#︵‿୨୧‿︵‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿︵‿୨୧‿︵

[yuyuyukiii]

You and Me Got a Whole Lot of History ⛐

Masterlist

Summary: Theirs was the kind of love that thrived away from the spotlight, quiet, unshakable, and theirs alone. They built a world together where every glance felt like home. But how can a love so perfect end with them only co-parenting roscoe?

Pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Fem!Reader

Contains: A private, unshakable love, a chaotic Formula 1 career, shared dreams and victories, a beloved dog who knows more than he should, quiet heartbreak, the strain of time and distance, unspoken emotions, co-parenting, and a love that survives in memories and small everyday moments.

Author’s Note 🏎️:

This story is a journey through love, laughter, heartbreak, and everything in between. Buckle up for a roller coaster of emotions and prepare for moments that may make your heart soar and others that may leave it aching.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Their love was the kind people quietly admired, though almost no one knew it existed. It was built on understanding, on honesty, and on the quiet certainty that no matter what happened, they would always find their way back to each other. Only a very few people, like their parents, knew the truth. Long before the world knew their names, before the cameras followed their every move, Lewis and Y/N had already written the first chapters of their story in private, away from the noise.

How exactly did their story begin? It was not with grand gestures or fate written in the stars, but with two teenagers chasing dreams that felt impossibly far away.

April of 2004.

The air carried the buzz of engines and the low murmur of voices, the kind of atmosphere that both excites and terrifies. Lewis was nineteen, a rookie in the Formula 3 Euro Series, stepping into a world that felt so much bigger than him. He walked through the paddock with his helmet in hand, his heart pounding against his ribs. Every step brought another voice.

"You can do it, Lewis." "Bring home P1 for us." "Show them what you’re made of."

He gave polite nods and small smiles, but each word weighed on him more than the last. The pressure curled in his chest. He wanted to make them proud, but the thought of failing them was worse than any physical pain.

Somewhere else in the bustling paddock, Y/N lingered in the corner, clutching her notepad like a lifeline. She had just started her internship, the first step toward her dream of becoming a sports reporter. Not Formula 1, not yet, but close enough to taste the fuel in the air and feel the ground pulse beneath her feet. She thrived on the chaos of motorsport, the roar of engines, the unpredictability, the way every second counted. She wanted to be the voice that made races come alive, the one who uncovered the stories behind the speed.

But right now, she was just a nervous teenager in a borrowed team jacket, unsure of who she could talk to. Crew members and drivers rushed past her, deep in their own conversations. She hesitated to approach anyone, afraid she might interrupt something important or get told off for being in the way.

Two people. Two different kinds of nerves. Neither knowing that this day was the start of everything.

Y/N was still rooted in her corner when her mentor finally noticed her.

"Y/N, what are you still doing standing there?" he asked, brows knitting together.

She bit her lip. "I’m… nervous. What if they get annoyed at me?"

He sighed, half amused and half exasperated. "Just do it. Look at CJ." He pointed across the paddock where another intern was confidently speaking to a driver, microphone in hand. "See? He’s interviewing drivers and no one’s yelling at him."

Y/N followed his finger and swallowed hard. "Right. Okay… I’ve got this."

She stepped out from her hidden corner and scanned the bustling paddock. Her fingers brushed over the small notebook she carried, flipping to the page where she’d written the names of the drivers competing that day. April 2004. Formula 3 Euro Series. Hockenheim. She murmured a name under her breath, then looked around for them.

"Busy with his engineer… nope." She tried another. "Already swarmed by journalists." One after another, each possibility fell through. By the time she reached the last name on her list, her energy was thinning.

"Lewis Hamilton," she read, eyes catching on the note she’d scribbled beside it. “Debut race.” She lifted her gaze, scanning the crowd until…there. Standing near the edge of the pit lane, helmet in hand, a young man shifted on his feet, looking like he was carrying the weight of a thousand expectations.

"Bingo," she murmured to herself.

She approached slowly, rehearsing her words in her head. Lewis didn’t notice her until she began to speak.

"Hey, Lewis, may I interview you for your first race-"

"I’m gonna pass," he cut in without looking up. "I’ve already heard enough about my first race. I don’t need more ‘you’re gonna do great’ or ‘secure a podium’ comments."

Y/N blinked. "Actually… I do think you’re going to do good. Just… not today."

His head snapped up. For a second, he forgot to breathe. There was something about her that stole the air from his lungs. Her eyes were bright, her expression open, sunlight catching in her hair as if it had been painted there. She was unlike anyone he had spoken to all day.

"Uh… well, that’s a first," he said, shaking off the spell and trying to focus on her words.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she realised what she’d just said. "Oh my god, that came out wrong. I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean it like that-"

A quiet laugh slipped from Lewis, not the full kind that came with victory but the small, genuine one that escaped before you could stop it. "No, it’s fine. Actually, I needed that. Ever since I got here, all I’ve heard is how I’m going to do well or get a podium. As much as I want that… I’ve had this feeling that it won’t be today. So hearing you say the same thing…" He let the thought trail off.

Y/N smiled a little, relief loosening her shoulders. "I thought you were going to be mad. Anyway, I’m Y/N. And I know exactly what you’re going through."

He raised a curious brow. "Do you now?"

She nodded. "This is my first day as an intern. My dream is to become one of the best sports reporter and eventually make it to Formula 1. It’s still far away, but ever since I got this internship all I’ve heard from my family and friends is ‘our future F1 reporter.’ And while I appreciate the positivity… it’s terrifying. What if I fail? Everyone’s already decided my future before I’ve even taken the first step."

Lewis listened quietly, his gaze steady in a way that made her nerves fade.

"Sorry for the life story no one asked for," she said with a sheepish laugh.

"No worries," he replied, the corners of his mouth lifting. "It’s refreshing, hearing I’m not the only one who feels that way. So… since you think I won’t do well today, when do you think I will be good?"

Y/N laughed. "Sorry, I’m not a witch. I just… feel like today isn’t it."

"Fair enough," he said, and for the first time all day, some of the tension in his shoulders eased.

Before Y/N could reply to his last question, someone from the team called out. "Lewis! Time to get ready!"

He gave her a quick smile. "Well, I better go."

"Good luck," she said, stepping back as he turned toward the garage.

It turned out, she was right.

When the race ended, Lewis crossed the line in P11. Not the debut anyone had hyped him for. As he climbed out of the car, pats on the back and voices met him from every direction.

"You did good for a debut, kid." "You’ll get them next time." "Still a solid start."

He nodded, offering polite thanks. By all accounts, he should have felt crushed, like he’d let them down. But he didn’t. Instead, there was a strange calm inside him. Y/N’s voice echoed in his head, that single sentence making him feel less like a disappointment and more… understood.

As he made his way toward the changing area, a cold drink suddenly appeared in front of him. He followed the hand holding it, and there she was.

"I know you need one," Y/N said, her lips curving into a grin.

Lewis laughed, taking it from her. "Did you buy this right after I left, already knowing the result?"

"Obviously," she teased. "Though, I’m still not a witch."

They both laughed, slipping easily into conversation.

If this were a film, the camera would have slowly pulled back at that moment, leaving the two of them framed in the busy paddock while their laughter faded into the hum of the track. That day a new friendship was formed, one that would quietly take root and grow deeper with every race that followed.

After that, it became a tradition. Before every race, Lewis would seek her out. "Is it today?" "Is today my lucky day?"

Sometimes he would only get a smile before she shook her head. "Not today, Hamilton."

Then came May 2004.

Before he even had the chance to ask, Y/N was already there, holding something in her hand.

"A good luck bracelet," she said. "I have a feeling it’s going to work."

Lewis raised a brow. "Wow, am I that hopeless that you’ve resorted to voodoo?"

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. "No. I made this back when we first met, but I don’t know… it just felt like I needed to give it to you now. It’s for our journey. Look-" She lifted her wrist to show a matching bracelet. "Yours has your initials. Mine has mine."

Before he could answer, someone called his name again, telling him to get ready. He glanced down at the bracelet once more and smiled. "Guess I better go earn this then."

She wished him good luck, and this time, her feeling was right again.

The race was tense, and when it ended, Lewis sat in his car for a moment, stunned. "Did I… did I… oh my god. P3," he muttered to himself, almost in disbelief. His eyes fell to the bracelet on his wrist, and a soft smile spread across his face.

He was swept up in congratulations, photographers, and handshakes, but once the noise settled, he began looking for her. Spotting her in the distance, he grabbed a drink and walked over.

She was busy writing something down, completely unaware until a hand appeared in front of her offering the bottle.

Following it up, she saw him. Sweaty, still slightly breathless, but smiling.

"You deserve this," he said. "You know, for using voodoo."

She took the drink with a laugh. "I need you to stop using that joke. People might hear you and actually believe it. Especially since calling a woman a witch was something people really believed in back then."

He grinned, unbothered. "Fine. No more voodoo jokes. But I’m keeping the bracelet."

Over the months and years, their conversations became a constant thread through the noise of the paddock. Between races, on long travel days, in moments stolen between interviews and debriefs, they talked. About racing, about dreams, about fears they shared with no one else. It didn’t matter how chaotic the weekend was. If Lewis had something to celebrate or something to shake off, Y/N was always the first person he sought out.

•••

Fast forward to 2006. GP2 Series. Nürburgring weekend.

The track glistened under the pale afternoon sun. When the checkered flag waved, Lewis crossed the line first. P1. The crowd roared, his team erupted, and he was swept up in a tide of hands lifting him high. Laughter spilled from him, pure and unfiltered, as the celebration carried on around him.

Yet even in the middle of all that noise, his eyes searched.

He found her not in the crowd, but in a quiet corner of the paddock, sitting on the low wall with her legs crossed, head tilted slightly as she watched the sunset stain the sky gold.

Lewis slipped away from the chaos and lowered himself beside her.

"Shouldn’t you be over there?" Y/N asked, nodding toward the distant crowd still chanting his name. "You’re the main event after all."

He smiled, his voice low. "They can survive without me. I can’t survive without you."

Something in her chest tightened at the way he said it, so simply and without hesitation. She let out a soft laugh, looking down at her hands.

Lewis watched her for a moment, then exhaled. "You know… ever since I met you, everything has been better. Not just in racing. Life feels… lighter."

"You’ve just matured," she teased gently. "You worked hard and got better at things."

He shook his head. "No, it’s not just that. You’ve been my anchor when I didn’t even realise I was drifting. You’ve been the one person who saw me without the pressure, without the noise. And I-" He stopped, running a hand over the back of his neck. "I think I’ve been in love with you for a while now. Actually… no. I know I have."

Y/N’s lips parted, her breath catching. She didn’t answer right away, and he rushed on, words tumbling out.

"I’m not saying this to complicate things, I just-"

She cut him off with a kiss. Soft. Certain.

When they pulled back, their foreheads rested together, breaths mingling in the cool air. Her voice was barely above a whisper. "I love you too."

They looked at each other, the quiet between them warm and full. Then, as if drawn by something they couldn’t name, they leaned in again. The second kiss was slower, deeper, as if sealing something unspoken between them.

That night, they became official. Not with grand announcements, but in the way they looked at each other and knew.

They also agreed on one thing. They would keep it private. Their careers were only just beginning, and Lewis, more than anyone, wanted to protect her. He had seen how women in motorsport were often dismissed, underestimated, or whispered about as if their achievements were owed to someone else. Y/N had no space in her life for anyone to belittle her or suggest she had taken shortcuts.

So they kept their love tucked safely between them. No one else needed to see it for it to be real. And in that privacy, they found a peace the rest of the world could not touch.

•••

Through the years, they built a rhythm without ever needing to say it out loud.

Before races, there would be the smallest glance between them, just long enough to steady each other and just short enough for no one else to notice. After races, in the rush of mechanics and cameras, Y/N would catch his eye from across the pit wall and mouth, Good job. Lewis always found himself smiling, no matter the result.

They went through every high and every low together. Nights spent celebrating, nights spent comforting. Airports at dawn, hotel rooms at midnight. Their love did not just survive the chaos, it thrived in it.

And with that love steady beneath their feet, they began to climb higher.

One night, they were sprawled on the couch watching a film when Lewis’s phone rang. He answered, pacing to the kitchen. The call was brief, but when he came back, his face was unreadable.

Y/N sat up. "What’s wrong, Lu?"

His heart gave a sharp kick at the nickname. He looked at her for a moment before his lips curved into something between disbelief and joy. "I… I’m in Formula 1."

"What was that, my love?" she asked, leaning forward.

This time he said it louder, unable to hold it in. "I got it, Y/N. I’m in Formula 1!"

It took her two seconds before she leapt up, throwing her arms around him. “Lewis Hamilton, you are going to be unstoppable! Oh my god, my boyfriend is going to be on the F1 grid!”

A few months later, it was her turn. Lewis walked into their flat holding an envelope, his grin wide. “Guess who officially starts interviewing in Formula 1?”

Her eyes widened. "No way."

He handed her the letter and she scanned it, laughing in disbelief. "I get to interview you now."

He smirked. "I’ll try to be professional when it’s you asking the questions."

"Please do," she teased.

His debut with McLaren came in 2007. Against all odds, he finished P3. The media swarmed him, and among the crowd was Y/N, microphone in hand.

"Your debut race in Formula 1 and you’re already on the podium," she said, voice steady despite the rush of excitement in her chest. "How did you do it?"

Lewis glanced at her, the chaos of the paddock blurring into the background. "I’m still not sure," he said slowly. "But I know I got here because of the people who believed in me and never stopped supporting me."

The look he gave her made the meaning clear. Y/N’s lips curved just slightly before she continued. "Well, that’s all for today. Thank you for your time, Lewis."

"Anytime, love," he said quietly, low enough for only her to hear.

That night, curled up in his hotel room, she laughed against his shoulder. "You need to learn to be subtle, Lu."

"Hard to be subtle when you’re staring at me with those eyes," he murmured.

Later that year, Lewis won his first championship. Champagne sprayed into the air, his team surrounded him, and interviews came one after another. At one point, as a reporter asked him a question, his gaze drifted to the other side of the paddock. Y/N was there, speaking to his team principal, her expression proud and soft. The noise faded for a heartbeat, and all he could think about was her.

Their days together never felt repetitive. Every morning was new, every evening felt like a fresh beginning. It was as if they were always falling in love for the first time.

As another chapter began, with Lewis moving to Mercedes and Y/N thriving in her career, they decided their little world needed one more member.

One night, they were curled on the sofa scrolling through an online bulldog rescue page.

"How about this little guy?" Y/N asked, turning the laptop to show him.

Lewis studied the photo and shook his head. "I don’t feel a connection."

She smirked. "Are you looking for a partner to replace me with?"

He chuckled. "Not a chance."

Then she stopped scrolling. "This. He’s the one."

Lewis leaned in, his smile growing. "Yeah… he is. Meet Roscoe."

Y/N grinned, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "He’s perfect."

Lewis didn’t take his eyes off the screen. "Yeah, he is."

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Roscoe’s first day in their shared apartment was nothing like the videos they’d seen of rescued dogs instantly warming up to their new homes.

He stayed in the corner, watching them as if deciding whether he had just been adopted… or kidnapped. Lewis crouched on the floor, coaxing him with treats and soft words. Y/N sat cross-legged nearby, pretending not to notice that Roscoe’s eyes followed her every move.

By the end of the night, it was Y/N who finally got him to leave his corner, bribing him with leftover roast chicken. Lewis stood there, mock-offended.

“So that’s how it’s gonna be?” he asked, hands on his hips.

From that day on, Roscoe’s favorite human was very clear. If Y/N was in the room, Lewis became invisible. During movie nights, Roscoe always wedged himself between them, pressing so close to Y/N that Lewis ended up half-hanging off the couch.

“You do realize he’s my dog?” Lewis would grumble.

“Funny,” Y/N replied, scratching behind Roscoe’s ears. “He seems to think otherwise.”

The favoritism became a running joke… until one race weekend when Lewis couldn’t find him.

It was post-race chaos, with mechanics packing up and reporters swarming, and Lewis paced the paddock like a man who had just misplaced a championship trophy. “Where is he?” he demanded, scanning every corner.

A team member finally appeared, grinning. “Found him, Lewis.”

Lewis followed, heart pounding, only to discover Roscoe sprawled on Y/N’s feet while she interviewed Nico Rosberg. The dog was completely relaxed, head resting on her shoe as if the two were in the middle of a lazy Sunday, not a bustling Formula 1 paddock.

Lewis, trying to avoid the cameras, crouched low beside Roscoe. “Come on, buddy, let’s go,” he whispered.

Roscoe lifted his head, gave Lewis a long, bored look… and then put it right back down on Y/N’s foot.

Y/N felt the shift of weight and glanced down, spotting both Roscoe and Lewis crouched beside her. “What are you two doing?” she asked, her voice halfway between amused and baffled.

“Uh… sorry for bothering. Just… trying to get this big baby out of here,” Lewis muttered.

Nico raised an eyebrow. “You’re not bothering. But now I feel like Y/N should interview Roscoe too.”

The three of them laughed, but the camera kept rolling. Even as Y/N and Nico resumed talking, Lewis stayed put, sitting beside Roscoe like the dog’s official chaperone. Both of them stared up at Y/N and Nico, looking uncannily alike, one with soulful brown eyes and the other with equally soulful brown eyes and a baseball cap.

The clip went viral within hours. Fans flooded social media with side-by-side comparisons, claiming Lewis and Roscoe had the same expressions. Others started wondering why the bulldog seemed so comfortable with Y/N, like they shared some secret history.

When Lewis was asked about it in an interview, he chuckled. “I don’t know. Roscoe’s good at reading people. Maybe he just… felt something about her.”

Nico, sitting beside him, smirked. “Surely that is because I was there.”

And so life went on, full of quiet glances, inside jokes, and the steady rhythm of a love that had only grown stronger over the years. Their relationship was more than just passion. It was trust. It was comfort. It was the knowledge that no matter how loud the world became, they could always find silence in each other.

So you’re probably wondering… how does something so perfect, so filled with love and trust, start to fall apart?

•••

By the 2016 season, the first cracks began to show,

Subtle at first, almost invisible to anyone who was even aware of their relationship. There was no betrayal, no sudden blowout. Just time. Time that had once been their greatest ally became the quiet enemy working against them.

Lewis was locked in a relentless championship fight with Nico. Every race felt like a battlefield, every point a weapon, and the pressure began to weigh on him. Their friendship strained under the standings, and Lewis threw himself into training with an intensity that left little room for anything else.

Y/N’s own world was spinning just as fast. She had been given a massive project that demanded long hours and constant travel. The kind of opportunity she couldn’t turn down, but one that kept her tied to her laptop, even at home.

Soon, their shared apartment stopped feeling like home. It became a place where two strangers happened to live, passing each other in the hallway like guests who had overstayed their welcome. Even Roscoe seemed to notice the change.

One night, Y/N was sitting at the dining table, papers spread out in front of her, eyes fixed on her work. The sound of keys jingling made Roscoe’s ears perk up. He trotted to the door, tail wagging furiously. When Lewis stepped inside, still smelling faintly of sweat and the gym, Roscoe’s whole body wiggled with excitement. But Lewis barely glanced down as he passed, heading straight to the bedroom without a word.

Roscoe’s tail slowed, then drooped. He padded back into the living room, sitting at Y/N’s feet and tilting his head up at her, letting out a soft whine. Without looking away from her screen, she reached for his favorite stuffed toy and placed it beside him.

He took it, but didn’t play. Instead, he carried it into his bed and curled up, the toy pressed under his chin.

The silence in the room was so thick it felt heavy.

Once, that apartment had been filled with laughter and music and the sound of Roscoe’s paws skidding across the floor. Now, it was just quiet. Quiet, and the slow drift of two people who still loved each other, but couldn’t seem to find the time to show it.

•••

May 2016.

The day everything broke.

The Spanish Grand Prix was supposed to be just another battle, another chance for Lewis to prove himself. Instead, it became the moment when two drivers who had once been like brothers collided on the very first lap. Carbon fiber flew everywhere, both cars skidding into the gravel. Two DNFs. A complete disaster for Mercedes.

The yelling started before either of them had even left the paddock. Team bosses, engineers, and press all seemed to have something to say. Lewis barely heard any of it. His chest felt tight, his pulse still sharp with adrenaline and frustration.

When he finally broke away, he went looking for the one person who could settle him. He spotted Y/N a few garages down, her back turned to him. She was talking to Nico.

“It’s not your fault,” she was saying, her voice low but steady. “You’ll get it next time. Don’t let this eat at you.”

Lewis froze, just out of sight. He had been hoping for her voice to be soft for him, not for Nico.

“I know how hard you’ve been working,” she continued. “And I know today sucked, but you’ve come back from worse.”

That was enough. Lewis turned away, walking before he could hear anything else.

Later that evening, in their shared apartment, the smell of rain clung to the open windows. Y/N was on the floor with Roscoe, tossing his toy back and forth. The dog’s tail thumped happily against the rug. Finally, some joy in the house again.

When Lewis walked in, keys jingling, Y/N’s head lifted.

“I’m sorry about the race,” she said gently. “You did your best-”

“Sorry for making your boyfriend DNF,” Lewis cut in, his tone sharp enough to slice through the air.

She blinked. “What?”

“Well, since it’s not Nico’s fault, it’s obviously mine. So, I’m sorry.”

Roscoe, sensing the shift, paused mid-play and looked up at them.

Y/N stood. “Lewis, you cannot be serious right now. I only said that because he was already feeling down. I was going to interview him, I wanted to cheer him up. Did you expect me to tell him the opposite?”

“Maybe I expected you not to take his side.”

“This isn’t about sides,” she snapped. “It was a bad race, and I was trying to be professional. That’s it.”

“That’s it?” he echoed, his voice tightening. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to hear you say that to him and not to me?”

Roscoe’s gaze bounced between them. He let out a small whine, but neither of them looked his way.

Y/N’s shoulders dropped. “Is the race really the reason we’re fighting?”

Lewis hesitated, then sighed. “I don’t know.”

Silence settled in, thick and heavy.

“Is this the end?” she asked quietly.

His head snapped up, startled. “No. Why would you even think that? This is just… a fight. We’ll get past it.”

She shook her head. “It’s not just a fight, Lewis. This is the first proper conversation we’ve had in weeks. And it’s about a race. Not us. Not how we’ve been. Just… the race.”

Her voice trembled, but she forced it steady. “I think I’m going to stay at F/N’s tonight. I’ll come back tomorrow and start getting my things.”

Lewis’ head snapped up at that. “Your things?”

Y/N swallowed hard. “Yeah… I think… we both know what this is, Lewis.”

He took a step toward her, panic flickering in his eyes. “No, no, we’re just… we’re tired. We’ve been fighting more. That doesn’t mean-”

“It’s not just fighting,” she whispered. “It’s the fact that this, us, it doesn’t feel like home anymore. I come back here and it’s just walls. You’re somewhere else, I’m somewhere else. Even when we’re in the same room, we’re not really here.”

Lewis’ mouth opened like he wanted to argue, but nothing came out.

She tried to smile, but it was the kind that hurt to look at. “You know I love you. That hasn’t changed. But maybe loving each other isn’t enough right now.”

Roscoe had gone quiet, head resting on his paws as if he knew what was happening.

Lewis’ voice cracked. “So… that’s it?”

Y/N hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah. I think it is.”

They stood there for a few long seconds, neither moving, just staring at each other like if they looked hard enough they might find the version of them from years ago. But it was gone.

She picked up her bag, gave Roscoe one last scratch behind the ears, and walked to the door. She didn’t look back.

The sound of the latch clicking shut was deafening.

Lewis stayed where he was, staring at the empty space she’d left behind, until his knees finally gave out and he sank to the floor beside Roscoe. He stroked the dog’s head gently, his voice low. “It’s just us now, huh, buddy?”

Roscoe nudged his hand, and Lewis gave a broken little laugh that didn’t reach his eyes. “I’m sorry, buddy. I didn’t just lose the love of my life… I lost your favorite human too.” He let out a soft laugh that caught in his throat.

“Well… our favorite human.”

Roscoe rested his head on Lewis’s knee, and for the first time that day, Lewis let himself break.

Ten years of love, laughter, and shared dreams slipped away, leaving only the silence that confirmed it was truly over.

End of C1.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Note 🏎️:

This story is entirely fictional. While it features characters inspired by real-life figures, the events, relationships, and emotions portrayed are imagined and separate from reality. Any resemblance to actual people or occurrences is purely coincidental. This story was written to explore a private, heartfelt love and the journey of its characters, and is meant to be enjoyed as a work of fiction.

[slipng]

natural crystals rocks ۫ ꣑ৎ

[aobacafe]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀♡ ❤︎ 𝅗𝅥 ❤︎ ♡ ⠀͏͏͏͏ cute α͟s α button。✞ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏

͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏🎀⠀͏͏͏͏𝄞⠀͏͏͏͏🎹⠀͏͏͏͏チョコレート人形。 ✄

͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏͏ ͏ ͏ ͏ ⋆ ✧⠀❤︎⠀el dulzor de tu mirada。🦷

⠀⠀⠀

[muruffin]

｡˚ ୨ ◌🎀 Little Fragile Soul ୭𓇼ৎ ˚｡

[espressoz]

　 ˚ 　◌⃝ . ˚ ℋeartbeat ₊　　.

　➳　div by @florietas　˚ . ⁺

[theruhadesign]

VINTAGE LOVE SET 80+ STICKERS & JOURNAL COVERS

limited stock! ۫ ꣑ৎ

[iibueshi]

❝⠀oh , I love you in the worst way !⠀❞　⠀‎| ͜͝ |༏ྀ

‎( ྀི̫ ݄݊ ✚⠀⠀ei　waguri　⠀ou　⠀hirmu 　⠀,

nb　⠀transneu　⠀he　⠀viel　⠀maiden　⠀︶𓏴𓏴

⠀⠀།†︶⠀⠀⠀jellyfish⠀+⠀succudeity⠀otherkin⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂃 ׄ͜ ♡　𓎢𓎡 ༝ེ༵

　 ̣̣♡֯݁˳⠀⠀yumejin⠀editor⠀shifter ⠀pantheist⠀omnist⠀!

⠀⠀⠀rentry⠀wip⠀...⠀⠀⠀⠀◟ ͜͝ 𓊆ྀི۫ ̣̣̥𓎢𓎟𓎡 ༷𓊇ྀི ᣟ݂

𓈒݂݂𓏴𓏴฀࣪𓂅⠀⠀this⠀is⠀mai⠀personal⠀blog⠀,,⠀primarily⠀about⠀⠀loa⠀and⠀shifting⠀.⠀will⠀occasionally⠀provide⠀rentry⠀graphics⠀,⠀layouts⠀,⠀ect.⠀reqs⠀open⠀for⠀oomfies⠀&⠀friends⠀,

[chuchumagica]

[ashenwraithlow]

 “Had to practice”

Simon “Ghost” Riley x You

Domestic!Simon | Soft!Simon | Hair braiding tenderness

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

You’re halfway through rushing out the door when you realize your hair’s a mess.

One hand scrapes it into a ponytail, but strands keep slipping out – the back of your neck hot and bothered from the unevenness, the flyaways. It’s been a long morning. You're tired. And if one more thing goes wrong–

“Come here.”

Simon’s voice is calm. Low. One that cuts through the chaos with unexpected gentleness.

You blink. “What?”

He’s standing in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes narrowed – not with irritation, but… focus.

“You’re stressin’ yourself over that,” he murmurs, nodding toward the tangled strands at your neck. “Let me.”

You hesitate. You’ve seen those hands break down rifles in seconds. Pull triggers without tremble. Touch only with purpose.

You’ve never seen them… do hair.

But something in his posture – his eager eyes – the way he’s already ready and waiting – makes you turn around without a word. Sit at the edge of the bed.

He steps behind you. His fingers brush your nape.

They pause. He mutters: “Tell me if I’m pullin’, yeah?”

You nod.

And then he starts.

His fingers thread through your hair, slow and surprisingly gentle. He’s learning as he goes. No rush, no shame, just pure concentration. You hear his breath steady, feel the subtle tension in his shoulders.

“…Didn’t expect you to be good at this,” you tease softly.

He snorts. “Wasn’t. Had to practice.”

You frown. “Practice?”

A pause.

Then, quietly:

“Watched videos. While you were gone last week. Thought maybe you’d let me try one day.”

Your chest squeezes. You bite your lip, not to cry, but just to contain it.

He finishes, palms smoothing down the braid, and leans close – nose grazing just behind your ear.

“All done,” he murmurs. “Looks good on you.”

You twist to look at him. “Really?”

He hums. Doesn’t back away.

“Softest thing I’ve touched in months.”

You smile. Kiss him before you can stop yourself.

And he kisses back like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Fingers still curled at the nape of your neck, holding not just your hair, but every piece of you.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

[banhxeoxucxich]

my beautiful baby ren…

╭──────────.★..─╮

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊

┊ ┊⋆ ┊ .

┊ ┊ ⋆˚         

✧. ┊         

⋆ ★

i am dying for him lmao

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

thanks a lot to @vmizery on x for cooking this!! | commissioned by me ✨

[meleeyz]

୭ 𝗜𝗡 𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗬 𝗨𝗡𝗜𝗩𝗘𝗥𝗦𝗘 ˚. ᵎᵎ 

ekko 𝒙 fem!reader

୨୧ English is not my first language, so I regret in advance if something reads weird or is misspelled.

୨୧ I love that you love dad!Ekko as much as I do, I have like three or four drafts on this and I'm not going to stop now.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

The Firelights hideout was never quiet, not truly. Even at night, the creak of wood, the faint buzz of firefly, and the occasional murmur of voices filtered through the air. Yet tonight, the sounds grated on you more than usual. You sat alone in the main room, slumped in a chair, your legs stretched out, and your head resting against the backrest. Your body was still, but your mind raced.

The meeting earlier had drained you. Every face in the crowd, every raised voice, every plea, every challenge—they were all into your memory. There were no easy answers when it came to survival. Staying in the hideout offered safety, but at what cost? Heading into battle was madness, and yet you had found yourself standing at the front of the room, advocating for just that.

Jayce Talis had begged.

The thought still lingered, making your stomach churn. The golden man of Piltover, the symbol of everything Zaun despised, had been desperate enough to cross the divide and plead for help. It was absurd. It was dangerous. And it was necessary.

You looked over at Wyeth’s crib, just a few feet away. He was still awake, his tiny fingers caressing the mobile Ekko had built for him. Little Firelight models swayed lazily above it, glowing faintly in the dimly lit room. His giggles broke the heavy silence from time to time, a sound that filled you with warmth.

You sighed, dragging a hand down your face. You were exhausted, but sleep felt like a luxury you couldn’t afford. For your people. For your baby. For the memory of the man you loved.

Ekko.

The name still made your chest ache. Some nights, you let yourself believe he’d be back, that he’d walk through the door like nothing had happened, his grin as bright as ever. Other nights, you couldn’t even say his name. Not out loud. It hurt too much.

A sudden commotion outside jolted you upright. Voices—louder than usual—echoed through the hideout. The door slammed open, and Roux burst in, her curls wild and her chest heaving as if she’d run the whole way.

You shot her a sharp look, raising a hand to signal for quiet, but Wyeth didn’t so much as flinch. He was still captivated by the spinning fireflies above him, his tiny hand outstretched.

“Roux,” you said, your voice low and steady despite the tension knotting your muscles. “What’s going on?”

For a moment, she didn’t answer. She stood frozen, her dark eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and relief. And then, she smiled—a wide, genuine smile that lit up her whole face.

She didn’t say a word, just nodded at you, her expression speaking volumes.

Your heart lurched in your chest. No, it couldn’t be—

You shot to your feet, crossing the room in three strides to scoop Wyeth into your arms. He let out a surprised coo, his hands grabbing at the edge of your shirt. You didn’t have time to comfort him, your feet already moving toward the stairs.

The shelter was alive with movement. Firelights crowded the central area, their voices a buzzing cacophony. They were clustered together, their faces turned toward the center where a figure stood, just barely visible through the sea of bodies.

You pushed your way forward, your grip on Wyeth tightening with each step. Your breath came faster, your pulse pounding in your ears.

Please, let it be him.

The Firelights parted as you approached, one by one stepping aside as if they could sense the urgency in your movements. And then you saw him.

Ekko.

He stood there, his hair disheveled, his clothes dirty and torn, but his smile was as radiant as ever. His eyes locked onto yours, and in that instant, it was as if time itself had rewound.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice carrying over the crowd.

Your heart tightened, a wave of relief and disbelief crashing over you. You barely registered the people around you as you stepped closer, Wyeth squirming in your arms, reaching out toward the man who looked just like him.

And then—

You woke with a start, your chest heaving, your heart pounding like a drum. The room was dark, the faint hum of the hideout returning to your ears.

For a moment, you sat there, frozen, the vivid memory of Ekko’s face lingering like a phantom. Then, reality set in. You were still in the main room, slouched in the same chair as before.

But something was wrong.

Wyeth.

The crib was empty.

Panic shot through you like lightning as you scrambled to your feet, your eyes darting around the room. The hanging firefly mobile swayed gently, untouched.

“Wyeth?” you called, your voice breaking.

The silence that followed was deafening.

The air was suffocating, panic pounding in your chest as your eyes darted around the dimly lit room. Where was Wyeth? Your fists clenched, your pulse racing as the dark corners seemed to stretch endlessly.

You stepped forward, instinctively grabbing the nearest object you could find—Ekko’s hammer. The weight of it was familiar, grounding you for just a moment. Your knuckles whitened around its handle as you heard the faintest sound behind you, the scrape of a boot against the floorboards.

Someone was there.

Without thinking, you spun around, raising the hammer high, ready to strike—but a hand caught your wrist mid-swing, strong and firm. The hammer slipped from your grip, clattering to the ground.

The dim light caught the edges of his face first—the familiar curve of his jawline, the wild twists of his hair—and then his eyes. Those unmistakable, tear-filled eyes.

“Ekko?”

He stood there, smiling softly, as if you hadn’t just tried to bash his skull in.

“Aren’t you going to say hello to me?” His voice cracked at the edges, but the warmth in it was unmistakable.

For a moment, you couldn’t move. Your mind raced to catch up with your heart, which was already soaring, even as doubt clung to the edges of your thoughts. Was this another dream? A cruel trick?

Your knees nearly buckled. You’d been sleeping, and somehow, while you were lost in restless dreams, he had come back.

“Ekko…” you whispered, your voice breaking.

He didn’t wait for an answer. In an instant, his arms were around you, pulling you into him with all the strength he had. You collapsed against his chest, your hands clutching his shirt as the floodgates opened. Tears poured down your face, sobs wracking your body as weeks of fear, anger, and loneliness spilled out all at once.

His hand cradled the back of your head, his other arm locked tightly around your waist as if letting go wasn’t an option.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, over and over, his words barely audible through his own tears. “I’m so sorry for being gone so long.”

You couldn’t respond, your voice lost to the ache in your chest. Instead, you buried your face in his shoulder, breathing him in, letting his presence ground you. He was here. He was real.

As you clung to him, your eyes drifted over his shoulder to the crib on the other side of the adjoining room. Wyeth was there, fast asleep, his tiny chest rising and falling with each breath. Relief coursed through you like a tidal wave. He was safe.

Ekko’s voice pulled you back to him.

“I love you,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “I love you with all my heart. I love you in every universe.”

The last sentence made you pause. You pulled back just enough to look up at him, your brows furrowing.

“What does that mean?”

His smile wavered, his hand brushing a tear from your cheek.

“I’ll explain everything,” he said softly. “But not tonight.”

You hesitated, but the exhaustion in his eyes—the weariness that mirrored your own—stilled your questions. Whatever it was, it could wait. For now, all that mattered was that he was here.

You melted back into his embrace, feeling his heartbeat steady against your own.

The night stretched on, the war outside the hideout forgotten for the time being.

Ekko hadn’t let go of you for hours, and you didn’t want him to. You sat together on the small bed in your shared room, Wyeth nestled between the two of you. He stirred occasionally.

Ekko watched him with an expression you couldn’t quite name—equal parts wonder and guilt.

“He’s gotten so big,” he murmured, his fingers gently tracing the soft curls on Wyeth’s head.

“You should have seen him a month ago,” you said, your voice light but tinged with lingering sadness. “He couldn’t stop rolling over. Drove me crazy.”

Ekko chuckled softly, his gaze flickering to yours.

“You’re incredible, you know that?”

You shook your head, brushing off the compliment, but he caught your hand, lacing his fingers with yours.

“I mean it,” he said, his voice firm. “You’ve held everything together while I was gone. Our son, the Firelights, the shelter—you did all of it.”

Tears pricked at your eyes again, but you bit them back.

“I didn’t have a choice.”

Ekko leaned forward, pressing his forehead to yours.

“I’m sorry I made you do it alone. I should’ve been here.”

“Then don’t leave again,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

“I won’t,” he said, the conviction in his tone wrapping around your heart like a promise. “Never again.”

For the first time in months, you felt a sense of peace settle over you. There were still so many questions, so many battles ahead, but for now, none of it mattered. Ekko was home.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

The morning sun filtered through the hideout’s windows, despite the warmth of the new day, there was a heaviness in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the battle yet to come. People moved through the corridors in hushed tones, preparing for what was ahead, stealing fleeting moments of connection with those they held dear.

Ekko stood in the tiny kitchen, his silhouette framed by the soft glow of morning. The space was simple but functional—weathered counters, mismatched cabinets, and a small table barely big enough for two. Wyeth sat snug in his father’s arms, his tiny hands grasping at the bottle Ekko held steady.

Ekko had a way of moving that was both fluid and deliberate, like he carried the weight of the world with practiced ease. This morning, however, there was something different about him. His usually sharp eyes were softer, fixed on his son with a mix of love and wonder.

You stood just outside the doorway, your hand resting on the frame as you paused. You hadn’t intended to linger, but the sound of Ekko’s voice stopped you in your tracks. He wasn’t speaking to you—or anyone else for that matter. He was talking to Wyeth, his tone gentle, the words almost a lullaby.

“You know,” Ekko began, adjusting the bottle in Wyeth’s tiny hands, “where I was, everything was… different. Almost perfect, I guess.” He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head as if still trying to believe it himself. “Zaun wasn’t like this. No war. No infected trees. No fighting just to survive.”

Your brow furrowed as you leaned closer, trying to make sense of what he was saying. What did he mean by different?

Ekko continued, his voice carrying the weight of someone who had seen too much in too little time.

“It was wild, kiddo. My friends were alive. My family. Everyone I lost… they were all there. And Zaun?” He smiled wistfully. “Zaun was alive. Really alive. It was a city of light, not smoke. People thrived there, not just got by and your grandpa Benzo still had his shop, believe it or not,” he chuckled softly, though there was a sadness in it. “And I didn’t have to carry so much. No fight, no death.”

Your breath hitched as he spoke. Whatever he had experienced while he was gone, it had left its mark on him. You clenched your fists against the doorway, torn between wanting to step inside and wanting to hear more.

“But you know what I liked most about it?” Ekko asked, his smile softening as Wyeth gurgled in response. “Your mommy.”

Ekko’s gaze dropped to his son, his thumb brushing against the soft curls on Wyeth’s head.

“I loved her there, just like I love her here. Only difference is, in that world…” His voice trailed off for a moment, a faraway look in his eyes. “We were married.”

You froze, a sudden heat rising to your cheeks. Married?

“She was just as stubborn, though,” Ekko chuckled, shaking his head. “Still had that fire in her. Still drove me crazy, but in the best way.”

Married. You had never thought much about marriage—there hadn’t been time to. Survival always came first. But the way he spoke about it, the way he described you and him together in that other world…

Ekko shifted Wyeth in his arms, his expression growing fonder with every word.

“We had so much fun, you know? Playing with your other version. You were bigger there, running around and getting into all kinds of trouble. And you had a little sister.”

The revelation sent another jolt through you. A sister?

“Yep,” Ekko went on, his voice full of warmth. “Your mommy and I didn’t waste any time.” He let out a soft laugh, his grin mischievous. “And from the looks of it, we were about to get another little firefly. Your dad’s not the type to keep his hands off your mom, you know?”

Your face burned as you pressed yourself against the wall, your fingers gripping the edge of the doorframe. He couldn’t possibly mean… You shook your head as you tried to process his words.

Ekko’s voice turned playful, his tone carrying a knowing edge.

“It’s rude to spy, you know.”

Your breath caught, and you felt your stomach drop as he turned his head. His grin widened, as though he’d known you were there the whole time.

Caught red-handed, you straightened and pushed the door open fully, stepping into the room with your arms crossed.

“You’re lying,” you said, your voice laced with feigned annoyance.

Ekko turned, still cradling Wyeth in one arm. His eyes roamed over you, as though seeing you for the first time all over again. There was a softness in his expression, but also something deeper.

“You don’t believe me?” he teased, raising an eyebrow.

You tilted your head, your lips curving into a faint smirk.

“Not a word.”

But there was something in his eyes, something intense and unyielding, that silenced the playful edge in your voice. He set the bottle down on the counter and held your gaze, his expression suddenly serious.

“You’re a lot like her, you know,” he said quietly. “But you’re not the same. You’re better.”

The words hit you harder than you expected, and you hesitated, feeling suddenly self-conscious under the weight of his gaze.

Then you straightened, fixing Ekko with a skeptical look.

“So, what? You just decided to leave this magical, perfect dimension where everything was great and come back here?”

Ekko’s gaze didn’t waver. “Yeah,” he said simply.

You blinked.

“Why?”

“Because it wasn’t home,” he said, his voice steady, certain. “You and Wyeth—you’re my home.”

Ekko shifted Wyeth to one arm, freeing his other hand to reach out for you. You stepped closer, your heart racing as you looked at him—really looked at him. Despite the time apart, despite everything he had endured, he was still all yours.

“I’m here now,” he said, his voice steady. “And when we get through this, because I’m going to win the damn war if that means see this little guy growing again…” He paused, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “I’m going to marry you.”

The air left your lungs, the weight of his words crashing into you.

You opened your mouth to speak, but no words came. Instead, you reached out, brushing your fingers against the hand that held Wyeth, grounding yourself in the warmth of your family.

“Say something,” Ekko murmured, his lips curving into a small smile.

You swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill.

“You’re serious?”

“As serious as I’ve ever been.”

No matter how many worlds existed, no matter how different things might have been elsewhere, this was the one he chose.

This was his family.

And for Ekko, that was enough.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

tags: @serena6728 @theyluvkghanya @night-fall-moon @chaeisbroke

[yuyuyukiii]

Two Charms, One Promise ⛐

Masterlist

Chapter 2

Summary: Long before the podiums, the titles, and the fame, he was just a boy in a treehouse. She was the girl who promised to stay. She didn’t break that promise. Someone else did it for her.

Content: Childhood heartbreak, missing letters, mistaken goodbyes, unresolved feelings, and one very symbolic bracelet.

Author’s Note 🏎️:

This story is purely fictional and not based on real events. Some timelines, career paths, and personal details have been adjusted or reimagined to fit the narrative. It’s all for the sake of the story, so please don’t take anything here as factual. Just vibes, emotions, and a lot of imagination. Thank you for reading. I hope it makes you feel something 🫶🏻

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

The day Y/N moved in, Max Verstappen was already sitting in the treehouse, legs dangling off the edge, half-listening to the wind and trying to ignore the distant sound of car doors slamming. It was unusually noisy for their sleepy neighborhood, which usually had more dogs than people outside at any given hour.

He was up there because Jos had yelled again that morning, something about focus, about wasting time. So Max went where he always went when things got too loud, up in the treehouse, tucked between thick branches and scratched wood that smelled like old pine and dried glue.

Down below, a moving truck pulled up, rattling and coughing, followed by a car that barely rolled to a stop before someone burst out of the backseat. A girl.

She was dragging a suitcase with one hand and waving frantically at someone inside the house with the other. Max was just about to look away when she turned suddenly and looked straight up. Straight at him.

Then she pointed.

A few minutes later, she was standing at the base of the treehouse ladder, squinting up at him through the leaves.

“Hi!” she called, like they’d met before.

Max didn’t answer right away. He didn’t know her. He didn’t talk to new people if he could help it.

“You live here, right?” she asked again.

“Yeah.”

“I’m Y/N,” she said. “We just moved in.”

He just stared.

“Can I come up?”

That caught him off guard. No one ever asked to come up. Not even the neighbor kids who sometimes wandered too close.

He shrugged. “If you want.”

And that was how it started.

She climbed up with the confidence of someone who had never fallen out of a tree in her life, then plopped down next to him and looked around like she belonged there. Like it was already hers too.

They played cards using a half-broken deck he kept in a tin box. She asked him questions, what grade he was in, how fast his kart was, what he wanted to be when he grew up. She answered all of her own questions without waiting for him to respond.

When she finally left, she said, “I’ll come back tomorrow. You better not lose.”

He didn’t say anything, but when she was gone, he smiled to himself.

And she did come back. Every day after that.

The treehouse became theirs. It wasn’t official, but it didn’t need to be. They carved their initials into the floorboard. They stored candy in a metal lunchbox. They taped leaves and wrappers and even a movie ticket stub to the wall. They shared stories. Secrets. Fears.

Sometimes Max would sit in silence and she would do all the talking, but somehow, she always knew when to stop and just let him exist beside her.

He liked that.

One rainy afternoon, sprawled out on their backs staring at the wooden ceiling, she turned to him and said, “I’m going to be your engineer one day.”

He blinked. “What?”

“Your engineer. I’ll be the one building your car. Telling you what to fix. Then we’ll win everything. You and me.”

Max laughed. Not because it was silly, but because it made something flutter in his chest. “You’re serious?”

“Obviously.”

“What if you work for someone else?”

“No way. I’m loyal,” she said, proudly. “You’re stuck with me.”

“Promise?”

She held up her pinky. “Promise.”

He curled his pinky around hers. It felt important, like something more than just a joke. Something real.

That night, she gave him a bracelet. It had a single charm on it, her initial. He wore it every day after that. The next day, he added one for himself too.

He didn’t have a name for how he felt about her. He just knew he always wanted to see her first after a win. He wanted her to see how fast he was. He wanted her to stay.

He didn’t know that wanting someone to stay didn’t mean they would.

A few years later, everything fell apart.

Y/N’s parents told her the news over dinner. Her dad was calm, practical. Her mom looked sorry before the words even left her mouth.

“We’re moving to Japan.”

Y/N stared at her plate. “What?”

Her dad sighed. “They need me there. The company’s expanding. It’s a big opportunity.”

Her mom tried to soften the blow. “We leave this weekend. It’s fast, I know, but we didn’t want to worry you unless it was certain.”

Y/N didn’t cry. She just asked, “Can I say goodbye to Max?”

Her parents exchanged a look, then nodded.

They gave her a small box the next morning.

It was a phone.

“So you two can keep in touch,” her mom said gently. “You’ve been friends a long time.”

Y/N packed a smaller box later that night. It had a new charm for Max’s bracelet, a tiny silver steering wheel, and a long letter. She told him everything. She told him she was sorry. She wrote her number, her new address, everything. She told him she’d be back one day, and that he better not forget her.

The morning of their flight, she begged her dad to stop at Max’s house. She was bouncing on her toes, hands fidgeting and heart pounding, as she approached the door. The house looked the same as always, warm and familiar in the sun, but something about it felt heavier today. Her footsteps slowed. After a deep breath, she raised her hand and knocked.

A few seconds passed. Then the door creaked open, not to reveal Max, but his father.

Jos Verstappen’s expression immediately soured.

“You again?” he said flatly. “You’re always looking for Max. No wonder he’s been distracted in his races.”

Y/N lowered her head, gripping the small wrapped box tighter. Her voice came out small, but steady.

“I’m sorry. I just really need to talk to Max… just for a while…” Her voice trailed off, then she mumbled under her breath, “For the last time.”

Jos squinted. “What did you say?”

She looked up at him, eyes earnest. “We’re moving. Today, actually. I just wanted to say goodbye, give him this, and… I left my contact info inside, so we can still keep in touch.”

Jos paused. For a brief second, his eyes lit up, but he quickly masked it with a sigh and a feigned frown.

“I’m sorry for being harsh on your friendship, kid,” he said, laying a hand on her shoulder. “I only ever wanted the best for Max.”

Y/N nodded, hesitating. “Is he here? Can I see him?”

“He’s out,” Jos said quickly. “Training.”

Her face fell.

“But maybe I can give it to him for you?” he added, extending his hand with a soft smile.

Y/N stared at him, uncertain. “You’d really do that for me?”

“Of course, kid.”

Something about it felt off, but she pushed it down. With a quiet “thank you,” she hugged him gently, placing the gift in his hand.

“Please make sure he gets it. It’s really important.”

Jos nodded. “Safe travels, Y/N. I’ll give it to him right away.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Verstappen.”

She turned and walked away, holding in tears the entire time. Jos watched her until she turned the corner, then let out a quiet chuckle.

“Finally. No more distractions,” he muttered, stepping back inside. He headed straight to his office, opened a drawer, and carelessly tossed in the gift and envelope, unopened, unread. The letter inside, carefully written, held her contact information, a hand-drawn sketch of their favorite memory, and a heartfelt message she stayed up all night to finish. All of it, hidden.

—

Meanwhile, Y/N returned to the car, where her parents were already waiting inside. Her mother glanced up as she approached.

“Did you get to say goodbye to Max, dear?”

She looked down and shook her head. “No. He wasn’t around. But I gave Mr. Verstappen my gift and letter that had everything inside.”

Her parents exchanged a look.

“You’re sure, honey?” her father asked gently. “Why not give it to someone else? Maybe his mom, or a neighbor?”

“It’s okay, Mommy. I had a backup plan.” Y/N smiled proudly. “I left the same letter and gift in our treehouse. Max always goes there after naps.”

Her father gave a relieved laugh and ruffled her hair. “That’s our girl. Smart as ever.”

She beamed.

None of them knew that as soon as Y/N left, Jos made his way to the treehouse. Right after hiding the box she had asked him to give Max, he took everything else, every drawing, every note, every small thing that might remind Max of her, and hid alongside the box.

—

Max stirred awake after his nap, blinking at the time. The sun was already dipping lower in the sky. He sat up, stretching, then smiled. It was that time again. Y/N always came over after lunch, and they’d spend the afternoon at their treehouse, playing games, eating ice cream, making plans that reached far into the future.

He jumped out of bed, got dressed, and rushed over to the L/N residence. But as soon as he arrived, something felt… wrong.

There were no cars in the driveway.

No sound from inside.

No curtains drawn.

He knocked once. Then twice. He called out.

“Y/N?”

Nothing.

His knocking turned louder. “Mrs. L/N? Mr. L/N? Hello?”

Still nothing.

A tightness started forming in his chest, sharp and unfamiliar. Maybe something happened. Maybe they were just asleep. He began pounding on the door now, calling out Y/N’s name over and over.

Then a voice cut through the silence.

“Hey, kid. Could you calm down a bit?”

Max turned. A neighbor stood on the other side of the fence, frowning.

“Sorry, sir,” Max said quickly. “Do you know where the L/N family is? Are they at the mall or something?”

The man blinked. “The L/Ns? Oh… they left.”

Max’s stomach dropped. “Left?”

“Yeah. Left the country, I heard. Didn’t anyone tell you?”

Max stared at him, stunned. “No… no. That’s not possible.”

“Pretty sure they don’t plan on coming back,” the man added casually before going back inside.

Max stood frozen. For several seconds, everything around him went quiet. Then he took off running.

“No, no, no,” he whispered between breaths, feet pounding against the pavement. “This isn’t real, this isn’t happening.”

He didn’t even notice the tears until he reached the treehouse. He climbed up, desperate. His hands shook as he pulled open the wooden hatch.

Erased. Everything about her had been erased.

The drawings they made together. The little gifts. Their shared journals. Even the photo they kept of the day they built the treehouse, all gone. It looked just like it did before she came into his life, like how it was when Max was the only one using it.

Like she had never been there at all.

Like she wanted him to forget her.

His legs gave out and he collapsed onto the floor, tears pouring freely now. His heart felt like it was splitting open. He curled up and sobbed, flashes of memory overwhelming him.

The first time they met in this treehouse.

How she always stood between him and a group of bullies, tiny but fierce, shouting that they were cowards for picking on someone just because he didn’t have a “nice dad.”

The way she cheered for him after every race, even the bad ones.

The way she always knew what to say to make things better.

The time he was sick and afraid to sleep, scared he would wake up and she’d be gone. She stayed beside him all night, pinky-promising she would never leave him.

“Forever,” she had said.

He pulled his bracelet from his pocket. It was silver and a little scratched, with only two charms so far, one with her initials, and one with his.

They were supposed to fill it together.

Max stared at it, eyes red and swollen. He clenched it tightly in his fist and whispered into the empty air.

“She lied to me.”

Then louder.

“You lied to me.”

His voice cracked.

What he didn’t know was that Jos had lied. Didn’t know the letters existed. Didn’t know Y/N had tried.

All he knew was the pain.

And all he had left was the bracelet.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Y/N sat by the window, fiddling with the little charm on her bracelet. Her fingers kept tracing the edge of the tiny silver star until her mom gently nudged her arm.

“Are you nervous?” her mother asked.

Y/N glanced outside, where clouds floated past the plane wing. “Yeah. I didn’t grow up in Japan. I don’t really know anyone.”

Her mom gave her a soft smile. “Honey, even if you didn’t grow up there, you were born there. And besides,” she added, brushing a strand of hair behind Y/N’s ear, “Yuki will be there.”

Y/N turned her head. “Yuki?”

“Yes. He was your playmate until you two were around five. I was told he’s very excited to see you again.”

Y/N blinked. Her mind scrambled to find a face to match the name. She couldn’t remember much. Just blurry memories of swings, warm afternoons, and someone always running ahead of her.

The thought settled her a little. Not completely, but enough.

Maybe she was nervous because of Max.

What if he was mad at her?

But then again, even if he was, it probably wouldn’t last long. They had phones now. They could talk.

Things would be okay. They had to be.

—

By the time they landed and arrived at their new home in Japan, it was already late afternoon. The street was lined with people, neighbors, family friends, and curious kids with wide eyes. Everyone seemed excited. The warmth in their greetings made Y/N pause. It felt different here. In Belgium, people kept to themselves. Here, it was like the whole street had come to welcome her home.

She stepped out of the car just as someone threw their arms around her.

“Yatta! Omae ga modotte kita! Ore no saisho no tomodachi da!!” (Yay! You're back! My first friend!) the voice shouted with joy.

Y/N blinked in surprise, momentarily frozen. Then she gently returned the hug and pulled back with a polite but confused smile.

“Konnichiwa… tomodachi yo.?” she said cautiously. “Gomen ne, chotto oboete nai no…” (Hello… friend? Sorry, I’m having a hard time remembering…)

The boy laughed, clearly not offended at all. “Is me, Yuki! You… you no remember? We race shopping cart! Down driveway! You crash into mailbox. I laugh so hard, my mama scold me.”

Her eyes widened. “No way. That was you? Oh my god, I thought you were just a dream!”

He nodded eagerly. “Yes yes! You cry, but only little. Then we eat snack. You bring chocolate.”

She covered her mouth, trying not to laugh. “Oh my god. I thought I dreamed that.”

Yuki pointed at himself proudly. “Not dream. Real! I real! You come back. We bestest friend again, okay?”

They laughed, slipping into conversation like no time had passed. When Yuki stumbled over his next sentence, Y/N gently switched to Japanese. She didn’t want him to struggle. His eyes lit up with relief, and from then on, they spoke easily in their shared language.

“I have a feeling we’re going to be the beeeestest of friends,” he said confidently, bumping her shoulder.

Y/N laughed. “We already are.”

That day, one friendship was rekindled.

And somewhere else, without her even knowing, another was quietly breaking.

—

Time passed quickly after Y/N moved back to Japan.

She and Yuki became inseparable, just like when they were little. Every morning, he would wait outside her house with two juice boxes and a huge smile, waving at her like it had been years since they last saw each other. They did everything together. They walked to school, snuck snacks into class, and raced paper boats in the gutters after a storm. If there was a school activity, a family trip, or even just a lazy afternoon, you could count on them being side by side.

It was like they grew up as twins, bonded not by blood but by something even stronger: timing, trust, and the track. They both loved racing. Yuki would talk endlessly about engines and tires, while Y/N would try to predict strategies like a seasoned engineer. Eventually, she stopped just listening and started helping. They made a perfect team. If Yuki had a karting competition, Y/N would be there by the side, clipboard in hand, shouting feedback louder than anyone else. And if Y/N had something on her mind, Yuki would sense it before she even said a word.

Just like during that first week Y/N was back in Japan, before everything had settled, she couldn’t help but feel like something was off.

(Flashback)

She sat on her bed, bracelet clutched tightly in her palm. It had been days, but her phone stayed silent. Max hadn’t contacted her. Not even once.

Yuki noticed her quiet mood during lunch one afternoon and nudged her with a cookie.

“You look sad. Is school too hard?” he asked, mouth full.

Y/N shook her head.

“Then what?” he pressed. “Tell me. I fix it.”

She looked down at her tray. “I just thought someone would’ve messaged me by now.”

“Who?”

“…My best friend. From Belgium. Max.”

Yuki frowned. “No message? Why not?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

“A bad friend,” Yuki declared with a pout. “Very bad. He made you cry. You forget him. I be your best friend now. Bestest in the whole wide world.”

Y/N smiled a little at that, leaning her shoulder on his. “Okay. But just so you know… Max is really important to me.”

“I am important now,” Yuki said with a proud nod.

(End)

And he really did try. Over time, Y/N stopped checking her phone so much. She still thought of Max often, especially during races or when the wind reminded her of Belgium, but she let herself grow close to Yuki without guilt. Together, they grew up cheering each other on, yelling advice across karting tracks and making silly bets with ice cream as the prize.

But in Belgium, Max Verstappen’s world had become silent again.

Without Y/N, everything felt dull. He’d always known the sport was hard, but now it felt cold. No one was there to throw their arms around him after a bad race. No one sat next to him on the swing set when the other kids said he was weird. No one brought him mango juice or cheered even when he came in last. He stopped hearing kind words altogether.

Even the treehouse had changed.

The place that once held laughter and secrets now sat in silence. The candy wrappers were gone. The tin lunchbox was empty. The walls, once decorated with stickers and scribbled messages, had faded in the sun. The tree itself started to look different. The leaves grew thinner. The branches drooped. It hadn’t been watered or cared for in years, and it showed. What was once their shared paradise had become Max’s hiding spot when Jos was mad again. It didn’t comfort him the way it used to.

Years passed.

Max’s career began to take off. He was preparing to leave Belgium to chase the big leagues. Teams. Tracks. Pressure. Fame. It was everything he had worked for, but something about it didn’t feel right.

He loaded the last box into the back of the car. Jos slammed the trunk and said, “Ready?”

Max paused. “Wait. I forgot something.”

He jogged back through the overgrown yard and climbed up the creaky steps of the treehouse one last time. Dust danced in the light. The wood groaned under his weight.

He sat down in the same corner he used to sit in as a kid and looked around. His eyes landed on one of the old drawings he had carved into the wall with a pocket knife.

A stickman version of himself stood on a podium, arms raised. Above it, the word champion was scrawled in crooked letters.

Right below it was another tiny stick figure. This one had long hair and was clapping with little stars around her head.

Max reached out and traced the line he had written beneath it.

Max wins the world championship. Y/N is his engineer.

He closed his eyes.

“I really thought we’d do this together,” he whispered.

Then he climbed back down the ladder, looked up at the treehouse, and said softly, “This is it.”

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

Yuki was the first to leave.

It felt strange, the morning he rolled his suitcase to the airport check-in. His usual loud energy was quieter, replaced by a shaky smile and nervous fingers tapping against his hoodie sleeve. Y/N stood beside him, blinking away the weight pressing behind her eyes.

“Don’t cry,” he said quickly, voice cracking despite the smile. “You cry, I cry.”

“I’m not crying,” she sniffed, poking his arm. “It’s just the weather.”

“Inside the airport?” he teased.

They stood in silence for a second longer before she hugged him tightly. Neither wanted to let go.

“When we see each other again,” Yuki said, stepping back, “we’ll be big names. You, engineer girl genius. Me, fastest driver.”

She grinned. “Deal.”

“But no goodbye,” he added, wagging a finger. “Only see you soon.”

“See you soon, Yuki.”

With one last wave, he disappeared through the crowd.

—

And then… life moved forward.

Y/N buried herself in her studies. She got into one of the best engineering universities in Tokyo. Her days blurred together: late-night lectures, stacks of notes, greasy cafeteria food, and way too much caffeine. There were moments when it felt like too much, but every time she looked at her worn-out bracelet or passed a go-kart track, she remembered why she started.

She graduated near the top of her class, surrounded by cheering classmates and flashing cameras. Not long after, she aced the licensing exams, officially earning the title she had worked so hard for.

Dream one: complete.

She’s finally an engineer. It still feels a little unreal, but it’s hers.

—

Yuki’s first year abroad wasn’t as easy.

At first, he struggled. English was hard, the food was weird, and no one seemed to get his jokes. He missed Japan. Missed the rhythm of his life back home. Missed Y/N’s easy laughter during long karting weekends.

But he worked. Hard.

Every bad qualifying session, every miscommunication with his team, every lonely hotel night, he turned it into fuel. Slowly, the results came. So did the friends. He learned how to express himself even when the words weren’t perfect. He smiled more. Fought harder.

Years later, sitting on a balcony with his helmet on the table beside him, Yuki stared at the headline on his phone:

Tsunoda Confirmed as F1’s Newest Driver.

His hands trembled. He laughed. Then he called Y/N and shouted, “WE DID IT!”

Dream two: complete.

He was in Formula 1.

—

Max, meanwhile, was clawing his way up on his own.

His F3 days were brutal. He was fast, but raw. Emotional. Other drivers whispered. Some avoided him altogether. He was “the kid with too much fire and no brakes.”

But Max didn’t care. Or at least, he told himself he didn’t.

He carried the weight of everything: the expectations, the lonely nights, the dream that once belonged to two people. There were nights when he’d sit by himself after races, staring at the sky, wondering if she’d be proud. Wondering if she remembered.

Eventually, his talent was undeniable.

F1 came calling.

And even then, it wasn’t easy. He was young. Aggressive. Often misunderstood. The media called him reckless. Teammates didn’t always trust him. Older drivers were cold. But Max kept showing up. Kept proving them wrong. Over time, respect followed.

Now, as he stood on the podium once again, the anthem playing, a crowd roaring below, Max looked down at the bracelet tucked beneath his suit cuff.

two charms still dangled from it.

Dream three: ongoing.

He had made it.

But a piece of him still felt unfinished.

Because the one person who promised to be by his side wasn’t there.

Not yet.

—

Y/N couldn’t figure out why she felt so nervous.

She’d been to races before. But this one felt… heavier.

Yuki had pleaded with her to be there for his debut. “Just this once,” he had said. “It would mean everything.” And of course, she said yes. She always did, especially when it came to him.

But the weight in her chest didn’t feel like nerves for Yuki. Not really. It felt like something else. Like someone else. Someone from back then.

Yuki never asked who Max really was. And she never offered more than a first name.

So naturally, he never really talked about Max in F1 either, because in his mind, Max was just someone from her childhood. A classmate. A neighbor. A boy from another lifetime. It never even crossed his mind that they could be the same person.

He never made the connection.

The moment they landed, Yuki was waiting at the gate, practically bouncing in place. He held a piece of paper that said “FOR MY FAVORITE ENGINEER” in giant block letters, with two messy hearts in the corners.

Y/N laughed and ran into him, nearly knocking the sign out of his hands.

“You’re actually here,” he said, hugging her like he hadn’t seen her in years.

“I told you I would be.”

He toured her around the hotel, pointing out which floors the team was on, where she could sneak snacks, and who to avoid. Then he dropped the bomb.

“I applied for you,” he said. “To F1’s development program. You got in.”

She blinked. “You did what?”

“You’re gonna be trained and mentored by real engineers, and then you can apply to any team you want. This is the start.”

“Yuki—”

“We promised, remember? I’m racing, and you’re beside me. Always.”

The next day was chaos.

It was race day.

Fans screamed from the grandstands. Teams rushed through the paddock like bees in a hive. Yuki looked impossibly small in his suit, helmet under one arm, but his grin stretched ear to ear.

Y/N stayed just outside the restricted zone, watching him get into the car. He pointed at her once before the lights changed, and then he was off.

She barely noticed the rest.

Until something, someone, brushed past her.

A driver, walking quickly. Suit zipped, helmet gripped tight. She only saw him from behind, the dark racing colors streaked with sponsor patches. She didn’t know why, but her chest suddenly felt tight. Like she should have known him. Like there was something right on the edge of her memory.

But she didn’t see his face.

She didn’t stop him.

He disappeared into the pit lane crowd, swallowed up by noise and motion.

—

Max had already finished the final checks. Helmet under his arm, mind focused, jaw clenched.

But as he made his way through the paddock, something pulled at him. He turned his head slightly, just for a second, eyes scanning the crowd beyond the barricade.

There, a girl.

He couldn’t see her face, only the back of her head, the way her hair caught in the breeze, the way she stood like she belonged but didn’t want to be seen. Her posture. Her stillness.

It wasn’t unusual.

And yet.

Something inside him paused. A flicker of memory he couldn’t name. A dream from long ago.

He stared just long enough for his engineer to call his name again. He blinked it away, shook his head, and kept walking.

Whoever she was, it didn’t matter.

Not today.

END (C.1)

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

[slipng]

[lucycore]

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊ ˚ ☁️⋆. 𐙚 ˚☁️ ₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚₊

[Well..Time to go on Chai]

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊ ˚ ☁️⋆. 𐙚 ˚☁️ ₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚₊

[muruffin]

* :.･ﾟﾟ･ ✿ My Mind Is In Ruin ━╋

[espressoz]