of him, rough and low, and he spun once in place, shoulders tense, before tilting his head back toward the sky.

The stars were invisible against the city glow, but he searched anyway, letting the sound of the crowd's fading cheers wash through the walls. For the first time all night, he felt hollow. Maybe she had left. Maybe she had finally decided whatever was happening between them was too much.

Jaw tight, he dropped his gaze, shoved his hands into his pockets, and walked back inside.

The hallways were chaos. Crew moved in every direction, laughter and shouts echoing off the concrete. From one of the larger rooms, he could hear Kevin and Nick's voices tangled with their family's, hyped and celebrating, calling for him to come in. He didn't stop. His chest was too tight.

He slipped down a quieter corridor, feet carrying him toward his dressing room on instinct. He pushed the door open, ready for silence, ready for that same empty ache he had felt on the balcony.

Joe pushed open the door to his dressing room, still flushed from the stage lights, his pulse beating too hard in his chest. For a split second he thought the room was empty, another hollow space waiting for him. Then he saw her.

She was standing there, in his dimly lite dressing room. Her honey blonde hair tumbling in loose waves, her camera resting across her lap. The glow of the bulbs from the vanity haloed her face, soft and steady, and her eyes found his the moment he entered. She didn't scramble to explain. She didn't move at all.

She waited for him.

And Joe's pulse, ragged and restless a second ago, found a rhythm again.

Neither of them moved. For a moment, the silence said everything the searching, the almost-misses, the ache that had followed him since she disappeared from the crowd.

She tilted her head, lips curving as she finally broke it.

"Hi." She smiled. "I was hoping after was still going to be okay." She smiled taking a few steps closer to Joe. He kind of looked shocked. "Looking for me?"

His throat tightened, but the answer came easy, low and certain.

"Hi. Yes, actually. I was starting to think maybe you left."

The smirk that touched her mouth was half-playful, half-knowing, and it undid him. He stepped inside and pushed the door closed behind him with a soft click. His hand lingered on the knob for a beat before he turned it fully, the lock sliding into place.

"Joe," she whispered, eyes darting to the door, but her voice betrayed her breathless, expectant.

"What?" he asked, his grin lazy but his gaze sharp, fire sparking behind it. "I was starting to think after meant never." Joe smirked.

Her laugh was small, nervous, but her body leaned toward him. "I can keep my word. But I know you are... busy. I really shouldn't even be here you know."

"Yes you should," he said, his tone deeper now, stepping closer until she had to tip her head back to meet his eyes. "I was looking for you the entire time. Even when I was onstage, I couldn't stop."

The way he said it quiet but full of heat made her chest tighten. She rose slowly to her feet, and before she could say another word, his hands slid around her waist and pulled her to him.

The first kiss was soft, as if to test if this was real, then it deepened quickly, desperate and certain, all the adrenaline of the stage spilling into the way his mouth pressed against hers. She dropped the camera onto the chair and slid her hands into his curls, tugging lightly as he walked her backward. Her spine met the closed door and he pressed closer, lips tracing from her mouth to her jaw and back again until she gasped against him.

"Joe," she murmured, pulling back just enough to breathe, her palms flat against his chest as if she meant to stop him, though she didn't move away. "No. I really shouldn't. We're going to get caught."

His forehead rested against hers, curls falling into his eyes, breath hot between them. "The door is locked. Let them catch us, I want this. I want you!" he said, voice low and dangerous in the sweetest way. "I don't care anymore."

She shook her head, even as her hands clung to him. "You don't mean that. You know how bad this looks and super unprofessional. You're the artist. I am supposed to be your assistant."

"Claire," he said softly, using her name like it was a secret. His thumb brushed her cheekbone. "This isn't just sneaking around for me anymore. It's not a game. It's you, it's us."

Her heart stuttered at that, the weight of his words too heavy to ignore. She closed her eyes, torn between the pull of his mouth and the warning in her head. When she opened them again, he was still looking at her like he had under the lights, like she was the only thing in the room.

"We can't get caught," she whispered, more to herself than to him.

Joe's gaze didn't waver. His thumb stroked her cheek, steady as his voice. "We won't."

The certainty in the words made her chest ache. Before she could argue, his mouth was on hers again, fierce and sweet, like he had every intention of keeping her right there with him no matter what waited outside the door.

[ssprayberrythings]

Walls- Joe Jonas Chapter Two: Center Stage

✨Masterlist✨

The lights dropped to black.

For a split second Madison Square Garden was nothing but shadows and held breath. Then the first guitar riff tore through the dark and the place erupted. White strobes cut the air, revealing three silhouettes rising from the stage lift. Joe was in the center, his frame tall and sure, curls catching the light, mic in hand like it belonged there more than anywhere else.

The roar swelled, a living ocean of sound. Every movement he made was matched by a wave of screams. The opener drove hard and fast, the brothers moving in sync like a single heartbeat. Joe’s voice was steady and strong, but each time the lights swept across the crowd, his eyes searched.

Was she here?

He crossed toward Kevin’s side of the stage, leaning out toward the front row as hands reached for him, then shifted back toward Nick for a harmony. The show was running on muscle memory, but under it all there was a pulse of distraction. Song after song, the crowd blurred into a thousand faces that weren’t hers.

Midway through the next number, movement at the far side of the floor caught his eye.

She was there.

Claire stepped in from stage right, camera in hand, all-access badge glinting in the lights. No security moved to stop her. She didn’t need them to. Her walk was calm, unhurried, like she belonged anywhere she chose to be. The sight pulled at something in his chest, loosening a tension he hadn’t even realized was there.

His mouth curved before he could stop it, a quick, private smile meant only for her. Then he turned away again, letting the song carry him forward.

The shimmering guitar and steady beat of “Shelf” spilled into the air, and the crowd lost their minds. Joe’s voice came in low and smooth on the first verse.

“She’s such a flirt, and I am the lonely heart

Give it a chance, for our love to start”

He moved with the music, that effortless mix of sharp precision and looseness that came from years of shows and a magnetism that couldn’t be taught. His brothers flanked him, but the crowd’s focus was locked on the center. On him.

Claire had stopped just shy of the barricade. She lifted her camera, framing him in the glow of the spotlight. She loved the way it haloed the edges of his curls, the faint sheen of sweat at his temple, the curve of his mouth around the lyrics. She snapped shot after shot, each click a small victory against the fleetingness of the moment.

Halfway through the song, he turned toward her side of the stage. His eyes swept the barricade, then caught hers. The light hit his face just right, bringing out the warmth in his gaze. For a beat, everything else blurred. He gave her a quick, private half-smile, the kind that tugged at only one corner of his mouth and felt like it had her name on it. Then he tilted the mic away, tapped two fingers lightly against his chest, and turned back to the crowd like nothing had happened.

She bit back a grin and pressed her finger to the shutter. Three rapid frames. Her hands didn’t feel steady.

Nick’s voice carried the chorus while Joe prowled the stage, working every corner. He leaned down to sing into the hands of the front row, ran a hand through his curls, and traded a smirk with Kevin at the bridge. They fell into a practiced back-to-back pose, guitars and mic stands like weapons against the stadium’s chaos.

The crowd roared every time he danced closer, as if their screams could pull him in. His eyes scanned the sea of faces like he was memorizing it for later, but they always came back to her.

The bridge hit, his voice rasping with urgency.

“I’m tired of wastin’ all my time, my heart is hangin’ on the line… Please take me off the shelf”

On the final echo, he looked back toward her side again. The moment was shorter this time, but it hit just as hard. His gaze found her lens, and he gave the smallest curve of a smile. Two fingers to his chest, like before. The crowd screamed as if they knew, but they didn’t. This was theirs alone.

Her chest tightened. She steadied the camera and got the shot.

The last chorus shook the rafters. Joe worked the crowd with practiced ease, spinning toward Nick for a harmony, dropping low at the edge of the stage to hold out the mic to the fans pressed against the rail. He was pure energy and connection, sweat slicking the curls at his temples, chest rising with quick breaths between lines.

Without pause, the set barreled into the finale. The final number was “Burnin’ Up,” and the crowd became a living wave.

“I’m slippin’ into the lava

And I’m tryin’ to keep from going under

Baby, who turned the temperature hotter

Cause I’m burnin’ up, burnin’ up for you, baby”

The last chorus rang out, the lights exploded into gold, and the noise was deafening. Joe moved toward the center mic stand, chest rising and falling with each breath. Kevin stood on his left, grinning wide, his guitar hanging low at his side. Nick joined on the right, sweat darkening the collar of his shirt, a half-smile curling across his face.

Joe lifted the mic one last time. “New York City, you have been unbelievable tonight.” His voice was warm, threaded with adrenaline.

Nick leaned in, his voice blending into the roar. “We love you guys.”

Kevin pointed toward the crowd, nodding with genuine affection. “Thank you for singing with us.”

The three of them stepped forward together, the stage lights fanning out over the arena.

“Goodnight, New York,” they shouted in unison, voices swallowed instantly by the wave of screams.

They waved as they walked toward the back of the stage, soaking in the final seconds. Crew members were already moving in, the darkness of the wings pulling them out of the spotlight.

Nick and Kevin fell into step with a couple of crew members, still laughing about the show. Joe trailed just behind, his mind already far from the stage.

As soon as they stepped into the dim of backstage, he slowed enough to let his brothers move ahead. They kept walking toward the green room, unaware.

The moment they were out of sight, he turned down a narrow hallway.

Without stopping for water or a towel, he broke into a jog.

Somewhere out there, she was walking away.

And he was not about to let her disappear

[ssprayberrythings]

Walls- (NEW SERIES) Joe Jonas Chapter One: Off Limits

Follow me on Wattpad @Cup-of-Jonas

✨Masterlist✨

The hallway outside the stage wings glowed with a low strip of bulbs along the baseboards. Sound swelled and fell through the concrete, a living tide from the bowl of Madison Square Garden that pressed against the walls with every chant. Radios crackled. A cart of waters rattled by. Claire kept her pace steady, clipboard tucked under her arm, Joe's spare mic pack warm in her hand.

"Five minutes to lineup," the stage voice from the stage manager called from the tunnel.

She rounded the corner.

A warm hand caught her wrist. The door with his name on it swung open. She was pulled inside before she could say a word. The heavy door thudded shut and the world outside dropped to a muffled roar.

The dressing room was small and private. A vanity framed in bulbs. A narrow sofa with a folded jacket tossed across the arm. A rack of shirts that still held the clean heat of steam. The air smelled like his cologne, cedar and skin and the faint ghost of stage smoke.

"Mmmm Joe," she started, breath catching.

He crossed the space and met her like a spark finding tinder. Her back touched the wall and his chest pressed to hers. One palm braced beside her head. The other found her waist and held, firm and sure, like gravity worked between them.

He kissed her.

It landed hot and certain, hunger wrapped in relief. Her clipboard slid onto the chair. The mic pack spun on the counter. She curled her fingers in his shirt and pulled him closer when she should have told him to go. Mint and heat. The rasp of his stubble at her cheek. His thumb tilting her chin so he could taste her deeper.

"You are supposed to be on stage," she whispered, smiling against his mouth because the warning had no teeth.

"I will be," he murmured. "In a minute."

The crowd throbbed through the walls. In here it was only breath and pulse and the slow pull of his mouth on hers. His hand slid to the small of her back and stayed, anchoring her. The other threaded into her hair, a gentle drag that tugged a soft sound from her throat. He swallowed it with a broken little laugh that sounded like victory.

"You are going to get us caught," she said, though she did not move away.

"They are all busy," he said, lips traveling along her jaw. "No one is looking for us right now."

"Liar," she breathed, shivering when he found the warm place below her ear. "Everyone is looking for you."

"They can wait," he said, smiling against her skin.

She pulled him back to her mouth. The kiss slowed and deepened. He kissed her like he was learning the shape of a secret. Like he wanted to remember the taste for later when the lights swallowed him. His heart kicked against her palm. Hers matched it. The mirror lights haloed them in soft gold.

"I missed you today," he said, voice low and warm.

"How? You saw me all day," she teased.

"Not like this," he said, and the words landed in her chest like heat.

Footsteps ran past the door. A radio barked a code. Claire felt the tremor in her shoes and did not care. He lifted her an inch on his thigh without thinking and she rose to meet him, mouth opening, breath leaving her in a soft, helpless sound. He answered with a rough noise that lived somewhere deeper than his throat.

"It's so hard to see you all day and pretend I don't want this," he murmured against her lips, each word breaking between kisses.

"You are insane," she said, laughing into the kiss wrapping her leg around his.

"And you love it," he said, and kissed her again this time placing a hand on her thigh.

He grazed her thing gently teasing her and making her melt softly. Dipping his hand under her skirt slightly to feel more of her upper thigh. She moaned softly but grabbed his hand.

"Off limits,Jonas. You are going to be late!" She said breaking the kiss.

The stage manager shouted from the hall. "Two minutes, where is Joe Jonas?"

Joe groaned. He dragged the pad of his thumb along the curve of her mouth, then pressed a slow kiss to it like an apology. He did not step back. His eyes were bright and wicked and soft all at once.

"After," he said.

"After," she promised, the word warm against his lips.

He tried to go. He straightened her shirt with careful fingers that lingered. He fixed his jacket. He ran a hand through his curls and made them worse. He looked at her in the mirror and forgot how to breathe for a second.

"Go," she said, smiling in spite of the ache. "Find me in the crowd."

He kissed her once more like he could not help it. Then he opened the door and slipped into the thunder.

Silence hummed in his wake. Claire pressed her fingertips to her lips. Her mouth felt kissed. Her ribs felt tight. The room held the glow of his cologne and the heat of him, like a secret that would not go out. She scooped her clipboard, looped her camera strap across her body, and reached for the handle.

Joe didn't leave. The latch clicked behind him. The door shut again.

He had turned back. He crossed the floor in three strides, laughter in his breath, relief in his eyes, and kissed her like he had remembered something vital and come back for it.

"What happened to being on time?" she asked, laughing as he crowded her against the wall again.

"I don't want to leave you," he said, kissing the smile from her mouth.

"You are the worst, and not making this easier" she said, kissing him back, deeper.

"I am your worst," he said into her lips, and the truth of it made her knees threaten to give.

His hands moved like he had a map that only he could read. Over her ribs. Down her sides. Back to the small of her back where his palm fit too perfectly. She arched and he made a low sound that felt like yes. He tasted like adrenaline and mint. She tasted like yes right back.

"You are shaking," he said softly.

"Well you did that," she said, and kissed him to prove it.

Another sprint of footsteps passed outside. Voices lifted, paused, moved on. He drew back by an inch, breathing hard. His forehead rested against hers. He smelled like cedar and sweat and the last chord of the set that had not even started yet.

"Promise you will meet me after?" he said intertwining their fingers. No demand. No pleading. Just warm certainty, like sunrise.

"Try and miss me," she said, eyes bright. "I dare you."

He laughed, low and ruined. "I always miss you and it makes me want you even more."he said closing the space, her back still against the cold cement wall.

"Go," she said, even as her hands framed his face like she could keep him here with touch alone. "Before we have to test the lock."

"We would fail that test," he said, mouth curving.

"We absolutely would," she said, and the laugh turned into a soft sound when he kissed her again, slow and deep and grateful.

Another knock sounded somewhere down the hall. He breathed out like it hurt. He set one last kiss on her mouth, then another, then forced himself to step back an inch. Only an inch.

"You are fire," he said, eyes warm, gentle smile.

"You are the gasoline," she said.

"Terrible combination." He smirked and then laughed.

"The very best, you need to run now." she said.

He opened the door. He looked back once, the Leo flash of a grin, bright and reckless, the kind that makes a person say yes to trouble. "After?" He kissed her hand.

"After," she echoed, and it felt like a secret handshake.

He was gone.

Claire stood very still for three heartbeats. The dressing room held the echo of his laugh and the heat of his hands and the taste of mint on her tongue. She smiled without meaning to, gathered her things, and stepped back into the storm, the whole stadium roaring and her pulse roaring right back.

Behind her, the room kept their secret. Ahead of her, eighty thousand people waited. Somewhere between the two, a man she was not supposed to love turned a corner and ran for the light.

Joe's stride ate the hallway, adrenaline still buzzing in his veins. The crowd's roar was louder here, a living wave waiting to break. He rounded the corner toward lineup and nearly collided with Nick and Kevin.

Both of them froze.

Nick's brows lifted just enough to say what the hell was that. Kevin's head tilted, eyes narrowing in the way an older brother doesn't even have to speak to be understood.

Joe ran a hand through his hair like it might erase the flush in his cheeks. "Sorry I'm late," he said, breath still uneven.

Nick's mouth curved slow, sharp. "Yeah, you look real sorry."

Kevin didn't even blink. "Stage is that way," he said, tipping his chin toward the tunnel.

Joe smirked, a little too quickly, because he was still carrying the taste of her and didn't care if they knew. "I'm going."

They stepped aside, letting him pass, but Nick's quiet laugh followed him down the hall.

Joe didn't turn around. He couldn't. If he did, the grin on his face would give him away completely. Instead, he jogged into the floodlights, letting the crowd swallow him whole while the secret in his chest burned brighter than the stage itself.

[ssprayberrythings]

Miss missing you | Charles Leclerc x Reader

Genres | Angst, Hurt.

Word count | 2.1K

Warnings | Breakup, depressing thoughts, mentions of cheating.

Summary | Reader wakes up the day after her breakup with Charles and reflects on their relationship. Inspired by the song "Miss Missing You" by Fall Out Boy. Author's note | Sorry for being criminally addicted to writing sad things.

Don't panic, no, not yet

The living room shutter is closed. Impenetrable.

She has no idea how long she's been like this, slumped on her couch in the dark, her face irritated by the relentless assault of her tears. Outside, she knows life has gone on without her. She suspects the sun has risen, like every morning. That darkness has given way to light, like every morning. She even heard her neighbors in the hallway, heading to work. Like every morning.

Taking a deep breath, she feels her heart and throat tighten, tears doubling. She didn't even know she had that much water in her body. It's not just an ordinary morning. It's the first of many mornings where she will wake up with her heart in pieces.

I know I'm the one you want to forget

She remembers, a few years ago, listening to Taylor Swift's "Mr. Perfectly Fine" for days on a row. She remembers cursing Joe Jonas, she even remembers feeling so sorry for Taylor. What kind of guy breaks up with his girlfriend over the phone?

Well, Charles, apparently.

She's not stupid, not blind, not even a little naive.

She had felt it coming. Had noticed him slowly drifting away. The calls were less frequent, and the ones she managed to intercept, shorter. She knows there was someone else. Maybe multiple someones. They'd somehow stopped talking about him, about her, about them. They only talked about races, cars, airplane trips. That's the only thing that seemed to keep them together. The only thing that had brought them together in the first place. She, the daughter of the CEO of one of Ferrari's sponsors. Him, the one who wore the suit with the logo printed on it.

Cue all the love to leave my heart, It's time for me to fall apart

She wished her heart would close. She wished she could block his access to it. She wished she could reclaim it, as one might retrieve the keys to an apartment once shared. But that bastard remains wide open. It's almost embarrassing, the way her heart, cruelly empty, hopes to be filled again. To feel his warmth once more. To beat for him again.

Her mind has stopped functioning, but her heart, somehow, hasn't stopped. It keeps beating, selfishly. It keeps her alive. For what? To feel the hurt, the betrayal, the despair? Honestly, it's not worth the effort. The poor thing should have just stopped.

Now you're gone, but I'll be okay, Your hot whiskey eyes have fanned the flame

She's young. She's had flings, but she's always been the one to end them. Charles was her first serious relationship. The only significant one, actually. She didn't think the pain would be so raw, so physical. She feels like she can sense her heart crumbling a little more each time she thinks of him. She feels it in her chest, swelling, taking up space, trying to escape. It wants to leave her body. To break free from this darkened, wounded brain that suffocates it.

She's not against the idea. It can leave. She can function without it. She's almost convinced of it, if that's what it takes to feel alive again. To feel like her again.

Maybe I'll burn a little brighter tonight, Let the fire breathe me back to life

Her heart isn't the first to be broken. Won't be the last.

She's heard stories from friends, from close ones, who've gone through breakups. Today, she feels so foolish for feeling so little concern about those stories back then. She's always been a listening ear, an unwavering support. She's sat in bars, cafés, bedrooms, listening to stories of betrayal and broken promises, and she simply didn't believe it would ever happen to her. As if she were above the laws. Above all that. She remembers listening to tales of broken hearts like children listen to myths of dragons, of wizards, of magic.

That's what it was for her. Fantasy. Something so unreal, so inconceivable.

Even though it hurts, she has sworn to let herself feel everything. The good as well as the bad. She knows that one day, she will look back on this period of her life, and she won't be overwhelmed by sorrow and pain anymore. But today, she has to go through it, let the flames lick her body to better heal her wounds later.

Baby you were my picket fence, I miss missing you, now and then

She'd never introduced a boyfriend to her family. Never envisioned a future with anyone. Never looked at houses with anyone. But with him, she did. A few months ago, while strolling on the hills of Monaco, she'd passed by a gate behind which a stone path led to a discreet little house. She'd fallen in love with the garden bordered by trees and flowers. She'd liked the color of the gate surrounding the property. She'd even found charm in the slightly crooked chimney protruding from the roof. She'd taken a photo of the "For Sale" sign and sent it to Charles. He had responded with a series of emojis (a face with hearts for eyes, sparkles, a star, the rest she can't remember). He had promised to call to set up a visit.

She would never walk down the stone path.

Chlorine kissed, summer skin, I miss missing you, now and then

She's never been drawn to wealth. She was born into it. Penthouses, luxury cars, diamonds hold no charm in her eyes. She's always been searching for more authentic, more simple things.

One summer when Charles had suggested a yacht outing, the lovers had ended up on a poorly patched-up rowboat that was taking on water. The monacan had complained all afternoon, but she still remembers the sensation of lying against him, against his warm, salty skin, alone in the world in their small boat. A feeling that no amount of money could ever buy. A feeling that no amount of money could ever get her back.

Sometimes before it gets better, The darkness gets bigger

What had begun as sweet and innocent had taken a turn.

Times were tough. His job was demanding. Exhausting. She did her best to support him, to show him he could lean on her anytime he needed. He wouldn't talk. Little by little, she was abandoning more and more things from her daily life to dedicate herself to his. His stability. His success. His worries. Sometimes, she felt like she was losing herself, but she knew it was temporary. She thought she would soon get the old Charles back. Even when he started going out late. Even when he started coming home late. Even when he started not coming home at all.

The endless suffering hadn't brought her anything. In fact, it had taken everything from her.

The person that you'd take a bullet for, Is behind the trigger

She knew the signs, had seen them in her own parents. When they ate together, he could go through the entire meal without meeting her gaze. When she placed her hands on his body, he would sometimes shiver. Not the shiver of anticipation from the early days. The kind that suggested he didn't deserve the display of affection.

Her own friends seemed oblivious to the situation. "I ran into Charles yesterday, at the club," "I saw Charles in town with a friend", "Aren't you with Charles today?". Were they trying to pretend everything was fine to protect her? Or were they already distancing themselves from a situation they didn't want to witness?

Oh, we're fading fast, I miss missing you, now and then

She pinpointed the breaking point as her sister's wedding. How ironic, she'd thought. Celebrating love, respect, and unity when I feel none of these things in my own relationship. Charles had arrived late, his hair disheveled, tie slightly askew. She had felt tears burning behind her eyes, had bitten her cheek to hold back from exploding in the middle of the church. She refused to believe that he had done that to her. That he had disrespected her on this day, in this place. Her entire family had cast a glance in her direction, had observed the way Charles had slipped between the guests to sit next to her. Without a glance. Without a touch. Her sister, speech in hand, had taken a few seconds to start. "With you by my side, I know I can face anything," she had started saying to her husband, letting her eyes meet the teary ones of her little sister.

Making eyes at this husk, around my heart, I see through you and we're sitting in the dark

He told her everything, recounted everything to her. From what he felt in the car during a race to his latest argument with his brother. She read him like an open book, could anticipate every word, every gesture, every thought, even. To joke around, she often said she knew him better than she knew herself. Upon reflection, they got together when they were eighteen. Had she even had time to get to know herself, or had she cowardly built herself around him?

The idea of pursuing her life's journey without him terrified her. She didn't know who she was, who she wanted to be. She didn't even know if she liked herself. She sometimes wondered if he knew her as well as she knew him. If he knew her favorite color, her favorite song, her favorite season. She always ended up pushing those somber thoughts away, reminding herself that these concerns were those of a schoolgirl, and got back to her duties. To taking care of him.

So give me your filth, make it rough, Let me, let me, trash your love

She was gentle, with a calm nature, almost maternal.

She never lost her composure, never raised her voice. But she had yelled that day. When they arrived home after the church ceremony. She would never forget, and he probably wouldn't either, how her voice had broken when she had shouted three words, three little words that had been enough to shatter everything. "Who is she?".

She, who admired him so much, who thought of him as a man of the purest and most sincere nature. She had given him a chance to repent. He hadn't seized it, hanging his head low. That day, facing her anger, the pain of a betrayed woman, she'd found him so small that he was almost ridiculous. He hadn't responded, of course. Hadn't said a word.

I will sing to you everyday, If it will take away the pain

She'd stayed. She wasn't sure if love made her do it. Perhaps it was out of habit. Or masochism. But she had stayed, and life had resumed just as it was before, for a few weeks. They had started waking up side by side again, sharing their day over a meal again.

Making love, again. She hadn't even realized they had stopped touching each other, desiring each other. How long had it lasted? A week? A month? Six?

He played the piano in the evening, proclaiming a love strong and indestructible over the keys, letting his fingers glide from white to black, filling the apartment with sounds and colors that had disappeared. Of feelings that had disappeared.

Oh, and I heard you've got it, got it so bad, 'Cause I am the best you'll ever have

She had let herself dream of the life before.

A life where Charles had only touched her, only tasted her. A life where she didn't discreetly grab his phone every night when his breathing indicated he was asleep. A life where she didn't send messages to Carlos at all hours of the day and night to find out where he was, with whom he was when she wasn't there. A life where her sister didn't regularly tell her how worried she was about her, finding her too thin, too stressed, too distracted.

So, she had left. She had left the spare keys he had given her on the dining table. She had fled his apartment and returned to hers, the one she had just planned on returning the keys to the owner, ready to move in permanently with him. She had spent three days alone, spending entire days in the dark. Ignoring the messages and calls of her mother, her father, her sister. Carlos, too.

Baby you were my picket fence,

By the end of the third day, he had finally called, and after three rings, she had picked up.

Neither of them had spoken for several seconds.

Then, he had done it. For the first time in months, he had been honest with her.

"It's not working anymore," he had sighed into the phone. "I can't do it anymore."

She had hung up.

Lain down on the sofa.

Waited for the day to save her from the night.

I miss missing you, now and then,

Now and then.

[ssprayberrythings]

You’re telling me this man gets on his knees and gets head pats on stage every night and NO ONE writes kinky fanfic about him?

[ssprayberrythings]

Nothing Like me | Ray Young

Summary: A classic opposites attract prompt. Bad boy x good girl. I eat that shit UP.

Requests: None

A/N: Keep requests coming, as of now, they're open. Plus-sized reader in mind

You knew the second you stepped out of your friend's car that this was a bad idea. The lot was packed — neon lights reflecting off the hoods of cars, too pretty to be legal. The smell of burnt rubber and gasoline hung heavy in the air, engines rumbling like beasts in their cages. Every person here looked like they belonged. Dark clothes, combat boots, sharp eyes.

And then there was you.

In a soft, pale blue sundress that hit mid-thigh and fluttered in the warm night breeze. A pair of strappy Mary Janes. Glossy lips and subtle pink shimmer on your eyelids. Hair pinned back with a few loose tendrils framing your face. You stood out like a petal in a storm. “God, I feel like a Hallmark movie extra,” you muttered, hugging your arms around yourself.

Your friend snorted as she slammed her door shut. “Girl, you look hot. Let ’em stare.” You didn’t have a choice. Heads turned as you followed her toward the meet. Not cruel, not mocking — just surprised. Like you were a glittering chandelier dropped in the middle of a biker bar. And then you saw him.

Leaning against the driver’s side of a matte black Charger, cigarette dangling between his lips, one hand in the pocket of his ripped jeans. Ray Young. Everything about him screamed don’t get close — from the scowl etched deep between his dark brows to the cocky tilt of his head. Bad news in leather and denim. You knew him by reputation alone. Street legend. Fight-starter. Uncatchable.

You were the kind of girl that usually crossed the street to avoid guys like him. And yet… here you were.

Your friend waved to someone and vanished into the crowd, leaving you alone by the food truck. You fiddled with your phone to avoid making eye contact with the tattooed, smirking guys nearby. This wasn’t your scene. You preferred movie nights, old records, and baking something too sweet at midnight. You didn’t even like racing. You just didn’t have the nerve to tell your friend no.

“Did you get lost, princess?” The voice hit your spine like a low, rough spark. You looked up — and straight into the stormy, bored gaze of Ray Young. Up close, he was worse. Gorgeous in that messy, dangerous way. Dark hair falling in his eyes, a scar along his cheekbone, you knew he had a story no one told. The kind of guy who got away with things he shouldn’t. And he was looking right at you.

You swallowed. “I’m good. Thanks.” His gaze dragged down, slow, from your glossy lips to the curve of your waist to your thighs, bare under the hem of your dress. Not leering — more like he was trying to figure out how someone like you existed in a place like this.

“You here with somebody?”

You held his gaze. “My friend dragged me here.”

He grunted, flicking his cigarette to the ground and crushing it with his boot. “Figures.”

You arched a brow, heart hammering. “Figures what?”

“That you’re not the type.” You weren’t sure if it was an insult or not. It felt like a challenge.

“Well, maybe I’m braver than I look.” Something flickered in his eyes. Approval? Amusement? Either way, his lips quirked into the ghost of a smirk.

“Doubt it,” he murmured, then turned, heading for his car. And just like that, you were dismissed. Heat flared in your chest, a mix of embarrassment and something sharper. You weren’t here to impress him. But damn it, part of you wanted to.

The races were starting soon. Your friend appeared, cheeks flushed, holding two sodas. “Was that Ray Young you were talking to?!”

You shrugged, trying for casual. “Yeah. Briefly.”

“Holy shit. He’s usually an asshole to new people.”

You lifted a brow. “He was an asshole to me.”

“Yeah, but he talked to you.” She wiggled her brows. “Maybe he’s into Disney princesses.” You rolled your eyes and turned back to the lot. The cars lined up. Engines snarling, headlights cutting through the dark. The crowd pressed in as two cars took their marks — one of them Ray’s Charger. You hated how your stomach flipped at the sight of him behind the wheel, one hand on the stick, hair falling into his eyes.

The flag dropped. The cars exploded forward.

And God, it was thrilling. Dangerous and fast and stupidly beautiful. You found yourself holding your breath as Ray’s Charger devoured the pavement, weaving around his opponent, the roar of his engine making your chest ache. He won, obviously. Pulled back into the lot like a king returning from battle. You told yourself you weren’t going to go over there. But your feet betrayed you.

He was leaning against the car when you approached, toweling sweat off his neck, hair a wild mess. He looked up, and his lips twitched. “Decided you’re brave after all?”

You shrugged, trying not to fidget. “Guess so.”

His gaze softened, just a fraction. “That’s a nice dress,” he said, like it was a secret between you. “Don’t see that shit around here.”

You flushed. “Didn’t exactly get the dress code memo.”

“Good.” His eyes flicked down again, lingering. “Would be a shame to cover all that up.”

Your stomach fluttered — both mortified and wildly, stupidly flattered. “Do you always hit on girls who don’t belong here?” you asked, surprised at your own boldness.

He huffed a low laugh. “Don’t usually hit on anyone.”

That surprised you. A guy like him, with that face, that attitude? He probably had people lining up. You opened your mouth to say something when a tall girl in tight black jeans came up, pressing a little too close to Ray. “Hey, baby, wanna grab a drink?”

Ray barely glanced at her. “Busy.”

She scoffed, shooting you a glare before stomping off. You blinked. “Did you just—” “I don’t like people touchin’ me unless I ask ’em to.” And somehow, you knew he wasn’t just talking about her. A warmth spread in your chest. He shifted closer, voice low. “You stick out like a sore thumb, princess.” “I know.”

“But it works for you.”

You swallowed. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

His grin was crooked, dangerous. “Careful. Might start thinkin’ you like me.”

You lifted your chin, pulse racing. “Maybe I do.” For a beat, everything slowed. The sounds of the races blurred into background static. His eyes, sharp and stormy, locked on yours like you were a puzzle he wanted to take apart.

Then, softly, “You should let me take you out sometime.”

And somehow you knew — for him, this wasn’t a line. Wasn’t a game. It was an ask. A real one. You smiled. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

He nodded once. “Good.” And as he turned back to his car, glancing over his shoulder with that crooked smirk, you realized something else. Maybe you didn’t belong here. But Ray Young? He made you feel like you did. And for the first time in a long time — you didn’t mind standing out.

[ssprayberrythings]

atleast try - harris bower x reader

summary: harris bowers has a problem with pulling out.

a/n- this is actually js short and simple

you didn't wanna get pregnant while in highschool but gosh did harris have a problem with not pulling out.

it was so bad you had to start taking birth control pills because he refused to wear a condom, he said "it didn't feel the same".

the first time you let it slide because it was your first time together, but afterwards you told him to start pulling out. then the second time you could feel his dick literally twitch inside you but he didn't stop, he couldn't stop. you looked so good and felt even better.

he couldn't bring himself to pull out, this felt better than doing it with his own hand. he would stare down at where you two met, and how his dick moves in and out of you. the overstimulating feeling of trying to hold back beginning to be too much.

"oh my- fuck" he muttered, and you felt his realese filling you up. "sorry" the words came out nothing above a whisper.

"harris" you whined, hitting his chest.

it's been months now and still a shock that you're not pregnant (yes, even while taking birth control) he began to stop being unapologetic about it. he's even told you he knows when to pull out but he'd "rather not, cause whats the fun in that"

[ssprayberrythings]

lando: i’m sorry oscar: nah it's alright. i mean, i ended up alright, c’mon lando: it was all my fault, mate oscar: you're good

[ssprayberrythings]

pregnant wife is extra emotional – f1 grid reactions

lando norris you cry because you forgot how to spell “banana” he panics like there’s blood on the floor “WHAT’S WRONG???” you just sob, holding your phone and spelling it out loud he tries not to laugh. fails. but hugs you anyway “it’s okay. we’ll never eat bananas again. they’re banned.”

oscar piastri you’re quiet. emotional. tearful. he doesn’t say a word just sits beside you with a hand on your belly lets you cry it out, kisses your temple “it’s okay. cry if you need. i’ve got you.” asks if you want hot chocolate or a nap. maybe both. he becomes your emotional support husband™️

charles leclerc you get weepy over a commercial with a dog he sits there blinking, like ?? “is this hormones or do you actually want a dog?” you start sobbing harder he panics and brings tissues, chocolate, and every single pillow in the house also googles “what not to say to pregnant wife crying”

lewis hamilton you cry while folding baby clothes he walks in, instantly kneels down and holds your face “what’s going on in that heart of yours, love?” listens to everything, rubs your back, tells you you’re doing amazing tucks you into bed and puts on your comfort movie also cries with you, because he’s that emotionally connected

carlos sainz you yell at the oven. literally scream at it. he walks in like “…am i interrupting?” you burst into tears. “I BURNED THE TOAST” he pulls you into a hug, laughing softly “you’re not mad at me, no?” makes a new batch of toast and calls it “healing bread”

daniel ricciardo you get emotional because your bellybutton’s changing shape he gasps like it’s life-changing “YOUR BUTTON IS BLOOMING” calls it your magic center takes photos of you every day and narrates everything with an Aussie accent to make you laugh kisses your belly like it’s made of gold

gabriel bortoleto you cry while brushing your hair he slowly takes the brush from your hand “leave it to me, meu amor.” sits you down, brushes your hair so gently, tells you you’re beautiful “it’s normal, tá? feel it. i’m here.” makes tea and reads baby name lists out loud to distract you

franco colapinto you get emotional because your feet are swollen and “ugly” he kneels down, kisses each one and says “these feet are carrying our baby. i think they’re the most beautiful feet in the world.” makes you lay down, puts a pillow under your legs draws little smiley faces on your toes with a marker until you laugh

max verstappen you start crying mid-conversation he stares. stiff. nervous. “…was it something I said?” you say no, you’re just overwhelmed. he nods like he gets it (he does not) proceeds to cancel all plans, order food, and set up the coziest space ever sits beside you with one hand on your belly, quiet and steady “you cry as much as you want. i’m right here.”

©p1girlfriend | requested | requests open!

[ssprayberrythings]

OSCAR SINGING and immediately getting flushed 😭😭

"i dont get paid enough for this...im kidding i get paid way too much"

[ssprayberrythings]

how the f1 grid reacts to a possessive reader

lando norris he lives to test your patience will laugh a little too long at a female reporter’s joke just to see your jaw clench until you tug him by the collar mid-paddock, whispering,

“you’re mine. remember that.” he’s blushing, stammering, obsessed posts a soft pic of you with a caption that just says “don’t touch. mine.”

oscar piastri you’re usually chill. so when he sees your eyes narrow at a girl touching his arm? his brain short circuits

“are you… jealous?” you: “do you want me to be?” he shakes his head instantly the next time you’re out, his hand’s on your waist the whole night never been more into you than when you mutter, “stay close. i don’t like sharing.”

charles leclerc you pull him closer at a party because someone dares to flirt with him he notices, smirks

“mon amour… is that possessiveness I feel?” he leans into it hard loves when your hand slides into his back pocket while walking kisses you stupid when you get territorial “if i’m yours, show me.”

carlos sainz when you get possessive, he melts you drape yourself over him at events, run your fingers through his hair he grins like a fool

“you don’t like the attention i get, hm?” you: “not when it’s not from me.” starts calling you “mi celosa linda” (my jealous pretty girl) and teases you just to see you get feisty

daniel ricciardo you show up to the garage with a hand on his chest, sharp smile aimed at everyone watching he is in heaven

“god, i love it when you claim me.” you growl in his ear at a party, “touch her again and I’ll make you sit on the floor.” he’s literally giggling. like an idiot. so turned on. “okay, mommy.” (insufferable, but yours)

lewis hamilton you’re quiet about it but the way you stare when someone gets too close? the tight grip on his hand, the icy smile? he notices. and he loves it leans into your space, kisses your cheek deliberately

“don’t worry. i’m not going anywhere.” but later in private? he murmurs, “i like when you’re a little greedy with me.”

max verstappen the moment your hand lands on his thigh after a girl touches his shoulder he is done his whole body goes tense he looks down at you like you’ve just ruined him (in a good way) you whisper,

“mine. not hers.” he growls back, “prove it.” and you do 😌

gabriel bortoleto you kiss him a little too hard after an interview where he called the host “charming” he’s stunned for a second then grinning like a fool

“you jealous?” “do I look like someone who shares?” he nods. worships you. never flirts with anyone again starts referring to you as “my girl” in every sentence just to make it known

franco colapinto you’re usually soft. so the first time you cut someone off mid-flirt and go,

“we were leaving.” he’s shocked. and obsessed holds your hand tighter stares at you like you hung the moon “okay. i’m yours. always was.” he even brags about it “she gets jealous. isn’t that the cutest thing ever?”

lance stroll you sit in his lap at a party and glare at a girl laughing a little too hard at his joke he goes absolutely still then leans in, kisses your jaw

“didn’t know you had that side in you.” you: “you don’t know half of it.” he’s blushing. stuttering. buying you jewelry the next day starts wearing rings just so you’ll grab his hand more

©p1girlfriend | requested | requests open!

[ssprayberrythings]

oooh may i request a 17 + 24 for charles x reader? 🤭

17. tracing tanlines under a fingertip && 24. balcony views — charles leclerc

"JESUS CHRIST, CHARLES, when you said Ferrari was getting under your skin I didn't think you meant that literally."

"What?"

He turns around, quizzical, and the fading light of day catches more irregular motifs on his pectorals and clavicles than you'd even noticed. You can't help snorting at the sight.

"You're lobster red!"

A beat passes, during which Charles stares at you like a fish out of water, and then he's wiggling around, trying to catch a glimpse of every patch of skin on his torso, and when he cranes his neck to inspect his upper back he almost trips on the shirt he's just discarded to the floor.

"Putainnn," he drags out, a defeated moan that slumps out of his lips just like his shoulders. "Argh! C'est pas vrai..."

"That's what happens when you try to apply sunscreen yourself like a big boy." Your laugh is soft, your head shaking gently as you observe your husband, crimson stripes all over his back and shoulders like the brushstrokes of some tropical Van Gogh. "Come on, go sit on the terrace."

He does as he's told, shuffling his feet over to the chaises longues on the large, roofed balcony. When you step out the hotel room, favorite assortment of aloe vera ointments in hand, you find him sitting on the edge of the chair, pressing two fingers onto the red gash on his arm. When he lifts them and they reveal white skin that immediately fades back to carmine, he sighs.

"Not to say I told you so," you drag one of the chairs over, "but..."

"You told me so."

He grumbles like a toddler proven wrong—the swirling shapes of his sunburns are certainly reminiscent of a kindergartner's drawings. Even so, your smile is delicate, easy like an evening shower when you coax a ribbon of aloe vera cream onto your palm and rub your hands together.

"Tell me if it hurts."

Instead, Charles lets out a long, blissful exhale as soon as your cool fingertips press against his bare back.

Slowly, gently, you trace the outline of his burns, where a nascent tan fades into red patterns; you study the confines of skin he overlook in the morning, cajole the corners of him where even his fingertips won't go. That's when the gentle breeze picks up, born out of the Atlantic's froth, and dishevels the Brazilian foliage below and Charles' salt-kissed hair.

You feel him melt beneath your touch like so many times before.

"This is nice, actually," he murmurs, low and deep like the rumble of the ocean somewhere over the railing.

"Yeah, well, if you want a massage, just ask next time, there's no need to fuck up your skin like that, alright?"

"This never happens to me in Monac—aouch," he winces, but the sound is soon lost to the breeze, too.

"We're not in Monaco right now," you reply with a peculiar reverie, as though you aren't really here either, but someplace else, in the valleys that stretch out between Charles' moles.

He, on the other hand, looks over your hunched shoulders, to the late-afternoon that sprinkles golden lighting over the jungle. In the distance, he thinks he can make out a flock of tropical birds spinning in the milky sky like dancers, though it could be a trick of light. How to be sure, on this island where life commences anew, but oh so different?

"Yes, that's for sure," he concedes, pensive. But his eyes tear from the sprawling view and travel up to your concentrated face, and he scrunches into a solar grin.

"I think you should be good... though you should probably keep your shirt on for the next few days. Even if it pains me horribly to say it," you release him from the cooling balm, and are about to step back and put the tube away when he grabs your hand and pulls you back to him. Into the radiating heat of his body and the midday brightness of his gaze.

"Thanks for taking care of me."

"Of course, Charles," you reply in a genteel hum. The Monégasque rubs his thumb across your wedding band. "That's what I signed up for."

Neither of you makes a move; only your heads turn to the magnificent ocean, and, very far, its horizon where heavy clouds gather. All of the sunset's oranges and pinks ricochet off of their dark gray, and somehow you are certain they end their course back with you. Curled up in your promontory.

The rain, after a while, scatters off into the ocean, quietly.

© musicallisto, 2025 MASTERLIST / INBOX ⤷ liked this fic? then you might enjoy... adoration (cl16)!

[ssprayberrythings]

you cut yourself shaving – grid reactions ── .✦

content: shaving accident + soft chaos + them freaking out or babying you

lando norris ── .✦

he hears a yelp from the bathroom and IMMEDIATELY goes

“are you dead? are you bleeding? did you fall?” you show him your leg and it’s a tiny river of blood he freaks like you got stabbed “you need stitches. we need gauze. where’s the gauze?? do we have gauze??” brings you a Spider-Man bandaid and insists on applying it himself while calling you “my little wounded soldier.”

oscar piastri ── .✦

calm. too calm. you tell him you cut yourself and he’s like

“okay. how bad?” you show him. his face drops. “oh. okay. we’re dealing with a murder scene.” brings paper towels like it’s a crime scene investigator kit then quietly goes and googles “do deep razor cuts need stitches” while pretending he’s totally confident.

charles leclerc ── .✦

“what happened?” you show him and he gasps like he just witnessed a horror movie “mon dieu, you’re bleeding!!” he immediately grabs every skincare product in reach like it’s useful “this is toner, right? no, wait. no no, that’s serum. shit.” ends up pressing a cold washcloth on it and kissing your knee like it’ll fix it

lewis hamilton ── .✦

he walks in, sees the cut, and just calmly says

“sit down, baby. i got this.” pulls out an actual first aid kit like a professional he’s gentle, precise, maybe even too calm but after he bandages you up: “now why were you shaving in a rush? hmm?” makes you promise to be careful and lets you cuddle into him for the rest of the night like it’s part of healing

carlos sainz ── .✦

“AY DIOS— what did you do!?” you say “i was shaving” and he goes “you were WHAT? no, never again.” full-on dramatic dad mode he’s down on one knee, dabbing at your skin like he’s tending to a soccer injury refuses to let you get up “you rest. i’ll make you tea. or wine. probably wine.”

daniel ricciardo ── .✦

gasps SO LOUD

“BLOOD?! OH MY GOD. YOU’RE DYING.” you’re like: it’s just a razor cut. “WE NEED TO AMPUTATE. I MEAN. IT’S BEEN NICE.” he brings you snacks, band-aids, and a Sharpie so he can draw a “cool scar” on the bandage later tells everyone “she almost lost a leg, but she pulled through. brave girl.”

gabriel bortoleto ── .✦

he gets so serious

“amor?? what happened? are you okay?” you tell him and he sighs in relief but still treats it like a real wound presses kisses around the cut, tells you you’re brave, literally calls it a “warrior mark” “now you have a story to tell.” offers to finish shaving your legs and actually does a decent job

franco colapinto ── .✦

walks in, sees the cut, panics for 0.5 seconds

“shit, did the razor attack you?” then immediately turns into chaos starts pacing “do i put pressure? should i elevate your leg? babe where is your blood pressure monitor—do we even own one??” you calm him down he puts a bandaid on, kisses it, then dramatically falls onto the bed like the crisis aged him 10 years

max verstappen ── .✦

he walks in, sees it, and goes

“…that’s a lot of blood.” immediately takes control. cleans it, bandages it like a machine but the whole time: “this is why you let me shave your legs.” you’re like ??? “you get distracted. i’m steady.” he’s so smug. but he also tucks you into the couch after with a blanket and snacks like he didn’t just roast you

©p1girlfriend | requested | requests open!

[ssprayberrythings]

oscar piastri’s “partner”

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ pairing: oscar piastri x lando norris sister!reader

summary: you appear on the race broadcast and f1 mistakenly puts “oscar piastri’s partner” as your title even though the two of you have never spoken and youre lando’s younger sister

notes: i love making smau one shots so much and would love to take requests from you guys!!

୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ masterlist / social media au / fc: lexi jayde

liked by lando, alexandrasaintmleux and 263,198 others

y/nnorris shoutout to my brother for winning monaco and giving me a free paddock pass

view all comments

user6 imagine being so girlfriend coded that sky sports couldn’t even wait for confirmation

↳ y/nnorris confirmation of WHAT😭

↳ user93 the relationship that apparently only you don’t know about

user14 paddock pass this, paddock pass that. GIVE US A PIC WITH OSCAR BE SERIOUS

lando glad to know i’m just your paddock pass provider now

user23 not her pretending like she didn’t get introduced as OSCAR’S PARTNER on live TV

user67 "free paddock pass" no babe they put your full relationship status on the international broadcast

user19 the way she’s not just a drivers sister now but a whole wag too

↳ y/nnorris WHOSE wag??? be so serious rn

↳ user43 girl don’t play dumb we all saw the monaco broadcast

user89 the fact that you’re confused just confirms it. that’s exactly how all the lowkey couples act

↳ y/nnorris I AM NOT A LOWKEY COUPLE

↳ user10 yeah that’s what the last lowkey couple said too

y/nnorris just added to their close friends story!

liked by lando, oscarpiastri and 289,472 others

y/nnorris pls stop tagging me in “wags of the grid” edits sorry to disappoint but i’m just lando’s little sister

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user27 girl be so fr. you expect us to believe sky sports made a whole graphic for fun???

user4 she debunked the rumor but i somehow feel even more convinced

lando you had a boyfriend and didn’t tell me?? damn thought we were close

↳ y/nnorris YOU ARENT HELPING

user38 “just lando’s sister” okay but why did oscar like this post 17 seconds after it went up? be fr

user3 the fact that oscar liked the “we’re not dating” post is the exact behavior of a man IN LOVE

user32 girl you had us in the first half but now you’re following each other??

oscarpiastri sorry about the graphic btw… not sure how that happened

↳ y/nnorris nah it’s okay 😭 my mum was so excited and now i have to explain we’ve literally never spoken

↳ user27 “we’ve literally never spoken” and yet… here they are… speaking

user29 girl he commented. he FOLLOWED. he LIKED. sky sports knew before y’all did

user2 no but how have they never met before oscar and lando have been teammates for like 3 years???

y/nnorris just added to their close friends story!

liked by lando, oscarpiastri and 304,592 others

y/nnorris he ordered for me so now i have to marry him i guess

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user63 rue when was this??

user87 we went from “sky sports accidentally exposed them” to this?? i’m grieving

user93 this is so sick. sky sports gave us hope just for you to do this vague little boyfriend soft launch??? and you’re saying it’s NOT oscar????

↳ user5 she never said it wasnt oscar

↳ user35 nurse she’s out again

user73 we were rooting for you. we were all rooting for you.

user26 this post aged me 7 years and it’s only been up for 6 minutes

user48 idc if his face isn’t in it. that’s oscar. my heart told me.

lando hilarious post considering who took the second pic

↳ y/nnorris i’m going to unplug your sim rig

↳ user26 WHAT DO YOU KNOW LANDO

↳ lando 🤐

y/nnorris just added to their story!

liked by oscarpiastri, lando and 430,982 others

y/nnorris my love just won the spanish gp!!! congrats to my brother too ig

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user16 no bc oscar hugging you was already too much but this caption just buried us alive

user75 nah bc the fact you posted this with ZERO photos of lando is sending me

user41 okay but does anyone feel like this happened too quick

↳ y/nnorris babe i’ve had a crush on him since he joined mclaren so no it def didn’t happen to quick

↳ oscarpiastri i’m sorry WHAT i didn’t know that??

↳ y/nnorris u ever try flirting while your brother’s also in the hospitality suite??

↳ lando alrighty logging off forever

user73 can we talk about the fact that oscar LIKED THIS POST IN UNDER A MINUTE

user26 con😭grat😭ula😭tions😭

lando you’ve known me 22 years. oscar? like 3 months. betrayal.

↳ y/nnorris ok but who won today? that’s what i thought

oscarpiastri wait wait wait… you’ve liked me this whole time??

↳ y/nnorris yes bro. i was literally fighting for my life in silence while you talked to my brother about tire degradation.

liked by y/nnorris, lando and 987,924 others

oscarpiastri 25 points, a podium, and a photo that might be my favorite

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user26 “a photo that might be my favorite” YOU ARE NOT SLICK

user4 25 points for McLaren and -1000 points for my emotional stability

user15 we won. sky sports was RIGHT. the prophecy is fulfilled.

lando y’all are gross. blocked. reported. see you at dinner.

↳ y/nnorris don’t be mad ur teammates pulling more than you 😌

↳ oscarpiastri she said it not me

↳ lando i’m sitting between you at dinner. say goodbye to holding hands

↳ yourusername bold of u to assume we wait for dinner

↳ oscarpiastri bold of you to assume we just hold hands

↳ lando I’M CALLING MOM

user46 he said “my favorite photo” and it’s HER??? we lost him. it’s over.

user16 y’all called me delusional for connecting the dots but LOOK AT ME NOW

user72 WE DID IT JOE

[ssprayberrythings]

ੈ✩ drivers sending you pictures of bf! lando ੈ✩

warning : fluff, chaos

a/n : sooo, i saw this on tumblr AND A LOT OF OTHER PALCES, THIS IS NOT COPYING, I AM JUST INSPIRED TO MAKE MY OWN! phew, anyways enjoy watching!

·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･ ✩ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ

let me know if you want to be added or removed

permanent tg: @isotopemylove @chair-things @justaf1girl @bibblemiluvr @blushmimi @nikfigueiredo @amz824 @ivegotparticulartaste @raizelchrysanderoctavius @freyathehuntress @piastri-fvx @sadiemack9 @ilivbullyingjeongin @cherry-piee @luvleylisen @sweate-r-weathe-r @jxnellat @loveofmylife12 @budgetcupid @lilaissa @scorpiodiosa @wondergirl101ks @nichmeddar @hoeforlifee @urfavnoirette @lily-ann-b @okcurran @miniboast @teti-menchon0604 @motorsportloverf1 @formula1-motogpfan @capricornito @star73807-blog @isagrace22 @unstablefemme @lovestruck-sky @celiacallsitcausal

[ssprayberrythings]

The Missing Ring

Max Verstappen x reader

Summary: When you can't find your engagement ring on Monaco Grand Prix morning, you spend the entire race day desperately hiding your bare finger from cameras—but Formula 1 fans notice everything, and the internet explodes with breakup theories and conspiracy threads about your relationship with Max.

Warning: none

The morning sunlight poured into the Monaco apartment as you searched the nightstand, your heart starting to race. Your engagement ring—the beautiful diamond Max had chosen—was missing.

"No, no, no," you whispered, dropping to your hands and knees to look beneath the bed. The white gold band with its perfect solitaire diamond had been right there on the nightstand when you fell asleep. You always placed it in the same spot, a routine you had established to keep it safe.

But now it was gone.

You ripped through the bedroom like a whirlwind, checking every drawer and surface, even shaking out the bedsheets twice. Panic rose in your chest as your hands shook. How could you lose something so valuable? Max had proposed only six months ago, and the ring meant everything to you, not just for its worth but for what it signified.

Your phone buzzed, startling you. It was a text from Max's trainer reminding you that today was race day—the Monaco Grand Prix. In your panic, you had completely forgotten.

Your stomach sank. Race day meant cameras. Lots of cameras. Close-up shots, interviews, and public appearances. There was no way to hide a missing engagement ring from the sharp eyes of photographers and fans who noticed everything.

You rushed to the bathroom mirror and stared at your bare ring finger. It looked so wrong, so empty. Think, you told yourself. Maybe you could wear gloves? But it was May in Monaco—no one would believe you needed them. A bandage? Too obvious, and it would attract more attention.

Time was running out. You needed to get to the paddock soon to support Max, but every minute spent searching was another minute wasted. You rifled through the kitchen, checking every counter and drawer, even inside the refrigerator in case you had dropped it while getting water during the night.

Nothing.

Your phone rang—Max's contact photo appeared on the screen. You almost didn’t answer, scared that your voice would reveal your panic.

"Hey, liefje," his familiar Dutch accent said. "Ready for race day?"

"Of course," you managed, your voice a bit strained. "How are you feeling?"

"Confident. The car feels good. Can't wait to see you in the garage." There was a brief pause. "You sound tired. Everything okay?"

"Just… didn’t sleep well. Pre-race nerves, you know?"

Max chuckled. "You get more nervous than I do sometimes. I love you. See you soon?"

"Love you too," you whispered, ending the call before your voice could break.

You had to leave. There was no more time to search, or Max would worry if you were late. You would have to be extra careful to hide your left hand.

The paddock was buzzing with pre-race excitement. You had been to enough Grand Prix weekends to know the routine, but today felt different. Every step felt measured, every gesture planned. You kept your left hand in your pocket, behind your back, or held something to obscure your fingers.

"There she is!" a photographer called out, and you forced a smile while instinctively tucking your left hand behind your right arm.

In the Red Bull garage, you tried to act normal, but it was tiring. You found yourself sitting on your left hand or strategically placing drinks and programs to block the view. Every conversation felt like walking through a minefield.

"Let me get a photo of you and Max before he gets in the car," one of the team photographers requested.

Your heart raced as Max wrapped his arm around you. You pressed your left hand firmly against his back, hidden from view, praying the angle would work.

But you should have known that Formula 1 fans missed nothing.

Within two hours of the photos being posted, your phone was buzzing nonstop with notifications that you were too scared to check. Twitter was exploding, Instagram was in a frenzy, and the F1 community was in complete chaos.

Instagram

f1wags_official

Liked by Username1, Redbullfan, and 604K others

f1wags_official: 💔 Sending love to both Max and his (former?) fiancée during this difficult time. Whether they're together or not, we support them both individually. Sometimes love isn't enough... ❤️ #RespectTheirPrivacy #MaxVerstappen #F1Family

View all 8,427 comments

maxverstappen.updates: 📝 Remember when she missed the last two races? We should have seen the signs...

Username45: And the way he looked distracted during qualifying yesterday makes so much sense now. My heart is broken for both of them💔✨ #MaxVerstappen #F1Heartbreak

f1.memes.daily: 🚨 EVERYONE NEEDS TO STOP saying "Max is better off without her" or "she wasn't good enough for him" !!! She's been nothing but supportive and loving. If they broke up, it's nobody's fault. Relationships are complicated! #JusticeForMaxsFiancée #StopTheHate

f1.conspiracy.theories: 🕵️‍♀️ COMPILATION VIDEO: "All the signs we missed" - from their last Instagram post together (3 weeks ago) to today's Monaco footage. Set to dramatic music because we're all hurt 😭 Link in bio! #MaxVerstappen #F1Analysis #HeartBroken

max.verstappen.wife: ✨ MANIFESTATION CIRCLE ✨ He's single, I'm single, I speak Dutch (Google Translate), I love racing (Mario Kart), I'm moving to Monaco (in my dreams)... The universe is aligning 🙏💫 Who's with me? #ManifestingMax #Monaco #NewBeginnings

Username2: ME!!

paddock.gossip: 🍵 EXCLUSIVE: Heard from paddock insiders that she's been house hunting... in NEW YORK. Not Monaco. Not the Netherlands. Make of that what you will... Also, apparently, Christian Horner's wife was seen comforting Max after qualifying 👀 #PaddockTea #F1Insider

Username_redbull23: OMG...WHAT!!

f1.wedding.dreams: I literally have a 47-slide PowerPoint presentation of their wedding venue options, color schemes, and guest lists... I've been planning this wedding for MONTHS. What am I supposed to do with all this research now??? 😭📊💍 Should I delete everything or keep it for when he finds someone new? #WeddingPlanning #F1Wedding #TooInvested

Fiona_care: George Russel, what are you doing here??

receipts.and.f1.tea: 📱 RECEIPTS THREAD: Screenshots proving the timeline of their relationship decline. Swipe to see: 1️⃣ Last "I love you" comment on his posts (3 weeks ago) 2️⃣ Her deleting couple photos (2 weeks ago) 3️⃣ Separate arrivals at events (1 week ago) 4️⃣ Today: NO RING The evidence was there all along 🔍 #Receipts #F1Investigation

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at most of it, but the notifications kept coming. The race was torture. Max drove brilliantly and secured P2, but you could barely concentrate on his performance. Your phone kept lighting up with calls from friends and family. They were likely wondering why the internet claimed your engagement was over.

The chaos was increasing by the minute. More accounts were picking up the story and creating elaborate theories about what had gone wrong.

Twitter / X

The worst part was how quickly it spiraled. What began as fans noticing your missing ring turned into wild conspiracy theories, relationship experts writing articles about your supposed issues, and even people claiming to have inside info about your breakup.

When Max crossed the finish line in second place, you should have been thrilled. Instead, guilt washed over you. How could you explain this? How could you tell him you lost the ring he had picked out so carefully?

After the podium ceremony and media duties, Max finally returned to you in the garage, still buzzing with post-race excitement.

"Did you see the radio message when I crossed the line?" he asked, pulling you into a sweaty hug. "I said, 'that one's for my beautiful fiancée.' The whole world heard it."

Tears filled your eyes, and they weren't happy.

"Max, I—" you started, but he was already reaching into his bag.

"Oh, before I forget," he said casually, pulling out a small velvet box. "I have something for you."

Your breath caught. Inside the box lay your ring, sparkling more brilliantly than ever.

"I picked it up from cleaning this morning," Max explained, seemingly unaware of your shock. "I wanted it to be perfect and extra sparkly for our wedding photos. I was going to surprise you with it after the race, but…" He paused, frowning at his phone. "Why is everyone asking me if we broke up?"

You looked at him, then at the ring, then back at him. "You… you had it cleaned?"

"Yeah, I scheduled the appointment weeks ago. The jeweler said they'd make it look brand new." His frown deepened as he scrolled through his phone. "Seriously, what’s all this about a breakup? People are saying you weren't wearing your ring today and—"

He looked up to see tears streaming down your face.

"Oh," he said softly, realization hitting him. "You thought you lost it."

You nodded, unable to say a word.

Max quickly wrapped you in his arms, holding you tightly against his race suit. "I'm so sorry. I should have told you I was taking it. I wanted it to be a surprise, but I never thought… God, you must have panicked all day."

"I tore the apartment apart," you managed through your tears. "I was so scared to tell you. Then all the cameras today, people noticed, and—"

"Hey, hey," Max said gently, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. "It's okay. It's just a ring."

"It's not just a ring," you protested. "It's our ring. It's—"

"It's a symbol," Max finished, sliding the ring back onto your finger where it belonged. "But the symbol isn't what makes us engaged. We do. This ring could disappear tomorrow, and I'd still be just as committed to marrying you."

You looked down at your hand, whole again, the diamond catching the garage lights and casting tiny rainbows across the wall.

"Though I have to say," Max added with a grin, showing you his phone, "the internet detectives work fast. Look at this chaos."

You finally glanced at your own phone and saw the full extent of the madness:

Instagram

broken.f1.hearts: 💔 To everyone crying in the comments: we've been through this before with other drivers. Remember when we thought Lewis and Nicole were endgame? When we shipped Seb with Hanna? F1 relationships are tough. Racing comes first, always. But it still hurts... 😢 Group hug? #F1Heartbreak #WeveBeenHereBefore

Rebull.is.life: It still hurts😭 Finethings: My favorite couple...GONE

"This is crazy," you said, scrolling through more posts. "Someone created a whole body language analysis of our photos from today. They say you were 'distant and cold' at the podium ceremony because you stood 15 centimeters further away than usual."

Max burst out laughing. "I was really thinking about tire strategy for the last ten laps." He showed you another post. "And look at this one; they say I'm 'emotionally unavailable due to my racing career' and that’s why we broke up."

"My personal favorite," you said, finding the wedding planning post, "is this person who made a 47-slide PowerPoint about our wedding. Now they don't know whether to delete it or keep it for your next relationship."

"The fans who defend you are sweet, though," Max said, pulling up more comments. "Look - 'She's been nothing but supportive!' 'Don't blame her for F1's demanding schedule!' They really care about us."

Despite everything, you felt a warmth in your chest. "They do, don't they? Even the ones who are upset - they're upset because they thought we were perfect together."

Max nodded and wrapped his arms around you again. "You know what? Let's put them out of their misery." He held up his phone. "Ready to break the internet again?"

You held up your left hand, the ring sparkling under the garage lights as Max took a photo.

maxverstappen1

Liked by Yourusername, F1gossip, and 3.5M others

maxverstappen1: Surprise! Had this beauty cleaned for my gorgeous fiancée 💍✨ Sorry for the panic, internet - we're still very much engaged and very much in love. Thanks for caring about us so much ❤️ P.S. - whoever made that 47-slide wedding PowerPoint, we might need to see that 😂 #StillEngaged #CleanRingNewSparkle #InternetDetectives

View all 11,976 comments

f1wags_official: OH MY GOD WE'RE SO SORRY 😭😭😭 BUT ALSO SO HAPPY!!!

recipes.and.f1.tea: Deleting my entire thread now... this is why we don't jump to conclusions 🤡

f1.wedding.dreams: SENDING YOU THE POWERPOINT RIGHT NOW!!

maxverstappen.updates: NEVER BEEN HAPPIER TO BE WRONG

broken.f1.hearts: GROUP HUG EVERYONE WE'RE CRYING HAPPY TEARS NOW 😭❤️

"Well," Max said as he saw the comments come in, "I think we just gave them the best plot twist of the season."

You laughed and glanced at your ring one more time before settling into Max's arms. "Next time you want to surprise me with jewelry cleaning, maybe leave a note?"

"Deal," Max grinned, kissing your forehead. "But I have to say, watching the internet go crazy over us was pretty fun. They really do love us."

"They really do," you said, finally able to smile as notification after notification poured in with relieved fans celebrating that their favorite couple was still together. "Almost as much as I love you."

"Almost," Max agreed, spinning you around the garage as mechanics and team members started to figure out what all the excitement was about. "But not quite."