#💨 loving you is a breeze 💨

[hvackisser]

Anyone mind if I uhhh kiss my HVAC???

Taglist♡: @me-myself-and-my-fos @flowering-darkness @sunstar-of-the-north @changeling-selfship @cherry-bomb-ships @rosieaurora @tropgothships @little-miss-selfships @starlos-soulmate @limey-self-inserts @candyheartedchy @space-sweetheart @clancykisser @squips-ship @berryshipbasket @soulnottainted @saturdaymorningcartoonz @severants @tex-treasures @sparkyscissorhands @iwishihadfangs @fictodreamer @adoredbyalatus @heartribbons @wizard-ships

[cherrycuppacoups]

Speed Champions 🏁...🏎💨 LN4

Part 2

yall can read part 1 here!

summary : he shows up after race weekend with a glitter-glued LEGO review, three signed caps, and a smile just for you—because somewhere between the finish line and your second coffee, and probably you may become more than just a fan.

word count : 3.1k

taglist: @mimisweetz @tabisswag @l-a-u-r-aaa @h-rtsnana @dracoflaco @lilasthoughtss @verztpens @reallifemermaidprincess @evie-119 @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @midnightbabylon @sarcastic-nerd @mylatest-hyperfixation < i tried to tag all people who commented hihi well enjoy!>

The McLaren LEGO box crinkled gently in her arms as the mall doors slid open, the evening breeze brushing past like a quiet sigh. Y/N hugged the box to her chest like a security blanket, still half-convinced she had imagined the last thirty minutes.

Lando Norris the actual McLaren driver, occasional meme king, and her mom’s self-proclaimed future son-in-law was walking beside her. Casually. Like it wasn’t a big deal. Like it happened every day.

“So,” he said, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets, “coffee, right?”

She blinked, jolted from her internal spiral. “Right. Coffee.”

There was a small café across the street with dim lights, cozy corners, soft music humming under the chatter. He held the door open for her, flashing a grin that made her stomach flutter unfairly.

They slid into a booth by the window. She set her LEGO box beside her like it was precious cargo. He noticed and chuckled.

“Protecting your treasure?”

“Absolutely,” she said solemnly. “McLaren Speed Champions are no joke.”

“I like your priorities.”

He ordered something sweet which is a caramel iced latte with extra whipped cream. She stuck with her usual something warm, comforting, and way too sugary. It felt oddly nice, sharing a quiet drink with someone who didn’t make her feel small.

“So,” he said, leaning in a little, “how’d you get into F1?”

She hesitated. The honest version felt too raw. But the polite one felt too fake.

So she met him somewhere in the middle.

“Last year,” she said. “I was going through some stuff. Life felt… heavy and it feels like I was hanging on by a thread and anytime I could snap. I needed something or a distraction to look forward to. Something loud and exciting and fast. I saw a clip of Carlos making a joke in an interview and ended up watching a whole race. And then I never really stopped.”

Lando’s eyes softened. “It helped?”

She smiled a little. “Yeah. It made me feel… part of something. And the deeper I watched some of Carlos's interviews and getting to know him a little bit which I know is not the really the real version of him but somehow I feel like I really relate to him."

He nodded like he understood. And she got the sense that maybe he did.

“I’ve always been kind of the extra friend, you know?” she added, voice quieter. “The one people forget to invite. The one guys never notice unless they’re asking for my friend’s number. My mom says I’m cute, but even my family compares me to my sister like she’s a supermodel and I’m… background.”

Her fingers curled around her cup. “I think that’s why I love sports and fandoms. There’s no ranking. Just joy. Just being excited about something without needing to be ‘enough’ for it.”

Lando didn’t respond right away. No jokes. No pity. Just a quiet kind of attention, like she was saying something important.

“That sucks,” he said finally, sincere. “And it’s wrong. For what it’s worth… I noticed you.”

She glanced up.

“Specifically in the LEGO aisle,” he continued, smiling slightly. “Where you looked like you were about to declare war on two plastic boxes.”

She laughed despite herself. “It was a tough decision.”

“And then you talked about treating yourself, and I thought… that’s brave.”

“Brave?”

“Yeah. Taking care of yourself when no one else does? That’s harder than most people think. I find that hard to do you know.”

She looked down, heart thudding louder than her drink’s foam fizz. She added "Probably because I have no one else but myself."

He smiled softly, and added, “You know… I get it. More than you probably think.”

Y/N blinked. “You do?”

Lando ran a hand through his hair. “I mean—my life’s great, don’t get me wrong. But being in F1 this young? People think you’re supposed to be fearless. Confident. Perfect. But it gets… a lot.”

She stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“There are days I feel like I’m not doing enough. Not fast enough. Not smart enough. Like I’m letting people down even when I win points. And then there’s the whole ‘funny guy’ persona. The pressure to always be smiling, even when my head’s a mess.”

His voice dropped. “Sometimes I don’t even know if people like me, or just the version they see online.”

Y/N’s chest tightened.

“I guess,” he shrugged, “it’s easy to feel invisible in your own way. Even when everyone’s looking.”

There was a moment of shared silence between them soft and unspoken, but deeply understood.

“You’re not invisible,” she said quietly.

“Neither are you.”

A beat. A smile. And then her phone chimed.

“It's my mom,” she blurted out, “She is going to scream when she finds out I met you.”

Lando brightened. “Oh, we have to send her a selfie.”

“You don’t mind?”

“Mind? I’m about to become her favorite man alive.”

They leaned in together, her phone raised. He smiled charmingly in the first photo, made a ridiculous face in the second, and before she could lock the screen, he grabbed a napkin and scribbled something.

Hi, Mom 👋🏼 – Lando 🧡

He added a doodle of a tiny LEGO car doing donuts.

Y/N nearly choked on a laugh.

She sent it to the family group chat with zero context.

The reaction was immediate.

Lando peeked over at the screen and snorted. “Your dad’s a tough crowd.”

“He just doesn’t understand the hype.”

“I’ll win him over. LEGO diplomacy.”

She grinned "And probably over golf cause he is really passionate about golf.", feeling something unfamiliar bloom in her chest lightness.

"Okay then I owe him a friendly golf tournament." He laughs.

As they lingered in the café’s golden glow, Y/N twirled her straw and glanced at him thoughtfully.

“Hey, um…” she began, voice quiet but sincere. “When you give the LEGO to Penelope, Max's daughter right? Can you let me know what she thinks of it?”

Lando looked up, surprised by the question. “You want a review?”

She smiled shyly. “Yeah. I mean, I don’t know… it’d just make me happy to know if she liked it. Especially since I basically chose it.”

He leaned forward, grin forming. “You did more than choose it. You saved my title as favorite uncle.”

“Serious business,” she teased.

“The most serious,” he said. “I’ll send you her full report. Chaos rating, popsicle stand feedback, zipline test results—maybe even a video.”

Y/N chuckled. “You’re really selling this.”

“I’m really grateful,” he said softly.

Her cheeks warmed again. Not in that embarrassed, small way she’d felt so many times before. But in the kind that made her chest glow from the inside out.

Outside, the sky had shifted into deeper blues. The breeze was softer now, cooler, whispering around their ankles as they stepped onto the sidewalk.

They paused just outside the café doors, neither moving.

“I should go,” she said, adjusting the LEGO bag in her arms.

“Me too,” Lando nodded. But neither of them moved.

When the bill came, he reached for it instantly.

“Lando—”

“Nope. My treat. Final semester reward, remember?”

“You already got me the LEGO.”

“And now I’m adding coffee. Let me spoil you a little.”

She opened her mouth to protest again, but he gave her a lopsided grin that made her brain short-circuit.

“Fine,” she muttered. “But I’m buying the next coffee.”

He brightened. “So there’s going to be a next coffee?”

She pretended to sip her drink. “We’ll see.”

For a few beats, they just stood there. Like people who’d known each other longer than they had. Like it wasn’t a first meeting — but maybe the fiftieth.

Y/N tilted her head with a soft smile. “This was… unexpectedly nice.”

Lando mirrored her expression. “Yeah. Feels like I’ve known you longer than an hour.”

“You too.”

A beat.

“If you ever need help choosing between tiny plastic race cars again,” he said, teasing, “I’m your guy.”

“And if you ever need help picking chaotic birthday gifts for sassy kids…”

“I know who to call,” he grinned.

She took a step back, a reluctant goodbye forming in her chest. “Thanks again. For the LEGO. And the coffee. And… good luck for your next race!"

Lando scratched the back of his neck. “Thanks for being the best part of my day.”

She bit back a smile, heart doing somersaults.

“Drive safe,” she said.

“I always do,” he replied. “Except in Mario Kart.”

“Now that I believe.”

They laughed, both hesitating one last time.

Then, like old friends who’d just fallen back into rhythm, they waved with a simple, unspoken, warm and walked off in opposite directions.

And though the night had arrived, and the city glowed in artificial light, Y/N’s steps were lighter than they’d been in weeks.

Because somehow, in the middle of plastic cars and coffee shop chatter, she’d found something she never expected.

Someone who saw her.

And maybe… someone worth seeing back.

Lando’s POV

Lando tugged his hoodie up over his ears as he stepped into the early evening chill, the echo of Y/N’s laugh still ringing faintly in his ears.

God, she was easy to talk to.

Not in the way people were when they wanted something from him, not like reporters or random fans who smiled too wide or tried too hard. Y/N had just… listened. Teased him. Called him out when he deserved it and smiled at him like he was a person, not a podium.

He liked that more than he was ready to admit.

As he crossed the street toward his car, he glanced back and caught a glimpse of her through the café window. She was still at the table, fingers tracing the rim of her coffee cup, a soft look on her face. She wasn’t smiling, exactly. But she looked content. Calm. Like she was holding onto something good.

Lando looked away quickly, cheeks warming even though no one was around to see.

He didn’t know what this was.

Didn’t know what it could be.

But for the first time in a while, he found himself hoping he hadn’t just imagined it.

Y/N’s POV

Y/N sat for a while after he left, half-finished drink growing cold between her hands, heart still playing catch-up with the rest of her.

It had been a long time since someone made her feel like this. Like she mattered, like her presence in a room wasn’t background noise. Lando had made her laugh, sure. But more than that, he’d looked at her like she was someone worth seeing.

And then he’d gone and called her Speed Champ like it was an inside joke they already shared. Like there was a them.

She hadn’t expected any of it, not the coffee, not the way he’d lingered, not the way her chest ached in a quiet, unfamiliar way when he walked out the door.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. A notification from the F1 app. Something about preparation for practice sessions for the upcoming race.

Lando’s name was in the headline.

Y/N smiled faintly to herself, then reached for the crinkled LEGO bag on the seat beside her. She hadn’t even opened it yet and wouldn't wanted to ruin the moment by rushing.

Outside, someone walked past with a McLaren hoodie, and it made her heart stutter.

Maybe it was silly. Maybe this would turn into nothing. Maybe she’d overthink every part of this until it crumbled in her hands.

But for now?

She let herself hold onto the feeling a little longer.

Grand Prix Weekend <Qualifying>

Lando’s POV

The garage was a swarm of noise — power tools, shouting over comms, tire trolleys squeaking across concrete. But none of it cut through the static in Lando’s head.

He’d qualified P4. Solid. Respectable.

But not what he kept thinking about.

Not when the signed Williams cap the one Carlos had handed over with a smirk and an amused “you owe me" was still tucked safely inside his travel bag, next to a neatly folded McLaren one addressed to a very proud mother.

And one more cap.

Orange.

Signed.

With a stupid little smiley face under his name.

For her.

He hadn’t told Y/N. Not a single hint. He wanted it to be a surprise. He wanted to see her face when she unwrapped it.

And maybe, maybe he wanted an excuse to see her again.

She hadn’t texted, and he hadn’t either. Not because he didn’t want to. God, he did. But he couldn’t figure out how to say “I keep thinking about that afternoon” without sounding ridiculous.

So he waited. Focused on the race. Told himself he’d message her after.

But when he peeled off his helmet and caught a glimpse of the crowd again, he found himself scanning it just in case.

And for the first time all day, he grinned for real.

Because he knew he had a reason to reach out now.

A very good one.

Y/N’s POV

Her phone buzzed beside her popcorn bowl, screen lighting up with a push notification of the F1 App along side the radio sound.

“Lando Norris qualifies P4 ahead of tomorrow’s race.”

Y/N smiled.

Not that she’d been checking. (Okay, she had.)

She wasn’t even watching live this time too caught up in a movie night with friends, the kind where no one cared about motorsport updates except her.

Still, she snuck off to the kitchen during a lull and scrolled through the day’s F1 recap posts.

McLaren had uploaded a clip of Lando waving at the crowd post-qualifying, helmet under one arm, his grin the same crooked one she remembered from across a café table.

Something twisted softly in her chest. Not in a bad way. Just… yearning, maybe.

They hadn’t texted since that afternoon. Maybe it was a one-time thing. Maybe he was just being polite. Or maybe this was the one she tried not to hope for but maybe he was just waiting for the right moment.

Y/N closed the app and reached for her drink. Something silly fluttered in her chest.

If he did want to see her again…

She really, really hoped he’d ask.

But the her phone lights up with a notification from instagram

Tuesday

Same café. Same table. A little more familiar this time.

Y/N got there early.

Not because she was nervous. (Okay, she was.)

But because part of her hadn’t stopped thinking about that first afternoon the LEGO store, his crooked grin, the way he’d called her Speed Champion like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Now, tucked into the corner booth with a fresh drink and slightly shaky hands, she glanced toward the café door every thirty seconds until —

Chime.

There he was.

Lando strolled in like he belonged there in a navy knitted sweater with backwards cap, and a new warmth in his eyes when they landed on her.

“You’re early,” he teased, sliding into the seat across from her.

“You’re late.”

“I’m literally two minutes early,” he grinned.

Y/N raised a brow. “Time is relative. You owe me a cat-themed review.”

“Oh, it’s in here.” He tugged a slightly wrinkled gift bag out from under the table and placed it between them with dramatic flair. “Straight from Penelope. Be warned — she takes feedback very seriously.”

Y/N peeked into the bag, expecting a folded drawing or maybe some stickers.

What she didn’t expect… were three caps.

Two orange McLaren ones and a navy-blue Williams cap, all neatly arranged under a glittery construction paper drawing. Her brows furrowed.

“What—?”

Lando leaned forward, suddenly bashful in a way she hadn’t seen before. “Okay, so… Penelope’s review is there. But the rest is from me.”

He gestured to the navy cap first.

“This one’s for you.”

Y/N blinked. Slowly. Then again.

The signature on the brim was unmistakable: Carlos Sainz.

“Lando—what—how—”

“You said he was your favorite. I told him you almost didn’t pick the McLaren set because of him. He said, and I quote, ‘that’s fair.’” He laughed. “But then he signed it anyway.”

She covered her mouth with both hands, eyes wide.

“And this—” he picked up the first orange cap, “—is for your mom. For calling me a teen rom-com lead. I felt obligated.”

He flipped it to show the message:

To the real #1 fan – Lando 🧡

Y/N let out an incredulous laugh. “You’re kidding.”

“I never kid about your mom’s loyalty.”

“And…?” She eyed the last cap.

Lando hesitated for half a beat before handing it to her.

It was hers. The second orange one.

Already signed with his name — and a small doodle of a smiley face under it.

“I figured…” he shrugged, “if I’m not your favorite driver yet, I could at least earn the hat space.”

Y/N didn’t speak right away.

She just stared at the cap in her hands a little stunned, a little overwhelmed, and suddenly very aware of the boy watching her reaction like it mattered more than any race result.

“This is the sweetest surprise I’ve ever gotten,” she said softly.

Lando smiled, and it wasn’t his usual public smile, it was gentler. Just for her. “Good. I was aiming for unforgettable.”

She laughed, quiet and breathless. “You’re ridiculous.”

He leaned back in his seat, smug. “And yet… here you are again.”

They lingered over coffee, their conversation even easier than last time filled with stories from the paddock, complaints about delayed flights, inside jokes about glitter glue and Max Verstappen’s backyard.

Y/N told him about a job interview she had coming up. He promised to send her good-luck memes.

And when it was time to go, neither of them moved right away.

Lando nodded toward the cap now clipped to the side of her tote bag. “You know you have to wear that next time you come to a race.”

Y/N smirked. “Only if you podium.”

“Wow. Harsh conditions.”

She raised a brow. “P1 energy only, remember?”

He grinned, cocky and golden in the late afternoon light. “Guess I’ll just have to impress you, then.”

She didn’t say it, but she didn’t have to.

He already had.

ynusername posted a story

tbc.

author's note: finally part 2 is posted! will be posting part 3 soon and probably it will be the last part this series :) currently drafting for it! so stay tuned! lmk if you have any ideas to write for any drivers! oh! and also just lmk or comment below if you wanted to be tagged for the next part!

[mrspossessiveleclerc]

Little Kisses | cl16

Summary : A day in Greece with the Leclerc family and a lot of… little kisses! 💋

Warning? oh no! It’s just dad Charles, should that count?

Thoughts & Notes : hiiiii y’all! It’s my first ever one-shot on this new cl account so thought what could be better than starting off with fluff? And that too girl-dad Charles! Best choice. I’m so excited for y’all to read it and love it as much as I do. Likes, reblogs and comments are appreciated, DMs are always open so stop by if want 💌 requests are open too! I went to F1 when I was 4 and lost track while growing up, dear god, thank you for F1 movie bc I’m obsessed! Going third time soon. New obsession is unlocked and THIS MAN omg is stayin’ my heart is literally half his now. I’m a newbie in this fandom so just keep watching me drop on me knees for him😘😜 anyways for now just keep reading! Enjoy💕

p.s. my main account is @harryssyndrome

Posted on : July 7th, 2025. WC : 2.2k

Pairing : Husband!Girl-Dad!Charles x Wifey!Mom!Fem!reader

MONACO GRAND PRIX - SUNDAY

The roar of engines finally faded. The red-and-white kerbs of Monte Carlo glowed under the setting sun, and the scent of burning rubber hung heavy in the air as mechanics hugged one another in jubilant relief.

Charles stood atop the podium, champagne bottle in hand, spraying silver droplets over the crowd below. His cheeks hurt from smiling so hard. The Monegasque flags waved like a sea of red and white, and his name echoed off the sleek glass buildings lining the harbor.

But even as the national anthem played, even as the trophy gleamed in his hands, a single thought pulsed through his chest, louder than the cheers:

I can’t wait to leave it all behind for a little while and just… be.

And more than anything, he wanted to share that quiet with the people who made every lap worth it.

🏎️🏁🚥🏆💨 🧸☁️🎀⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🪐 𓇼

𝑮𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒄𝒆 🍰 . 𖦹˙🧸ྀི ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ᴅᴀʏs ʟᴀᴛᴇʀ

The villa perched on a cliff above a secluded Greek bay, its whitewashed walls almost blinding beneath the sun. The infinity pool glimmered like a slice of the Aegean itself, and the scent of brine and rosemary drifted on the breeze.

Charles lay sprawled on a lounger beneath an oversized straw umbrella, one ankle crossed over the other, sunglasses perched low on his nose. A soft linen towel was draped over his bare chest, still damp from an earlier dip.

Beside him, Y/N reclined with her legs stretched out, ankles shimmering with sun lotion, a wide-brimmed hat casting shade across her delicate features. She wore a pale coral bikini beneath a flowing white cover-up, the breeze tugging playfully at the fabric. A soft smile curved her lips as she scrolled through photos on her phone.

Their laughter came in gentle bursts, blending with the hush of the waves below.

From further across the terrace came the shrill, joyous shrieks of their daughter, Amelia — known to everyone as Amy.

“Amy, doucement!” Y/N called, though her voice held no real urgency.

Amy wore a cotton dress white as clouds, sprinkled with vivid red cherries that seemed almost alive under the Greek sun. The hem flounced as she toddled barefoot across the hot tiles, tiny toes pink against the pale stone.

In one hand, she clutched a plastic watering can, bright yellow, its spout trailing drops of water. In the other, a bright pink hair clip she’d plucked from Y/N’s suitcase.

Bounding after her came Leo, their exuberant golden retriever, tongue lolling out, his fluffy tail waving like a royal banner. His nails clicked over the stone as he darted in delighted circles around Amy.

“Leo, come bak here!” Amy babbled in a hybrid of French, English, and baby talk. “Me pour you flowa wawa!”

Leo barked and skidded sideways, snatching one of Amy’s small sandals from the ground in a single swift motion. He bolted off, triumph shining in his eyes.

Amy let out a squeal that somehow split the silence and turned every head.

“LÉO! Gimme back my shoe!”

Y/N burst into laughter, shaking her head. She dropped her phone onto her lap, eyes sparkling.

“Charles, your daughter is a hurricane.”

Charles tilted his sunglasses down to peer at her. “Our daughter, amour. Though… oui. A very adorable hurricane.”

“She gets it from you.”

“Moi? I never cause trouble.”

Y/N gave him a look so flat that Charles snorted in surrender. He leaned in, pressing a soft, sun-dappled kiss to her lips.

“Okay. Maybe a little trouble.”

Y/N gave a soft sigh against his mouth, pressing closer. Charles deepened the kiss slightly, fingertips brushing her jaw in a tender caress. Her skin was warm, tasting faintly of salt and sun lotion.

For a precious moment, it felt like the entire Aegean had stilled around them.

“Oi!”

Amy’s tiny, indignant voice cut through the balmy air like a siren.

“That’s my mommy!”

Charles and Y/N pulled apart, faces bright with laughter as they turned to find Amy barreling toward them, curls bouncing wildly around her flushed cheeks. Leo bounded after her, still brandishing the sandal like a trophy.

Amy stopped in front of the loungers, hands planted firmly on her hips. She glared at Charles with a comically stern expression.

“Daddy, no kissy Mommy!” she declared, stamping one little foot. “Mommy is mine!”

Y/N pressed her knuckles to her lips to keep from bursting out laughing. Charles opened his mouth, closed it, then tried again:

“But… but Daddy loves Mommy too!” he protested.

Amy narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “No. She mine.”

Then, without further ado, she climbed up onto Charles’s lounger, little knees digging into his stomach. Charles grunted in mock pain as Amy scrambled onto his lap, her cherry dress flaring out around her tiny legs.

Once seated, she cupped his face firmly between both small hands, smushing his cheeks together until his lips puckered.

“Me kiss me kiss, Daddy!” she insisted, her voice wobbling as she tried to form the words. “You run outta kissesss. Giv me kiss! Me also!”

Charles burst into helpless laughter, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He looped his arms around her tiny waist and peppered her cheeks, forehead, and chubby little nose with rapid-fire kisses.

“Mwah! Mwah! Mwah!”

Amy squealed, wiggling away and flailing her arms.

“Daddy, no tickle face!”

Leo, as if inspired by the excitement, dropped the sandal and barked joyfully. Then, in one glorious bound, he leapt into the pool, sending a huge arc of water spraying over the tiles.

Amy froze, twisting around in Charles’s lap, eyes wide.

“Daddy! Leo in wawa!”

Charles peeked over Amy’s shoulder, water dripping off his chin. “Oui, bébé. Leo loves swimming.”

Amy’s mouth fell open. “Leo is fish?”

Y/N, wiping her tears of laughter, chimed in: “He’s Monsieur Poisson today.”

Amy giggled. “Monsieur Pwa-sin!”

Charles beamed, heart swelling in his chest. There were few things in the world he loved more than the two of them — and seeing Amy’s curls shining under the sun while she chattered in her baby voice might be at the top of that list.

Amy wriggled off Charles’s lap and toddled toward the pool’s edge, curls bouncing. She knelt beside the water, peering at Leo as he paddled in delighted circles. But when Leo splashed closer, sending droplets onto her toes, Amy shrieked and scrambled backward.

“Daddy! Wawa scary!” she cried, pressing her hands over her mouth.

Charles eased off the lounger, stretching his back until his vertebrae cracked. He peeled off his white linen shirt, leaving his chest bare, abs tight and tan from days in the sun.

Y/N caught her breath. “Charles…”

He paused, smirking. “Quoi?”

“Stop looking like a Greek god in front of our daughter.”

Charles leaned closer, kissing her firmly. “Later, amour,” he murmured with a wicked grin.

He turned to Amy, who was now half-hiding behind Y/N’s legs, peeking out with big brown eyes.

“Come here, petite cerise,” Charles coaxed, kneeling by the water.

Amy inched forward cautiously.

“Daddy… no boom wawa?”

Charles bit back a grin. “No boom. Come give Daddy a kiss.”

Amy hesitated, little fingers twisting the hem of her cherry dress. After a moment, she leaned forward and pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek.

Charles immediately threw himself backward into the water with exaggerated flailing arms.

SPLOOSH!

Water surged over the tiles in a sparkling wave. Amy let out a scream of delight so high it practically startled seagulls from the sky.

“DADDY FELL DOWN!”

Y/N howled with laughter, clutching the umbrella pole for support. Charles surfaced, shaking his hair out of his eyes, and sputtered water.

“Did you see that, bébé?” he spluttered, grinning. “Daddy fall?”

Amy hopped up and down, clapping her hands. “I see! Daddy go BOOM!” She turned to Y/N, eyes huge. “Mommy, Daddy go boom in wawa!”

“Yes, baby!” Y/N gasped, wiping tears from her cheeks. “Daddy went boom!”

"Yup, he did, baby!" Y/N laughed. "Silly Daddy."

Charles floated to the pool’s edge, reaching up his dripping hands toward his daughter.

“Come in, ma chérie. Daddy’s here. I’ll keep you safe.”

Amy wavered, clutching the edges of her dress. “No… me scawed.”

Y/N crouched beside her, brushing a damp curl off Amy’s forehead. “But Daddy’s so strong, baby. He’ll hold you tight. And look — Leo’s swimming like a big fish!”

Amy peered over the edge again. Leo gave a happy bark and seemed to wave a paw at her.

“Leo fish?” she whispered.

“Oui!” Charles said. “Leo is Monsieur Poisson!”

Amy dissolved into giggles. “Monsieur Pwa-sin!”

Y/N kissed her cheek. “Let’s take off your pretty dress first. You can swim in your strawberry swimsuit.”

Amy gasped. “Me want swim suit!”

Y/N peeled the cherry dress off over Amy’s head, revealing a red swimsuit dotted with tiny strawberries. Charles gave a low whistle, eyes wide.

“Look at that beautiful mermaid!”

Amy giggled, cheeks pink. “Me mermaid!”

Y/N nudged her gently. “Want to swim with Daddy?”

Amy bit her lip. Then, glancing at Charles’s open arms, she finally nodded.

Charles spread his arms. “Jump, bébé. Daddy’s ready!”

Amy’s curls fluttered in the breeze as she teetered on the edge, wiggling her toes. She drew a deep breath, scrunched her eyes shut… and launched herself forward with a high-pitched squeal:

“Daddy, catch meeee!”

Charles caught her in one smooth motion, sweeping her high above the water before pulling her close. Amy clung to his neck, shrieking with laughter as he spun them in a gentle circle.

“See, bébé? Water’s not scary at all.”

Amy kicked her legs experimentally. “Me swimming! Me mermaid!”

“Yes, you are!” Charles laughed, kissing her damp curls.

Nearby, Leo paddled over, spraying water everywhere. Amy shrieked as Leo gave her cheek a big wet lick.

“LEO!” she shrieked. “No lick me!”

On the pool deck, Y/N stood with her phone raised, snapping photo after photo, eyes shining with pride and affection.

“Smile for Mommy!”

Charles turned toward her, holding Amy close, and pressed a soft kiss to his daughter’s cheek. Amy waved at the camera, tiny fingers splayed wide.

“Hi Mommyyyy!”

Y/N lowered her phone, eyes warm.

“You two… are my whole world.”

Charles swam closer, lips quirking into a mischievous smile. “You’re part of this world too, amour.”

He reached up and tugged Y/N closer. Y/N squealed, leaning down for a kiss… and Charles pulled her halfway into the water.

“CHARLES!”

Water soaked the hem of Y/N’s cover-up. She slapped his shoulder playfully as Amy shrieked in delight.

“Oi! Daddy, that’s my Mommy!” Amy scolded again, flailing her tiny arms between them.

Charles and Y/N laughed until their sides hurt, pulling Amy close in a soggy three-way hug while Leo barked gleefully around them.

Eventually, Charles carried Amy over to the pool steps, letting her sit while he splashed gentle waves around her feet.

“You’re so brave, mon trésor,” he murmured, brushing her wet curls off her forehead. “Daddy’s proud of you.”

Amy leaned forward, wrapping her tiny arms around his neck, eyes fluttering half-closed in exhaustion. “Me brave,” she echoed sleepily.

“Yes, you are,” Charles whispered, kissing her cheek. “Daddy’s little mermaid.”

Y/N knelt beside them, ruffling Amy’s hair. “I think someone’s ready for a nap.”

Amy jerked her head up. “No nap!” she protested — then yawned so hard her eyes watered.

Charles chuckled. “How about snuggle time instead?”

Amy paused, considering. Finally, she nodded. “Snuggle time.”

“That’s my girl.”

Charles lifted her out of the water, wrapping her in a fluffy towel. She nestled her damp curls into his shoulder, thumb creeping into her mouth.

Y/N rose and pressed a soft kiss to Charles’s wet temple. “Thank you for this,” she whispered. “For all of it.”

Charles glanced down at the two most important people in his life. His chest swelled, heart pounding with love so fierce it almost hurt.

“There’s nothing in this world more important than you two,” he murmured. “This… this is the real victory.”

Y/N kissed him again, slow and lingering, as Leo bounded out of the pool, spraying water everywhere and flopping at their feet.

Amy peeked up sleepily, mumbling around her thumb:

“Daddy… me still want more kisses.”

Charles smiled so wide it crinkled his eyes.

“You’ll never run out of Daddy’s kisses, mon amour. I promise.”

Under a sky awash in pink and gold, Charles settled onto the sunbed, his family curled close, warm skin pressed together, the salt-scented breeze rustling the olive trees around them.

The Monaco trophy sat gleaming somewhere miles away. But Charles knew: this was the real win.

[f1withespresso]

god save the queen | pt. 11

✎ — oscar piastri x fem!teammate!reader

✎ — summary: They were teammates. Friends. Maybe lovers. But McLaren lets their drivers race, and as the championship slips into chaos, ambition corrodes everything. Two rising stars, one world title, and a rivalry so personal it bleeds. Love isn’t gone. It’s just buried under throttle, heartbreak, and the will to win.

✎ — chapter word count: +6.3k

✎ — radio: this looks like it's a really long chapter but i promise it doesn't feel that way! also this was written ahead of the british grand prix, so no Hulkenberg podium :( still hope you enjoy it and the playlist at the bottom! Thank you for all the love and kindness <3

series masterlist

Usually you wouldn’t go on Oxford St. It’s always overcrowded. People there are always stressed or overstimulated or both. And lately the risk of being recognised and being hunted down from all sides for a photo or an autograph was simply too high. But the McLaren marketing team had decided it would be a great idea to have a McLaren pop-up store nestled between glossy storefronts to promote the new collection and the team. Bright orange banners flutter in the gentle breeze, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingles with the distant rumble of London traffic. You step into the shop, a cascade of genuine smiles greeting you from the crew and the eager fans waiting in a gentle line. Your hoodie is oversized, the new McLaren merch fabric soft against your skin like a second layer of protection — a cozy  layer against the subtle nervous flutter in your stomach. Your hands tremble slightly, a mixture of excitement and the rawness of being seen in this way.

Soon after you start this brief meet and greet slot both your arms are covered in fan gifts. Friendship bracelets, tiny crafted bands of colorful beads in every imaginable shade, are thrust into your hands and wrapped around your wrists by fans who look at you with wide eyes full of quiet admiration. One purple and gold band catches your eye — bright threads spelling out Oscar x [Y/N] — the fan-given shipping name for you and Oscar, a sweet but bitter reminder of the tangled history between you two. You smile softly, slipping it onto your wrist. A petite girl with sharp eyes hands you a turquoise bracelet decorated with a delicate crown. “Because you’re like royalty to us. Racing royalty,” she says, voice steady and warm. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you so much,” you whisper, your voice catching, the kindness washing over you like a gentle tide. “Just keep being you,” another fan adds, her tone fierce and protective, “You’re the future of racing.” The line moves slowly, each fan sharing something small — a hand-drawn card, a painted rock, a soft word. The energy is gentle, empowering, and for once, you feel buoyed by more than just the adrenaline of competition. When the hour draws to a close, you take a quick selfie, arm bent, bracelets stacked high — a riot of colors and whispered promises. You post a picture it. The notifications hit instantly.

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yourusername Carrying a little bit of everyone’s strength with me 💗 thanks to all the fans who came to the fan shop today and made my day! I love you guys! 🧡

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username1 omg the bracelet that says “Osc x Papaya” is giving me LIFE 

username2 I love how you’re literally carrying a piece of your fans on your arm 💕 it’s like a wearable hug!

oscarpiastri: you up to trade some with me? 😏 ↳ username3 bruh you know she’s gonna say no. That’s like trading a diamond for a pebble 😂

username3 if friendship bracelets could fuel a racecar, you’d have the fastest car on the grid rn 🏎️💨 ↳ username4 well she has the fastest car already anyway

mclaren Can we just talk about how this is what teamwork between racers and fans looks like? On and off the track! 🧡🏎

username5 so glad i got to meet you! made my entire week, thank you for being such a delight 🦋💫

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The flood of love pulls you in, but it was Oscar’s comment that makes your heart skip. you up to trade some with me? You laugh, cheeks warming. The fandom explods. Hearts and fire emojis fill the replies like wildfire. You can’t help but reply under his comment:

yourusername @/oscarpiastri would only trade for your hoodies! 

Across town, Oscar sits awkwardly at a small, brightly lit table in the kind of chicken shop where the smell of frying oil hung in the air like a warm, greasy cloud. Amelia Dimoldenberg is halfway through eating a perfectly seasoned chicken nugget, her eyes sparkling with amused mischief as the cameras roll quietly, capturing every moment of the infamous Chicken Shop Date. The buzzing overhead lights humm softly, and the muffled chatter of the chefs in the kitchen feel like background noise to their own slightly electric bubble. “So, Oscar,” Amelia says bluntly, leaning forward with a teasing grin curling her lips, “you’re shy but you look like you could start a fight over a bucket of fries. How does that work?” Oscar swallows, cheeks tinting a soft, embarrassed pink. He fiddls nervously with the napkin dispenser. “I guess... I’m just a bit of a paradox.” Amelia laughs, a low, throaty sound that makes him shift in his seat. “I like that. Are you nervous?” “Only because you’re so direct,” he admits, eyes darting anywhere but to meet hers. She archs an eyebrow, voice dropping just a notch, “Maybe you need someone blunt to cut through the bullshit.” A pause hangs between them — charged and electric — before she asks, “Fries or nuggets?” Oscar blinks, surprised by the sudden shift. “Both,” he says, a shy smile breaking through the tension. “Me too. We are so compatible already,” she quipps, sending hm a slightly flirtatious smirk. Their banter dances between lighthearted and subtly charming, and though Oscar tries to maintain his cool, his flush deepened every time Amelia’s gaze lingers or her tone dipped softer. The camera catches every little detail—the quick glance that lingeres too long, the accidental brush of fingers as she passes him the ketchup, the way his smile ist just a little too tight to be casual. “So,” Amelia continues, twirling a fry around like it was a magic wand, “if you had to choose, what’s your secret guilty pleasure?” Oscar hesitates, then shrugges. “Maybe... cheesy rom-coms? I’m terrible at hiding it.” “Terrible at hiding? You don’t need to hide that. I think that’s adorable.” Amelia leanes in closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I promise not to tell the paddock.” Oscar laughes nervously. “Thanks. I’ll have to return the favor.” She grinnes, eyes twinkling. “Oh, so we’re trading secrets now? That’s kinda fast considering it’s our first date” “It looks like it. But I like fast. I think fast is good, don’t you think.” he says, voice softer, more genuine. Now it’s Amelias turn to be blushing and for a moment she’s actually speechless. A silence falls between them, but it doesn’t feel awkward. More like the quiet before a laugh or something bigger. Then, as if the mood isn’t already loaded enough, Amelia pickes up a chicken nugget, waggling it like a trophy. “Alright, serious question — who would survive longer in a post-apocalyptic world? You or me?” Oscar chuckles, warming up. “Definitely you. You seem like the kind who’d jury-rig a solar panel out of scraps.” “Exactly,” she says with mock pride. “I’d also probably hoard all the nuggets.” “I fear, that outside of racing, I'm pretty much useless.” She laughs, a bright burst that makes Oscar chuckle lightly while watching the fries in front of him. The awkwardness doesn’t fully dissipate — it hoveres like the scent of fries, but there is something sweet in it too. As the camera crew packes up, Amelia reaches over, lightly touching Oscar’s arm. “So, next time — maybe fries and nuggets, but somewhere with fewer cameras?” Oscar’s cheeks flame again, but he nods. “Sounds a bit more fun.” She smiles, her eyes full of promise. " Right. Because I’m terrible at subtlety, but I’m excellent at follow-ups.” And with that, the most awkward, sweetest chicken shop date in F1 history comes to an end — leaving fans to swoon, cringe, and replay every moment on loop. Under their post, fans go wild:

username1 THIS IS SO CUTE I’M WHEEZING username2 amelia bringing out oscar’s blush like a pro 💀 username5 amelia x oscar might actually be rivaling her date with andrew garfield and i’m scared of what that means username6 sorry but imagine oscar blushing like this if [Y/N] was sitting across from him??? i’m crawling up the wall username7 plot twist: oscar and [Y/N] are actually competing to see who can soft-launch a situationship first and Oscar is winning i fear username8 oscar stuttering his way through this interview like he hasn’t been chased by max verstappen at 320km/h username9 she got him to say his guilty pleasure is romcoms on camera. GIVE HER A GRID PASS username10 i’m fine with this as long as he goes home to think about [Y/N] anyway x yourusername @/ameliadimz, when are you asking me out for fries and chicken nuggets? xoxo

Silverstone, at its core, is just a little village — but every time Formula 1 (or any motorsport event for that matter) rolls into town, it transforms. Not just into a racing circuit at use, but into something ceremonial, almost sacred. A cathedral of motorsport. Where cow fields meet grandstands, and quiet roads become arteries for hundreds of thousands of fans, pouring in with flags, noise, hope. It’s nothing like London. Gone is the monotone city buzz, replaced by something more reverent. More electric. The sky hangs low and heavy all weekend, a slab of muted gray that threatens rain without ever quite delivering it. That strange British weather that teeters on the edge of chaos, keeping everyone guessing. The kind of forecast that makes engineers twitchy and drivers alert. But the track holds. Just long enough. Saturday stays dry. You’re already strapped into the cockpit when the sun threatens to peek through the clouds, but it never does. Doesn’t matter. You’re already locked in. Every breath is measured. Hands steady on the wheel. Muscles coiled tight, like the car itself — restrained power, waiting to be unleashed. The engine whines. The world blurs. This is your canvas. Lap after lap, you sketch speed into every corner, chiseling apexes into something close to poetry. The car obeys like it’s an extension of your body, like it knows exactly what you need and gives it without hesitation. Every downshift is clean, every acceleration sharp, every line bold. When you cross the line for your final qualifying lap, you don’t need the radio confirmation to know it — you were fast. Fast enough. Pole position. You park up in parc fermé, heart pounding, jaw set, a smile threatening to break free under the helmet. You pulled that out of thin air. From tension, from instinct, from pure grit. It’s not luck. It’s you.

Oscar, meanwhile, also delivers a lap that’s all fire and focus. Less smooth, more bite. Controlled aggression in every corner. He pushes hard, chasing milliseconds. He crosses the line P3 — just behind Verstappen, who threads the needle for P2, but never quite looks comfortable doing it. A front row start slips just out of Oscar’s grasp. You climb out of the car to applause and cheers and Union Jacks waving high in the wind. Home crowd energy. It lifts the air around you like static. You nod at Oscar as he walks over, his helmet still on, his body language unreadable. There's no shared grin, no fist bump. Just a glance, and then away. The trio is set. You, on pole — sharp and clinical. Max — lurking in P2, ever the predator. Oscar — in P3, with something to prove. Silverstone is ready. The stage is yours. Back in the broadcast booth they analyse you pole position lap: “And once again, the rookie sensation of last season is proving she’s no flash in the pan. Pole for the future, folks.” “Oscar’s putting up a fight, but it’s clear the spotlight’s shifting. Still, we’re in for a thrilling race.”

On race day, the rain starts exactly ten minutes in. It doesn’t fall with drama at first — just a cold drizzle kissing the tarmac, subtle and sly. Enough to make grip uncertain, braking zones longer, every corner a gamble. But you’ve seen this kind of storm before. It’s not just a wet track — it’s a psychological battle. And you? You’re ready to dominate. You’re on pole. You’re in control. That’s what you tell yourself. From the moment the lights go out, you launch like lightning. Clean start. No wheelspin. You thread the needle through Abbey and Farm like the car is on rails, carving a dry line that barely exists. Behind you, Verstappen pressures immediately, but you don’t feel it. You don’t even see it. You just feel the rhythm — corner to corner, apex to apex — and you’re already in flow. The drizzle turns into proper rain before the third lap ends. Visibility drops. The vision through the helmet slowly becoming blurry. The race changes — not into survival, but into mastery. And you thrive. The car dances under you, twitchy yet obedient. You feather the throttle through Luffield like you’re whispering a secret to the engine. No corrections. No wasted motion. Just quiet brutality in how efficiently you pull away. One second. Then two. Then four. The gap grows with every sector, every lap. Others panic. Brake too late. Miss lines. Gas it too early out of Copse and pirouette across runoff. Yellow flags wave. Debris litters the edge of Becketts. But not you. You’re an artist painting with spray and torque. The crowd fades. You hear nothing but the rain on carbon fiber and the high-pitched wail of the engine as it screams its loyalty. Behind you, chaos. Verstappen elbows his way past Hamilton.  Russell lunges late into Brooklands and nearly collects Oscar. But Oscar holds his line — clean, aggressive, inches from disaster.

Broadcast – Lap 21: David Croft: “It’s absolutely treacherous out there — look at the spray! But while others are hanging on for dear life, McLaren’s number [Y/Nr] is in a league of her own.” Alex Jacques: “It’s a masterclass. She’s turning a race into a performance. Just unbelievable balance. That car is dancing, Crofty.” Croft: “And behind her, it’s like gladiators in a storm. Russell, Verstappen, Piastri — all giving it their absolute best, but no one can even see the race leader anymore!”

Oscar finally gets Verstappen on Lap 33 as the Red Bull begins to struggle — a clean move into Stowe, late on the brakes but calm on exit. The Dutchman tries to squeeze him, but Oscar’s already ahead. That’s P2. The crowd erupts — an eventful race like this always make up for the bad weather. And in Britain they hate Verstappen anyways. But it’s not the loudest cheer of the day. That comes when you cross the finish line. Lap 52. You blaze past the checkered flag with water streaming across your visor, the entire upper body soaked, but victorious. The McLaren pit wall explodes in celebration. Zak punches the air like a kid at Christmas that got the expensive toy they wished for all year. A 1-2 at home always feels special. The timing sheets don’t lie. You finished 11.4 seconds ahead of Oscar. Over Verstappen? 17.2. And you didn’t put a wheel wrong. Queen of Silverstone. The storm’s calm eye. You coast into parc fermé to thunderous applause, your car kissed by rain and glory alike. Mechanics clap. Even rival engineers nod, muttering something about wet weather brilliance and the emergence of a true title threat. Oscar rolls in behind you. Verstappen, stone-faced, in third. They fought. You soared.

Your hands are trembling when you climb out — not from fear, but from the rush of serotonine. You rip off your gloves, helmet still on, just breathing. Just feeling it. The weight of the moment. The weightlessness of winning like this. Oscar walks past you in parc fermé, eyes flicking up just once to meet yours. He nods. Respectful. But his jaw’s tight. His expression unreadable. There’s admiration in his eyes — and something else. Something not as clean. You don’t have time to parse it. You’re ushered to the podium. The grandstands of Silverstone roar. And above the chaos, above the wet and the war, you raise your trophy to the sky — and it feels like the rain falls only for you. Like natures fireworks. 

The press conference room buzzes with energy as the three drivers take their seats. The room is thick with lights and heat and something less visible but just as sharp: narrative. Every journalist in the front two rows has already decided what today means. And now they’re just here to mine quotes that match their headlines. You sit between Oscar and Max as the first-place driver flanked by the two you had beat. The podium was a blur — champagne, anthems, the trophy almost too heavy in your hand. But this? This is the part where the sport becomes politics. Where the smiles are tight, the words curated, and the flashbulbs hunt for tension. You grip the microphone lightly. The moderator starts with the basics. “Congratulations to our podium winners. Let’s start with you,” he says, nodding to you. “Sixth career win, fourth of the season and in the wet at Silverstone, no less. How does that feel?” You lean forward, clearing your throat. “It feels surreal,” you say, voice steady. “I grew up watching the race here every year, imagining what it might be like if I were to race in an F1 car here on this track. Last year my race here was very unfortunate. Winning it this year… in these conditions? It’s something else.” Max smiles, nodding. Oscar doesn’t. He just has his eyes pinned to the floor. A reporter jumps in, quick to the next question. “Max, you've won here before. How would you rate [Y/N]’s performance today?” Max doesn’t miss a beat. “Exceptional,” he says bluntly, glancing toward you. “You don’t win in the wet at Silverstone unless you’ve got more than just a fast car. It’s racecraft, instinct. She’s got that.” He says it like it’s fact, and somehow that makes it even better. Like it’s settled. Like the old guard is handing out crowns to the fresh, fierce younglings. Another reporter: “Oscar, you’ve raced against her in equal machinery all of this season. You two have been paired up at McLaren ever since she debuted last year. This was her fourth win in this campaign and she’s been consistently quick. How do you rate your championship chances against her currently, with her being in the lead by more than 20 points now?” Oscar takes a second too long to answer. He nods, eyes fixed on the desk. “Yeah, she’s… she’s been strong all year. Today proves she can handle pressure and execute in difficult conditions. That’s what it takes.” There’s a strain in his voice, subtle but unmistakable. You feel it — the twitch in his jaw, the clipped phrasing. You know him well enough to read what’s unsaid: I should’ve won this. But he can’t say that. Not here. So he plays the good teammate. The neutral professional. Even as the weight of yourvictory settles like a stone between you.

The questions keep coming. Faster now. “Do you think McLaren is the strongest team on the grid now?” “Do you think the dynamic between the two of you will shift after today’s result?” “Can you confirm the rumors of off-track tension?” That one makes you snap your head toward the speaker. You raise your eyebrows. “We’re here to talk about a race,” you say, keeping your voice cool but sharp. “Not whatever social media is speculating about.” The reporter shrinks slightly. Oscar looks over at you for the first time. Not a glare. Not a smile. Just… watching. Someone else pushes it further: “But to be fair, the way fans see it, this season’s become about you two — the rivalry, the chemistry, the tension. Do you think that helps or hurts the team’s cohesion?” You force a breath through your nose. “I think what helps the team is when we both score points and bring home trophies. And that’s what we’re doing.” Oscar adds, “Media speculation doesn’t change how we work in the garage. We both want to win.” It’s the right answer. It’s also a lie. Max chuckles under his breath. “You two sound like PR robots.” Only the front rows pick up on it and laugh. The cameras can’t hear it. Oscar finds it hard to believe all of this is some kind of joke. A journalist from Speedline raises her hand. “There’s been a lot of talk today about the ‘changing of the guard.’ Some are calling your win a generational shift moment. Do you see it that way?” You hesitate. That’s the trap — the ego trap. Say yes and you sound cocky. Say no and you downplay your own achievement. So you tread the line. “I think today was a good race in difficult conditions. I’m proud of how I drove. But I’m not here to replace anyone. To become the new Verstappen or Vettel or Schumacher. I’m here to win. There is a lot of new young drivers on the grid this year. And even this technically not being my rookie season, but I’m still in my rookie years. I still have a lot to learn and I can still relate to their struggles a lot.” The quote will be everywhere tomorrow. You can already see it. Oscar doesn’t look at you this time. He’s already building walls behind his eyes, already setting the boundary between you in concrete. Another hand goes up. The moderator sighs. “Last question.” The reporter grins. “Do you feel like you’ve proven something today — to the team? To your critics? Maybe even to your teammate?” The room goes still for half a second too long. You stare at the reporter. The silence is louder than the question. You could play coy. You could deflect. You could smile and say, “In Formula 1 you’re always proving something to someone." That you are a great contribution to the team. That you deserve your seat. Winning is part of not drowning in this sport. So that’s exactly what you're doing. But your jaw tightens. “I think the results speak for themselves,” you say, voice clipped. The microphones go dead. The flashbulbs don’t.

Oscar doesn't show it — not on camera, not in the media pen, not even in the quiet hum of the post-race cooldown room. But inside? He's suffocating. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this. Finishing P2 on McLaren’s home soil, delivering clean points, dueling with Max — that should be enough. But it isn’t. Not when you’re the one lifting the trophy. Not when all eyes flicker past him to focus on you. He sits on the press conference couch, perfectly still, posture practiced. But his thoughts are chaos. “She’s the future of Formula 1.” Max said that, and no one flinched. No one challenged it. The press treats today like some baton’s been passed — as if he wasn’t still here, still fighting, wasn't still leading the championship battle just a few races ago. It’s not just admiration anymore. It’s replacement. You’re the new toy. The media darling. The storm-slayer. The one who makes their pens twitch and their headlines scream. They call your wet-weather performance “a masterclass,” but forget his own victories — his quiet dominance, his consistent precision. He watches the reporters eat out of your hand. Watches the way your voice doesn’t shake when they prod you with questions meant to rattle. The way you own the tension and don’t blink. You’re better at this than he was at your age. That’s the worst part. And suddenly, everything feels fragile. His status. His seat. The space he carved for himself. Zak used to call him the team’s rising star. Now he hears them — the paddock whispers, the articles, the social media noise — calling you the future, the prodigy. He clenches his jaw and smiles through it. But in his chest, he feels it: the beginning of the end of being number one. And worse still? He’s not even sure you noticed. He wonders what it will do to you once do do notice it. Will it eat you up just like it’s eating up him? The pressure of staying atop? 

Both the media and the fans find their things and ways to comment.

Autosport – "Move Over, Verstappen? McLaren’s [Y/Nr] Delivers Statement Victory” Verstappen praised her as ‘exceptional’ in the post-race press conference — and he wasn’t wrong. Sunday’s British Grand Prix wasn’t just a race, it was a warning shot across the paddock. There’s a new name on everyone’s lips. Motorsport.com – “McLaren’s Rising Star Claims Sixth F1 Career Victory at Silverstone in Rain-Soaked Showdown” Leading from lights to flag in deteriorating conditions, the British GP became a defining moment for McLaren’s young sensation — and a potential shift in the team’s internal hierarchy. Formula 1 Official – “A Win to Remember: [Y/N][Y/LN] Dominates Silverstone” With precision in the wet and nerves of steel, McLaren’s number [Y/Nr] delivered a storm-defying performance that cemented her as a serious title contender in only her second season on the grid, as she is currently leading in the drivers championship.

📍Silverstone circuit

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f1gossippage Is the pressure finally getting to Mr. Piastri? 👀 Oscar’s very frosty post-race demeanor at Silverstone has fans speculating — and we’re not saying he looked like he was ready to launch a helmet at the wall after that press conference, but we’re also not not saying it. 🧊

From the tight jaw to the refusal to make eye contact with [Y/N], to barely reacting when Max praised her driving as “exceptional” — this wasn’t the usual charming yet collected Oscar we’ve seen all season. With [Y/N] taking a commanding lead in the championship and the media all but crowning her the future of F1… is Oscar starting to feel the walls close in? 👀💔

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username1 he didn’t look mad he looked DEVASTATED like baby what happened to “it’s just racing” 😭

username2 this is giving 2016 Rosberg vibes

username3 oscar’s just found out he’s not the main character anymore and he is NOT taking it well 😭😭😭

username4 You know what? I GET HIM. She wins in the wet, Verstappen hands her the crown, the media starts writing her F1 Wikipedia page live. I'd be seething too.

username5 oscar said “i’m happy for her :)” in the same tone i say “i’m happy for my ex :)”

username6 max giggling in the corner like the older sibling watching their younger siblings DESTROY each other over the tv remote

username8 oscar when they asked if she’s the new number one: 🧍

username10 and just like that, the crown prince became the spare

username9 “is this the changing of the guard?” BABE the guard is fistfighting behind the mclaren hospitality unit rn

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The paddock is quieting down after the press conference. It always does in the twilight hours after a Grand Prix — the hum of generators thinning out, the fluorescent buzz of hospitality tents dimmed, only the occasional clatter of equipment being packed away breaking the silence. But there's a strange weight in the air tonight. Not from the storm earlier, not from the slick track now drying under floodlights — but from everything that wasn’t said in the press conference. Oscar lingers by the exit of the McLaren motorhome, posture casual but eyes fixed on the hallway that leads to the drivers’ rooms. His jacket’s slung over one shoulder, hair still damp from the post-race shower, a water bottle in one hand he hasn’t actually taken a sip from. He's been standing there long enough to start regretting it. Then — footsteps. Soft, familiar. You appear, already changed out of your race suit and into jeans and a hoodie from the Silverstone merch collection, your bag slung over your shoulder, phone tucked into your hand. You look surprised to see him waiting. Maybe a little wary. “Hey,” Oscar says, voice even, maybe too even. “Hey,” you echo, blinking once as you shift your weight, glancing past him as though expecting to be stopped by a team of PR staffers. But there’s no one. Just the two of you, and a strange quiet that almost feels private. He clears his throat, suddenly aware of how tightly he’s gripping the bottle. “Lando, a friend of mine, and a few others are grabbing drinks. I thought… if you wanted to come. You know celebrate the 1-2. Blow off some steam.” You smile, kind but cautious. “That’s sweet. Thanks.” Oscar nods, lips twitching up in a careful smile, like he’s afraid too much friendliness might be mistaken for something else. “You earned it. Pole. Win. The whole thing. You should celebrate.” You pause. And he watches your eyes — how they soften for a moment, then cloud again. Like you want to say something kind, something diplomatic. “Actually I am. I’ve got plans,” you say gently. “Kimi and Ollie and some school friends who moved to London for uni. I think they picked some kind of Karaoke bar.” “Karaoke?” he repeats, like the word doesn’t compute. You laugh quietly. “Yeah. Off-key singing and cheap beer. Sorta exactly what I need right now.” Oscar nods again. There's a tightness to his smile now. “Sounds fun.” “It will be,” you say, but your tone stays polite. Guarded. For a second, silence creeps in again — the kind where something heavier wants to fill the space. A thank-you, a sorry, a why-did-you-look-at-me-like-that-in-the-press-conference. But neither of you go there. You adjust your bag, fingers fidgeting with the strap. “Congrats on P2, by the way. That was a hell of a fight with Max.” He shrugs. “Not quite a win, though.” Your smile flickers. “Doesn’t make it any less impressive.” He looks at you — really looks — and you feel the weight of it, like he’s trying to read something in your face he isn’t sure he has permission to look for anymore. “I just…” he begins, then stops, eyes flicking away before he recalibrates. “I thought it might be nice to feel like teammates again.” The words hit harder than you expect. Your posture straightens, instinctively. “Oscar, this isn’t personal.” It was though. At some early point after Australia it had gotten personal and you don’t have the guts to tell him. “I know,” he says too quickly. “It’s racing. You’re winning. That’s the job.” You nod. “Exactly.” But neither of you move. Finally, you offer a softer look, one that tries to close the gap without opening any wounds. “I hope you have a good night.” Oscar gives you a tight nod. “Yeah. You too.” And then you're walking away, the slap of your sneakers against the concrete fading into the distance, laughter already bubbling through your phone as your friends text that they’re waiting at the bar. Oscar watches until you’re gone, the water bottle still unopened in his hand. It was never really about the drinks.

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The neon glow spills from the sign above the small karaoke bar nestled just off a lively London street. The door chimes as you and your crew step inside, laughter bubbling out ahead of you like a warm wave. The air smells faintly of spilled beer, sweat, and sweet promise — the perfect mess of a night out. Inside, the room is packed but cozy. A cluttered stage stood at one end, a mic waiting like an invitation. Your friends had already staked a claim to a corner booth, drinks in hand, eyes sparkling with mischief. Ollie nudges you first. “You’re up, star racer. Show us what you’ve got.” You hesitate, the weight of the weekends tension still wrapped around your shoulders. But then Kimi laughs, louder than the music, “Come on! You don’t get to be the queen of the track and be shy here.” The encouragement feels like a gust of fresh air. You step forward, the spotlight warm, the mic cool and familiar in your hand. Your voice cuts through the chatter, clear and surprisingly confident, as you belt out a heartfelt ballad — something raw, something you needed to say without saying it. It's a bit off-key. The crowd cheers anyway, and for a few moments, the rivalry, the pressure, the quiet ache of wanting something you couldn’t name all melts away. Back in the booth, your friends raise their glasses. “To— what do they call you now? Queen of Silverstone,” Ollie toasts, eyes bright. “To us rookies,” Kimi adds, grinning. You don't remember when the karaoke machine broke, only that Kimi tries to rap “Gold Digger” and somewhere between “prenup” and the beat drop, the system gave out with a bzzt and a puff of smoke. Ollie’s response is to hoist the machine overhead like a Roman champion and declare he’d freed it from the shackles of British Top 40, and now the AUX cord reigns supreme. The night is stitched together in flashes: someone pouring tequila into a beer, neon lights strobing off the reflective walls, a group selfie that turns into a ten-minute argument about who has the best drunk expression. You laugh until your cheeks hurt. You dance like you’ve never had to take yourself seriously. You’ve never felt so not like a Formula 1 driver in your life, and it's amazing. The alcohol keeps coming — drinks offered like gifts from the gods of chaos — and somewhere between cocktail four and whatever unholy green liquid Ollie handed you, something begins to ache in your chest. You feel it in the silence between songs, in the blur of movement when you pause, just for a second, and the room tilts too far left. You’re sitting now, in a booth sticky with old beer and karaoke flyers, watching Kimi and one of your uni friends try to out-sing each other to “Since U Been Gone” Acapella without the karaoke machine, reading the lyrics off their phones.

You’re laughing — or trying to — but your smile doesn’t reach your eyes. The glass in your hand is warm. You’re past caring what’s in it. Then it creeps in. The quiet. Not in the room — it’s still chaos — but in you. The thought. The realisation. The one you’ve been trying to outrun since the podium, since the press conference, maybe even since the start of the season. You don’t want to keep doing this. You don’t mean the winning. Not the fame. Not the driving — god, you love the driving. But him. Oscar. The weight of always having to measure your steps around his. The glances in briefings, the tension in strategy meetings, the little moments of hesitation in interviews when someone says “number one driver” and neither of you flinch but both of you hear it. You’re so, so tired. And you’re drunk enough now that your thoughts stop whispering and start shouting. “I can’t do this anymore,” you say out loud, to no one in particular. Ollie turns briefly. “What?” You wave him off, smiling too brightly. “Nothing. Just — dramatic drunk girl things.” He shrugs and goes back to whatever nightmare remix he’s queuing next, but now the words are out, and they won’t go back in. You grip the edge of the table. You remember the way Oscar looked at you in the press conference — proud, but wounded. Like he knew. Like he’d already accepted it. It’s not even anger you feel anymore. It’s just exhaustion. Of always having to run — from him, towards him, around the idea of what you two were, are, could have been. The emotional jetlag of being teammates with someone you used to dream about. You tilt your head back against the booth, eyes staring at the ceiling. The lights blur like stars underwater. You’ve been fighting so hard to prove yourself, to outpace him, to not let the history ruin your future. But maybe the answer’s simpler than that. You don’t have to keep orbiting him. You don’t have to stay. McLaren would always go with him. You are sure of that. They snitched him from Alpine and you are certain they wouldn’t give him back to anyone any time soon. He is championship material after all.  Switching teams — it doesn’t feel like betrayal anymore. It feels like a measure of survival. You need space. Real, breathing, racing space. You need to not walk into the McLaren garage and feel every mechanic watching the two of you in case one of you cracks. You need to stop seeing Oscar at every corner of your ambition. You need a fresh start — not a rebound. A new seat. A new car. A new team. Your throat burns as you finish the drink. You don’t even remember what round this is. Someone’s screaming the lyrics to Mr. Brightside and your eyes sting, for no good reason at all. You blink up at the ceiling again. “I’m switching teams end of the season,” you murmur into the air, and it finally sounds like the truth. Not a threat. Not a thought. A decision. And once it’s said, the pressure in your chest loosens. Just a little. The karaoke machine starts again — some glitch resurrected by chaos — and your friends are calling you back to the center, to sing, to live. You push off the booth and walk over to your friends to join their rendition of Dancing Queen. 

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At the club Lando chose, the music is pounding — some bass-heavy remix that sounds like a heart breaking in real time — and the lights are spinning across the ceiling like they’re trying to hypnotise him out of thinking too hard. It’s not working. Oscar’s two drinks in, not quite drunk, not quite sober. The glass in his hand is half empty, but he’s been nursing it like it might save him. Lando’s off talking to someone by the bar. Some mate from karting, maybe. Oscar doesn’t really care. He’d invited you. Caught you just as you were leaving the paddock, back in a hoodie and jeans, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, your helmet bag already zipped shut. You looked… light. Tired, sure — the good kind. The victorious kind. But light, like the weight of the weekend had finally lifted. You smiled when you saw him. It wasn’t cold. Just… gentle. And still, you said no. “Thanks, but I’ve got plans.” You were polite. You lately has been, when you're really trying to put distance between them.

And now he’s here, pretending the club’s strobe lights are giving him a headache instead of his thoughts. It’s not like he didn’t know. Not like he hasn’t seen it coming — race after race, lap after lap, you've been building your case. Pole positions, daring overtakes, podiums stacked with your name. The media’s hungry for it. F1’s golden girl. McLaren’s new prodigy. His replacement. He takes another sip and feels the burn in his throat. He wants to be happy for you. He is happy for you, he tells himself. You've worked your ass off for this. You're electric in the car — sharp, instinctual, dangerous in all the right ways. He sees himself in you sometimes, the way you grip the wheel, the way you don’t flinch under pressure. You're everything he fell in love with. And everything he’s terrified of. Because you're not just good. You're better. Better than him, sometimes. And tonight, as he leans back against the wall, shoulders tight, he feels the realisation settle like a brick in his gut: He wants you. Desperately. Stupidly. Enough to let his pride rot if it meant you’d look at him the way you used to, before Miami, before Jeddah, before you both this turned into a cold war with helmets and stupid orange branding. But he doesn’t want to be second to you. Not on track. Not in the way the world sees you two now. Not when every podium you win becomes another question he can’t answer, another stat he can’t ignore, another article comparing you until the gap in praise becomes a chasm. He wants you to be soft with him. To fall asleep on long flights with your head on his shoulder again. To laugh with you in the motorhome like the world’s not watching. He wants to take care of you. Be you safe place. Your prince in shining armour. But he knows you're not looking for a prince. You're building your own damn throne. And maybe — maybe he could be part of that. If he were stronger. If he were less fragile about the very thing that got you both here in the first place. But every time you shine, some bitter little voice in the back of his mind whispers, And where does that leave you, Oscar? He presses the rim of the glass to his lips, but doesn’t drink. He could call you. Tell you he gets it now. That he knows why you pulled away. That he finally understands that loving you means loving the fire, not just the warmth. That you can’t be cut into manageable pieces. That your ambition isn’t something to be edited for his ego. But you’d just be silent at him, a tired, careful silence. So he doesn't call. He finishes his drink instead. Lets the ice clink at the bottom like a punchline to a joke no one wants to hear. You're out there somewhere, probably laughing your head off in a karaoke booth with Ollie and Kimi and friends who don’t care about sector times or DRS zones. You're letting herself breathe. And for the first time, Oscar realises he might not be part of the version of you that’s thriving. Not unless he stops trying to dim your light just so his own feels bright again. And that? That’s going to take a hell of a lot more than another drink to swallow.

📍Silverstone

liked by mclaren, oliviarodrigo and 1.693.553 others

yourusername home race shenanigans 🧡🇬🇧 thanks for the inredible support throughout the weekend! The queen is ready to race in Belgium 👑

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mclaren thanks for winning our joint home race! 🧡

oliviarodrigo Lethal face card, super fast and hilarious? Triple threat 🏁🧡

landonorris tell the queen to hydrate before Belgium pls 👑💧

username1 so we’re just going to pretend she didn’t annihilate the field in the rain???? This woman is NOT human

username2 ate Max’s respect, Oscar’s soul, and the entire Silverstone circuit. She’s FED

maxverstappen1 Great drive. That was proper racing 👏🏼👏🏼

username3 "home race shenanigans" aka making the entire grid reevaluate their career choices

username4 she’s out there writing her legacy and she looks GOOD doing it 🔥

f1 A weekend to remember at Silverstone! 🏆

susie_wolff That was a statement drive. Huge congrats 👏🏼👏🏼

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[14dyh]

the keeper — h. zoë

REQUEST: I honestly don't know if your request is open but have you seen the song for epic the musical? "Would you fall in love with me again" ABWISJ😭💖 I can see a trope for Hange x reader,with them just being soulmates in every other universe.Or perhaps Immortal x mortal,feel free to ignore this dw 🏃🏻‍♀️💨✨ [originally requested at @hangesdarling blog] PAIRING. Hange Zoë x female reader SYNOPSIS. Hange found a glowing door during their walk.  CONTENT. fantasy au, fluff, angst, Hange is a mortal, reader is a spirit of some sort, scientist!hange, barely proofread (sorry), this probably has a sequel that will make more sense with the prompt given A/N. hey anon, I posted this request on this blog bc the longer, sfw, and more tender fics belong here (I sort writing by theme xD) and this is in third person bc i feel like it. Hope you like this :)))

There were days when Hange had to step out of the lab, feel the breeze in their skin and wander through the greeneries surrounding their cottage. But today, with enough soot all over their hands and a graze or two, they decided that stepping out once in a while should become a vacation entirely. It would be nice not to stare at flasks and formulas for once. Hange took off their coat, nursing a small wound with an absorbent fabric. The last thing they needed was an infection.

With enough wandering through the clearing, they successfully distracted themself from the difficult chemical they couldn't brew and instead began identifying the leaves they crossed in the forest. They happily took mental notes, remembering better times when they were younger, more curious, more creative and perhaps, more satisfied with life than before. If only things were simpler again.

Their wandering thoughts held themself in place when Hange stopped near a countryside house. Poison ivy crawled on its dusty and barred  windows, the rust-colored walls barely peeking through the greenery.

In its center, an ornate door of exquisite beauty stood. What drew Hange in was the faint glow seeping through its hinges. 

They inched closer, careful and calculating as they always were. A decision which ended up with cursing themself that being cautious and afraid was not a brand of their character years ago.

They held the door knob, twisted it, and half-wished to hear a click.

It opened. And instead of seeing what was inside, Hange saw someone emerge from the door as though summoned. She has the features of a human if you don't look hard enough for the small things which sets her apart. Eyes and expression of a deity, someone you'd kneel for, Hange thought.

Too awestruck, they managed to stammer a shaky hi. They were opting for a polite good afternoon but none came out of their mouth.

The woman returned their politeness. Hange tensed up less when they spotted the amiability of a human in her smile. Both were enthusiastic enough that their own names spilled from their lips along with an outstretched hand. 

Their conversation flowed like honey on a warm summer. Smooth, unhurried, perhaps, even sweet. Hange observed that she's smiling more often, listening with interest in her eyes as they leaned on the door frame, exchanging tales. 

Oddly enough, they only stood outside the door for the hour they knew each other. 

"Is this your home?" Hange felt the need to ask.

She shook her head no and responded, "I'm its keeper."

Y/N spoke of it as if it's alive. Hange glimpsed a trace of her belongingness to the place. She belonged to it in one way or another.

"Is anyone inside?" Hange asked.

"No one lives here."

Hange thought carefully. 

"Abandoned then?" 

"Not entirely," she responded.

"Are guests allowed inside?"

"Yes," she responded with a hint of eagerness. "Once they beat me to a game of riddles."

Hange found themself smiling, "That sounds fun."

"It is. Many have lost."

"Will you give me a try?"

"Of course."

They sat by the doorstep, Y/N with her head resting upon her knees and with Hange facing her close enough that their knees touch.

They exchanged one riddle after the other, Hange growing enthused by each question which became stranger and stranger, each requiring deeper thought than the last.

Y/N spoke with tenderness as though each word she utters were spun carefully upon a precious thread. The tenderness remained in her gaze as she looked at Hange, her lips forever carved into a soft smile.

"No riddles anymore, Y/N?" Hange grinned, lightly running a finger to a strand of hair falling to her face.

"No more for tonight," she spoke. "It's late at night. The gods don't listen after dark."

She's a strange girl, Hange thought with a hint of affection. 

"I see," they responded. "It's interesting to stare at the night sky too. The stars are far prettier from my window."

"Won't you stay?" she asked, her voice weaved with a fine strand of pleading.

"I can spare a few minutes," Hange answered. 

And every day that came, they did so. Sparing a few minutes, a few hours, and sometimes (with a scold in their head), half a day.

Days went past, countless riddles exchanged. Hange debates with themself every time they pick apples from their yard, thinking whether falling deeper in love with the strange girl at the door is a good idea. 

But they always came, sitting outside, sometimes waiting, bringing her anything edible that grows around their house. 

"I'm afraid I've run out of riddles," she once told Hange, taking the apple from their outstretched hand. 

Hange shrugged, "Does that matter? We have countless things to talk about."

They sat beside her, closer than they ever were.

"It's only right for you to go inside now," she responded. Was that a resigned voice of acceptance Hange heard?

"This is new for me but frankly, I'm not interested in what's inside this mossy old thing." Hange tried to laugh despite the terrible pounding in their heart, despite their aching desire to tell her how grateful they were for meeting her which rekindled the joy they once lost.

Her hands ran gently across the disheveled strand of hair in their face, tucking them neatly. 

Her hand rested on the fine sharpness of their jaw. Hange resisted the desire to close their eyes and lean to her touch. They clasped it with their own hand and spoke, "What is even there to begin with?"

Y/N smiled, "You should be. The treasures inside chose you.''

"The greatest treasures known to men."

"I'm not ambitious enough for such greatness."

It was partly true. Back then when they forgot the joy of idle things, they were hardly satiated. A hunger to have, and a greed to know held them in shackles for longer than they'd like to admit. It went on until she came along. 

They were free. What else could they ask for? 

"You don't have to be. Not all great things are bound for greatness," she reasoned, shrugging. "Besides, don't fine trinkets interest you?"

Hange chuckled at her knowing smile. Her thumb ran gently across their cheek, their hand still clasped to hers.

"I do," they responded. "Will you come with me, then?" 

"If you want."

"I'll be more than happy."

-

The door swung open, the glittering and gleaming yellowish hue of gold almost blinding them. Hange's lips parted in awe. The interior of this place defied the architecture of its exterior. No countryside house can possibly extend as far as two towns inside. 

Y/N held Hange's hand, treading on a path of gold and jewelry which eventually turned to a variety of rare trinkets and shining weapons embedded with sizable, precious stones. Each turn in the never ending alley of treasures grew wider and far varied. 

"Have people entered here before?" they asked, a curious finger poking around the littered jewelry. 

"Some."

"How much did they take?"

"Many. Some crush under the weight of their own gold."

"Comical," Hange returned her gaze. 

"It is."

As they neared the end of the ever expanding place, Hange only carried a book containing (by far) all the world's knowledge, and a quill embedded with emeralds. Y/N gave them a ruby locket which they happily kept.

"Then we return back to the door? Is that how this works?" Hange asked.

"Well, can you see the door from this side?"

"Not at all."

"Then we will use the back door," she smiled, that one that makes Hange's heart flutter. "We will emerge in the front door in any way out."

"Fascinating architecture, then," Hange smiled, facing her, their hands clasped tightly. And with a much tender voice, they spoke, "I don't want to wake up from this dream."

"Are you dreaming, Hange?"

"Most likely," Hange said, their hands lifting to touch her cheek. Any warmth, any indication that blood flows under her skin would be enough. "I hope you're not a part of it. I hope you're real."

"I'm as real as these treasures are."

Melancholy swept along their feet, entangling them. If reality could bend itself this way, then what is there to be truly believed?

Hange accepted things in their scientific nature. It was the only way to survive such a rigid world.

Hange wrapped their arms around her, gently sinking to a tight embrace. Her warmth beneath their hands wasn't enough, their eyes itself a betrayal. Hange wanted to feel her dull yet persistent heartbeats beneath their hand, hindered by the softness of her flesh that only proves a degree of realness. It felt like groping for the only living thing in the dark.

"Can I invite you home then? If you're real, will you stay at my place tonight?"

"You have no idea how much I wanted to," she responded, her voice giving in at the last syllable. Tears threatened to spill from her eyes. "But we'll meet again. You have all that you need."

Hange held back a meek protest, a lover's cry telling the other about the uselessness of life after such a great loss. But Hange only smiled, hopeful again, no longer the scientist barred inside their lab with nothing but calculations.

"I'll wait then. I'll wait until you come home with me."

"I will."

-

When the house let Hange go, the door no longer glowed from within. The riddles are over, the treasures inside waiting for a different chosen one to open it. Hange had wished that all those days were nothing but dreams. Crossing the valleys of impossible dreamscapes were far easier to accept than the reality of a love lost, a promise hung between fantasy and reality.

But the book, the quill, and the ruby locket were all too true for them to deny that everything had been a dream. They still went to that door every night, the locket around their neck and the book giving them new riddles to tell. Hange spoke of narratives alone as though she can still hear them, as though one day her door will open once more and the blushing face they missed will reappear to them. Every day, for years they didn't count, they sat outside her door. Waiting, waiting. Sometimes they fall asleep, missing just the faint reddish glow from their locket. Sometimes they'd listen to the wind howl, and stare back at the night sky full of watching stars. Often, they wanted to sink to their knees and pray for another chance, for another time when they didn't go inside the glowing door, but praying is useless when the gods don't listen after dark.

[snzequeen]

My Sneezy Life (and Yes, It’s on Purpose)

So… I’ve officially banned myself from allergy meds. Yep, you read that right. Every itch, every tickle, every full-blown sneeze attack—100% natural, 0% antihistamines. Why? Because I’m dedicated to my craft. I make sneeze content. For real.

Over on Patreon under Sneeze Queen, I post twice a week (plus bonus vids for my shop) capturing my most chaotic, unfiltered fits. Sometimes it’s gentle false starts, sometimes it’s full-body explosions. There’s beauty in the unpredictability, and honestly, it’s therapeutic in its own wild way.

I *love* hearing what you enjoy about sneezes—what moments get you, what details you notice, and yes, I’m *definitely* here for the plot. Your comments inspire me, and every message is like a breeze to my already sensitive nose 👃💨

[twinkleteaparty]

Speeding Bonds: A Sainz Siblings Story

This is my first F1 fanfiction, and I'm excited to share it with you all! It's a bit short, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Your feedback means a lot to me, so if you like what you read, let me know! If there's interest, I'll definitely add more to the story. Thanks for taking the time to check it out!

Character: Name: Ji-min Sainz Age: 23

Background: Ji-min was adopted from South Korea into the Sainz family when she was just a baby. Growing up in Spain, she was immersed in Spanish culture but always felt a connection to her Korean roots. She has a warm relationship with her adoptive family.

Ji-min discovered her passion for music at a young age and pursued it fervently. She auditioned for a talent agency in Barcelona and was selected to be a part of a five-member girl group called "Eclipse." Despite her busy schedule as a K-pop idol.

Meanwhile, her older Carlos Sainz Jr. was making a name for himself in the world of Formula 1 racing. Their paths rarely crossed due to their different careers and lifestyles, but Ji-min secretly followed Carlos's races, feeling proud of his achievements yet also envious of the attention and recognition he received.

As Ji-min's popularity as a K-pop idol soared, she kept her family background a secret, fearing that it might overshadow her own accomplishments and potentially cause unwanted attention. However, deep down, she yearned to connect with her brother.

The story:

SMS

Ji-min: Hey Carlos, it's Ji-min. Hope you're doing awesome today! 🌟

Carlos: Ji-min! What's up, little sis? 😄 Everything good on your end?

Ji-min: Yeah, all good here! Hey, I was actually wondering... would it be cool if I came to one of your races? I've been dying to see you in action, big bro! 🏎️💨

Carlos: Of course it's cool, Ji-min! I'd love to have you there cheering me on. But... are you okay with everyone knowing we're family? I mean, it's kind of a big deal to go public with this stuff.

Ji-min: Totally cool with it, Carli! I've been wanting to shout it from the rooftops for ages. 😄 Plus, I'm super proud of you, big bro! Let's show the world what the Sains siblings are made of!

Carlos: Haha, you're the best, Ji-min! Thanks for always having my back. 😊 Alright then, I'll hook you up with a pass for the race. Get ready for the full VIP treatment!

Ji-min: Woo-hoo! VIP treatment, here I come! 🌟 Thanks a million, Carli. You're the best big bro a girl could ask for!

Carlos: Anytime, Ji-min! Can't wait to see you at the race, little sis. Get ready for some serious fun!

Ji-min: Counting down the days big bro! Vamos!

The day of the race:

At the Australian Grand Prix 2024

Ji-min made her way through the bustling crowds, the sun beating down on her as she walked. She was dressed in a simple sundress, a soft pastel blue that fluttered gently in the warm breeze. The fabric flowed loosely around her figure, offering comfort and ease as she navigated through the throngs of people.

A pair of oversized sunglasses shielded her eyes from the bright sunlight, partially concealing her face and adding a touch of mystery to her appearance. She pulled her hair back into a loose ponytail, strands of dark hair framing her delicate features.

Despite the casual attire, Ji-min moved with a graceful confidence, her steps light and purposeful as she weaved her way through the crowd. She kept her head down slightly, avoiding direct eye contact to minimize attention as she made her way towards the VIP area.

Occasionally, she caught snippets of excited chatter from nearby fans discussing the upcoming race and the drivers competing in it. Ji-min couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement coursing through her veins as she neared the entrance, her heart pounding with anticipation.

As she reached the designated entrance for VIP guests, Ji-min took a deep breath, her excitement bubbling beneath the surface. With a confident smile, she presented her pass to the security personnel and stepped inside, ready to witness her big brother's momentous victory firsthand.

Her eyes scanning the crowd for any sign of her brother. She was so absorbed in her search that she didn't notice the people around her, her gaze moving to her phone screen as she typed out a message to Carlos.

"Hey Carli, just arrived. Where are you? "

Lost in her phone, Ji-min didn't notice the figure approaching until it was too late. With a sudden jolt, she collided with someone, nearly dropping her phone in the process.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, looking up to see who she had bumped into.

Standing before her was none other than Lando Norris, one of the drivers competing in the race. Ji-min's eyes widened in surprise, recognizing him instantly from his racing gear and signature smile.

Lando grinned apologetically, his blue eyes sparkling with amusement. "No worries! "

Ji-min nodded, feeling a blush creeping up her cheeks. Sorry for not paying attention."

Lando chuckled, waving off her apology. "Not a problem at all." giving her a friendly nod before continuing on his way.

As Ji-min watched him disappear into the crowd, she couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement coursing through her veins. Little did she know, her encounter with Lando was just the beginning of an unforgettable day at the races.

----

Ji-min's heart raced as she finally spotted her brother amidst the hustle and bustle of the Ferrari garage. Carlos stood surrounded by his team, his familiar smile lighting up his face as he greeted them with enthusiasm.

"Carli!" Ji-min exclaimed, weaving her way through the crowd until she reached him. "There you are! I've been looking all over for you."

Carlos turned towards her, his eyes lighting up with delight as he caught sight of his little sister. "Ji-min! I'm so glad you made it!" he exclaimed, pulling her into a tight embrace.

Wrapped in her brother's arms, Ji-min felt a rush of warmth and contentment wash over her. It had been too long since they last saw each other, and she cherished every moment they spent together.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," Ji-min replied, pulling back to look at Carlos with a beaming smile.

They spent the next few minutes catching up, exchanging stories and sharing laughs as they soaked in the atmosphere of the race day. Ji-min couldn't help but feel a surge of pride as she watched her brother interact with his team, his passion for racing shining through in every word and gesture.

----

[wallpapersmonster]

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[panandinpain0]

yooOOO wassup itsame mango- could I req a ron x hermione’s slightly younger ravenclaw brother fic? I just wanna know what you’d think of it 🧍‍♂️ cool ok bye 🏃‍♂️💨

Under the Willow Tree

Oh my god yes- I've been wanting to write more Harry Potter fics so this is wonderful.

Did you have an idea of any plot you want me to follow or something like that?

I'll give you a little snippet here and maybe more later- we love you mango <3

(please let me know if you want more of this because I will gladly oblige)

@@@

Requested by: @mailmango

Ron Weasley x Male!Ravenclaw!Granger!Reader

(I'm so excited to write for Ron-)

---

There was this willow tree in the courtyard- not the Womping Willow, the violent tree that protected not only a shabby house but also secrets. This willow was planted by Professor Sprout and some of her Muggleborn and Half-Blood friends when she was a student at Hogwarts. She had always loved learning about Muggle plants and helped them plant it, and now it was huge and glorious.

This was (Y/N)'s favorite tree.

So there he sat, books splayed out about him, a quill and paper in his hand. He'd decided to take Ancient Runes this year, his sister Hermione greatly influencing this decision. She had thought it would challenge him in just the way he needed, and she was right.

It was extremely difficult, to say the least.

Brows creased and eyes focused on the parchment he had placed on a book for a smooth surface, (Y/N) tapped his lip with the end of his quill- completely oblivious to the group approaching him.

"Hey (Y/N), heads up!" Hermione shouted, tossing an apple at the distracted boy as she got closer.

Caught off guard, (Y/N) gasped and looked up, only to be hit in the face with an apple.

Hermione and Ron cringed while Harry laughed, the trio sitting around the books on the grass.

"Ow," (Y/N) somewhat joked, picking up the apple and taking a bite.

"Sorry," Hermione chuckled, picking up a book and skimming a paragraph. "Ancient Runes?"

"Yup," (Y/N) responded, popping the 'p'. "Why'd I let you convince me to take this class?"

"Because you'd breeze through all the other electives and you know it," Hermione answered with a smug look on her face, snatching (Y/N)'s parchment to look it over.

"Hey- I was working on that!"

"Ahh, just let her. You need a break anyways," Harry replied, playing with his wand as he observed the students around the courtyard.

"I did this last year, maybe I can help," Hermione added, snatching the quill from his hand and making adjustments.

(Y/N) huffed a dramatic breath before turning to Ron, who'd been silent.

"Hello Ron, how's your day been?" he smiled up at him, seeing as he was still standing.

Ron realized the awkward position and sat down against the tree with (Y/N).

"It's been alright, yours?"

(Y/N) shrugged, "It could be going worse. This Runes paper is the worst part about it so far."

Suddenly Harry perked up, gaze trained on something across the courtyard.

"I'll see you guys later!" He suddenly jumped up and ran off, tucking his wand into the pocket of his billowing cloak.

"Harry? Wait!" Hermione shouted, dropping the parchment and quill and following after him. She continued to shout things but (Y/N) and Ron could no longer make them out.

Shaking his head in amusement (Y/N) picked up the things Hermione had dropped before looking at Ron.

"You aren't going to follow them?"

"Nah, they've been running this way and that all day. I'd rather just stay here." Ron laughed at the end of his response, turning to look into (Y/N)'s eyes.

"What's going on with them, do you think?" (Y/N) questioned, pretending not to notice the limited space between Ron and himself as he returned Ron's stare.

"When is something not going on with them?" Ron bantered back, just now noticing how small the space between them had become. He cleared his throat and turned away, not seeing (Y/N)'s disappointed stare.

Picking up a nearby book Ron tried to make small talk.

"So, Runes, eh? I'm so glad I never took that class..." he trailed off with a nervous chuckle.

"Are we seriously not going to talk about it?" (Y/N) asked sternly, a serious look on his face.

Ron gulped and tried to ignore the heat in his face, avoiding eye contact with (Y/N).

"Talk about what?" he weakly mumbled back.

"The kiss, Ron. Are we seriously not going to talk about how we kissed and we still haven't done anything about it?" he desperately asked, beginning to look a bit sad.

"Well, what do you want to do about it?" Ron asked gently, fearing the rejection he was still so positive was coming- no matter how much (Y/N) seemed to want the same thing as him.

(Y/N) took in a deep breath, looking thoughtful. Then he cleared his throat and turned to Ron with a newfound determination.

"Do you want to go to Hogsmeade with me? As my date?" He felt like he had to be specific for Ron to get it.

Ron looked shocked, and felt bad that he hadn't been the one to ask.

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Unless you don't want to, which in that case- pretend I never said anything-"

"No- I want to!"

They shared a smile with warm cheeks and racing hearts.

"Does this mean you're my boyfriend?" Ron asked nervously as he looked at the grass, like he was a second year all over again, even though it's been four years since he actually was one.

"I'd love to be, but if you're still unsure we can just see how Hogsmeade goes..." (Y/N) hesitantly replied, tenderly slipping his fingers between Ron's on the grass.

Ron flipped his and over to hold (Y/N)'s hand properly and met his gaze, "I'd like that."

---

So like I said, just a snippet, but please let me know if you want more!

Hope you enjoyed mango <3

-Author Max <3

[wooacrywoomie]

Acrylic Skateboard Standee

Heyyyyy, Woomie here! 🎉 So, a couple of days ago, our team posted a video showing off our acrylic skateboards, and you all LOVED it! 😍 Now they’ve asked me to write a tutorial to show you how to make your very own acrylic skateboard standee! It’s super simple, so let’s roll! 🛹💨

What You’ll Need:

1 Acrylic character piece (your awesome OC!) 1 Acrylic skateboard piece (it’s got the cool skate vibes!) 4 Rotation wheels (to make it roll like a pro!)

Design Time! Start by checking out the design sheet. It’s your blueprint for awesomeness. Then, upload everything into the editor. Don’t worry about drawing the holes for the connectors yourself—you can add those right inside the editor! 🎨✨

Perfect Matching! Make sure the connectors on your character and skateboard piece line up perfectly. Use the matching feature in the editor to make sure the holes are the same size. That way, everything fits smoothly! 😉

Wheels, Wheels, Wheels! Add 4 wheels to your design. You can’t have a skateboard without wheels, right? Make sure you don’t forget this step—those wheels are key to making your standee roll and rock! 🔥

Assembly Time! Once you’ve designed everything, let’s take a peek at the real thing! When you get your order, you’ll be able to assemble it like a breeze. The wheels snap in nicely and stay put. They’re super stable, so you don’t have to worry about them falling off during a ride! 🛹✨

Important Tip: Keep the character design a good size! If it’s too big, it might not stay balanced while skating, and your OC could fall off. We don’t want any wipeouts! 😜

That’s it! Your very own acrylic skateboard standee is ready to roll! 🛹💖 I can’t wait to see your designs, so make sure to share them with me! And if you need help along the way, I’m here for you, always! 🌟

Woomie out! 💖💫

Please have a try with our DIY design acrylic

[ay-chuu]

Congratulations on the 300 followers, my dear! <(^_^)> May I put for TWST OC or my Yuusona or my for the event? I have their bios handy with all of the relevant information, I believe. You are free to choose who'd like. There's Máire “Mor” Cian and Yuuna Shin. They're not as polished as some I've seen, but I hope they may interest you. Thank you so much for making this event! Best of luck!

Thank u so much love <3

I match you with... (っ＾▿＾)💨

TREY CLOVER!

The biggest reason I matched you and Trey together was so that you could both feel peace and happiness when you were together. Even though your oc can feel happiness with other love interests, you need inner peace first of all, and Trey is a complete man for that <3 He respects you and always thinks of you before his own problems. Even if you complain that he is not looking for  himself, this gesture he makes makes you fall in love with him more every time.

Scorpio and Virgo are a harmonious couple who like to live regularly in terms of life. When you're together, most of the time you make planned progress. Nevertheless, it should be noted that Scorpio may sometimes get tired of monotony and want to embark on different things. *wink*, which Virgo will like very much, because breaking the rules is one of their weaknesses. The first thing I can say about ISTP and ISFJ compliance is; That the fact ISTP is a complete nerd and the ISFJ is a sweet potato that supports it... In this sense, they are very connected and curious towards each other, although they may be opposite to each other and have disagreements.

Trey loves your wings so much. He finds it more infatuating to take care of them and caress them, to love you as you are. The moments you experience when you are together are usually like coming out of a peaceful scene of a movie, and each time they complement each other more and more. When you're with Trey, you can never feel like a person who isn't or a different person from what you are. Because one of the best things about falling in love with Trey is learning to love not only him, but also yourself <3

Some of the moments I've imagined for you two: going to antique stores together to buy interesting books, hugging you tightly when you have allergies quite often and making you feel bad, and long conversations spent at his family bakery, which usually last until the morning…

A Special Moment:

The day you came to his family's bakery was a priceless moment for you. It was a very spacious shop with enough light. The outside was painted in sweet shades of green and decorated with clover markings.

After 3 months of your relationship with Trey, rather embarrassed and blushing (it was the first time you had seen him in this state), he invited you on a special date at his family's bakery. Even if you didn't understand what a ”special" date was at first, you did after he suddenly grabbed you by the hand on Sunday,  realized that he was preparing a romantic atmosphere where only the two of you would stay in the huge bakery. You were happy! A spacious baker, away from people, quiet and where you can do whatever you want with your love.

But first of all, the most important and influencing factor for you was the sweet breezes that the store created in your heart. It had an energy that softened and involuntarily comforted everyone who came in, like the peaceful spirit of a recipe book. It was ideal for people like you... Trey definitely had a good preparation for this.

He's always been like this. A different kind of lover, whose right and left are not obvious. When he told you that applying everything quite planned disrupts the enthusiasm of instant living, he always would allow you to experience a planned moment prepared with details that even a higher institution student does not think about. He hated that you overwhelmed yourself, but when he didn't overwhelm himself for you, he thought he wasn't a worthy lover.

Warm to you, cold to himself. Forgiving to his family but cruel to himself. Trey was a foliation of the word contrast. He was a 4-leaf clover, but behaving like a 3-leaf clover.

Maybe that's why everyone is having a hard time figuring out what kind of couple you are, but they wasn't surprised by your harmony. Frankly, with the character you have, even you were surprised at how you were dating a vaguely determined person like Trey. You, who are the definition of order, seriousness and rule; He, who claims to apply the exact opposite of you, but is like you.

While reading quietly on the seat of a table facing the glass edge, you saw Trey quickly wipe his hands on his apron and walk over with a fussy smile, opening his arms and wrapping to you. Even though he just filled the table with a lot of delicious food, he told you that he had one last surprise.

Baked and hot bread with butter spread. It's your favorite.

That's why he was so special. Because while Trey reflected his own self with hidden lines, he also reflected humanity, contradiction.

“I'm sorry, dear." Trey said, giving you a little kiss before continuing talking. “The butter was not the brand I wanted, and it was quite difficult to find the made one. I hope you like it, bon appetit.”

Humanity is a synonym for the word contradiction. Because why would a being give something of themself to their  loved one for the love they feel?

Even stranger, how can it make such a gesture so beautiful and meaningful and bring it to a much different spirituality than it should be?

You saw the sparkling eyes of passion and expectation looking at you as you took the bread and bit it. Trey's loving eyes. As he was looking at you, he quietly put his hand to his chin and forgot about the perception of time. He was not aware of the flour that remained while preparing the bread that you ate on top of his head, or of his body, which had been tiring itself out almost all day for this special meeting and was almost going to sleep.

Because, you thought. Contradiction is a product of the brain. But for the heart, contradiction is love. Love is contradictory. Just like a human being.

“does it taste good, darling?" Trey said he was worried that you wouldn't talk for a long time.

It's like the Little Prince said. “A person can only see with his heart. The eye does not see what it needs to see.”

When you saw the sentence in your heart, you looked at your lover with a warm smile. “It's the best thing I've ever eaten, dear.”

[hvackisser]

Bro I haven't drawn in weeks but...Hectorrrrr 🥴💖💖💖 practicing how to draw him, and honestly it feels nice to get a feel for drawing double chins cause (as a haver myself) its time to stop pretending theyre not attractive 😤

Also in case the vent joke doesnt land, I imagine that's post-dateviator acquisition but pre-meeting Hector so I'm just confused about a disembodied voice blessing me 😂

Taglist♡: @me-myself-and-my-fos @flowering-darkness @sunstar-of-the-north @changeling-selfship @cherry-bomb-ships @rosieaurora @tropgothships @little-miss-selfships @starlos-soulmate @limey-self-inserts @candyheartedchy @space-sweetheart @clancykisser @squips-ship @berryshipbasket @soulnottainted @saturdaymorningcartoonz @severants @tex-treasures @sparkyscissorhands @iwishihadfangs @fictodreamer @adoredbyalatus @heartribbons @wizard-ships

[worpleroad]

Love To Fish - Fishing is My Valentine Heart Angling Shirt Lucky Fishing Shirt Valentine&#39;s Day Gift by WorpleRoad

13.99 USD Celebrate love and passion for angling with this unique "Fishing is My Valentine" t-shirt – perfect as a Valentine's Day gift or a special surprise for your fishing-loving partner. This comfortable, unisex tee features bold lettering with fish and heart graphics, adding a charming twist to your regular fishing gear. Wear it out on your next fishing trip or as a casual statement piece that showcases your dedication to the sport and your loved one. UNISEX T-SHIRT: 👕 Medium Fabric (5.3 oz/yd²): Perfect balance between durability and breathability for year-round wear. 🎯 Classic Fit: Timeless silhouette that looks effortlessly stylish. 📏 Runs True to Size: No guesswork needed, making online shopping a breeze! 🌿 100% Cotton (fiber content may vary for different colors): Soft against your skin and offers superior comfort, available in different colors. ✂️ Tear-Away Label: No pesky tags! It has a tear-away label for added comfort. 🚫 Care instructions: Machine wash warm (max 40C or 105F), non-chlorine bleach as needed, tumble dry medium, do not iron or dry clean. UNISEX SWEATSHIRT AND HOODIE: 👚 Medium-Heavy Fabric (8.0 oz/yd²): Stay warm without feeling bulky. 💨 Loose Fit: Move comfortably with our loose-fit design. Perfect for layering over your favorite tee. 📏 Runs True to Size: Ordering is a breeze because our sweatshirt runs true to size. 🧵 50% Cotton, 50% Polyester: Soft and durable, this blend is easy to care for and retains its shape after washing. 🏷️ Sewn-In Label: Get a polished look without traditional tags. 🚫 Care instructions: Machine wash cold (max 30C or 90F). Non-chlorine bleach as needed. Tumble dry on low heat. Do not iron or dry clean. INFANT BODYSUIT: 🌿 Made of ringspun cotton (fiber content may vary for different colors) 💡 Light fabric weighing only 4.5 oz/yd² (153 g/m²) 🏷️ Features a tear-away label for easy removal 🌡️ Wash in cold water (maximum 30C or 90F); use non-chlorine bleach as needed; tumble dry on low heat; do not dry clean; do not iron. ⭐️ RETURNS AND EXCHANGES We cannot accept returns or exchanges since each shirt is custom-printed with precision and care. However, your satisfaction is our priority; for any concerns, reach out, and we’ll ensure a swift resolution. ⭐️ CONTACT US Please get in touch if you have any questions or want to request a custom design. Our top priority is your satisfaction, so if you prefer different shirt colors, let us know. You can contact us using the "Add a message to seller" link on the checkout page. Our small business is grateful for the life each piece breathes into your wardrobe, crafted with care to add a unique touch. via https://ift.tt/5upZiKV https://ift.tt/YcU46dr

[linz69lovesanimals]

Florence Skydancer & Wulfric Koala Fuzzlepuff 🐾💫 From fragile beginnings to floppy-faced fairy tale 💕✨ Florence and Wulfric didn’t just beat the odds—they snorted, snuggled, and side-eyed their way into each other’s lives and into the hearts of everyone they met. These two Frenchies were rescued by @roadogs, a small-but-mighty nonprofit working on the frontlines of bulldog rescue and rehabilitation. Roadogs specializes in brachycephalic breeds—those lovable, flat-faced pups like Frenchies and bulldogs—who so often suffer from heartbreaking health issues due to unethical breeding practices 😔 Wulfric, aka Koala Fuzzlepuff, came into rescue in rough shape: struggling to breathe due to BOAS (Brachycephalic Obstructive Airway Syndrome), which is far too common in squishy breeds bred more for looks than longevity. He underwent surgery to open his airways and give him a real chance at a joyful life. Thanks to Roadogs and his amazing foster-turned-forever family, Wulfric now breathes easier—and lives fluffier! 🐻💨 Florence (Skydancer, because naturally 💅) is full of light and social sparkle. Though not as medically complex as Wulfric, she’s been a shining star at Seattle meetups, helping raise awareness about rescue and responsible breeding. Both dogs were considered “Lovable Lemons”—Roadogs' term for dogs with extra needs and extraordinary hearts 💛🍋 Today, these two magical beans live their best life together at @thefuzzlepuffs, basking in the Pacific Northwest breeze, attending local events, and being ambassadors for rescue love and Frenchie advocacy. They’re not just cute. They’re important. Their story is a beautiful reminder: 🐶 Rescue works. ❤️ Healing is real. 🐾 And every snorty soul deserves to breathe freely and love deeply. Thank you @roadogs, @thelovablelemons, @morkskywalker, @mugshotbuckinghamshire, and every single person who makes this magic happen ✨ July 15, 2025 at 01:14AM via Instagram https://instagr.am/p/DMG6H-_NBk8/

[simbavapes45]

Lost Mary x Hawcos Pro Max 7000 Vape Kit

 – A Fresh Take on Flavor and Performance

Vaping just reached a whole new level. Presenting the Lost Mary x Hawcos Pro Max 7000, a high-performing disposable vaporizer made for those seeking greater taste, more hits, and better value.  Two reputable vape businesses have partnered to create a stylish, user-friendly gadget that combines taste and current technology.

🛠️ Product Description

The Pro Max 7000 is a disposable, rechargeable vape kit with a massive 7000 puff capacity. It is designed to be convenient without sacrificing performance or power.  With a high-efficiency mesh coil and pre-filled with smooth nicotine salt e-liquid, this device is ideal for daily vaping, travel, or anyone wishing to stop smoking with a simple switch.

 It is simple to use anytime, anyplace because to its small size, soft-touch finish, and draw-activated feature.

 Crucial Elements

✅ 7000 Puff Capacity – Long-lasting vape for extended enjoyment

🔋 Rechargeable (Type-C) – Charge as needed and never waste a drop

💨 Mesh Coil Heating – Delivers better vapor and flavor consistency

🎨 Modern Aesthetic – A stylish design that fits right in your hand

🧊 Smooth Nicotine Salt Formula – Less harsh on the throat with fast absorption

👃 Tight & Satisfying Draw – Mimics the feel of traditional smoking

🆕 What’s New in This Version?

The Pro Max 7000 sets itself apart with several fresh upgrades:

Longer Puff Life: Delivers up to 7000 hits—double the usual disposables

USB-C Charging Port: Fast, reliable charging without the wait

Flavor-Lock Technology: Keeps flavor fresh from first to last puff

Leak-Free Design: Better build quality to prevent spills or mess

Slim Profile: Lightweight and portable without sacrificing capacity

🍇 Flavors You’ll Love – With Descriptions

Explore a premium selection of satisfying, hand-crafted flavors:

Strawberry Freeze – Juicy strawberries wrapped in a cool menthol breeze

Mango Ice Cream – Sweet tropical mango with a creamy vanilla finish

Cool Mint Blast – A sharp, clean mint flavor with icy undertones

Berry Melon Splash – A perfect mix of blueberries, raspberries, and watermelon

Lemon Twist Ice – Tart lemon candy flavor cooled with fresh mint

Banana Berry Breeze – Ripe banana blended with sweet forest berries

Grape Glacier – Deep, dark grape flavor chilled for a smooth exhale

Peach Cola Pop – A fizzy peach cola combo with a sparkling twist

Pineapple Coconut Cream – A tropical dessert in every puff

Watermelon Lime Frost – Sweet watermelon with a zesty lime punch and icy edge

💡 Why Should You Choose the Lost Mary x Hawcos Pro Max 7000?

There are plenty of vapes on the market—but here’s why this one stands out:

🟢 Reliable & Rechargeable – Use every drop without wasting the device

🟢 Flavor That Lasts – No fading or burnt taste over time

🟢 Perfect for All Levels – Whether you’re new to vaping or a seasoned user

🟢 No Setup Needed – Just open, charge, and vape

🟢 Budget-Friendly – Long puff count = fewer purchases

[amproductreview]

💨 My Experience with the COSORI Air Fryer 9-in-1: Crispy Magic in a Box 🍟✨

Okay, real talk — I finally gave in and bought the COSORI 6‑Quart Turbo Blaze Air Fryer. And wow… why did I wait this long? 😩

I used to think air fryers were just hype. Like, come on — how different could they be from my oven?

Spoiler: very different.

From the very first batch of fries, I was hooked. They came out super crispy, golden, and crazy fast — without drowning in oil. I love that crunch, but not the greasy regret. This little machine gives me both crunch and peace of mind. Total win.

More Info Get The Product Here>>>

About this item

𝙏𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚 𝙐𝙥𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙚: Innovative TurboBlaze Technology delivers a powerful 3600 rpm fan speed and temperatures up to 450℉, achieving beyond-crispy, juicy perfection in every main dish

𝙏𝙚𝙭𝙩𝙪𝙧𝙚 𝙐𝙥𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙚: Advanced airflow and precise temperature control deliver evenly cooked side dishes with perfectly balanced texture in every bite

𝙋𝙧𝙤 𝙐𝙥𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙚: Cosori’s unique 5-fan speed system and precise 90°–450°F temperature control deliver professional-grade versatility, creating exceptional dishes across all functions with just one basket

𝙏𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙐𝙥𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙚: Innovative Turbo Blaze Technology helps speed up cooking to save time and deliver perfectly crispy family meals, even on busy weekdays

𝘾𝙖𝙥𝙖𝙘𝙞𝙩𝙮 𝙐𝙥𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙚: The 6-quart square basket offers a wider, deeper design for family meals in one go while saving kitchen counter and storage space

𝙀𝙭𝙥𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚 𝙐𝙥𝙜𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙚: Enjoy a quieter and more comfortable kitchen environment as it operates at less than 53 dB even on high fan speed, delivering whisper-quiet performance

𝟗𝟓% 𝙇𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙊𝙞𝙡: Enjoy the same crispy textures as traditional deep frying with up to 95% less oil. Enjoy all your favourite fried foods without the guilt

𝘿𝙞𝙨𝙝𝙬𝙖𝙨𝙝𝙚𝙧-𝙎𝙖𝙛𝙚: The non stick cooking basket and detachable accessories make cleaning a breeze. Spend less time scrubbing and more time enjoying your delicious meals

𝘾𝙪𝙨𝙩𝙤𝙢𝙞𝙯𝙖𝙗𝙡𝙚 𝙋𝙧𝙚𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙩 𝙁𝙪𝙣𝙘𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣: Enjoy flexibility with the Preheat function, which adjusts time based on temperature. Easily choose whether to preheat for optimal results, or skip it as the default setting for a hassle-free experience

𝘿𝙤𝙣’𝙩 𝙈𝙞𝙨𝙨 𝙊𝙪𝙩 𝙀𝙣𝙫𝙚𝙡𝙤𝙥𝙚: Included user manual, chef-created 30-recipe cookbook with pictures, cooking charts. Please be sure to check before discarding the box so you don’t miss out on these helpful resources

More Info Get The Product Here>>>

Product information

Warranty & Support

“Product Warranty: For warranty information about this product, please” click here [PDF ]

👎 A Few Little Downsides…

No appliance is perfect, right?

The basket is great for up to 4 people. But if you’re cooking for a big crowd, you might need to do it in batches.

The matte finish is super pretty, but it does show fingerprints. Keep a cloth handy.

Some folks mentioned a plastic smell the first time they used it. I didn’t notice anything with mine — so maybe it’s been fixed.

💬 What Everyone Else Says

I’m not the only one obsessed. Reddit is full of COSORI love.

“It cooks fast and consistently… everything comes out crispy and golden.”

“I’ve had mine for three years with no issues.”

That kind of feedback gives me confidence. And if anything ever goes wrong, it has a 2-year warranty. Plus, COSORI’s support team actually replies to emails. I checked.

💰 Is It Worth It?

YES. 100%.

Here’s what you get:

✅ Fast cooking with little to no oil  ✅ A sleek, quiet machine that won’t hog your counter  ✅ 9 pre-sets for all kinds of meals  ✅ Easy clean up  ✅ Real warranty + great support

And the price? It’s usually around $110–$120, but I got mine for under $100 on sale. 👀

✅ Final Thoughts: Should You Buy It?

If you…

Want crispy food without all the oil

Hate waiting for your oven to preheat

Cook for 1–4 people most of the time

Love trying new recipes

Want something easy to clean and fun to use

Then YES. The COSORI Turbo Blaze is totally worth it.

I’ve used it almost every day since I got it. It’s made my meals better, clean up easier, and honestly? Cooking is just more fun now.

So yeah… I think I might be in love with my air fryer. 💁‍♀️💨🍗

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