#Some deep thoughts from daniel this chapter too

[shunin-gumis]

Designs of Happiness - Track A19

L4mps Main Story Translation

Title: Way of the Sauna

Characters: Nagi, Daniel, Netaro

Summary: Nagi heads to the sauna, where he finds Daniel and Netaro already present. Daniel enthusiastically explains the greatness of a sauna to them.

Thank you aca @463ce6, myun @/myuntachis Niri @/Niri_riri and jes @/arcanecrayonn for helping me with proofing!

Location: Hakodate - Hotel Room

*knock on the door*

Momiji: Come in!

Nagi: …Good evening.

Momiji: Good evening! What brings you here this late?

Nagi: Mm… Here. 

Momiji: Oh, you’ve brought the cassette for the weekly report… Thank you for taking the time during the trip to record it! Great work today!

Nagi: You too. I brought these too… 

Momiji: Woah, flowers and… a vase!?

Nagi: I was sure you’d be needing a vase, so I brought one with me.

Momiji: Don’t get me wrong, I’m super grateful and happy for these, but I didn’t think you’d be bringing them on the trip too… 

Momiji: (Now that I think about it, Nagi had a crazy amount of luggage with him… Don’t tell me those were all packed full of flowers?)

Nagi: I brought a lot of flowers with me to counter the Yajirobe effect… Though I’m not sure it’ll be enough. 

Nagi: This trip is… too much happiness for someone like me.

Momiji: (Nagi-kun looks worried. I want him to feel more relaxed, though… Oh, I have an idea!)

Momiji: Nagi-kun, you haven’t taken a bath yet, right?

Nagi: Yeah, I’m going right after this.

Momiji: I know you could just use the bath in your room, but I’d like to suggest you give the public bath a try! It’s a really good experience!

Momiji: It even has a sauna, so I’m sure it’s a great way to refresh!

Nagi: A public bath, and a sauna… 

Momiji: Yeah!

Nagi: …… 

Nagi: I’ve never gone to either of those.

Nagi: …… 

Nagi: But okay, I’ll give it a try. 

~~~

Location: Hakodate - Hotel Sauna

Nagi: …Ah.

Daniel: Well if it ain’t Nagi! C’mon, join us. The sauna here is perfect; the temperature and humidity are just how I like ‘em.

Netaro: Uweh…

Nagi: Netaro’s here too?

Netaro: Daa here enticed me, claiming that the sauna could “clear the mind.”

Daniel: We literally just got here, and you’re even sitting on the lower bench where the temperature’s not that high. How ‘bout you, Nagi? Wanna work up a sweat on the upper bench with me? 

Nagi: Um, I’ll go with the lower one… You’re a fan of saunas, Buchi-san?

Daniel: ‘Course I am! I’ve been to about 300 saunas thanks to all my travel and business trips. I’ve even gone to Finland, the Holy Land of Saunas, too! You’re looking right at a hot-blooded sauna enthusiast!

Nagi: Woah.

Netaro: Are you certain this is supposed to make me feel refreshed…?

Nagi: The Chief recommended the sauna to me so… I figured I’d give it a shot. 

Daniel: Got it. So that makes you a beginner, too. Alright, time to put my back into this!

Daniel: I’ll teach you how to master the Iwabuchi Way of the Sauna; In other words, how to completely revitalize yourself!*

Nagi: Oh, okay. I’m looking forward to it, master.

Netaro: Master~~

Daniel: Oh, first things first: Don’t get in a sauna right after eating your fill or getting sloshed. Ain’t good manners when they gotta haul your butt-naked ass outta here.

Nagi: He’s actually serious about this… 

Daniel: One rep includes sweating it out in the sauna, then getting into a cold bath, and finally cooling off either indoors or outdoors. They say doing three reps improves your sleeping quality or somethin’.

Daniel: 7 to 8 minutes in the sauna should be more than enough for a beginner. 

Netaro: Uuugh~ There is still 5 minutes and 52 seconds, 51 seconds… 

Nagi: What about the cold bath? 

Daniel: Depends on the person, but I guess 1 minute should do? The water is bloody cold, so I wouldn’t recommend staying in there even a second longer.

Daniel: The revitalization comes after that. When you sit down somewhere and take in the breeze… That’s when the happy hormones are released, and you’re in a state of bliss. 

Netaro: I’ve read of this before! Despite the fact that the body is in a completely relaxed state, the brain achieves a state of awakening! It gets your brain juices flowing and is supposed to feel amazing! Isn’t that so? 

Nagi: That’s kinda scary. 

Daniel: Well, there’s no need to get so deep about it. If you ask me, you can revitalize right here in the sauna— 

Netaro: It’s toooo hoooot… I’m in desperate need of some water… 

Nagi: Honestly, me too. 

Daniel: I mean, people use their heads too much on the daily, y’know? That’s why it’s important to hit your limit under extreme conditions once in a while so you can just let your mind go blank.

Daniel: Just think of it as switchin’ off your brain for a sec. 

*steam intensifies*

Nagi: Hoo… 

Netaro: 3 minutes and 59 seconds… 58 seconds… 

Daniel: When you think about it, all your worries are connected either to the past or the future. But you don’t exist in either of those times, so there’s nothin’ you can do about it. It just leads to an infinite loop of anxiety. 

Daniel: Nothin’s better than holing away in the sauna to break yourself outta that loop.

Daniel: Your brain’s at full capacity just thinkin’ about how bloody hot it is, so in a way, your mind’s getting a break, letting everything else go… Now that’s what I call a detox.

*steam intensifies further*

Nagi: Oi… how much longer? A minute…? 

Netaro: *dry wheezing* Wah… tah… 

Daniel: This is just like meditation, or being mindful and all that…. Hey, are you even listening? 

Netaro: AUUUGHH IT’S. TOO. HOT!! I can’t take it anymore! There’s no revitalization happening at all!

*Netaro runs out*

Nagi: His face was bright red.

Daniel: Hahaha! Well, he shouldn’t have tried so hard. You’re doin’ pretty well though Nagi, you’ve got the makings of a true sauna enthusiast.

Nagi: I should’ve probably gotten one of those sauna hats… 

Daniel: Just let me know when you decide to get one, I’ll recommend the best one for ya.

Nagi: Okay, thank you. 

Nagi: …… 

Daniel: …… 

Nagi: (The conversation has fallen off… Should I try to start it up again?)

Daniel: …… 

Nagi: …… 

Nagi: (So I say, but I don’t even know what to talk about… What’s something we can connect on…)

Daniel: Imagine if that Ryui fella is stayin’ in this hotel too.

Nagi: …… 

Nagi: Buchi-san, I need to ask… 

Daniel: Hm? 

Nagi: Why didn’t you catch Ryui back at Hachiman-zaka? 

Nagi: (I’m pretty sure he had a better chance at catching him than I did…)

Daniel: Right… How do I put this… 

Nagi: …… 

Nagi: (It’s hot… It’s way too hot… Please answer a little faster…) 

Daniel: Well, he’s an adult too. I’m sure he’ll come home when he feels like it. 

Daniel: That’s all it is. 

Nagi: (He’ll come home when he wants to? Would it be so simple for someone who decided to leave in the first place?)

Nagi: Are you sure? If they’d change their minds so easily, they wouldn’t bother leaving in the first place, right… 

Nagi: Maybe they had some unavoidable reason to do what they did— 

Nagi: (Ryui, and that person, too…)

Nagi: (I’m sure they had their— Oh…ough…)

Daniel: Ooh, I was thinkin’ this earlier at the observatory too, but you’re actually more of a positive thinker than I thought you were, huh.

Nagi: HOT…! I’m at my limit…! 

Daniel: Haha! Another one bites the dust!

~~~

Location: Hakodate - Hotel Lounge

Nagi: Phew… 

Nagi: (The temperature was way too high… I don’t think I have what it takes to be the best sauna enthusiast there ever was…) 

Nagi: (But, it’s true that I do feel like my mind’s all cleared up. Maybe this is what he was referring to as feeling revitalized.)

Nagi: Woah… They even have all-you-can-eat popsicles… 

Nagi: …… 

Nagi: (Strawberry, grape, orange, pineapple, mango, dainagon azuki, condensed milk… There’s a lot to choose from.)

Nagi: (I want something refreshing, so I can cross out the dainagon azuki and the condensed milk flavors… They’d probably be too sweet.)

Nagi: (Strawberry and grape are quite refreshing, but when it comes to popsicles, their sourness leaves something to be desired…)

Nagi: (Mango… The tropical flavor doesn’t really fit the setting. Condensed milk is perfect for Hokkaido, but I’ve already crossed it off the list.)

Nagi: (Then all that’s left are the flavors beloved by everyone, orange and pineapple. They have the perfect amount of sourness too. Though, pineapple is also a tropical flavor.)

Nagi: (Right then. I’ll go with the safest choice that has no room for mistake, orange.)

Nagi: Is it really for free…? I hope this doesn’t affect my luck unfavorably… 

*opening the wrapper*

Nagi: …Mm, tasty.

Nagi: (Guess I picked the wrong one. This is pineapple.)

Nagi: I think it turned out for the best though.

Nagi: (Pineapple’s pretty good too. But it’s strange… I wasn’t hit by bad luck this time.)

Nagi: …Wait. 

*checking his phone*

Nagi: …… 

Nagi: (I guess my theory that the misfortune’s rebound won’t happen if the air pressure is stable is spot on after all.)

Nagi: …Huh?

Nagi: (No, this is HAMA’s atmospheric pressure. What about Hakodate—)

Nagi: (A sudden updraft, and even a ‘bomb’ mark… This looks really bad for me…)

??: ○※А◆×▽×◎……。

Nagi: Huh?

Nagi: (I hear some strange sounds from the reclining chair further ahead… Is there someone there…?)

??: Φ×▲□▽η……。

Nagi: (...The voice sounds really weak.)

Nagi: …… 

Nagi: Excuse me. Are you… not feeling well?

??: …… 

Netaro: Gii?

Nagi: Oh, Netaro?

Nagi: Are you okay? It sounded like you were moaning. If you’re not feeling well, you should talk to the Chief— 

*a ringing sound*

Nagi: …!?

Nagi: (What… is this? It’s so abnormally chilling…)

Nagi: (Why can’t I move? And I feel… really scared. Like some sort of unfathomable fear is welling up within me…)

Netaro: Hm… So be it. I was inclined to hold back for a while longer, but now that it’s come to this—

Netaro: You’ll have to suffice. 

Notes:

“Totonoi” means to experience a feeling of euphoria and a clear head by repeating several sets of sauna, water bath, and outdoor air bath. 

Sauna hats are used to prevent one’s head from heating excessively, and are traditionally made of felt.

<- Previous | Next ->

Masterlist

[pitlanepeach]

Radio Silence | Chapter Eighteen

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, silverstone 2021, racing injuries, detailed description of a panic attack, angsty as heck

Notes — Uh....... welcome to the Silverstone chapter (im sorry)

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

2021 (Silverstone) 

In the days leading up to Silverstone, Lando filmed a video for Quadrant. Amelia sat just out of shot, watching the gameplay unfold with a grin that said, this is ridiculous, and I’m having the best time watching you all make fools of yourselves. When Lando stacked it and landed awkwardly on his arm, she was there in an instant, fussing over him.

A small portion of the clip made it into the final edit. Her on her knees, laughing, while Lando pouted dramatically, waving his arm around like it was much a more dramatic injury than just a scratch. It was lighthearted, sweet. 

Everyone went crazy for it. 

—

WhatsApp — 2021 F1 Groupchat

Lando N. Quick question. does anyone have any spare gloves?

Valtteri B. Like... racing gloves?

Lando N. Nah, just regular gloves. Leather, ideally.

George R. I’ve got some driving gloves in my car.

Pierre G. Of course you do.

George R. What’s that supposed to mean?

Pierre G. Nothing, nothing.

Lando N. Can you bring them to me? Amelia’s a bit icky about touch today, thought gloves might help. We’re heading to the track now and I couldn’t find any at my parents' place.

George R. Yeah, I’ll give them to Will.

Lando N. 👍

—

It wasn’t a stim. It wasn’t a meltdown.

It was just… discomfort.

She sighed in relief as Lando slid the brown leather gloves onto her hands. She swallowed, wiggling her fingers and letting the tension bleed from her shoulders.

The leather was soft and probably expensive, considering the gloves were George’s.

Lando squeezed her hands. “Better?”

She nodded, smiling. “They match my boots.” She held her gloved hands next to her knees, where her brown riding-style boots reached.

He snorted, laughing softly. “I don’t think George planned that, but I’m glad you feel fashionable, baby.”

Amelia glanced over her shoulder. Daniel wandered over, wiggling his eyebrows. “Excited for your home races, mate?” The question was aimed at Lando.

Amelia watched Lando, noticing how his face shifted; something complicated, something soft, but also guarded.

“Yeah. Just want to do well,” he shrugged, his smile a little too tight.

She frowned, instinctively leaning in. “You will.”

His smile flickered, uncertain. “I hope so.”

—

Max didn’t ask about the gloves. He just wrapped his arm around her shoulder and dragged her into his driver’s room, ignoring her confused protests.

He slammed the door, sat on the cabin bed, and stared at her.

She hovered, uncertain, glancing at the door before looking back at him. “Um…”

“I want to tell her the truth,” he said, eventually.

She stared at him for a beat, trying to decode his words, and then, slowly, her eyes widened. “You— I thought you told her months ago! Are you serious?” She choked out.

Max winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know. I know I should’ve done it sooner, okay? But I— I didn’t want to spoil it…”

Her anger flared, a sick heat bubbling in her stomach. “I told you to tell her the truth. That I’d hate to be lied to like that. And you carried on?” She was trembling. “So…. What. She still has no idea? About you, about all of this?”

He lowered his gaze, shame written across his face.

Amelia took a deep breath, stepping back. “I can’t even look at you. How could you—” She choked, nauseous, thinking of the girl who had no idea she was about to be dragged into this mess. “Has she told you she loves you?”

He was silent.

She let out a pained sound, high-pitched and sharp. “I don’t want to talk to you right now. Just… pass your thoughts on the car after practice to GP, yeah?”

Then she turned and walked out, her body coiled tight, her mind a storm.

—

She stormed through the garage, ignoring the stares from the engineers, and found Lando, her dad, and Daniel standing together.

Her dad spotted her first, eyes going wide. “Hey, honey. Everything okay?”

She shook her head. “I need to hit something.”

All three pairs of eyes turned to her.

Her dad sighed, glancing around. This wasn’t new. It had mostly happened during puberty. She’d always been hard to anger, but when it did happen, she needed an outlet.

“We’ve got some old tire blankets we can pile up. Should be soft enough.”

She nodded, her gaze distant.

He instructed a mechanic to start gathering the blankets in the back of the garage, away from the cameras and spectators.

Lando cupped her face, bending to meet her eyes. “You okay? What happened?”

“Max is an asshole,” she spat.

He blinked, shocked, before stepping back and nodding. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll go help with the tire blankets.” He hurried off.

She looked at Daniel.

He shrugged, making a face. “Max is an asshole sometimes, isn’t he?”

She nodded, jaw tight.

Then, out of sight of everyone, she took her frustration out on the tire blankets.

— 

Max won the sprint race, setting his brakes on fire on the grid in order to boost the temperature in his front tires and give him a better start. It was risky, but it paid off, and he won. That took precedence over the extra work he’d given the garage crew overnight.

Another haul of points in their fight against Lewis.

Amelia didn’t have it in her to celebrate. She forced a smile for GP, nodded at Christian, but stepped away from the pit wall and headed straight to the back of Max’s garage, where Jos was sitting.

“Did you know about her? His girlfriend?” Jos asked. “I assume you did.”

Amelia stared at a spot of engine oil on the wall. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

He looked like he wanted to argue, to push for more, but she stood up and walked away before he could.

Lando finished P5. He fought with her childhood hero on track and came out ahead. For that, he deserved her attention.

— 

She found Mark Webber just before the F2 feature race, holding a folded white envelope. She passed it to him as discreetly as possible, careful of the cameras and prying eyes around them.

He took it, glanced at it, and raised an eyebrow.

She shrugged. “Let him open it when—if—things go wrong. It’s a good offer. The best he’ll get.” She’d made sure of that. She wasn’t about to let him slip through the cracks if Otmar did what she suspected he might do.

Mark studied her for a moment. “You made this happen?”

She nodded.

“Come on, kid,” he said, after a beat, gesturing ahead. “I’m sure Oscar would love a chat before he has to get in the car.”

She blinked, then grinned. “Do you think he’ll mind if I look at his steering set-up? I’m so curious—”

—

Lando drove them from the track to the hotel. She liked his car. All sleek, black lines and a polished interior that looked like something out of a magazine.

“Is this your dream car?” she asked, curiosity in her voice.

It was nearly ten, the sky darkening, and Lando had one hand on the steering wheel and the other casually draped over her inner thigh. She’d swapped out her team kit after the sprint for his favourite skirt, keeping it casual but elegant for the evening’s media events. Daniel had made him do a shoeey on the main stage. 

“No.” He shook his head, glancing at her with a playful look in his eyes. “Don’t tease me.”

“Why?” She raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious.

“I’ve always wanted a Jolly.”

She blinked, momentarily stunned. “A— A Fiat Jolly?”

He nodded, his grin widening.

She couldn’t help but smirk. “A Jolly? That’s your dream car?”

Lando shot her a mock glare from the corner of his eye. “Baby…”

“Sorry, sorry!” she laughed, pressing a hand to her mouth to stifle her giggles. “I just— I wasn’t expecting that.”

He shook his head, exasperated but still smiling, his eyes warm with amusement. “I’ll get one, baby, and I’ll force you to let me drive it everywhere.”

She hummed thoughtfully. “I’ll be able to match all of my outfits to it,” she teased, her eyes twinkling.

Lando rolled his eyes.

— 

Max and Pietra were waiting for them in the hotel lobby the next morning. Amelia squeezed Lando’s hand as they approached, giving him a fond glance before skipping over to Pietra, who greeted her with a bright smile and a glance of appreciation.

“That dress is gorgeous!” Pietra remarked, her eyes lighting up.

Amelia smiled, twirling a little. “Thanks. It’s my favourite. Oscar De La Renta. I can wear it on the pit wall as long as I throw on a team jacket.” As they walked through the lobby, Amelia leaned in, lowering her voice just enough so the guys wouldn’t overhear. “He won’t say it, but Lando thinks it’s a lucky dress. Pushed me into wearing it today.”

Pietra smiled knowingly.

“Baby!” Lando’s voice called from behind them.

Amelia turned her head, meeting his gaze. “Yeah?”

“You got your iPad?” he asked, him and Max now caught up to them.

Amelia patted her bag, feeling the familiar weight. “Got it.”

“Good. Keep a close eye on it today, yeah? Group chat’s a bit tense at the moment.”

She frowned. “What’s my iPad got to do with your group chat?”

He shrugged. She narrowed her eyes at him. He kissed her. 

— 

Everyone could feel the tension between her and Max.

She sat in the strategy meeting, arms crossed, her focus locked on the data sheets in front of her. The only time she spoke was to correct a mistake or suggest a differential, her tone cool and efficient. Max, however, couldn’t seem to take his eyes off her, the weight of whatever was unspoken between them hanging heavy in the air.

When the meeting ended, she walked with GP to the garage, discussing overcorrection and heat cycles. 

She managed to avoid Max entirely. 

But just before the cars were due to leave the garages to line up on the grid, Jos found her. He was calm, but there was something demanding in his expression. “I don’t know what’s going on between the two of you,” he said quietly, eyes hard. “But I need you to put it aside and focus. This is an important race. He needs to win.”

Her response was a sharp nod, her jaw set. Without a word, she walked over to Max’s car. She leaned into the cockpit, eyes meeting his through the visor. The surprise in his eyes at the sight of her was fleeting; she knew he hadn’t expected it. She didn’t give him a chance to speak.

“If you don’t tell her by next weekend,” she said, voice low but firm, “I’ll find her and tell her myself.” Then, before he could react, she kissed the cheek of his helmet. Her voice softened, almost a whisper. “Win it, broer.”

Straightening up, she glanced at the mechanics; her unspoken signal to let him go. She turned back to Jos, who watched her with quiet approval. He gave a small nod, and she walked away. 

— 

She rarely walked the grid while the cars were setting up, but something about this year pulled her there. She found Lando under his umbrella, shielded from the sun, sipping from his bottle.

His eyes lit up when he saw her. She kissed his cheek, adjusting his fireproofs. “Be safe, do well. Love you.”

He pulled her in for one last kiss before she moved on. She glanced at the cars, each a blur of metal and energy; smiled at the mechanics, and shared a quick squeeze with Fernando. Finally, she caught Max’s eye. He stared at her for a long moment, before offering a small smile.

“Ah, Amelia Brown!”

She spun around, coming face-to-face with Martin Brundle.

Well aware of the camera, she forced a smile through the nerves. “Hi! How are you?” she asked, deliberately avoiding the lens.

“Good, good! So, we saw you give Lando a good luck kiss. Think McLaren’s got a good shot at scoring double points again today?”

“I hope everyone does well today,” she replied, only a slight tremble in her voice, “but of course, I hope Max comes out on top.”

He laughed, somewhat distractedly, giving her a quick nod before leading the cameraman away.

She glanced back at Lando. He was watching her with a proud, warm smile.

Her cheeks flushed, and she turned, head down, walking off the grid toward the pit wall.

— 

GP settled beside her a few minutes later, handing her a comms clip. She gave it a cursive glance before she slid it into her ear and tugged her defenders on over the top.

“Makes it easier, huh?” he said through the comms, voice quiet and crackly, no need to shout through the defenders like usual.

She smiled. “You’re smart.”

“Coming from you?” He let out a long breath. “That’s the highest of compliments.”

She giggled softly, turning her focus to the screens in front of them.

Her stomach was already in knots, but that was nothing new; it always was during the formation lap. The calm before the storm. Her gaze bounced between Lando and Max, just as it always did, and not for the first time, she wished she had two sets of eyes.

They lined up on the grid. She chewed on her bottom lip, head tilted as she kept an eye on the tyre temps on Max’s car.

He hadn’t set them alight this time. Improvement.

Five lights. Four, three, two.

Lights out.

Max led from Lewis through the first corner. Her fingers fisted into the hem of her dress.

And then—

And then.

It happened in the blink of an eye.

Max ahead. Lewis closing. A slipstream through Copse.

Contact.

Suddenly Amelia was on her feet, hand clamped over her mouth.

She sucked in a shaky breath, barely hearing the roar of shouting from the garage, the pit wall, the radios. Yelling. Chaos. Outrage.

GP spoke into his earpiece — calm, measured. “Max? Max, come on. Talk to me.”

Her stomach dropped. He kept repeating his name, firm but steady, and she heard every word. The comm was still in her ear.

Someone’s hands landed on her arms; steadying her, holding her upright. She didn’t look, didn’t need to. Everything else faded.

She begged silently. Prayed. She didn’t know who she was praying to… she didn’t care.

“Red flag!” someone shouted. Or maybe whispered. Everything was warped and sharp all at once.

She blinked. Jos appeared in front of her, speaking, his lips moved but she couldn’t hear him. Just the ringing.

And then—

“He’s moving! Max is getting out of the car!”

The breath punched out of her. Her lip wobbled. Her knees gave a little.

“Fuck,” she whispered, broken and small.

He pulled her into him, arms wrapped tight. Unshakable. Steady.

She sucked in a sharp breath against his shoulder.

— 

They showed her on the main feed.

A cutaway from Max’s crash, the Red Bull pit wall — GP calm and collected, Christian furious, and Amelia… utterly devastated.

She tore her eyes away from the monitor and stared at the floor. She was in the medical wing now, waiting.

51G’s.

A brutal shunt. Career-ending, for some.

Not for Max.

Him climbing out of the car unassisted had been a statement. A declaration. He was still in control. Still standing.

She looked up when Jos stepped out of the examination room. He gave her a nod, then gestured for her to go in.

She entered, and stopped cold.

Max sat on the bed, bruised but upright. Alive.

Her breath hitched. Tears welled instantly.

“Zusje,” he sighed.

She crossed the room in three strides and wrapped her arms around him. Not too tight, she didn’t want to hurt him, but close enough to feel his heart beating, his lungs working, the warmth of him. Real.

He stroked her head, let her cry it out.

When she finally pulled away, lip trembling, eyes darting, he asked, “What did you do?”

So she told him.

Panic in her voice, regret tangled in every word. She’d thought about it, imagined how she’d feel if it were Lando in that crash and no one had reached out. How small and useless and broken she’d feel.

Max’s eyes darkened.

“You called her?” he demanded, already reaching for her phone. “How did you even—”

“It’s too late,” she said quietly. “She’s already on her way.”

Max froze.

“I’m not sorry,” Amelia added, steady now. “If I were her, I’d want to know.”

— 

She barely made it to Lando before he climbed back into the car for the restart.

“I love you,” she whispered against his neck. His arms wrapped tight around her, lifting her off the ground with the force of his hold. “I love you so much. Please be safe. Please, Lando.”

He pulled back just enough to make her meet his eyes, steady and sure. The eye-contact made her squirm, but it was important. “I’ll always come back to you, baby. Always.”

She let out a shaky breath, a small, high-pitched sound caught between panic and relief, and hugged him once more before his engineers pulled him away.

Pietra hesitated beside her, hands hovering, then dove forward, wrapping Amelia in a hug despite the warnings both Max and Lando had given her.

“You looked so scared,” she said gently, in Portuguese.

Amelia nodded. Didn’t pull away. Let herself be held. Over Pietra’s shoulder, she locked eyes with Max. He looked concerned, like he was ready to intervene, to pry them apart, but Amelia just sniffled and pressed her face into Pietra’s shoulder.

It was nice to have a friend. 

— 

“Amelia—”

She ducked her head, jaw tight, eyes hard, and turned on her heel without hesitation.

Her heart stuttered, but she couldn’t stop herself. She was angry… furious, really. He’d carried on, celebrated the win like he hadn’t just sent his rival spinning into a tyre wall. Accident or not, it didn’t sit right in her gut.

And maybe it wasn’t fair.

But Lewis had ignored her before, in Austria.

Now, it was her turn.

— 

@/verstappie11 seeing amelia so scared after the crash was scarier than the actual crash. like can somebody hold her please!!!!!!! i never thought i’d be so happy to see jos verstappen lmao

@/pitwallprincess no bc the way the broadcast CUT to Amelia literally holding back tears while GP is stone-faced and Christian is raging… a genuine greek tragedy 

@/helmetcamwhore wait why did Amelia look like she was about to sprint to max’s car herself 😭 give her a hug pls omg

@/softlandon4ever it’s the way Lando dropped everything to hug her before the restart… like. weeping. actual soulmates.

@/mercmafia She said “I hope Max comes out on top” on the GRID and then he COLLIDES with Lewis in lap 1??? nah idc what y’all say she’s the problem.

@/tifosislut69 Amelia Brown crying on live TV was not on my bingo card today. she looked DEVASTATED. get this woman a therapist now!

@/chequedflagged I get that she's emotional but Amelia being all cold to lewis post-race in the paddock was giving bad vibes… 

@/gp2engine not everyone’s fave stem girlie Amelia Brown walking past Lewis like he doesn’t exist post-race. SHE’S MAD MAD

@/papayapixels watching Amelia literally fold into Pietra’s arms while Lando’s pulled away by engineers… god this garage has SEEN things today

NEXT CHAPTER

[bloodb3nders]

chapter two.

| finnick odair x fem!reader |

wc: 2.4k

warnings: same as masterlist

a/n: i'm lowkey ass at writing background so pls be merciful with this one! all likes, reblogs, and commnets are appreciated!

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶ the birds sing softly as sunlight filters through the window, golden rays touching the face of the sleeping girl. her room is simple but full of life, as trinkets litter the room, big and small. peaking out of her dresser spill out different colored garments. however, one dress is thrown across the end of her bed, a deep plum dress. it’s buttoned from a few inches below the neck and down, with some extra fabric serving as a sort of belt. 

below the dress, sitting on the floor, are a pair of beat up, brown sandals. they’ve seen many paths, stepped on too many blades of grass, and tripped over rocks, squashed bugs, and so on. 

the girl, bundled up in her gray sheets and worn-white quilt. her eyes begin to flutter open, and a grown elicits her lips as she stretches her arms. the sun illuminates her face, blinding her slightly, forcing her eyes shut, brows furrowed. turning away from the rays, she groggily opens her eyes. a sigh falls from her lips.  another sunrise on the reaping. 

shaking her mind of any poor thoughts, she brings her lips into a tight line, a tune on the tip of her tongue. a soft melody floats through the air as she goes about, changing into the dress laid out at the end of her bed. she fashions the extra fabric in a belt like manner, and slips the sandals on her feet. 

the tune continues on, as she walks to the dresser, pulling out a singular ribbon. she makes quick work of it, tying half of her hair back before rolling her shoulders back, loosening them just a bit from the tightness they’d retained from her sleep.

the familiar smell of oatmeal wafts from outside her room, and the girl follows the scent. outside her room is the kitchen, which elicits the smell of the oatmeal. her mother— adopted mother— Isabella twirled around the kitchen, chopping berries and juicing an orange as she did so. 

her adopted father was the head peacemaker of district 12, so the girl in the plum dress had lived a more comfortable life than the majority of other minors kids. y/n her situation was a gift, a new life. she could barely remember the face of her real father. all she could remember was long days at the school, and having miss Isabella watch her until her father came to collect her.

the thornes were good folk. daniel thorne was originally from 2, the son of a peacemaker. Isabella came straight from the capitol, although from a lower class family. even a lower class capitol family saw more food on the table than a majority of district 12 saw in a year. when daniel got promoted to head peacemaker of district 12, his kind heart tended to be the forefront of his leadership. there was never much trouble in 12, at least, not any as of late. 

y/n crinkles her eye at the thought of trouble, her mind drifting back to the music night she’d sang at a few months ago after her birthday. seeing all the people of 12 boot stomping and getting jiggly brought a joy she’d never seen to the district, even if it was just for a night. how she wished to be back on that stage, belting out a tune to a rhythm that would make even the oldest of bones stand up and move along.

the girl is suddenly pulled out of her thoughts by isabella’s voice, asking her if she wants any strawberries in her oatmeal. y/n nods feverishly, as she makes her way to Isabella, graciously excepting the glass of orange juice and bowl of oatmeal. 

daniel and Isabella soon join her at the table, and the three talk mindlessly over breakfast. y/n’s odds of being reaped are next to none. her parents have never showed any nerves on reaping day, and if they did, the girl never picked up on it. her stomach was doubling over and knotting itself, as it always did. even though she never had to buy any tesserae in exchange for more thin slips of her name being dropped into the bowl, her heart is beating as if her name is in there twenty times as opposed to four. her mind is distracted, the chatter of her two parents being drowned out by her own thoughts. 

y/n briefly shivers, shaking off her heebie jeebies as she tunes back into the conversation. something about the head game maker this year being Isabella’s cousin, or a guy close to the head game maker. the girl takes everything in her not to roll her eyes at her mother’s careless talk of the games. 

“y/n, dear, you have to play your new song for us tonight— your father and I are dying to hear it!” Isabella says, excitement in her tone as she looks at her adopted daughter. the girl responds in the affirmative, as she continues to down her oatmeal. 

how comfortable they must feel to say such a confident thing. guilt pains the girl, as she wonders how many parents are anxious putting on a brave face for their kids in the rest of the district. 

the family finishes their breakfast, before heading down to the town square. y/n’s accustomed to getting their early, due to daniel being the head peacemaker and all. once they reach the justice building, she bids her parents a brief goodbye before she scurries deeper into town, hoping to find some of her friends. 

in the distance, a brown cap bobbing up and down in the distance. the girl breaks into a smile, jogging slightly to meet the boy. carter deertail, no more than two years her junior stands before her, dressed in some shabby suspenders and a cream button down shirt. his dad played the banjo at the music night, after y/n and carter begged him for two weeks straight to. 

“feel like the odds are in your favor this year?”

Carter says with a toothy grin, causing y/n to chuckle. 

“how much you wanna bet on what color Effie wears this year? I’m guessing she’ll pair a hot pink and forest green,” y/n jests, causing Carter to laugh. the two continue to make wild guesses,  before more children start to file past them, beelining for the justice building. 

the pair decide to follow suit, as they follow the mob of kids walking through the streets.

“see you on the other side, y/n!” Carter calls out, giving the girl a wave goodbye as he files into his respective pen. y/n waves back, before filing over to pen with the other sixteen-year-old girls. on one side of her is Delilah figgy, whose mom sells eggs in the hob. on her other side is maggie donaghy, whose father works in the mines. before y/n can get a word out, the feedback of a microphone can be distinctly heard, silencing the crowd of kids. 

out of the gray and dull justice building appears a flurry of blue and pink feathers, followed by a mirrorball personified in five inch heels. Effie trinket, in all her glory, stood, covered in feathers of all shapes and sizes. her face ghostly pale, with ice blue and baby pink on her eyelids and cheeks. she looked like she had frostbite, ans it didn’t help that her clear shoes looked like they had snow inside them. 

the district 12 escort made her way to the microphone, tapping on it before clearing her throat, getting on with her usual pleasantries. something about 68 years of games, something about the youngest victor ever happening in recent years, remembering the fallen, but y/n’s mind zoned out as her gaze flickered across the stage. 

daniel thorne stood on the side of the stage, clad in white armor, weapon in hand. although, he rarely ever used it, most peacekeeper violence was for the lower ranks anyways. his helmet was tucked under his arm, he usually never wore it in town anyways. to his right side stood the mayor— dressed in brown and a silly top hat. an out of place smile stood on his face as his eyes watched Effie go on. 

on the left side of the stage stood haymitch, hair disheveled and boots muddy. he wore gray slacks, a tattered brown jacket laying atop his olive shirt. his head tilted down towards his feet, eyes burning holes into his muddied boots as the the usual video began to play. 

the girl looked up towards the guy as the noise of the video droned in the background. the sky was a dark gray, and a storm was bound to set in in a few hours time. 

another clearing of Effie’s throat brought y/n’s attention back to the district 12 escort. two glass bowls stood on either side of her, filled with hundreds of tiny paper slips on the inside. effie’s voice drifted in and out of y/n’s ears as she reached into the bowl, filled nearly to the top with the names of all the girls ages 12-18 in district 12. Effie’s arm kept sinking into the bowl, and for a moment, y/n wondered if the bowl was pulling Effie in. 

with a satisfied “there we go!” Effie pulled out a single piece of paper. as Effie turned back to the microphone, she unraveled the piece of paper, and smacked her lips once before the name was read out. 

the whole of district 12, birds and all, went dead silent for a moment. 

that was until, the violent sobbing of a single woman broke out. y/n’s brow furrowed, as she looked to wear the source of the crying was coming from. she could feel a hand on her shoulder from Delilah. her eyes locked into a woman dressed in a lovely green dress. it was Isabella. 

“y/n are you here?” Effie’s voice boomed from the stage. the girls eyes widened in realization as she suddenly lost her footing, almost falling into Delilah, as she tried to scramble to her feet. she stumbled out into the aisle separating the boys and the girls, hundreds of eyes burning into her from every direction and she walked, mouth slightly agape as she tried her best to not stumble to the stage. with shaky steps, she walked up the few stairs, eyes not seeing to leave the escort dressed in feathers. 

once her feet found her place next to Effie, y/n’s brain went silent. her eyes drifted to the forest in the distant, silent and haunting, the greenery offering her solace from the stage she stood on. her mind stayed silent, even as a ripple went through the crowd when the boy’s name was called out. her eyes remained fixated on beyond the town, beyond the district that was about to send her to her death. 

a hand on her shoulder brings y/n back to her senses, as she is seemingly led into the justice building for the customary goodbyes. a call of her name makes her head whip around, as young Carter makes a frantic wave at her. his lips are moving, but y/n can’t seem to decipher anything he’s saying, and suddenly he’s lost from view. 

inside the justice building, Isabella and daniel await her, pain written over their faces, as y/n accepts an embrace from the two of them. both of them are speaking, words of comfort and encouragement, despite the tears streaking down Isabella’s face. y/n still cannot understand a word they say, instead offering a small, yet unhopeful smile as they try to reassure her. they pull her into a tight hug, and y/n’s heart feels as if it’s about to burst. 

the only thing she can utter is a small “thank you, I love you,” as she is ushered by other peacemakers out of the justice building and to the train platform. she hears Isabella’s cries mixed with that of another woman as she is led to the platform. the train is already awaiting her, ready to take her to the Capitol, where she will almost certainly live out her final days. a pat on her back causes her head to snap to her side, where haymitch stands, flask in hand. 

“head up, gotta start brainstorming,” he says, voice rough, and liquor on his breath. y/n gives him a puzzled look, and he just shrugs. the train doors open, and before haymitch or y/n can step on, the clacking of heels and a shrill voice stops them. 

“wait! I should go first, as your escort,” a lacy voice speaks. y/n was silently hoping Effie had fallen into a ditch and was gonna miss the train. 

y/n turns to the escort, the click and clack of her heels followed by a boy, head down as he follows the feathering lady. 

sawyer murke stands at roughly six foot one, towering over the escort in her tall heels. he was the son of a mining family, and y/n was almost certain he’d started working in the mines about a year ago due to the muscle he’d put on. he was two years her senior, and as y/n looked at his hands, which were shoved in his pockets, she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d end up choking her to death with those hands. 

with a shudder, y/n allows Effie to walk past her, and into the train. as sawyer follows, he looks up at her for a moment, sorrow in his eyes as he looks into hers. she offers him a small smile, which he does not return. 

the train ride to the Capitol is uneventful, filled with mindless chatter from Effie and a display of food which y/n had helped herself to a plate of. 

when in rome, do as the roman’s do. 

besides, the country side was far more interesting to look at if she could nibble on a pastry as she did so. 

“you’re a really pretty singer” sawyer said, interrupting Effie’s chatter, and y/n’s eyes darted to the boy. 

“that’s real kind of you, thanks,” she replied softly, and the boy gave her a hair of a smile. 

“oh you like to sing! well that’s lovely, you’ll have to incorporate that into your interview with Caesar somehow, maybe he’d even let you—“

“blah blah blah blah,” haymitch interrupts, and y/n has to stifle a giggle as the tousled blonde holds up his hand, as if to silence the escort. 

“let the kids breathe for a minute, Effie,” he groans, before downing a glass of whiskey. he was already down more drinks than he should be at this hour, and he wasn’t planning on stopping. 

he didn’t have the reputation for being the most helpful mentor. 

Effie resumed her usual chatter after the interruption, as the droned on about a new artist being assigned to district 12 this year. something about the stylist being into high fashion for citizens before. y/n scoffed under her breath when Effie praised the stylist for having a little charity on the districts and stopping down to style 12 of all of them. this earned an eye roll from haymitch as well. 

soon, it was time to turn in, as they’d be arriving in the Capitol early the next morning. 

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶

taglist: @anyaslittlepeanut @youraggedybitch @belledawnidk

[ickie]

♡ … THE SECRET OF US \ CHAPTER 2  …

pairing ... lando norris x leclerc!reader summary ... summer of '22 and it seems that you & lando get along a little ... too well. warnings ... alcohol consumption, maybe slight allusions to cheating ... i do think that's it friends :) notes ... so sorry for the delay ! just because of that, next chapter is going to be posted on sunday & it'll continue with this summer '22 storyline so we get a little more background and your relationship with lando... feedback is always appreciated & fill out this form to be added to my taglist ! much love <3 ... masterlist ... last chapter ... next chapter ...

SUMMER BREAK, 2022.

your head knocked against the car window, the bumps on the road making any hope of a nap impossible before the car finally stopped at the dock. as you muttered a few curse words under your breath, your attention was drawn to elliotte, one of your childhood friends, who was in a heated conversation in french with another member of your group.

"is everything okay?" you asked, raising an eyebrow as the conversation abruptly ceased.

"yes! i was just trying to explain the importance of sunscreen, but apparently, i know nothing, so everyone ignore me!" elliotte declared dramatically, prompting a quiet giggle from you.

"you're probably the smartest one here, so please, continue…" you encouraged her with a smile.

….

soon enough, your small group arrived at the dock, everyone unloading their bags as the spanish sun began making sweat bead along your hairline. with your tote bag slung over your shoulder, elliotte stopped you before you could move any further.

"we’re going to have a few more people on the yacht with us," she said. "you remember luisa? well, she's bringing her boyfriend, who i think you know—" a groan escaped your lips, and your face scrunched in distaste at the thought of seeing one of your brother’s coworkers.

"so you do know him! and he’s bringing one of his friends too, i believe. just play nice!" elliotte squeezed your hand before dragging you along, her expression mirroring your displeasure.

introductions are always awkward, especially when everyone knows of each other. you were itching to get into the water and just relax.

"hi, little leclerc," lando said with a grin, leaning in for a side hug. "long time no see, eh? too good for the paddock this year?" his teasing tone made you roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest.

"just got sick of watching men cry over their cars not going fast enough. plus, i don't think i can handle watching mclaren mess up daniel any more than you guys already have." you replied bluntly, hoping he wouldn’t push the conversation further.

lando opened his mouth, but elliotte cut him off. "no f1 talk, please!" she groaned, rolling her eyes before leaning on you. "this one," she pointed at you, "is on a strict pleasure holiday, and no one can take that away from her!"

some of your friends cheered, clearly happy to see you letting loose. you had to admit, it was refreshing to be on a holiday without any responsibilities—no family concerns, no brand posts to manage. it was truly a chance to unwind.

as the boat began to move away from the coastline, you walked to the edge, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. the salty air filled your nostrils, and a content smile spread across your lips. you must have been there longer than you realized because a hand on your shoulder startled you out of your trance.

"i’m sorry!" the curly-haired brit said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "you had just been standing here for a while, so i wanted to make sure you were okay…" he smiled, one hand scratching the back of his neck.

"i’m fine," you replied, turning to face him and relaxing against the rails. "i just… i’ve always liked the ocean." it was a simple response, your gaze drifting back to the blue water.

"so much so that it, what, hypnotizes you?" his teasing remark made you shake your head and roll your eyes.

"it reminds me of maman. she would always take me to the beach during the summer when papa had the boys for karting." you smiled, reminiscing about those fond memories.

"we would get ice cream, i’d always get sunburned no matter how much sunscreen i used, and maman would fuss about how she’d have to fix my hair the next day because it would get tangled from the salt." you glanced at lando, who was listening with an amused grin.

"sounds like you two always had a great time together, yeah?" he asked.

you nodded, hands stuffed into the pockets of your shorts. a comfortable silence fell between you until max, one of lando’s friends, came over to steal him away for something about a bet. you took this chance to change into your swimsuit. the boat hadn’t reached its intended stopping point yet, but a nap in the sun sounded perfect.

with sunscreen applied and your airpods securely in place (with an audiobook playing— it’s not summer without you by jenny han, translated into french), you tried to let sleep pull you under. when it didn’t happen, you simply rested with your eyes closed, enjoying the gentle sway of the boat.

…

lunch/dinner passed uneventfully, everyone quietly enjoying the sandwiches that elliotte and luisa had prepared while you attempted to nap. finishing your drink, a vodka paloma—since tequila apparently made elliotte and luisa crazy—you stood up and disposed of your trash. “i’m going to go swim,” you announced. a few people said they’d join you shortly, and you felt a rush of excitement at the thought of diving into the water.

you shed your oversized t-shirt and eagerly jumped into the warm water, staying submerged for a few moments before surfacing at the sound of another splash. lando surfaced beside you, his curls flattened by the water. you laughed as he coughed.

“i don’t know how you made that look so easy,” he grumbled, gripping the ladder as you tread water.

“it is easy!” you laughed, playfully splashing him. a mischievous grin spread across his face.

“oh, it’s on.” lando's competitive side emerged as he splashed you back, just as you dipped underwater.

as you tried to swim away, he grabbed your ankle, pulling you closer. you gasped for air, splashing him again in hopes he’d let go, but he just pulled you closer, his hands moving to your waist. with a wide grin, he pushed you back underwater.

you resurfaced sputtering, eyes wide as you looked at him. “you better sleep with one eye open tonight,” you teased, swimming away slowly. “i’m going to get you back when you least expect it.”

he nodded, pretending not to believe you, his eyes tracking you as you dipped back underwater. when you resurfaced, elliotte was halfway down the ladder. “i know you just got in, but we were going to play a game up top. you two want to join?”

you eagerly swam back to the ladder, and lando agreed to join as well. the game was charades, and you were teamed up with elliotte and luisa, while lando, max f., and another friend formed the opposing team.

the game proved challenging. elliotte struggled to portray water, while lando’s team cheated by making sounds to convey their words and phrases. the game ended when elliotte and max started bickering, neither willing to concede.

“at least i’m not a cheater!” elliotte pointed at max while you pulled her inside, laughing so hard your cheeks hurt.

“i’m so glad you’re having fun, mon doudou,” she said, leaning her head on your shoulder as you pulled her into a side hug.

“thank you for this. for pulling me away from monaco and life in general. you’re the best friend a girl could ever ask for,” you hummed before elliotte stood up, her face scrunching.

“i hate when we get sentimental.”

“yeah, let’s never do that again. that was weird.”

you started making a simple rum and coke when lando entered the kitchenette, eyeing your drink. “if you even dare, i will actually kill you,” elliotte warned, taking a sip to safeguard her drink.

you stifled a laugh, watching her sway out of the kitchenette towards the deck. lando’s demeanor had shifted from his earlier rambunctiousness.

“i think it’s my turn to ask, are you okay?” you ventured. lando looked like a sad puppy, tugging at your slightly intoxicated self.

“oh, i’m good. luisa and i got into an argument, is all,” he said, giving a tight-lipped smile, clearly more affected than he let on.

you hummed in response, putting away the alcohol and opting for water. “i’m no expert in relationships, but if you need a shoulder to cry on, i’m here,” you offered, taking a long drink from your glass to stop yourself from saying more.

“thanks, it means a lot,” he said, smiling fully this time as he moved you aside to get some water. you both drank in comfortable silence.

“and, uh, if you need a break from the boat, i know a little cove not too far away. charlie showed it to me last summer,” you suggested.

“i would love that, actually. i know luisa is planning to go to bed soon, so let me check on her and then we can go?”

“sure! just come find me when you’re ready.” you agreed.

[lostintransist]

Chiseled Heart | Part 5

AO3 | Part 1

A/N: The amazing chapter art in here is from Demi over @demothers-empty-blog

König hates texting. He hates talking when he is insecure more, so it’s worse when it’s you. Both texting and talking seemed beyond his reach some days, and that irritated him to no end. Why would he be cursed with such long arms if he could not reach past his own anxieties?

Texts from you would roll in randomly. Often it would be you confirming what time you would be leaving work to join him at the gym. He wished it was more though.

The path to you had no entry point, blocked by the thorny vines told in the tale of Sleeping Beauty. His anxieties speared him with every thought that crossed his mind to send anything to you. Should he send a picture of the deer he saw on his walk? No. He didn’t know if you liked animals or would think he was beyond the pale sending photos unsolicited—anxieties stabbed at him, thorns caught in his soul.

Finding time to bring up that he bought back his sculpture existed as a whole different patch of nettles. Did he tell you that he sold his art under the name King’s Healer? Did he let you think that a man you had spoken to a handful of times paid a pretty chunk of change to make you smile? That would be too far, and he knew that.

The look of longing on your face as you look at one of his pieces pierced him. The quiet yearning had him turning around after you and your friend Danielle drove off to buy it back from the gallery.

He had flagged Feather over to her office before dropping the request on her. She had blinked at him— her usual aplomb missing.

“I guess you can buy it back? Since it’s your work I’ll sell it back to you for the price I bought it at.” She leaned over her chair to her computer and woke it with a shake of the mouse, muttering to herself, “That way my bookkeeper won’t yell at me for making more work for them.”

König handed over his credit card without qualms.

Feather couldn’t keep her thoughts to herself as she plucked it from his fingers.

“Saw you, earlier, with a woman. She comes in quite often and is a regular for your new works,” she moved her chair away from the desk and tapped away at the keys.

“No, she doesn’t know,” he ground out.

God, he hated having to explain himself.

“I won’t say anything,” Feather settled a pair of glasses on her nose peering down at the numbers she needed, mouth parted slightly. “You aren’t the only artist who prefers anonymity over acclaim.”

Three weeks passed, your smile marking every bright spot. König finished purging the worst of his memories into stone and found himself creating you over and over and over.

He would have been mad about it. Should have been mad about it. Couldn’t be. The memory of your smile, your hand on his arm, the kindness of your words that bandaged the wounds of missing his once home, soothed any stress the carving might have caused. These would not go on display, too many chances for you to see yourself in them. Thankfully his tools hadn’t forced out the shape of your bones as he felt them when pretending to be your boyfriend at the gym.

Three times a week he got to smile and laugh with you. König kept his workout routine for the most part, though he now started earlier to walk out with you. It became habit to glare at the little blue bug that parked as close as it could manage to your car until it sped into the night. Only when the tail lights disappeared among the others did he relax.

“I don’t know if I’ve mentioned but I really appreciate you walking me to my car,” you laid a hand across his arm, fingers impressing their prints onto his atoms as you squeezed twice. That done you leave him with a tent in his shorts as you climb into your car and drive away.

You text when you arrive home, safe behind your locked doors. The whispers in the deep of his mind ached for you to claim him as home, his arms as safety.

Horangi had been on a video call with König when your text rolled in. Tonight he had caught a partial plate for the bug and had called in a favor.

“You’re doing what?” Horangi’s confused voice narrates the scene of the roof liner of a vehicle.

“Calling in a favor. Did your English get worse?”

“No, God dammit,” he snatched up the phone and must have shoved it in well behind the steering wheel because now König could see a chin, chest, and the upper curve of the wheel. “My English did not get worse. Why now? What’s the favor?”

“I need you to look up a license plate for me,” König replied succinctly.

Horangi’s reply reminded König why on base he was referred to as “Side Eye”. The man shrunk down in his seat to glare at the camera.

“That’s it? The crime of saving my life repeatedly and that’s how you would like to be repaid?”

“You still owe me several more favors,” König countered.

List in hand for his daily shopping trip König headed out the door. He disliked his large SUV. He couldn’t comfortably be in anything less than such a big vehicle. It drew eyes; though maybe that was more his towering stature than the vehicle.

Halfway to the store, his phone rang. The salesman who had sold him the car had connected it to his phone “as a courtesy”. Your name flashed across the screen.

A Saturday at two seemed an especially odd time for you to call. He answered with a soft ‘ja?’

“Hi König, I’m sorry to call,” you sniff as if fighting back tears. “Is there any chance you could come and get me?”

“Ja, where?” He replied without hesitation.

You rattle off the cross streets to you and let out a squeak.

“Dammit! It’s that damn bug again. I spoke to the police last week but they can’t do anything until he hurts me.”

Rage König had only known on the battlefield washed over him as he listened to you. Switching lanes and pointing himself in the correct direction he toes the line of legal speeds.

“I was waiting for the tow truck driver to get a ride from the dealership but I’ve seen that stupid blue car drive past me three times now. I called because…well because you make me feel safe and I’m hoping you chase the bastard off again.”

He can hear you pacing as you talk. Mind snagging on something you said he tucked it away for later examination: he made you feel safe?

“Five minutes out.”

It’s all he can say. The tight grip he holds on his steering wheel wishing he could fold the distance between you and step close enough to touch you.

“So..uh..what were your plans before I called?” You are starting to sound calmer.

Cars and streets flash by until he is not retaining anything more than the number of lights until he turns left and the blush of your words in his ears.

“I was heading to the market for my weekly shopping trip. Normally I go on Tuesdays but the week got away from me,” with his focus elsewhere words flowed with ease.

“Oh, making anything interesting for dinner tonight? I was going to grab something on my way home.” You are still pacing, sounds of cars passing the ambiance pooling in his speakers.

“Spätzle, sausage, and a salad. I ran out of eggs yesterday too.”

You cut him off with a panicked whining of his name.

“One minute, mein herz,” he presses the gas a smidge harder. His engine growls like he wants to.

König screeched to a halt behind your car, hazard lights flashing against his own headlights. Launching himself from the driver’s seat he clicks the door shut as he takes you in. Tears sparkle on your lashes, phone clutched tight in one hand where he can see the call still active, your eyes are on him though.

His boot touches the sidewalk where you are waiting and you are pushing forward, wrapping yourself around his middle. König reciprocates, savoring the warmth that seeps from you.

“I’m really sorry for bothering you again König, I don’t know what that person wants from me. Half of me is worried that he did something to my car.” Your nails dig into his back through his thin shirt. “What does he want?”

“He will get nothing from you, mein herz. Crazy like this wants nothing in reality,” he stroked your back as you sobbed into his chest.

The two of you stood like that until the tow truck arrived. Disentangling yourself from him you spoke with the man before stepping back, close enough to König that he could feel the heat from your hand. Together you watched the car be loaded up. The driver came over once everything was secured.

“Will you be riding in with me or your friend?”

You look up at König. All he can do is shrug. The idea of more time with you has him preening like a bird of paradise, even as part of him mentally vomits into the toilet. Anxiety thunders through him as everyone waits for your answer.

Turning back to the tow truck driver you offer a hand to shake.

“I'll go with him, thank you so much for coming to get my car though. The dealership can call me once they know what is wrong with it.”

“Got it.” The driver nodded and climbed into his truck.

You purse your lips, watching your car drive away without you, before looking up at him.

“Since I interrupted your shopping trip can I be a second pair of hands before you take me home?” The smile you grace him with would have him agreeing to castration and blowing up the moon.

He nods, gesturing toward the passenger seat. König opens the door for you, a funny feeling stirring in his gut as he watches you use both the runner and the handhold to climb into his SUV.

Maybe if he were clever he could stretch this into a dinner date.

Part 6

Masterlist | Chiseled Heart Masterlist

Dividers

@ang3lc @warlike-morning @demothers-empty-blog

[yuuuraaa]

𝒮𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓁𝓎, 𝓂𝑒

Letter9! ~ {a field trip..?}

𝔟𝔢𝔠𝔞𝔲𝔰𝔢… y/n receives a letter in her locker one day, under the initials 𝓝. she becomes overjoyed and decides to write a letter back, but she didn't know where to leave it. so she left it at the back of the classroom, with a note saying, for 𝓝.

[🎤]artist ~ niki x reader! [💿]album type ~ strangers to lovers! [🎧]genre ~ fluff with angst!! featured artist! @orimuraa @rikimuraaaa @14raeriluv @lonelylandofan @deezbutz28 @monniemons @anormieee @rikihyph @s1rawb3rry @strawberrymura @highway-143 divs by @bronzewasp and @uzmacchiato!! <3

produer's note! [- alr so this is gonna be my longest chapter, and I was writing in a car ride, so sorry if it takes a while to get out -]

all letters!

it wasn't a memorable moment, but it's a moment.

when heeseung and y/n broke up.

nobody knows how it actually went, since it happened privately, but all people know is that now they sports teams are at each other's necks again.

heeseung and y/n were the campus it couple, were. now they were a past thing. so instead of acting all lovey dovey in the hallways, it was back to arguing. but it now has a reason. a not so good one.

and riki just watched from the sidelines.

he watched how y/n would give menacing glares to the volleyball team as they pass them after using the gym.

he watched how he wouldn't even look at him during lunch. to any of the boys. she wouldn't even let riki eat at her table anymore.

but then the field trip was announced.

it was a few days after the incident with heeseung happened.

and the school announced a field trip. it was supposed to 'boost morale' of the students right before exams week and the sports festival.

oh, but it wasn't close by either. it was all the way in the tropical islands of the Philippines. in the northern region, and coldest city in all of the country, Baguio.

"it's the perfect place for a vacation! it's cold, it's hidden deep in the mountains, and it's school paid!" hyein said to y/n during lunch as she ate her food.

"yeah, and it has beautiful scenery! a perfect wind down from our stressing classes this past month." danielle chimed in, sounding excited.

"yes, but it's six hours from the airport. and it's cold there! an average weekly temperature there is bellow 16 celsius!" hanni replied, taking a sip of her drink and sighing.

"well, you deserve a break, too, y/n. it could be a nice change of scenery. a place to not think about him." minji spoke up, looking at y/n, making everyone else look at her.

"you're right, I should– we should take a break. especially after everything I put you guys through in preparation of the sports festival." y/n answered, not having touch her food the whole time, 'not having the appetite' she says.

riki watched from the boys' table, watching y/n from afar. not touching his food as well, as he was too busy watching y/n to remember to eat, if nobody reminded him.

'maybe y/n should have some time to cool off, so I can—' riki's thoughts are interrupted by heeseung's angry rambling.

riki didn't remember what heeseung said, but he knew it was about y/n. heeseung was probably rambling about missing her, or maybe about all the things heeseung didn't like about y/n. nevertheless, it wasn't his problem.

FEW DAYS LATER...

thursday, the day of the trip. everyone was in the airport, either sleeping on the chairs, ordering drinks, or talking to their friends.

the last group tot arrive was the volleyball team. to be fair, some of the teammates lived quite far from the airport.

soon, y/n got a text from riki and heeseung.

જ⁀➴⊹ ࣪ ˖📨⭑.ᐟ

RIKI NISHIMURA(volleyball team)

RIKI

hey might be a little late please tell the teachers

Y/N

sure no problem!

DUMB HAMSTER(lovingly)❤️

HEESEUNG

I miss you Read 7:26 a.m.

જ⁀➴⊹ ࣪ ˖📨⭑.ᐟ

y/n left heeseung on read, she didn't want to reply, she didn't know how to reply to him. so she just opened her group chat with her friends since it was blaring her phone.

જ⁀➴⊹ ࣪ ˖📨⭑.ᐟ

GENSHIN IMPACT LOSERS

JAKEY JAKEY

alr alr who used jay's card to buy a welkin💀 he's fuming💀💀

MAUVIKA MAIN

mauvika rerun..

META CHASER

in 20 days 💀😭

LORE KEEPER

bro can you ask him to buy genesis crystals for me too

JAKEY JAKEY

maybe btw can I add riki to the gc?? he plays too

RIKI NISHIMURA WAS ADDED

RIKI NISHIMURA CHANGED HIS NAME TO "Arlecchino main"

ARLECCHINO MAIN

wait you guys play too?? oh hi y/n

JAKEY JAKEY

💀💀💀

જ⁀➴⊹ ࣪ ˖📨⭑.ᐟ

y/n chuckled, turning off her phone and closing her eyes.

soon, everyone arrived at the airport and they boarded the plane. jay sponsored first class seats for everyone, so everyone got to sit comfortably for the four hour flight.

it was supposed to be comfortable.

heeseung got the seat right next to y/n, so she felt uncomfortable. and riki noticed. so he offered to switch seats with her, he sits next to heeseung and y/n can sit next to hyein. she agreed hastily and sat next to hyein for the next of the flight.

when they arrived in the manila airport, everyone got into separate vans. the girls in two vans, and the boys in two vans.

they actually had to go eat lunch first, since they arrived around 11 a.m. and spent almost half an hour in traffic (real).

"so hungry..." hanni groaned, resting her head on y/n's shoulder since they were seated next to each other.

"still looking at the text message?" danielle said from behind them.

"well, yeah. i do miss him though." y/n muttered under her breath.

"what was that?" danielle asked, leaning her head closer to y/n.

y/n didn't reply, she just turned on her cellular data and played genshin impact.

"wow, let me guess, jay paid for your data?" hanni asked, getting off of y/n's shoulder.

"no, it was riki. while waiting to get on the vans, he asked if he could buy me data to play genshin impact with him." y/n replied, joining riki's world and fighting bosses with him.

જ⁀➴⊹ ࣪ ˖📨⭑.ᐟ

GENSHIN IMPACT LOSERS

JAKEY JAKEY

guys please tell y/n to stop playing genshin with riki he's all giggly I'm trying to sleep

LORE KEEPER

oh fr? sorry bro

ARLECCHINO MAIN

NO NO NO NO NO NO PLEASE NO

META CHASER

yo respectfully, stfu hanni is already loud. enough.

જ⁀➴⊹ ࣪ ˖📨⭑.ᐟ

⊹ ࣪ ˖⏱ ୭˚. ᵎFAST FOWARDING...⊹ ࣪ ˖⏱ ୭˚. ᵎ

by the time everyone arrived at the hotel in Baguio. it was foggy from the raining that happened a few hours before, and it was so cold that some people's teeth were chattering.

"oh, you can borrow my hoodie, haerin." jungwon said to his girlfriend, taking off his hoodie and handing it to her.

y/n watched them, missing how heeseung would do that for her when they went on movie theater dates together.

y/n didn't realize it, but she was slightly shivering. so riki offered her his jacket.

"oh, n-no! I'm fine!" y/n told riki.

"you're shaking." riki replied.

heeseung walked over to y/n as riki left her alone. he looked tired, he formed bags under his eyes and his voice was husky. then, a sniffle. was he crying?

"I'm sorry." his voice broke, it was nothing above a whisper. it broke y/n's heart more than it should have.

"i-i don't think you can forgive me, but can we at least go back to friends?" heeseung continued quietly.

"I do forgive you heeseung, and yes, I do want to be friends again. but maybe not partners." y/n replied, wiping heeseung's tears with a handkerchief.

"y-yeah, I'm fine with that." heeseung says as he pushes y/n away after she wipes his tears.

then, he hugged her.

not of love, not of longing, not of obsession. he hugged her because he felt relief. relief from being forgiven. relief of finally being able to talk to y/n. relief of not having to act like they hate each other.

as y/n and heeseung sat in the waiting room with the others, riki stared at them.

"yo, ki, come on, we got our room keys" jake said as he got up, lifting his carry-on as well.

"i'm so tired... who are we sharing a room— are we sharing a room?" hanni asked tiredly, her suitcase dragging along the halls. the soft rolling of the wheels echoing along the halls along with the quiet whispers of the students.

CHAPTER END!!

producer's note! [- hope yall enjoyed this chapter!! i spent really long on it hehe -]

previous!/all letters!/next!

[leaderwon]

CHAPTER 42 — DENIAL

wc — 1.1k+

prev — masterlist — next

You didn’t think it would get this quiet.

Not the kind of quiet where everything feels still, calm. It was the sort of quiet that settles deep in your bones and makes the world feel like it's paused just for you to realize how empty you are.

Ever since that night — the night you stood in your room, telling yourself over and over again that you didn’t like Sunghoon, things hadn’t felt the same. You tried to convince yourself the ache wasn’t real. That it didn’t sting when you saw him walking to class with that same girl from before, casually laughing at something she said.

You weren’t close anymore. That was clear. He hadn’t been avoiding you, not really — but the space between you had stretched, like something invisible had snapped and neither of you knew how to knot it back together. It wasn’t cold. Just… unfamiliar.

So, you pivoted.

You said yes to the first guy who asked you out after midterms.

His name was Daniel. He was nice. The kind of nice that made you feel guilty for not liking him more. You met him through a mutual friend at a party you almost didn’t attend. You had spent half the night glancing at your phone, hoping — stupidly, for a message from Sunghoon that wouldn’t come. So when Daniel leaned in, a cup in his hand and a crooked grin on his face, and said, "You look like you could use some air," you followed him out without thinking.

The conversation flowed easily. He didn’t know about your past. About Jake. About Jay. About the letters or the mess they left behind. He didn’t ask about Sunghoon. He didn’t say your name like it meant something tragic.

That night, you let yourself laugh. You let yourself believe that maybe, maybe this was a good idea.

By your second hangout, Daniel was walking you back to your apartment and saying things like, "You’re funnier than I expected," and, "I haven’t met anyone like you before."

You smiled. You laughed. You kissed him at your doorstep and pretended it didn’t feel wrong.

The next morning, you woke up to a good morning text with too many exclamation marks. You stared at it for a long time, phone in hand, before you replied.

You didn’t tell Lia.

Lia would see through you in an instant, and you didn’t want to explain that the only reason you were still texting Daniel was because you missed the way Sunghoon used to look at you. Like you mattered. Like you made sense.

You didn’t want to admit how much you missed being known.

Over the next few weeks, Daniel made it easy.

He took you out for coffee and studied with you in the library. He made stupid jokes and sent you TikToks he thought you’d like. He touched your hand under the table, grinning like he couldn’t believe his luck, and you’d squeeze back — because pretending was easier than admitting that every time you closed your eyes, you still saw Sunghoon sitting across from you on the floor, flipping through your notes with that stupid concentration face.

Sunghoon didn’t ask about Daniel. But he knew.

He saw you one afternoon, walking past the campus garden. You had just said something Daniel thought was hilarious — you didn’t even remember what — and he was laughing too loud, tugging your hand playfully, when you spotted him.

Sunghoon.

Standing by the vending machine, his hand hovering over the keypad. His expression blank, unreadable. Eyes fixed on you and Daniel.

Your breath caught. You didn’t stop walking. But something in you faltered.

He didn’t look angry. Or jealous. Just… distant. Like a stranger.

Daniel didn’t notice.

But you couldn’t stop thinking about it for the rest of the day. For the rest of the week.

Later that night, you scrolled through your camera roll, landing on a picture you forgot you had: Sunghoon, sitting on your couch, a blanket over his head like a cape, looking grumpy because you’d just beaten him in Mario Kart. You zoomed in on his expression, the slight upturn at the corner of his mouth, the way his eyes betrayed his amusement even though he was trying to act annoyed.

You deleted the picture.

Or you tried to. Your thumb hovered over the trash icon for a solid minute before you locked your phone and shoved it under your pillow instead.

You kept dating Daniel.

He started calling you by a nickname you didn’t particularly like, but you didn’t correct him. He introduced you to his friends at lunch, draping an arm around your shoulder like it was second nature. They smiled politely. You smiled back. None of it felt real.

You didn’t tell Daniel about your past.

Not because you were ashamed — but because you couldn’t imagine him understanding. The version of you that he saw wasn’t the real one. It was curated. Edited. Stripped of the mess and the grief and the tangled history of the last few months.

One night, he brought you flowers. Tulips. They were pretty.

He handed them over with a bashful grin, like he was nervous you’d say no. You didn’t. You kissed his cheek and thanked him and put them in a glass on your kitchen counter.

You didn’t tell him tulips had been Jay’s favorite.

And you didn’t expect the wave of nausea that hit you that night, when you were lying beside Daniel on the couch and he reached for your hand, threading his fingers through yours.

It wasn’t the same.

You remembered how Sunghoon used to take your hand gently, like it was something precious. How he never rushed. How even the smallest touches had felt loud with meaning.

This? This was quiet. Too quiet.

You told yourself it was fine. That Daniel was sweet and good and normal. That you weren’t broken. That if you just gave it time, something would click.

It didn’t.

You went on like that for another few weeks.

Until the night Daniel said, “I think I’m falling for you.”

You froze.

You stared at him, eyes wide, heart pounding in your chest. He didn’t notice your panic at first. He leaned in to kiss you, still smiling, still looking at you like you were everything.

You turned your head.

The kiss landed on your cheek. The silence between you finally cracked.

You broke up with him two days later.

He took it better than you expected. Hurt, obviously. But not angry. He said, “I hope you figure it out. Whatever it is.” You nodded. Said sorry again. Watched him walk away.

And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself sit in the aftermath without trying to clean it up.

You missed Sunghoon.

But more than that, you missed yourself.

You didn’t know what to do with that yet.

So you sat with it. Just sat.

© @leaderwon 2025. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[lexdelioncourt]

So I'm sure I'm not the first person to think these things and I'm sorry if it's been talked about a million times already and I've just missed it. But I have a lot of thoughts, many of which are probably unhinged and I need to let them out. This is probably pretty half-baked but whatever I'm way too deep in the Devil's Minion trenches.

SO ANYWAY..

So after Louis burns in SF and Armand has finally put him in his coffin, Armand gives that last little speech before he says he's gonna leave him to himself. Then he tells Louis to “rest” and closes the coffin. Louis then comes out pretty soon after to stop Armand killing Daniel. But are we supposed to believe that Louis, who appears to barely have the strength to walk across the room and sit down properly, had the strength to both break out of Armand’s “rest” (which no one ever seems to do until he lets them) AND push the lid off his coffin and climb out of it?

THEN we don't actually hear Louis tell Daniel the whole speech he ends up putting in his book, right? We see them talking but we don't hear what they say. When Daniel says he's “a bright young reporter with a point of view” he says that to Armand, really quietly, when he's all up in his face. He doesn't say it in front of Louis. Also, when Daniel reads the passage from his book that mentions that line, language-wise, it doesn't really sound like something 70s Louis would say. It also doesn't sound like something you'd say to a random guy you met in a bar 10 hours ago. In fact, the language and tone sounds more like something Armand would say and it even has some echoes of Armand's “easeful death” monologue that we just heard. The passage also has the whole “these are the words you'll hear in your mind” part and who's words is Daniel always hearing in his mind in the DM chapter, even before he's a vampire? Armand's.

To ME that passage from Daniel’s book reads more like something someone would say in a very loving way to someone they know really well, but who they reluctantly want to let go so they can be free. It's got a sense of melancholy to it. What if Daniel DID conflate two events but they just weren't the two events he thought he conflated? What if that passage is something Armand said to him right before they broke up in the past? It sounds almost like a breakup speech and him telling him to go get his shit together. If you listen to both the “easeful death” monologue and the passage from Daniel's book back to back, they almost sound like they could bookend a long relationship. Especially with the repeating of the “bright young reporter with a point of view”. ESPECIALLY when you go back and see the look on Armand's face when old Daniel says that line in the first episode of season 2.

Anyway, that's my incoherent ramblings of the day. Rolin please give us Season 3 already so I can go back to being at least semi-normal.

[gwenie-creates]

Petals Of Death

A Landoscar FBI Au

TW - this chapter contains references to past abusive relationships (very minor) & self-hatred thoughts

read on ao3 here!

(sorry for any grammar mistakes this chapter was un-beated)

Chapter Nine

Lando felt the cold hands of anxiety grip his chest. 

George’s words playing on a loop. 

They’ve found another body. 

They’ve found another body.

They’ve found another body.

Lando’s breathing picked. He hastily scrubbed at his eyes, annoyed that the seemingly never-ending tears decided to fill his eyes once again. 

While he was attempting to scrub the tears from his face, Lando noticed that Alex had turned around and was saying something to George. 

Well, probably something to both him and George, but Lando hadn’t heard a word Alex had said. 

“–they’re asking us to exit the car and have a chat with them, then we can go see Daniel.” 

Wait, what? 

“What?” Lando asked, his voice croaky, making George cringe sympathetically. 

Alex leaned back and grabbed his water bottle before handing it to Lando, who gratefully gulped it down. 

George continued to drag his hand up and down Lando’s spine. Trying to keep Lando grounded. 

Alex waited for Lando to finish drinking before speaking. “One of the FBI agents asked for us to exit the car and have a small chat with them.” Lando pulled a face, so Alex quickly added, “he promised we could see Danny after.” 

Lando hated the thought of having to talk to the FBI agents, especially in his current state. But the need to make sure Daniel was ok was too great. 

“Ok,” Lando said, nodding, voice barely above a whisper. 

George rubbed his back sympathetically before whispering to him, “It won’t take long.” 

Lando only grumbled something inaudible in response before nodding at George to open the door. 

***

After they had all exited the car, Lando finally looked up, his breath catching in his throat when his eyes landed on him. 

Standing directly across from Lando was the FBI agent from the diner the other night. 

The hot one, not the scary-looking one. Though the scary-looking one was there too, standing to the left of the hot one. 

Lando felt his cheeks warm as the agent unashamedly took in his appearance. 

Lando, huddled up into George who stood protectively to the side of him. His bloodshot red-rimmed eyes, and leftover tear tracks on his cheeks. Not to mention the mess atop his head. 

Lando shyly chanced a look towards the agent's face, scared to see his expression. 

Much to his surprise, instead of disgust like Lando had been expecting, the agent had a mix of shock, something akin to endearment, and something else that Lando couldn’t quite name. 

The slight feeling of delight that had enveloped Lando quickly melted away when the ‘scary agent’ spoke. 

 “Is he alright?” 

Lando flinched backwards as if he had been slapped and practically buried his face into George’s chest. 

George started rubbing his hand up and down Lando’s back, trying to soothe him while Alex responded. 

“Yeah, he’s fine. It’s just been a tough day.” 

Tough is an understatement, Lando thought bitterly. 

Lando continued to hide his face in George’s chest, ignoring the sound of the ‘scary agent’ clearing his throat. He only looked up when George suddenly whispered to him, “I think someone’s got a crush.” 

“What?” Lando asked, tilting his head upwards to look into George’s eyes. 

George had a smirk on his face, and slightly tilted his head toward the ‘hot agent’. 

Lando shyly looked towards him and their eyes met. Quickly Lando buried his head back into George’s chest, feeling his cheeks heat up. 

After a few seconds, he risked another look only to see that the agent was still looking at him. 

What the fuck!!! 

Lando felt his insides warm, embarrassingly. He hadn’t felt like this since he had first met Michael all those months ago. 

The sound of a deep voice broke him from his thoughts as he heard the ‘scary agent’ begin to ask Alex some questions. 

Lando couldn’t help himself, he glanced back at the ‘hot agent’ and their eyes locked. 

Several moments of uninterrupted eye contact, only ending when the ‘scary agent’ cleared his throat rather aggressively. 

The ‘hot agent’ –Lando should really learn his name– reluctantly pulled his eyes away from Lando, turning to finally give his attention to his partner. 

A small smile broke out on Lando’s face at the agent’s struggle to break their eye contact. 

Maybe, this was a sign. Lando thought, something akin to hope curling its way up his spine and into his heart. 

Maybe he wasn’t as broken as he had feared. 

***

“Right, so we should probably introduce ourselves, I’m Agent Verstappen and this is my partner Agent Piastri.” The scary– Agent Verstappen said, motioning towards the man beside him. 

Said man was the hot– Agent Piastri apparently. 

Hmmm, Lando liked the ring of that. 

“Agent Piastri?” Lando asked, looking towards him, through his lashes. 

Sue him, he wanted to see if that would gain a reaction out of Agent Piastri, and if that’s a crime then arrest him. 

His action did get a reaction, much to Lando’s satisfaction. 

Agent Piastri swallowed hard before nodding, “You can call me Oscar.” 

Lando tilted his head until they made direct eye contact, opening his mouth to slightly wet his lips before repeating what Oscar had said. 

“Oscar.” 

The word rolled off Lando’s tongue and a smile made its way onto his face. 

The name came out more as ‘Osc-ah’ thanks to Lando’s accent, but the agent seemed to like that if the way his eyes darkened meant anything. 

George quietly scoffed next to Lando, gently bumping their shoulders together. 

Lando broke the shared gaze, feeling heat creep up his neck. 

He’d forgotten the others were even there. 

Well, that’s awkward. 

Lando chanced a look towards Alex, expecting to see an expression of annoyance but instead was met with a fond look of exasperation, and relief? 

Why would Alex be relieved by Lando’s frankly inappropriate flirting? 

Before Lando could question it too much, Agent Verstappen spoke again, a smirk on his face. “Could we get your guys' names?” 

Lando just blinked dumbly at him in response. 

George sighed before pointing at Alex, “That’s Alex, I’m George, and this here,” he gently shook Lando’s shoulders making Agent Verstappen let out a small snort, “This is Lando.” 

All eyes focused on Lando, who could only shyly wave, all earlier confidence gone. 

Suddenly remembering why they were even there in the first place, Lando stood on his tippy toes trying to look around the agents, “Can we go see Danny now?” 

His voice sounded almost childlike. 

“Ummm,” Agent Verstappen started, clearly about to deny Lando’s request. 

“Pleaseeee?” Lando begged, drawing out the end of the word as his voice became slightly whiny. 

“Sure,” Oscar started, Lando’s face lit up and he moved to run toward Daniel but Oscar grabbed his arm. 

Lando stopped dead in his tracks, barely breathing. 

At what must have been a look of pure terror on his face Oscar quickly dropped his arm and George reached forward wrapping his arms around Lando’s shoulders. 

“I-I was just gonna say you can go as long as you come back to the station with us so we can ask you a few more questions…” Oscar trailed off, his gaze searching Lando’s face with growing concern. 

Lando didn’t respond, curling in on himself and deciding to let Alex and George take over. 

“Sure, we can do that,” Alex replied, his attention trained on Lando. Then as an afterthought he added, “We just need to call his parents first and warn them we’ll be home late.” 

Agent Verstappen raised an eyebrow questioningly. 

“Uhmm, they’re a bit overprotective,” Alex replied sheepishly, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. 

Lando remained silent while Oscar hadn’t stopped staring at him. 

It wasn’t that Lando didn’t want to speak, it was that he was physically unable to. 

When Oscar had grabbed his arm he froze, trapped in his mind, reliving memory after memory of every time Michael had grabbed him. And what usually happened after… 

Sensing that Lando was shutting down, George cleared his throat and started steering them towards Daniel, promising to meet back up with the agents in ten minutes so they could head back to the station together. 

***

After crossing the street they made their way over to where Daniel was sitting at one of the tables outside of the diner. 

He looked up as they approached and a weak smile broke out onto his face before he took in Lando’s appearance. 

“What the hell happened to him?” he asked, jumping up from his seat and quickly making his way over to them. 

“He’s ok, it’s just been a rough day,” Alex replied, before cringing and adding, “Well not as rough as yours. How are you doing?” 

Daniel scoffed goodnaturedly, “I look better than him and I’m the one who found the body.” 

Lando dropped his gaze to the floor. 

Stupid, Stupid, Stupid. 

Always have to make everything about you, don’t you? 

Realizing that Lando hadn’t taken Daniel’s attempt at a joke kindly, he quickly tried to backtrack. 

“Sorry, that was a dumb joke,” he looked at Lando, his concern growing before he shifted his gaze to Alex and George. “What happened? Is he alright?” 

“He’s ok,” George started, “We just ran into those FBI agents and there was an… incident…” 

“What happened? Do I need to go have a ‘talk’ with one of them?” Daniel asked, suddenly dead serious. 

“What? No! Danny, everything's fine.” Alex said, trying to keep things from escalating but Daniel had already turned towards the direction of the agents, sending them a nasty glare. 

“Danny, it's fine,” Lando said in a small voice, pulling at Daniel's sleeve to get him to turn away from the agents. 

It worked, and when Daniel’s gaze settled back on Lando it immediately softened.

Daniel reached towards Lando, pulling him into a tight hug. 

Lando let out a small laugh, his face pressed into Daniel’s chest. 

“I appreciate the love, but c’mon Danny, what were you gonna do? Beat up two FBI agents?” 

“I would if they did something to you,” Daniel replied, his face deadly serious. 

Lando felt his heart swell and pushed his face harder into Daniel’s chest to try and hide the tears that were rapidly forming in his eyes. 

God, why must he be such a crybaby?? 

At the sound of someone clearing their throat, Lando looked over towards Alex and George, trying to blink away the remaining tears. 

“As sweet as this moment is, our ten minutes are up,” Alex said with an apologetic smile. 

Nodding, Lando let Daniel give him one last squeeze before separating, he watched as Daniel gave both Alex and George hugs and pretended not to notice them whispering about him. 

Just always have to be the center of attention, don’t you? 

Always making everyone worried for no reason. 

Lando was ripped from his thoughts by George gently pulling him back towards the agents. 

Lando took a deep breath, willing himself to act normal. 

Please, please, please, be normal. 

They probably already think something’s wrong with him from his earlier reaction to Oscar grabbing him. 

Just be normal. 

Lando can’t risk them asking questions. 

Well, they were going to ask questions obviously, it was the whole reason they were going to the police station anyway. 

Just be normal and they won’t know. 

As long as Lando kept his secret safe he would be fine. 

Lando slid into the back of Alex’s car, looked out the window, and made eye contact with Oscar. 

He quickly looked away. 

He had to keep his secret safe. 

***

Lando sat there waiting for Alex to start driving. 

After a few minutes of Alex still not getting in the car, Lando poked his head out of the door. 

“Guys?” he called, looking around until his eyes landed on Alex and George. They were standing close together at the front of the car. 

“What are you gu–” Lando abruptly stopped speaking, his eyes landing on what was in Alex’s hand. 

It was a small white envelope. 

With his name written on it in cursive handwriting. 

And a small orange rose in the right corner. 

“It says it’s for you,” Alex said, holding the envelope towards Lando. 

Lando just stood there staring. 

It felt like his lungs had collapsed on him. 

Like the world was crashing down around him. 

It was over. 

Everything he’d worked so hard to hide and forget would be exposed. 

Everyone would know. 

Know what had happened to him. 

Know what he’s been hiding. 

They’d know everything.  

[dannyphantom-zero]

Doctor Danny Chapter 6

Danny was surprised to say the least. The last time he even step foot in a place this fancy was at Vlad's dairy palace.

"Master Bruce is this way Master Todd"

Danny waited for Jason in the sitting room.

"Would you like tea Mr. Fenton"

Danny jolted, he had been so deep in his own thoughts.

"Yes, thank you-"

"Alfred is fine"

"Thank you Alfred"

"Pardon me for asking but what is your connection to the master?"

Danny squinted thinking about it as if it was the first time he was contemplating this. Well, it was the first time.

"The way I met him was a little... strange, but after that day he wouldn't leave me alone. Like a stalker"

Alfred chuckled.

Danny blushed, "I didn't mean that his is a stalker or anything! He's been a big help to me, I think. We're friends I guess you would say"

Jason walked up to the office. There was an air of tension and Jason wondered briefly if Bruce was fuming with anger on the other side.

Jason stepped in, closing the door behind him.

Bruce was sitting behind his desk with an unpleasant look on his face.

Jason wanted to make a wise crack but the air was too suffocating. You would think someone had died.

Bruce motioned for Jason to sit down, he came out from behind his desk and sat down across from Jason.

Bruce sighed before looking straight into Jason's eyes.

"Jason"

Jason didn't like his tone of voice.

"Are you gay?"

Jason paused and replayed the tape in his head. Did Bruce really just ask him that?

"W-why? Are you asking me that?" He had never been more confused.

"So you are gay?"

Jason suddenly felt hot.

"Maybe, in my defense some men just hit different"

Bruce made a face.

"Not literally, stop looking at me like that!"

"Some men, like that Doctor?"

Jason sighed and looked at the window nonchalantly.

"Yeah I guess."

Bruce nodded.

"So now that it's confirmed, there are some things you should know-"

"You are not giving me the talk in gay edition! I am an adult Bruce!"

"Does he like you back?"

Jason groaned.

"I really don't know. I don't even know if he's into men."

"Have you tried asking him"

"I'm not doing that"

Bruce wanted to scream. Why did his children always take the hard way.

Jason glanced at the clock on Bruce's wall and jumped up.

"Crap! I have to take Danny to the hospital!"

"This conversation-" before Bruce could finish Jason was already gone.

He sighed, "why do I even try?" He muttered into his hands.

He had even gotten to the important part yet, which would be Jason's vigilante identity.

"Do you like Master Todd?" Alfred asked as he sipped his tea.

"He's a great friend, he really is helpful when he wants to be"

Alfred shook his head elegantly.

"Forgive me, I meant romantically"

Danny almost dropped his tea. "Uh, I-I don't know. I've never considered"

Jason burst in at that exact moment and Danny's face went red.

"Your gonna be late if we don't go right now!" Jason almost shouted.

Danny jumped up, very flustered.

"Bye Alfred" Danny said as Jason grabbed Danny's hand and pulled him to the car.

Alfred smiled over his tea.

Jason hopped in the car and noticed that something was wrong with Danny. He was stiffer than a wooden board.

"Danny?"

A high pitched "what?" Came out that just made Danny even more embarrassed.

"Are you ok?"

Danny managed to breathe again

"Yea, just nervous about going to work I guess"

Jason nodded.

"Just be careful"

When Danny got into the hospital he noticed something strange. Everyone seemed to be staring at him and whispering to each other.

"Daniel! There you are my good friend " the hospitals general manager said clapping him on the back.

Danny made a face like he had just stepped on a fresh pile of dog shit. This guy hated him, and he called him Daniel.

If they were friends he would've to call him Danny. This was the guy who tried to suspend Danny licence and kept saying he was just going to be trouble for the hospital.

So why was he sucking up to him now?

"We have someone who needs to speak with you urgently"

Who could be so important, that even a dick like this guy would change his tune?

Well it didn't matter, Danny was pissed off now.

"Tell whoever it is to wait, my patients need me, make sure they don't bother me while I'm working"

"You don't have a choice brat, stop soaking up being the big hero and get your ass in that office."

Danny was about to stick up his middle finger and walk away when a voice rang out from down the hall.

"Doctor! I'm so glad I caught you!"

Danny looked past his disgruntled superior and his eyes instantly narrowed.

It was a prominent businessman with lots of rumors of having shady side businesses. Lex Luther.

"You have to excuse me sir but I'm working at the moment-"

"Of course, I don't mean to interrupt your work at all. If you can perhaps take the time to meet with me after your work hours have finished-"

Lex quickly waved off the thought his a graceful twist of his hand, "but you don't have too, you might be too exhausted. At least take my card. I have so much to talk about"

Danny took the card, resisting the urge to rip it up in front of the general manager out of spite.

Still, despite the rumors Lex Luther seemed fairly decent. Danny had no time to mull it over, he had patients to treat.

Danny carefully fixed a cast for little boy.

"There you go, all done"

The boy looked at Danny sadly, "can I be the first to sign it?" Danny asked.

The boy lit up, Danny was supposed to recommend that the cast stay clean and unsigned but hey, its an important tradition.

~Your incredibly strong, keep up that fighting spirit, love Doctor Danny~

The boy showed his mom who smiled and thanked the doctor. Danny just replied with, "it's my job"

Danny was half asleep by the time he walked out of the hospital.

"Hello" a smooth voice said in his ear. Danny whipped his head around his the person in the nose.

"Oh crap I'm sorry, are you ok?" Danny asked.

The person turned out to be Lex Luther.

"It's ok, it's my fault for being too close"

"Yeah but it could be bruised, I hope it's not broken" he said as he examined it.

After a few seconds Danny realized he asked for permission before touching him.

He quickly withdrew his hands.

"It's not broken, just bruised" Danny declared.

"Thank you, I see your off from work. Can I treat you to a meal?"

Danny smiled, "shouldn't I be saying that? I did bruise you"

Lex Luther shook his head, "no, I asked to meet with you. I should pay"

Danny caved.

"I'll follow you in my car-"

"No need, I'll have my assistant drove your car, we'll ride together in mine"

Together? Why?

"Okay, wait- is that your car?"

It was a shiny black Lamborghini.

"Wow, you drive this around Gotham? You so brave. If I had a car like this it would be locked up in storage" Danny said his hands hovering over, but not touching.

Lex pit his hand over Danny's and pushed it on the car.

"It won't break if you touch it"

Danny's face felt hot all of the sudden.

"Y-yeah you're probably right" Danny said nervously as he moved his hand and opened the door. After he slid in Lex shut the door for him.

The car looked brand new on the inside too.

"This is so clean"

"I made sure it was before I came to the hospital. Doctors like things clean"

Danny laughed, "not all doctors are clean freaks, you should see my car. It's a wreck"

"Forgive me, I spoke without thinking"

Danny shook his head. "It's fine, just a little funny"

Danny didn't want to admit it but this lex guy was easy to get along with.

Once they were in the restaurant and seated Danny got his business face on.

"So, did you ean to meet with me to talk about sponsoring the hospital?"

"Not at all, I already sponsor the hospital, you could say I'm their biggest sponsor"

No he wasn't, Bruce Wayne was Gotham Generals biggest sponsor. But he could be the second biggest sponsor.

"So what did you want to meet me about?"

Lex Luther gave Danny a soft smile, "you, I want to sponsor you specifically. More specifically I'm interested in you"

Danny raised an eyebrow, "I'm not sure I understand"

"I like you and I want to start a relationship with you"

Danny wasn't sure he heard him correctly.

"Like dating? Why?"

Lex chuckled, "I wondered that myself, why I was so attracted to you. In the end I still don't have a reason. I just like you"

"D- I- I don't know anything about you-"

"Could you give me a chance?"

Danny was confused, when he spoke it sounded genuine, but his eyes were silent.

"Can I have some time to think about it?"

"Yes, of course"

They ate and discussed little things, some things Lex Luther's business had been doing and Danny's hectic hospital work.

Jason arrived at the hospital ready to pick up Danny when he saw Danny's car drove away, so he followed it.

When someone other than Danny got out Jason's mood darkened.

The man was thrown against the car hard.

"Where is he!" Jason demanded.

"What! Get away from me!" The guy said.

Jason pulled out a knife, "I won't ask again"

And that's how Jason found himself checking surveillance cameras to find what place they went to eat at.

He arrived just as Danny was walking out with a man.

"Danny, where do you live, I'll drive you home and have my driver bring your car in the morning."

"DON'T TELL HIM SHIT!" a voice hollered from across the parking lot.

Danny looked startled towards the sound, he squinted to get a better look at the person stalking angrily towards them.

"Jason?!"

Lex put an arm around Danny's shoulder and pulled him next to him.

"Who are you?!"

Jason sneered, "none of your business, come on Danny I explain on the way"

Danny made a move to go but Lex held him firmly next to him.

"Danny this man seems to have anger issues, I don't think it's safe for you to go with him"

Danny couldn't move out of lex's grip. Jason glared murderously.

"I'll be fine Mr. Luther, he's really not a bad person" Danny said as he pried off the arm.

This lex guy was strong.

"Call me lex" lex whispered in his ear. Jason had enough, he pulled Danny away from lex Luther and put him on his motorcycle.

"I promise I'll explain when we get to my place" Jason said.

Lex Luther called his associate from his burner phone, "put plan B on standby, we might need it after all"

Danny sat completely confused on Jason's couch. Jason was kneeling in front of him.

"Are you okay Danny? Did he hurt you?"

"No, he was really nice, I don't get what's making you so anxious"

Jason sighed, "Bruce has dealt with Lex Luther before, he's into some pretty sketchy business"

"That's right, I had him on my cork board as suspicious. I was going to get closer and get more information, but if it bothers you that much I can table it for now"

Jason sighed, "your gonna be the death of me" he muttered.

[carmimsaturno1633]

97's Bulls. Chapter 11

Summary.

Charles standing tall on his car, the wings stretched across his shoulders matching the ones under him in the car. In the background, a somber electronic beat pulses, tension building. A voice murmurs through the track—low, almost mean: Red Bull gives you wings.

In what could only be described as a crisis of faith, Charles leaves Ferrari.

Available on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63570670

<< Previous Chapter

The flight from Melbourne to Shanghai had been long, and Max had spent most of it reviewing data — both his own and Charles’s.

It was strange, analyzing Charles’ numbers as his teammate. The data coming from the team itselt, doc branded with Red Bull logo - the same way he imagined Charles had his.

Charles had been quick — stupidly quick — in Melbourne, but he was still learning the car to be completely competitive on it. Max could see it in the way he wrestled with the steering, the micro-corrections mid-corner that cost him time. Sixth place was respectable for a debut, but Max knew better than anyone that Charles wouldn’t see it that way.

He’d caught glimpses of him in the paddock after the race — tense shoulders, that too-polite smile in interviews, the way he’d vanished early without his usual post-race debriefs with the press. Max had thought about seeking him out, but between his own obligations and Charles’s abrupt exit, the moment had slipped away.

Now, in Shanghai, they had free practice the next day, so Max hoped to get a feeling on how Charles was feeling, but the media day kept them busy earlier. So Max returned to the hotel the team was staying at, planning to shoot the guy a quick text and call it a night after grabbing dinner at the hotel restaurant.

That was when he saw him. Charles had been sitting with Andrea earlier, deep in conversation, but as Max finished a quick discussion with one of his engineers he met at the lobby and glanced over again, the other man was alone.

Max hesitated, despite himself.

Socializing with teammates during race week has always been tricky territory for him.

With Daniel, everything had come effortlessly — easy banter, shared meals when their schedules aligned, but they didn't really seek each other out, a camaraderie that balanced competition without tension. Checo, on the other hand, preferred to be left alone, retreating to his room to avoid unnecessary interactions. Max respected that. People needed different things.

But Charles?

Max wasn’t entirely sure where they stood.

They’d known each other for years, but their relationship had always been defined by rivalry. And now things were changing, Charles would seek him out between work on Milton Keynes, text and share stuff on WhatsApp…

The same easy they had been cultivating for the past years every time they shared a space, with just more forced proximity and shared subjects to debate on. 

And Max had never been good at navigating the unspoken rules of closeness.

He could command a team, banter with his mechanics, even entertain a camera when needed. But reading the unspoken expectations of people who mattered? That was still a work in progress. And yeah, they got some heart to heart in the pre season that Max wouldn’t even dream, or even expected himself to not hate. Still, pre season was one thing, race weekend was another completely different.

As he debated, Charles caught sight of him. Recognition sparked in his expression, and to Max’s surprise, he stood, a warm smile already spreading.

“Hey.” Charles called, raising a hand in greeting. “Didn’t know you were staying here.”

Max approached, clapping the offered hand. “Got in a few hours ago.” he said, running his other hand through his still-damp hair. “Just had time to shower before my stomach started protesting.”

Charles chuckled, nodding to the empty chair across from him. “Sit. Andrea just left to sleep after nagging me to order something ‘acceptable,’ so I’m on my own.”

Max grinned, sliding into the seat. “Anything good on the menu?”

“For me? Healthy soup, apparently.” Charles said, with a grimace. “Andrea wasn’t thrilled I ate at the airport.”

Max snorted, scanning the menu. “Rubert’s still on my case about weight, so… chicken it is.”

“You okay with eating here?” Charles asked, tone light but eyes sharp.

Max recognized the question for what it was—a check-in, an opening. He shrugged. “Yeah. You?”

Charles leaned back, fingers tapping idly against his glass. “Definitely. We can talk about racing.” he tilted his head, “Or not. Up to you.”

“Doesn’t matter to me.” Max said. “You?”

Charles exhaled, a grimace turning into small smile. “Eh, I don’t mind either way. I don’t particularly enjoy this track, so I'm trying to manage expectations.”

“Me neither.” Max agreed. “I’m hoping the straights help with this spaceship of a car.”

Charles let out a genuine laugh at that. “God, yes. That P6 still annoys me. Let’s hope we get a double podium soon, or Christian might fire me mid-season.”

Max hummed a laugh, glancing at Charles.

He should probably say something comforting. Maybe.

The thing was, Charles was still such a strange person to talk to, despite so long of knowing him. Cause what that even mean, if they only ever spoke about racing? Or the orbit around it—media, sponsors, team obligations. Where did that leave them?

Still, Max had learned more about Charles in the past month than in the twenty years before it. And if he were being honest — not that he ever would, not out loud—he liked it. He liked him. More than anyone else on the grid, talking to Charles was… easy. Familiar, even. There was a strange comfort in it.

That mattered. And Max didn’t let himself feel that way about many people.

“I don’t have any doubt it’s coming.” he said at last.

His tone was quieter now, steadier.

And in the next afternoon, Max stared at the Red Bull screen displaying the final qualifying results. P4—not ideal, but not disastrous either. Then his gaze flicked upward, landing on Charles’ name on top of his.

Fuck, if Max didn’t know what he was talking about.

Now it was time to get it back.

From the moment the lights went out, the car was alive under Max’s hands.

It still fought him, of course it did. Through the tight twists of Sector 2, the rear snapped unpredictably, demanding corrections mid-corner, but Max had spent the last year working with much worse. He adjusted, adapted, made it his.

And then, the straights. The Honda hybrid system roared to life, the acceleration slamming Max back into his seat as the RB21 devoured the asphalt. They were already on lap 45, pit stops done, it was all about managing the tires, getting the places and finish well.

Ahead, Charles was putting on a masterclass. On Max’s steering wheel display, the gap between them shrank, then stabilized. Then a flash of navy and yellow livery darting down the inside of Sainz’s Ferrari.

Charles’ move was perfect — late braking, inch-perfect placement, the Ferrari forced wide as Charles claimed the position with surgical precision.

It was a fucking nice move, Max recognize, grip tightening on the wheel.

Picking Carlos was easy after the man overheated his tires trying to defend against Charles.

He pushed harder. The McLarens were next — Norris and Piastri, cars driving defensively. Charles reached, feinting left before slingshotting past Norris on the back straight to claim P2. 

Charles defended like a man possessed, slamming the door shut every time Norris threatened, forcing the McLaren wide, daring him to try around the outside. The orange car was quick in the corners, but Charles was quicker where it counted — smarter on exits, ruthless on the brakes. Curve after curve, Norris tried, but Charles held firm.

Max watched it unfold, adrenaline pumping in waves. 

God, this is what he lived for. Racing at this level. Not politics. Not sponsor events. This.

And fuck, Charles was flying.

Max could see the way Charles placed the car, the way he risked it all on corner entries, the precision in every line. And Max wanted in. He wanted to fight him, properly. No DRS trains, no traffic — just them. Show the team and the world they were the top team.

When Charles finally shook Norris off and built a small gap, it was Max’s turn. The tires in the sweet spot, fuel load light. He stalked Norris for half a lap, waiting for the smallest slip — and there it was, a fraction too deep into Turn 10.

Max pounced.

Late braking. Inside line. No time for Lando to shut the door. The McLaren twitched under braking, and Max was already through, carving a perfect arc into the apex. Clean, clinical, brutal. 

Now it was Charles.

Max could hear his heartbeat in his helmet, the excited rasp of his own breath. The RB21 felt electric beneath him, weightless almost, and his world narrowed to the car ahead.

Let’s go, mate. Show me.

He closed the gap, corner after corner, two relentless, stubborn racers on the edge. Charles fought tooth and nail, defending like it was the last lap of his life — squeezing Max toward the grass, covering every inside, every switchback.

Wasn’t for the G force and the need to focus completely, Max would be trully laughing here.

This is it. This is what it’s supposed to feel like.

Lap 52. Max finally got the overlap down the straight, DRS open, tires screaming. Charles edged him to the very limit of the track, but it wasn’t enough. Max dove down the inside into Turn 1, braking impossibly late, RB21 barely clinging to the tarmac.

Wheel to wheel.

For a second, it looked like Charles might hold it — biting back into Turn 3, but Max had the line, the grip, the momentum.

He was through.

Now, only Piastri remained, but the Aussie was too far ahead, the gap too much this late in the race.

Final laps ticked by.

Piastri crossed the line P1. Max followed in P2. Charles, battered and brilliant, in P3.

As they rolled through the cooldown lap, Max’s heart still hammered in his chest, mind replaying every corner, every brake point. His gloves were damp, his muscles aching, but God, he felt good.

The champagne stung his eyes, but Charles didn’t care.

P3 wasn’t victory. It wasn’t even P2. But as the crowd’s roar vibrated through his chest and Max’s laughter cut through the haze of carbon fiber and spilled bubbly, Charles couldn’t stop the grin splitting his face.

This.

This was what he’d craved—real competition, not just against the field, but to win against himself.

The RB21 had fought him all race, its rear snapping like a live wire, but he’d wrung its neck anyway. He’d held off Norris, traded blows with Max, pushed until his vision blurred at the edges. And when Max had finally squeezed past—god, it had been exhilarating no matter what.

Because it was progress! Tangible, real, undeniable, progress.

Now, drenched and breathless, Charles watched as Max hoisted his champagne like a trophy, his usual intensity softened into something bright, almost boyish. Their eyes met—a flash of understanding—before they turned as one, showering Oscar in a tidal wave of navy and gold.

Oscar yelped, laughing as he ducked, but Charles barely registered it. Max was still looking at him, bottle raised, that challenge glinting in his eyes.

“First of many?”

Charles clinked his bottle against Max’s, the ring of glass lost in the noise. The champagne was sticky on his skin, the podium hot under the lights, but none of it mattered.

“First of many.” he agreed.

It was the morning after the Shanghai Grand Prix, and Red Bull’s media commitments were finally starting to wind down. The last photoshoot had wrapped maybe fifteen minutes ago, and they were both running on dangerously low sleep and last night hangover.

So, way past the point of trying to be photogenic.

Max had zoned out completely, still half-dressed in whatever the stylist shoved at him, counting down seconds to be let go.

“Let’s go shopping.” Charles said out of nowhere. 

Max didn’t even turn his eyes away from where the phoshoot director was still talking, and Max still not listening. “In what world do I look like someone who willingly goes shopping?”

“Exactly.” Charles countered, quietly, to not call attention to their lack of attention to the debrief happening. “You said you wanted to do more different things.”

“And shopping is where you go with that?” Max turned to glare at him.

“I just want to get out.” Charles replied with a shrug, but there was some restless energy on the way he fidgeted with a bracelet. “If we go to a mall, we can… see stuff.”

“Wow.” Max deadpanned, “a mall. So adventurous. Nothing screams culture like escalators and air conditioning.”

Charles rolled his eyes. “Then let’s go somewhere culturally relevant.” he fired back, voice low but with a bite to it. 

“On the weekend of a Formula 1 Grand Prix? In the city ? We’ll get recognized in five seconds.”

“Max Emilian, I’m trying trying here.” Charles… well, pouted, dragging out the words like a petulant kid.

Max sighed, because — well, honestly, why was Charles even asking ? “Why me, anyway?”

Charles blinked at him. “Because we’re bored?”

Max hesitated. Part of him — that stubborn part that came from years being forbidden to play with the other kids, with Charles specifically — was still always a little surprised when Charles actually wanted to spend time with him, without cameras, without a reason.

He must have been taking too long. Charles groaned and grabbed his shoulder, shaking him in that same annoying way Max had seen him do to Andrea a hundred times.

“Come ooooon.” Charles dragged out and Max could see a bunch of supposdely important people looking in their direaction.

“Okay, okay!” Max gave in, rolling his eyes. “But I’m not actually shopping.”

“Awesome.” Charles grinned, already pulling out his phone. “I’ll tell Sarah.”

They ended up at a narrow, crowded maze of open markets and tiny shops tucked into a cluster of old alleys — not a traditional mall, but better, with sleek storefronts of high-end brands glow beside vibrant stalls selling handmade crafts, bubble tea, and sizzling street food. A translator and a Red Bull-assigned bodyguard trailed a polite distance behind as the two drivers strolled beneath led shop signs reflected in puddles.

It was… nice. Max hated to admit it, but it was better than sitting alone in a hotel room.

Charles darted from stall to stall, ignoring the high end brands entirely in favor of the weirdest trinkets. In forty minutes, he’d bought nothing but cheap jewelry, a knockoff watch he insisted "come on is ironic, we just shoot for the real thing" and a carved wooden frog he claimed Andrea would like.

People did recognize them now and then — snapping pictures, shyly approaching for autographs — but it was mostly quick, easy. Charles handled it like breathing, pulling Max along when he slowed, waving off attention like it was nothing.

So yeah, Max was having fun, he even got some shit for himself, his cats and that half empty apartment of his.

A toy stall caught Max’s eye — a bin full of bizarre-looking plushies, their faces permanently stuck in confused, slightly terrifying expressions. 

He picked one up, inspecting it. It was the type of useless, ugly thing he would’ve brought home months ago as a trinket for P. He was about to put it back when Charles appeared beside him.

“Oh, I like those.” Charles said.

“Hm?”

“They’re quite popular. You hang them on your bag.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re cute.”

“They’re ugly.” Max snorted.

“That’s the point.” Charles laughed.

Max looked at them, their little creepy faces reminding him of one of his minor childhood traumas. “They just look like Gen Z gremlins.”

Charles hid a laugh behind his hand, before pulling it away and gesturing, “First of all, nothing wrong with that, gremlins are cute…”

“The hell they were!” Max turned toward him, scandalized. 

“Second of all.” Charles continues, ignoring him, “We are Gen Z, Max, so get off your high horse.”

“No, we are not.”

“Yes, we are. 1997 is the threshold.” Charles said, already anticipating the protest. “So we are like, the oldest possible Gen Z out there. But still — there.”

“You seem to have had this conversation before.” Max points out.

Charles’s shoulders dropped a bit, and his hand drifted to rest idly against the edge of the display, fingers tapping a soft rhythm against a box of keychains. His expression shifted — not quite fond, not quite annoyed, but something in between.

“Arthur is…  completely annoying about it.” Charles says, growing quietly as he speaks, studying the display instead.

Max hums, watching the other check at the boxes.

“Pick one then.” Max says.

“What?”

“You said they’re cute. You’ve got a bag.” Max said, gesturing to the leather messenger slung over Charles’ shoulder, or whatever it was, he wasn’t really up on bag classifications.

Charles looked at him, puzzled, then shrugged and grabbed one.

He went to tap his phone against the reader, but Max pushed his hand down and handed over his own card instead.

Charles blinked up at him.

“I told you to pick one.” Max shrugged.

He feels a little stupid doing it — but whatever, it was thirty bucks and he wanted to buy the stupid thing. He missed gifting stuff and Victoria refused to let Max buy stuff for his niblings outside special occasions.

Charles smiled as the vendor handed him the tiny box. 

“Which color did you pick?” Max asks.

“It’s a blind box. Can’t choose.” Charles explained, turning it over in his hands like a kid. Max pulled him aside, making room for people to pass. “I hope it’s the blue.” Charles grinned, showing the little chart on the back of the box.

He ripped it open, handing Max bits of paper and plastic to hold.

“Oh, that is perfect.” Charles laughed, holding up the small beige plush. “His face is orange, I'm gonna name him Max.” Charles attached the keychain to his bag, grinning like an idiot, before continuing down the street. 

Max watched him go, the little gremlin thing dangling from his bag now, its face twisted in some mischievous expression like it had done unspeakable things.

God, the dude was weird.

Max huffed a quiet laugh, falling into step beside him.

Charles was again buried in his phone, scrolling between the GPS app and a text from Alex about some restaurant he and Lily swore was a must-visit. 

Max was just following along, waiting the moment Charles would realize he was failing miserably into finding it by himself, when he noticed something.

He laughed to himself and prepared his phone, opening the camera app and hiting record.

“Charles.” Max said casually, getting a distracted hum back, “Hey, Charlie.”

“What?” Charles glanced up, and just as he did, Max kept recording laughing. “What is it?” Charles asked, frowning.

Max gestured up.

Charles followed the motion and visibly flinched. “Oh, shit.”

Above them, plastered across the side of a building, was a massive backlit poster of Charles himself, posing for jewelry in front of Monaco sea, half-obscured by rain streaks.

Max kept laughing, and stopped recording. “Come on. Pose.” 

“No fucking way.”

“Charles, come on.” Max insisted.

“Why?”

“Because it’s funny. You’re in China and there’s a giant-ass photo of you.”

“The brand is quite liked here, okay?” Charles says defensively.

“Charlie.”

“Ugh… fine.” Charles glanced around awkwardly, suddenly weirdly shy for someone who spent his life with his face on billboards. He did a half-assed smile and thumbs up.

Max took the picture. “I’m gonna post this.”

“No, wait, what? Max! ” Charles lunged for his phone, but Max laughed, dodging easily. “Do you even know your own Instagram password?” Charles grumbled.

Max paused. That was actually a fair point. “I’ll just send it to the media team, then.”

Charles steps back, a thoughtful expression in his face before he smiles. “You do that, Verstappen, and war is on.” He warns.

Max grinned, tucking his phone into his pocket before Charles could swipe it. “We probably should follow each other for that.” he said, too casual to be casual.

Charles raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Sure. You first.”

Max just hummed, he wasn’t’ folding first at that. Not even Red Bull social media team desperate pleas had worked, three months in of them in the same team and they still didn’t do that.

Instead he pivoted in the direction of their translator, not missing a beat. “Let’s just ask the lady for that restaurant.”

[Instagram - Image Description: Photo 1. Close-up of Max in the cockpit, helmet visor up, eyes locked ahead as he adjusts his gloves;  Photo 2. Max leaning against a Red Bull garage table, arms crossed, smirking at the camera, personal moving around him;  Photo 3: The podium, Oscar in middle of Charles and Max;  Photo 4. Another podium photo, Charles and Max drenchet in champagne posing together, Max’s arm around Charles’ waist, their bottles touching;  Photo 5. A plaque with MAX P2 and CHARLES P3, the drivers at each side while the Red Bull team cheers;  Photo 6. Charles looking put upon by having his picture taken, a hoodie above his head, posing in front of a giant APM ad featuring his own face, a Loewe leather bag on his shoulder with a Labubu charm on it.] @maxverstappen  Shangai weekend! @redbullracing

[Instagram - Image Description: Photo 1: A low-angle shot of Charles Leclerc standing beside his RB21 in the pit lane, helmet tucked under his arm, staring down the straight. Photo 2: A head-on, low-track-level shot of Charles’ RB21 storming down the main straight. The halo and front wing sharp in focus while the background smears into streaks of wet asphalt and grey sky. Photo 3: Candid shot of Charles in the Red Bull garage, sitting on a stack of tires, headset half-off, smiling as Rocky leans over to explain something on a tablet. Photo 4: A trophy-side table shot: Charles’ Red Bull cap tossed next to his trophy, champagne stains on the tabletop. Photo 5. A plaque with MAX P2 and CHARLES P3, the drivers kneeling at each side of it while the Red Bull team cheers, water spraying high. Photo 6: Closed up photos of Charles on the podium, champagne bottle in hand. Photo 7. Max mid-chew, eyes narrowed, struggling to wrangle a pair of chopsticks around a dumpling, a few stray noodles on the table.] @charlesleclerc First podium of the season! Amazing work, team! Let’s keep going!

F1 STANDINGS · 23 MAR 2025 Position. Driver. Team. Points. 1. NOR MCLAREN 37 2. VER RED BULL 33 3. PIA MCLAREN 29 4. LEC RED BULL 23 5. HAM FERRARI 22 6. RUS MERCEDES 18 7. ANT MERCEDES 12 8. SAI FERRARI 8 9. STR ASTON MARTIN 6 10. TSU RACING BULLS 3 11. ALB WILLIAMS 1 12. …

Max found him in the hotel restaurant again the night before Suzuka’s free practice. The Monegasque driver sat alone, fiddling with his phone in a way that made it clear he wasn’t truly engaged with whatever was on the screen.

Suzuka was hard.

The track itself didn’t give drivers much room to breathe—its sharp curves and high-speed straights left no space for error.

Every year, Charles faced this place, postponing the realization of the dream they’d once shared—a dream Jules had passed on to him. Usually, his brothers were here. They’d have dinner, reminisce, say a prayer for Jules. But this year, they weren’t. Neither of them was even in the same country.

And so Charles sat, alone, sipping on virgin cocktails and swallowing back the tears threatening to escape.

That’s how Max found him.

“I think we might be turning this into a tradition.” Max joked lightly, stopping at Charles’ side.

Charles tried to smile, but it felt more like a grimace. Max must’ve noticed, because his expression shifted, a flicker of concern softening his sharp features. “I can go sit somewhere else.” he offered, not unkindly.

“No, no!” Charles protested quickly, pulling out the chair beside him. “I just…” He trailed off, grasping for an excuse but coming up empty.

“Is it the car?” Max asked, his voice quieter than Charles had expected, but still direct in that uniquely Max way.

“No.” Charles said, shaking his head. The pause that followed was tense, and then, finally, he admitted, “I just hate racing here.”

Max blinked, his eyes widening as realization dawned. His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.

Of course. Max remembered the news. He’d been not much more than kid, but he remembered how everything went quiet for a while. And he remembered Jules. Not as a headline. As the calm, soft-spoken man who used to ruffle Charles' hair after karting heats and compliment Max driving.

It was strange—almost surreal—how kind the man had been. Not just with Charles, but with everyone. That wasn’t how things worked in Max’s world. In his world, most adults were transactional. They praised success, ignored failure, expected more always. Jules had been different. Gentle.

Max had been a bit jealous, back then. He didn't know what it was called at the time.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to say anything.” Charles said quickly, his voice steadying. “I guess the whole team change is making it harder to be here, but I’m fine.” He said. Lied.

“What do you usually do?” Max asked after a beat.

Wasn’t that the question? Charles thought for a moment before answering, his voice low.

“I usually have dinner with my brothers, by call if needed. We’d talk about him.”

“What about your brothers?” Max asked. He’d heard mention of some family tensions before, but it wasn’t a topic they’d ever delved into.

Charles sighed, his fingers tracing the edge of his glass.

“Let’s just say I’ve never been the biggest Tifosi in my family.”

“They don’t like the team change?”

“They don’t even accept it. They took it personally and…” Charles stopped himself, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters enough to have you sitting here crying alone before a race at the place that killed your godfather.” Max said, blunt as ever.

Charles looked at him. The bluntness of the words, with whatever limited closeness they’d been growing, could probably offend someone else.

Instead, yet again Max was just putting out the words Charles was too controlled to do so. It was reassuring.

It stroked a part of him that was angry. 

Angry at his brothers. Angry at Ferrari. Angry at himself.

The part of him that wanted to yell that he got where he was by merit, that he had earned the right to make choices. That he wasn’t betraying Jules’ memory by chasing his dream in a different uniform.

That this was the only way to fulfill it.

He couldn’t stop thinking Jules would understand if he were here. That he would hear him out, at least.

“I miss him.” Charles admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’ll be ten years in a few months, and… I hate this place, I hate racing here.”

Max hesitated, then offered, “I’m not your brothers, but… you could talk to me, if you feel like it.”

Charles tilted his head, surprised.

“I remember him from when we were kids. He used to be your mechanic, right?” Max half-joked, and Charles laughed. “He was… so calm. He would congratulate me when I won.”

Max remembered. The rare warmth in Jules’ smile. The way he spoke to Charles after bad days like nothing had shattered. He may not been able to understand french, but he could see the tone, the way Charles would nod attently, like losing was just part of the learning.

Nobody had ever told Max that growing up.

A small, sad smile tugged at Charles’s lips. 

“He was like that. You know, when I was little, he’d let me win at karting sometimes. Pretend like he made a mistake, spin out. I’d be so smug about it.” He laughed softly, eyes distant. “When I got too angry after losing, he would sit me down and explain what I did wrong, and what you or Albon did right. He just… always pulled me down to Earth.”

Max stayed silent, letting him speak.

“I’m putting his picture on my helmet tomorrow.” Charles went on, his fingers absently tracing the condensation on his glass.

Max hummed, his agreement quiet but firm. “What does it look like?”

“It’s a replica of a style he liked. In all white, with his number and his name on the side, just like his helmet.” Charles paused. “I miss his face sometimes.”

Max reached out awkwardly, his hand settling on Charles’ shoulder.

“It hurts worse since I left Ferrari.” Charles admitted. “It was his dream too. And it feels like I gave up another part of him.”

“Charles…” Max started, not knowing what to say.

“He was the project, not me.” Charles said, letting the silence settle for a moment. “I just inherited it.”

There were days he could pretend Ferrari hadn’t broken something in him—days where the Red Bull garage felt like a clean slate. But Suzuka brought it all back.

Jules had wanted him in red. Had told him, as a child, he’d get there.

And he had.

And somehow, Charles still wasn’t sure he’d deserved it.

He had always tried to earn it. Every point, every podium, every drop of performance. But deep down, he’d never stopped hearing the voices that told him he only got there because Jules had paved the road. That if he hadn’t died, Charles wouldn’t have made it to F2, let alone F1.

“You deserved that seat.” Max said. “You deserved more than it.”

Charles just shook his head, rubbing his eyes. “I just wish I could’ve raced him once.” he said instead, his voice cracking slightly. “You know?”

Max leaned back slightly in his chair, his eyes scanning Charles’ face, assessing.

He wasn’t good at this. Not comfort, not softness. But Charles didn’t seem to mind.

So Max did what he always did: defaulted.

“You know, Suzuka isn’t that different from Monaco.”

Charles raised a brow, the heaviness in his expression softening just enough to let curiosity through. “If you’re about to call Monaco boring…”

“It is, but,” Max interrupted, cutting off whatever defense Charles was about to make, “it’s about pole position and pit stop strategy. And those are things Red Bull can give us.”

Charles watched him. 

“I’m still learning the car. And McLaren’s still faster.”

“But we’re better.” Max insisted. “Lando and Oscar are good. But you’re the better qualifier.”

Charles stared at him, the words settling like dust over the ache.

Max exhaled, forcing the words out. “You don’t need a red car to make him proud.”

The engine’s rumble thrummed through his chest, but Charles barely felt it.

He rested both hands on the halo, eyes closed, head bowed. It wasn’t a long prayer—just a moment, barely a breath, for Jules. For the boyy who dreamed of a seat, in this very sport and handed the dream down to him like a legacy. For the man made possible for Charles continue his dream. 

Be with me today. Just this one. He let go of the halo. The lights blinked red overhead.

Pole position.

Suzuka spread before him like a ribboned blade—merciless curves, sudden drops, speed so violent it blurred the edges of vision. But Charles wasn’t afraid. Not today.

Rocky’s voice crackled in his ear. “Okay Charles, let’s bring it home. You know what you have. You know who’s behind.”

He did. Max.

In his mirrors, Verstappen’s car shimmered like a threat. A Red Bull twin, but driven with the sharp, relentless force Max had perfected over the years. Aggression was Max’s love language on track. He attacked gaps that didn’t exist, dared others to blink first.

Charles had blinked before. He wouldn’t today.

Jules once told him how Max raced—back when they were still kids, back when Charles would get furious watching Max divebomb into corners like he had a death wish. Jules had leaned on the karting fence, arms folded, voice calm.

"He pushes until you yield. You don't have to yield. Stay close. Make him show his hands. You dance with him—don't fight. Dance."

The lights went out.

Charles launched off the line clean, the car humming like it wanted this as badly as he did. Behind, Max was already there—barely a heartbeat behind. They barreled into Turn 1 side-by-side, Max nosing up the inside with a hungry lunge.

Charles didn’t yield.

He turned in with precision, holding his ground even as Max’s tire nearly kissed his sidepod. No contact. Barely. He held the line, exited clean. Max didn’t fall back.

They danced.

Sector after sector, Charles placed the car exactly where Max didn’t want it—tight into the Degners, wide on the hairpin exit to kill momentum, defensive but fluid. Max’s aggression was like thunder; Charles responded with lightning.

Lap after lap blurred together. Rocky’s voice anchored him.

“We’re faster in clean air. If he gets DRS, we’re still safe into Spoon.”

They’d planned for this. Two-stop strategy.

Medium–medium–soft. Max had mirrored it, of course. Red Bull left nothing to chance, and Max never accepted a slower plan. So Charles changed the tempo instead.

He slowed in places Max expected him to fly, then punched the throttle early where Max set up to dive. Forced the overtake to come in a zone Max hated, outside into 130R. Not even Max could justify a move there.

And still, he tried.

Charles saw the shadow move. Max angled in just a hair too wide. Jules’ voice echoed in his memory.

"Let him show you the move. Then shut the door, gentle. Make him doubt it next time."

He did. Charles lifted half a beat early, tricked Max into taking the outside, then edged him onto the curb. Still clean. Still legal.

Max swore into the radio.

Charles smiled.

They came in for the second stop—clean, fast, perfect. Rocky was calm.

“You’re still leading. He’s pushing hard, gap’s under one.”

He knew. He could feel the pressure like a phantom hand on his neck, but the final stint was softs. And Charles had saved his best for now.

The tires gripped like claws through the esses. Charles threaded the car between apexes with surgical control, using every centimeter, every twitch of the wheel Jules had taught him to trust. The final laps were a storm of precision, Max looming large behind him, trying everything—feints, braking late, crowding lines.

Charles danced.

When the checkered flag waved, the Red Bull pit wall erupted in cheers, but Charles barely heard it over the static of his heartbeat. Max crossed just behind, no more than half a second back.

He exhaled.

Rocky was in his ear, laughing. “That was it. That was everything.”

Charles smiled, slow and exhausted, looking up at the sky above Suzuka. The pain hadn’t gone. The ache for Jules, the anger at his brothers, the doubts—none of it had vanished.

But he had raced like himself.

[Sky Sports F1 Coverage - Live: Footage fades in from the final seconds of the race. Charles Leclerc brings the car to a halt on the main straight. The Suzuka grandstands are a sea of red and blue, flags waving, the crowd on its feet.] CROFTY (voice over):  "Listen to that crowd. You can feel it, can’t you? This isn’t just another victory—it’s the moment. Charles Leclerc wins at Suzuka… for the very first time in his career, in his 150th Grand Prix start, and it’s his first win in Red Bull colours. What a story." SIMON:  "It’s monumental, Crofty. For Charles, this circuit has always carried a shadow. Jules Bianchi’s memory is woven into every corner of this track for each driver." Cut to Charles standing on the car, arms raised, helmet lifted high for the cameras. On the back, a tribute photo of Jules Bianchi is visible. CROFTY: "There he is. That helmet says it all. Jules, his sport race godfather, childhood friend. One of the biggest and most recent losses of the sport. That’s not celebration. That’s tribute." Charles carefully climbs down, places the steering wheel back in, then walks toward the barriers, where Red Bull, including Max stand. Max offers a hand. Charles claps it and Max pulls him into a hug. SIMON: "And this… this is special. These two have known each other since they were kids. Karting rivals. Formula 1. And now, teammates.  Max is seems saying something and Charles visibly starts crying in Max’s arms. CROFTY (voice quieter): "That is the image. Two rivals, and look at that. Max offering more than just congratulations. He knows what this means. You can see it in his face." Max holds him, saying something with a smile and Charles laughs, pulling away. Max slaps his shoulder and pulls him in back again before they walk off toward their team together. SIMON: "That’s what sport is about. That’s what Formula 1 is about. Legacy. Rivalry. Respect. And emotion that cuts through the noise." Footage cuts to Charles and Max leaping the barrier together into the waiting arms of their Red Bull crew. The crowd continues to roar.]

[Instagram - Image Description: Charles stepping on the car his helmet high, Jules’s image on full display. The crowd is blurred in the background, a smile streachs despite the raw emotions.] @charles_leclerc "Forever grateful. For the car, the team, the lessons, and for him. Merci, Jules. This one’s for you. #1 for Jules #Suzuka2025"

The party at Suzuka was everything one would expect from a Red Bull celebration - loud, alcoholic, and brimming with energy. The private lounge glimmered with a mix of neon lights and sleek, understated decor, ensuring it felt exclusive but not over the top. Half of the grid was there, along with team members, engineers, and a smattering of familiar faces. It was a night to revel in success, and Charles’ victory was the crown jewel of the evening.

Charles was standing near the bar, a half-empty drink in hand, when Pierre made his way over. His grin was wide, the sort of expression that immediately set Charles at ease.

“Well, well, look at you.” Pierre teased, nudging him lightly. “Keeping those Honda fans out there happy, huh?”

Charles laughed, his shoulders relaxing for the first time all evening. “Took me long enough. You know, no pressure or anything. Just the need to prove myself to my new employees.”

“Right.” Pierre said, raising his drink in mock solemnity. “No pressure at all. You just casually pulled off one of the cleanest wins of your career. And breaking Max’s streak, no less.”

The two shared a laugh and a side hug, but as the noise of the party swelled around them, Pierre’s expression shifted, the humor dimming slightly. He helf his shoulder so a moment, his tone quieter. “Jules would’ve been proud, you know.”

Charles froze for a moment, the mention of his godfather cutting through the haze of champagne and adrenaline. He swallowed, then nodded, his voice steady but soft. “Yeah… I thought about him a lot today.” Pierre simply, nodded, knowing. Charles looked at his friend, a lump forming in his throat. “Thanks, Pierre.”

For a few moments, they stood in companionable silence, letting the roar of the party fade into the background. Then Pierre leaned in slightly, his voice dropping further.

“You know… I gotta say, kinda weird you didn’t tell me about Red Bull. Not a text, not a ‘hey, I might be leaving Ferrari,’ nothing.”

Charles stiffened imperceptibly, his fingers tightening around his glass. He glanced away, his gaze sweeping over the crowded room. 

Well, that was a long time coming talk.

“There wasn’t much to talk about. It was just… the right time.”

Pierre raised an eyebrow, his skepticism unspoken but palpable. “The right time.” He took a sip of his drink, then tilted his head. “You really wanna deal with Helmut though?”

Charles grimaced with a dry laugh. “Helmut kinda likes me.”

Pierre made a face. “I’m not surprised. You’d be able to manipulate Putin into liking you. It’s honestly terrifying.”

Charles snorted, shaking his head. “It’s not like that.”

“Uh-huh.” Pierre leaned back with a grin.

Charles forced a smile, raising his glass in mock cheer. “Come on, let’s have fun and enjoy the party. You owe me a dance after this.”

Pierre laughed, the tension dissolving. “You wish.”

Charles excused himself quietly, leaving Yuki and Pierre mid-story, their laughter chasing him down the corridor. The lights in the hallway were dimmer here, the bass of the party pulsing faintly through the walls, but it all felt a world away. He needed a moment to breathe, to cool the mix of champagne and adrenaline still buzzing in his blood.

He exhaled, running a hand through his hair as he pushed open the door, a little too tipsy, far too tired.

He turned the corner, heading toward the bathroom—eyes slightly unfocused, mind on nothing in particular—until movement in the alcove just beside the door pulled him back to the present.

Then he froze.

The scene before him was not what he expected.

Max was there — which wasn't surprising, it was a Red Bull party about their 2 podium earning drivers, of course Max was at attendance, they had seen each other before.

But it wasn’t Max' presence that was surprising in this, but how. For one, he wasn’t wearing a team shirt, which alone was shocking enough. 

And then there was the person with him.

Max had one hand pressed firmly against the wall, the other resting casually at the waist of his companion. He was smirking, his lips curved in that self-assured way he often wore on the grid–but now, it was different. Intimate. Personal. The kind of look Charles had never saw on the man.

Charles blinked, his gaze shifting to the person Max was practically pinning against the wall. They were shorter than Max, noticeably so, with dark, fluffy hair. Asian, Charles noted absently, his brain lagging as it worked to process what he was seeing.

Max was about to kiss him.

Charles felt his stomach flip. He blinked again, harder this time, as if he’d walked into some alternate universe. Max. Kissing a guy.

Oh. That was new.

Charles shook himself, forcing his legs to move before he stood there too long and made it even more awkward. As he stepped past them, the pair shifted slightly, and Charles caught a better look at the guy — pretty, with a sharp jawline and an easy confidence in the way he leaned into Max’s space.

He caught a snippet of Max’s low voice, murmured words Charles couldn’t make out, but that were clearly meant for no one else. 

Charles felt his face and neck warm.

He moved, focusing straight ahead, determined to pretend he’d seen nothing. He pulled open the bathroom door and slipped inside, the cool air hitting him all at once. He didn’t look at the mirror. Just stood at the sink and washed his hands, fingers trembling slightly beneath the stream of water.

He washed his hands quickly, the running water masking the faint murmur of conversation behind him. By the time he left back to the corridor, Max was standing casually now, his companion adjusting his shirt. They looked... normal. Like nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

Charles swallowed hard and left it behind, stepping back into the buzz of the party. His mind raced as he walked, the scene replaying in his head.

Yeah, that was definitely new.

F1 STANDINGS · 06 APR 2025 Position. Driver. Team. Points. 1. VER RED BULL 51 2. NOR MCLAREN 49 3. LEC RED BULL 48 4. PIA MCLAREN 37 5. HAM FERRARI 26 6. RUS MERCEDES 24 7. SAI FERRARI 18 8. ANT MERCEDES 14 9. STR ASTON MARTIN 12 10. TSU RACING BULLS 5 11. ALB WILLIAMS 2 12. …

Next Chapter >>

[drvirgus]

Protecting (my heart)

Idol! Minji X bodyguard! Reader

Description: getting a new job as NewJeans bodyguard isn't really something Y/n thought would happen to her. What exactly happens when she suddenly felt attracted to one of the NewJeans members? Can Y/n stay professional or are her feelings for Minji too much to handle?

Warnings: stalking; harassment; kys jokes; suggestive language; death threats; mention of abuse; mention of murder; g!p Reader

Chapter: sleeping on the Couch (half-written)

Masterlist

——————————————————————————-

With a smile on my face, I immediately wrapped my arms around my girlfriend's waist, while she had hers around my neck, embracing me warmly. I sighed as my body visibly relaxed, simply allowing myself to fall into her embrace. "I'm here. You don't need to be afraid," I murmured softly, which elicited a chuckle from Minji.

She immediately took my hand and led us into the living room, where the rest of Newjeans was also present. "OMG Y/n," I heard Hanni exclaim happily as she clapped her hands together, making room for me to sit next to her. Smiling, I greeted each and every one of them.

"Sorry if I'm intruding," I said, sounding a bit more shy, but Danielle immediately reassured me. Calm and composed, Minji now sat next to me, so I looked at her and my hand naturally rested on her thigh. "Everything okay?" I asked, speaking a bit quieter, but Minji nodded in response.

Relieved, I smiled gently and also nodded my head. My eyebrows raised when I noticed her hair was still slightly damp, but I didn't comment on it. "So, are you staying over tonight?" Haerin asked with a certain grin on her face. Surprised, my mouth slightly opened as I nervously laughed, "Um, well. Apparently?" I replied, looking briefly at my girlfriend, who started giggling.

Nervously, I licked my lips and wiped my hands on my pants. Hyein noticed this and chuckled, almost immediately I looked at the younger woman. "Is your foot feeling better?" I asked, now a bit more serious but still concerned. Hyein smiled shyly and nodded her head. "It still hurts a bit, and I still need to rest, but it's getting better," Hyein replied, and I nodded.

Shortly after, I looked at each one of them. "If you feel even the slightest pain or discomfort, no matter where in your body, you need to get it checked out," I said, much more seriously, looking at each of them. My forehead slightly furrowed. "I'm not saying this just for the sake of it. I've seen some idols lose their careers because they ignored a small ache," I added earnestly.

Hanni looked at me with raised eyebrows, and slowly began to nod. "Y/n is right," Minji said beside me, looking at Haerin. "You're going to get yourself checked out tomorrow," Minji added, prompting me to look at Haerin. My eyes roamed over her entire body.

"Okay. I promise," Haerin replied with a slight smirk as she now rubbed her knee. I took a deep breath, feeling my shoulders relax and my forehead loosen. Minji's hand was now on my back as I leaned forward. I immediately looked at my girlfriend, who smiled at me.

"Mama e Papa," Hyein said in an unusual voice as she looked at me and Minji. Hanni laughed and playfully hit Hyein on the upper arm. Apparently, this was a very well-known TikTok trend. But I simply looked back at Minji. "I'm tired. Let's go to bed," the younger one said, causing me to immediately nod my head.

I stood up from the couch and offered my hand to Minji, which she immediately took, standing up from the couch as well. She intertwined our fingers as she bit her lip slightly and looked at me with a small smile. This made me smile too, but I looked away to wish the others a good night.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Baby?" I murmured softly as I bit my lip. My breath caught as I noticed her back pressing more and more against me. Suddenly, my breath hitched, and I could feel my face burning completely red. I let go of Minji a bit to turn onto my back, at least to create some space between us.

This caused Minji to turn around and look at me with a puzzled expression. "What's wrong?" she asked, which made me chuckle nervously. Swallowing visibly nervous, I muttered, "You... uh... smell good," as I just stared at the ceiling. Minji chuckled as she slid closer to me again.

Nervously, I swallowed as I felt my heartbeat accelerate, mainly because of Minji, but I also feared that my little friend would come to life and demand attention. I tensed visibly, which Minji noticed and looked at me questioningly. "What's wrong?" she asked softly as her hand landed on my stomach.

Startled, I jerked and sat up. Laughing lightly, I stood up from the bed. "I, uh... I'll sleep in the living room," I quickly said, about to turn around, but Minji stopped me by grabbing my wrist. She furrowed her brow as she looked at me. "Did I do something wrong?" she asked, causing my eyes to widen.

"Oh God. No, baby," I immediately reassured her as I got closer to her. My hand rested on her cheek as I leaned down to her and kissed her forehead. "But... I, uh... I don't want... uh," I nervously stuttered as I blushed even more. Taking a deep breath, I bit my lip. "You turn me on," I confessed, causing Minji's eyes to widen at first and then relax.

Minji laughed a little. "That's why... you want to sleep on the couch?" she asked between her laughs, making me even more nervous. Embarrassed, I scratched the back of my head. "Also... you seem quite awake already," she added, now softer as she started to grin and looked down at me.

My eyes widened, and I looked down at myself as well. There, I noticed a bulge, but thankfully, it wasn't too big. Nervously, I swallowed as I now held my hands in front of it and turned away from her a bit. "I... I'll go to the living room," I muttered, which made Minji burst out laughing.

"At least take a blanket with you," Minji said, so I turned back around and took the blanket she held out to me. Minji just grinned at me, which made my head burn even more. "Don't say anything," I muttered, embarrassed, which only made Minji laugh again.

With the blanket, I went to the living room and lay down on the couch. My heart was still racing like crazy as I bit my lip. "Damn," I cursed softly as I started to sigh in annoyance.

Why did my body have to act so crazy?

———————————————————————————

[bellewintersroe]

Daniel Ricciardo x HornerDaughter! Reader.

Part 6 omggg! Not really too much to warn about in this chapter, mentions of smut and appearance from Max Verstappen who’s innocent asf. Only a short chapter, I’m going to have to wait to upload the rest of the parts when the Hungarian GP is over and done with this weekend so apologies for the small break! I’ll throw in another smut chapter just whilst you all wait <3

@benbarneslut @dinodumbass @ricci-ardo @allabouthappiness After sharing a bed for the past 2 nights, Daniel and y/n fear they’ve been caught out by a fellow Red Bull driver. Daniel jets off to Italy to the AlphaTauri headquarters, leaving them both feeling oddly sad at the parting.

“But you’re excited to be going back?” She smiled, pulling her vest stop back on, “yeah, I can’t wait.” Daniel responded. The pair had been talking away, like always, about Daniels return to F1. “Excited to go to Italy too.” He added on.

“Looks pretty.” The HQ for AlphaTauri was there, so he’d be flying away until he got back to Hungary for the Grand Prix. She couldn’t like she was somewhat saddened that their two day romp had ended. They’d spent the past two nights together. “You ever been?”

“Hm?” She perked, stepping back into her jeans. “Have you ever been to Italy?”

“No, that’s the one place I’m literally desperate to go, every time there’s been a race I’ve some how missed it.” We’ll have to go, Daniel thought a little too quickly.

“Whattt, you’ve never been?!” She smiled at his dorky response. “Never.”

“You’re missing out.” He sat up from the messy bed where they had practically lived the past 48 hours. The bedsheets were dishevelled as he climbed out, grabbing a discarded shirt off the floor. It was 4pm and they’d been in bed, all day. “I know… I gotta go so bad.” She clipped her hair back, revealing the purple and red bruises Daniel had sucked into her neck.

“You’re gonna wanna hide those…” he sheepishly pointed out. As amusing as it was, he also was proud of his markings, very immature, he knew, but it reminded him of the endless pleasure the two brought one another.

“Oh, fuck you, Ricciardo…” ———————————————-

The group of them all sat around in the hotel lobby, relaxing as they waited on their transfer to the airport. It was all civilised conversations until Christian and Geri took the younger three kids to get food whilst y/n chilled with the rest of the people, stretched out on the plush couch. “So, you had a girl round last night?” Max questioned Daniel, nudging his side as both Daniel and y/n felt like they could choke on their own spit. “Huh?” Daniel coyly spoke, whilst she just remained eyeing them both up.

“I heard it all.” Max shrugged, holding up his hands. Daniels face flushed as he couldn’t hold back a laugh, rubbing over his forehead. “Not that was doing that on purpose.” Max grimaced as she pursed her lips, finding the situation all too amusing.

“I mean she seemed to be enjoying herself, so go you.” The Dutch man continued as she couldn’t help but snort out a laugh. “Sorry, I just… I overheard that’s all.” Daniel shot her an amused smile whilst half his face was hid. The eyes she gave him back, mixed with that pretty little smirk was filthy. Daniel wondered if she was glad Max heard, he had no idea that it was her.

When the transfer came, she felt a little disappointed at the small hug she gave Daniel. She’d wished for a kiss or some kinda kind words, but that would’ve been way too obvious. “Have a safe trip.” He muttered to her, hand purposefully giving her back a squeeze, desperate to give her a proper goodbye. He knew he was in way too deep, the fact he felt down about parting from her for a mere week? Worst of all, he’d text her, saying he wished he could give her a real goodbye, something that made her smile to herself and her father to question who was making her giggle like that. “Nobody.” She’d replied, fingers pressing into her keys below. You gave me the best goodbye in the hotel room so idk what you’re talking about Daniel, too, found himself smiling to his phone like a teenager. When his eyes rested on her small picture set to her icon, he felt his heart soften, the smell of her perfume still clinging to his top she’d worn only hours prior. He wore it purposefully.

“Messaging ya girlfriend?” The chaperone cheeked as he glanced up to the Frenchman ahead of him.

“Ah, someone like that…”

[inthiseverymoment]

silhouettes emerging: chapter viii

"she Flies with No Fanfare but the Voice of Her Own"

and softly found, now fully realized, finally her mind was free.

iwtv oc, this chapter ~1.8k

reynaldo hahn fans rise

there'll probably be about one or two more chapters left of this. pretty please like reblog lmk what yall think etc etc

enjoyyyyyy

chapter vii fic masterlist chapter ix

“So. When was enough enough?”

He’d waited to ask this, having studied her face for more than a few moments in the hanging silence of Isabelle’s confession. Blood tears stained her cheeks, and a very tired sort of fury had set itself behind her eyes, as if disappointed that the memories could still elicit this much emotion from her after so many years.

“Enough had been enough for a long, long time, if I’m being entirely honest.”

She collected her thoughts for a moment, then-

“Daniel?”

“...Yeah?”

It was not the first time she had called him by his name, but it certainly felt like it.

“You know how, by human standards-some human standards, at least-you’re supposed to have full mastery over yourself by a certain point? How, these days, if someone you’re with says something awful, all attraction to them is supposed to disappear if you’re a good enough person to simply stop desiring something once you learn it’s wrong? How it’s easy to feel like an awful person for needing to try in order to keep yourself strong?”

He blinked.

“You and I have led very different lives, Ms…Isabelle.”

“Yes, I certainly know that. I never had the space or privilege-or even the opportunity-to go wild and have my fun before learning all my ‘lessons’. From a very young age, I always told myself that I’d be better than those who let jealousy or lust or anything else cloud their souls, and even as I settled into a life of killing to survive among friends who killed for fun, that deeper knowledge-that judgement born of youthful idealism-weighed on me, a lingering burn at the back of my mind. I never had that messy teenage love, never got to get the hormones out of the way while it was still socially acceptable, and then I became eternally stuck at a perpetually guilty, emotionally intelligent but worldly naive, constantly wondering twenty-two.

“I listened night after night as Santiago promised our audiences that the darkest parts of themselves were encouraged here-and, though the audience knew it was all to gain their dollar, I could still feel the relief and release coming from just about every one of them. We were monsters, and so were they; the blemishes on every soul were celebrated for once. That is why the Théâtre des Vampires endured for so long.

“It is not a moral failing to yearn to be seen, but I was…I was not myself. Armand did so much to make me stay, because I think I was the closest thing to healthy he’d ever had-and I was another in his line of those who challenged his structures, who shattered what he’d started growing tired of. A new piece was written for me, everything he thought I wanted: a more earnest meditation on grief and life, a deep burgundy velvet gown and long opera gloves, and a French artsong to boot. And the audiences…”

“Didn’t love it?”

“Not as much as I’d hoped. Édith and I exchanged letters secretly and often, and she said she wished she could have seen it live, but she was one of very, very few. The occasional patch of audience members appreciated it, but most just wanted to get back to the mockery and killing. They all thought I was talented, though.”

She rolled her bottom lip for a moment, as if chewing it in thought without the act itself.

“Talented, but pretentious. It took a remarkable amount of self-control to keep from reading their minds too often; upon first being turned, I loved the opportunity to know what people were truly thinking about my performances, my appearance, me-”

A small twist came into her face here, as if cursing herself for self-centeredness once more, then she almost relaxed out of it-

“But that unlimited bombardment of others’ opinions…we’re not meant to live like that.”

“There’s a hell of a lot about the way we live that I’ll take a guess no one was ‘meant’ to experience,” Daniel said.

“That was another thing I loved about Louis’ perspective. I had so many of those same questions-is our nature inherently evil? How did this all begin in the first place? Are vampires creatures of God if there is one, of the universe, part of the food chain as anything else? Every intricacy of human development-the stages of grief, the growing and decaying of the mind, changing relationships, all that was supposedly meant-what’s the effect of eternity on humanity? So many of our kind have lost it, and I’ve tried, tried to hold on. But something about what Claudia said stuck with me; I’d always known the coven had a sense of ‘vampire pride’, but the way she put it made it seem like any other societally put-down identity, like something to truly celebrate. That’s one way it’s often been looked at in fiction, with the other being the curse that Armand had found it to be before Lestat…Lestated his way into things. I am proud of my power, but I cannot call myself proud of all I did to gain it.”

“And all of this inner turmoil got to be too much after about how long?”

“I don’t know if I’d call it too much exactly, the leaving was…something more noble than that, I’d hope. But this lasted a few years. I made a survival tactic of pushing away all of this questioning, of seeing only what was put in front of me; after a lifetime of trying to stick to a certain sense of morality, I needed some way to let go, so I suppose I just went entirely in the opposite direction. We had our motorcycle hunts, like the one Louis described, and those were heaven: the open sky, the glimpses of the centuries-old buildings we whipped past, our shouts and songs ricocheting through the streets, the half-righteous glory of bleeding dry those wealth-hoarding motherfuckers who turned a thousand blind eyes to the mounting political horror. I had a family. And a few members of that family resented me, a few outright hated me, but I had a wild kind of freedom that I had never felt at home. This was new, deliciously new, and I tried to focus on that feeling because I…frankly, Daniel, although my power grew as the ancient blood simmered and perhaps I could have escaped, part of me didn’t want to give up the intoxication of what I had.”

He nodded.

“Until?”

~

Nineteen Thirty-Eight, Paris, France

This was it.

The horrid and powerful theatre folk of Paris had been slowly extinguished, spaced out enough that suspicion would not find the Théâtre des Vampires, and tonight was the last. Their offense wasn’t quite as unforgivable as a few of the rest, but being condescending towards young artists was being condescending towards young artists, and she and her coven needed to eat.

Tonight would be the downfall of the company owners who had told Isabelle with a smile that she didn’t have herself quite figured out yet.

This one was petty, something in her said, just as petty as her lack of grief upon watching that privileged young bully meet her death all that time ago. It was that, she knew, that had likely been one of the first things to alert Armand to her vampiric potential. And for these years, she had dreamt of what it would be like to witness those vapid, fake-deep hypocrites finally realize that Isabelle de la Rue knew who she was.

What she had not expected was that their haunted gaze from the stage right wing, held in place by Gustave and Estelle, would be the only thing she could think of, boring through flowing masses of perfect auburn curls straight to the ever-present and oft-dismissed burn at the back of her mind.

The artsong that she and Sam had chosen was one praising the inherent beauty of night, fitting for a theater filled with creatures of darkness; and the auditorium, usually restless throughout its duration and eager to return to its crudely mocking laughter, was stiller tonight.

“La lune blanche luit dans les bois; de chaque branche part une voix sous la ramée…”

The white moon shines in the woods; from each branch, a voice emerges under the foliage.

Behind her, projections of trees swayed eerily as animations of glowing eyes between their branches appeared and then disappeared, gone with a breath to leave the audience wondering whether they were truly there at all. The haunting nature of the context gave a striking and oddly beautiful contrast to the peace of the song, and despite herself, Isabelle smiled, relishing one of the few nights that her audience seemed to get it.

It was nights like these that almost let her think she was just another young singer, living her human life’s dream.

Breathing deeply to fuel an upcoming high note, she looked up towards Armand, whose fingers absentmindedly tapped the piano accompaniment on the balcony as he gazed down at her with something close to true admiration.

“Ô, bien aimée,” she floated.

Oh, beloved.

There was love there, that was certain.

So why did this moment of peace feel like a respite, not like the usual course of her days?

She glanced over to the company owners, their faces hollow after their capture with hardly an ounce of the arrogance they had once held. As the piano continued, Isabelle took a moment to search their thoughts-

“L’étang reflète, profond miroir…”

The pond reflects, the deep mirror,-

They barely recognized her.

“...la silhouette du saule noir…”

-the silhouette of the black willow-

They did not recognize her.

“...où le vent pleure…”

…where the wind weeps.

Looking back out to the audience, she halted for a moment, then poured her sigh into her major sixth.

“Rêvons…”

As her vibrato bloomed, there was then a spark that came from one of the minds, that they suddenly had put a name to the face, but Isabelle was beginning to realize…

This is not the triumph I had thought it would be.

“...c’est l’heure.”

It is the hour.

Her face painted even more pale, her finger bound by a lover’s blood that seemed to weigh her hand down more with every passing month, standing cold in the spotlight while hundreds upon hundreds of bodies lay under her feet-

This is not proof that I know who I am.

This is…

This is quite the opposite.

“Un vaste et tendre apaisement semble descendre du firmament que l’astre irise…”

A vast and tender calm seems to descend from the sky of the iridescent star.

She had fancied the idea of leaving many times, but it had always come with a tinge of desperation or loss, of knowledge that that willpower would fade at one smell of rust and makeup backstage or one sound of Armand’s voice.

But as her rich soprano climbed through Hahn’s softly wondrous buildup, she breathed into the beautiful certainty that this time was different.

A liberating bittersweetness filled the air as Isabelle promised through her final notes that they would be her last upon this stage.

“C’est l’heure exquise.”

[addict800]

DBH characters: Connor First impression v.s. After playthrough, and hot take(1)

First impression: A handsome, innocent-looking badass. The moment I saw the elevator scene, I knew I was sold: The coin trick showed his level of dexterity and intellect; the flashing blue LED and the little adjustment of his tie indicated the confidence of an android. I can't even tell you how enchanted I was by this opening scene alone. For Connor's looks, the first thing that caught my eye was that tuft of hair on his forehead. Somehow I liked it so much even though I'd never seen anyone with that hairstyle before. At first sight, he was good-looking but appeared to be too young for my liking, almost like a high schooler, plus the somewhat puppy-looking eyes only reinforced it(they're cute, tho), so I imagined his voice would sound like one. Boy did I realize how wrong I was. For Connor's voice, God, his voice... Graveled, deep, but it was neither an old man deep(like Hank) nor a tough guy deep(like Gavin). I wasn't sure how to describe it and still am, but Bryan Dechart's voice was like a fusion of a 20 yo and a 40 yo, making it just enough mature. I never thought a young looks with a sexy voice was such a deadly combination for me, which made me fall in love with Connor in an instant. What an inexplicably sexy boy. For Connor's personality, at first, he gave me the vibe of a level-headed professional who's just trying to get the job done properly during his search for evidence/info in the Hostage chapter, nothing really special. However, from the sharp look Connor gave upon getting shot as he stepped onto the balcony, to the coldness and indifference he showed when Daniel was killed or when Emma was saved, the "handsome young man" became a "cold, sexy mf" for me.

After playthrough: That one serious friend who would say/do something funny without realizing it. As an android designed to accomplish a task, Connor always puts his assigned work first, and I believe that even after he deviates, he'll still be in work mode 24/7 and that his sense of professionalism will remain whether it is about police work or not. Hank probably has to roll his eyes at it, lol. We all know that Connor can be a sarcastic ass if you choose the option:

Connor, being busted by Gavin: I'm going to leave... Connor: Though I'm certainly going to miss our bromance. Connor: Gives a weird ass smile

...But even if you don't have the option to "make" him, apparently, Connor is a hilarious person already(He doesn't even seem to notice):

Connor, mumbling to himself: Hank's password... What would a hard-boiled, eccentric police lieutenant choose? *Wrong password* Connor: Absurd!/Ridiculous!/It's not Hank-ish enough! *Right password being a vulgar one* Connor: Obviously! :) Connor, being caught by the police: (Shit, better come up with a lie.) Connor: If I knew you were coming, I would've brought some donuts.

Here's another funny one that happened after the chasing of Rupert. Connor was reporting to Amanda while walking on the bridge with her in the Zen garden, and it was raining so Connor was sharing the umbrella with Amanda. Here's what happened: *Amanda suddenly stops walking* *Amanda is out in the rain* *Connor keeps talking with her but not holding the umbrella for her again* Me: What a typical guy thing to do lol

So yeah, Connor is that hard-working guy who never loosens up but cracks everyone up at the same time. (...And let's not forget he licked blood for sampling without warning and disgusted Hank every single time lol)

Hot take: Connor is not an innocent baby or a pushover Being a deviant means an android realizes their "want" and has the ability to do as they wish without restrictions of the red walls around them, which doesn't mean an android suddenly becomes an innocent, ignorant newborn. Not to mention a state-of-the-art android designed to be a police detective. Up until Connor deviated(if you chose this path, that is), most of the decisions he made were for the sake of accomplishing a mission: the police work, which included "Warming up to Hank" because he couldn't investigate without Hank; a good partnership only increased the odds of succeeding a mission. Given the circumstances, Connor could even insult Hank or bring up his son's death in order to prevent him from interfering. In other words, Connor was being manipulative during these moments, which was natural considering what his "purpose" was. Another thing that I've noticed is that in many fanfics, Connor is made to be a pushover, a peace-lover, who becomes a lost puppy if people are mean to him. I'm unsure what made these people think this way, but I guess it has to do with the break room scene where Gavin ordered Connor to get him coffee. From the way I see it, when Connor obeyed, it was because "Giving someone coffee" is not a big deal, even though that certain someone hates you. One might think it's pathetic, but Connor simply didn't care as long as this hatred didn't interfere with his missions. The hatred from the general public towards androids was a fact, and it was irrelevant to him, but when it was Hank, his partner, who despised him, Connor had to care because it might compromise their work performance. ...Then again, Connor probably didn't realize that Gavin was putting on a powerplay and not actually thirsty, judging by how he still reached out to try giving Gavin his coffee when the latter walked away, lol. When Connor disobeyed, Gavin punched him and he took it without fighting back. While Connor was probably not allowed to "fight back", the reason why he didn't even block or dodge while being fully capable of doing so was likely because he knew this punch would do zero damage to him, which could be proven by how unfazed he was as he stood back up after Gavin had left. If a baby kicks me in the shin, I probably wouldn't mind, either. But if the assault could actually damage him, and, more importantly, result in hazarding his investigation like when Gavin tried to shoot him in the evidence room, Connor wouldn't hesitate to knock him out. As for why Connor reacted to the punch by bending over like any human would, it was because he was literally designed to "adapt to human unpredictability and integrate into humans", hence reacting like one. Even though androids don't feel pain, it doesn't mean they don't feel anything that comes in contact with them, such as a punch. --------------------------------------------------------------------------

I don't think I've ever written something this long, lol. Guess I really have lots of love for Connor. Though I didn't mention this in this article, I love Connor not just because of his good looks. It is also about him being smart, able yet lost. It is a realistic side that I find extremely endearing. The next one will probably be about Hank. Will write it when I have the time :)

[zaceouiswriting]

Fairy Prince - Hearts of Leviathans - Ch.44

Character: Sky x male reader, Riven x male reader, Brandon x male reader, (OC) Callisto x male reader

Universe: Somewhere in Winx Club/Saga

Warnings: None

Author's note: Sorry for the delay in this chapter, it turned out a bit longer than planned.

(Callisto)

(Brandon)

(Sky)

(Riven)

As I leave the school building with Daniel, my heart stops, and my relaxed features harden. If Daniel hadn't held me back, I would have stormed back inside as soon as their stupid faces became visible. Why are they taking me somewhere where I can meet these characterless snakes yet again? They know how I feel about them! I grip Daniel's shoulder tighter, not even caring when he takes a sharp breath because, given the sword he carries, he is undoubtedly part of this disgraceful plan. Although I am visibly uncomfortable with the situation, Daniel pulls me along with him, but at least he has the decency to keep his mouth shut and look away in shame. And then there are the other two idiots who have already run into the rows of the other class currently training. I admit, the weather is perfect for outdoor training; the spring sun is shining just warm enough on us, and thanks to the walls around the school, even the usually strong early-year winds are not too strong either.

The second year, which I enrolled in instead of just taking my diploma from the Redfountain Academy that Saladin offered me, is the largest ever, with about twenty students per class and fifty classes. Half of these students would've normally left the school in the first year or been kicked out due to poor performance. I've heard rumors that this is thanks to the newly arrived teachers, but I haven't seen any of them—until now.

Close to the wall, in front of the classroom, stands a tall man, his arm at least twice as thick as some people's thighs, with long black hair and biting green eyes, watching my every move. A strange feeling runs down my spine as I look deep into this man's eyes. He feels strange, but I can't put my finger on why. It's the first time I've seen this man, and yet I want nothing more than to make him eat dirt in the most brutal way possible. Just as this urge hits me, Daniel presses my right arm against my body, seemingly afraid I might do something. I turn my head to him and look at him questioningly, but like the little toad he is, he doesn't even honor me by looking back. What a little asshole.

A sudden scream catches my attention. My hands sweat profusely, but when I finally find the source, I sigh in relief, and my heart slowly calms. I thought Vinok was seriously hurt for a moment, but he just got what he deserved. Between the other students still standing at attention, Callisto finally got his arm around Vinok's neck while rubbing the knuckles of his other hand against his head. While watching them, I couldn't help but smile a little. They really are idiots. But it seems they are my idiots; after all, I chose them all myself, except Daniel. He was a lucky little accident but probably the best thing that could have happened.

"Why are we here, Daniel?" I stare at him intently from the side, knowing he'll try to get out of this by pretending he can't hear me. "Don't you dare ignore me now," I warn him further, "or I promise I'll go back inside and sneak into my bed because I really need some more rest."

He just stands there for a moment longer, but I can already see his face breaking. When I don't stop staring at him, he breaks more until his face is completely sunken. A sigh escapes his chapped lips. "We want you to help the others with their training because they are too weak."

"Bullshit," I quickly spit in his direction. "What is the real reason?" I question him with a raised eyebrow. "And don't try to tell me that nonsense again! We both know that most people don't want to be properly trained."

Daniel's face twists in displeasure, but he nods. "We think you should hear out Brandon, Sky, and Riven, and before you say anything, we all know what happened, but at least Brandon deserves to apologize to you."

I shake my head as I feel a little dizzy. How often have I told them I'm not ready for their pathetic excuses? And now they want to force me? Honestly, I'm more than ready just to leave them there, but somehow I can't move. Maybe it's the class's weak posture or the endless possibilities to blackmail them afterward. When I think about it, I actually think it could be a great idea.

Although hesitant, since they still did something underhanded, I move forward faster, almost having to drag Daniel behind me. It doesn't take long before we're behind the class, still standing at attention and not even turning their eyes in our direction. A little creepy, but I have to give them credit: They're disciplined. But that's more or less all they have. I'm afraid that if they go into battle like this, none of them will come back unscathed, let alone alive.

All of them, except the three I've trained with, have terrible posture, don't hold the plasma weapons in their hands well, and, most importantly, are easily distracted. The discipline I previously praised them for easily crumbles when I get close to them. I blow in one's ear, and he jumps; another I stand across from him and stare at him with a sideways glance, and he bursts into giggles.

To say the sight is disappointing would be an understatement. I shake my head and look away from the guy until I finally get to my two idiots. For a brief moment, I stand behind them, hoping for their own good that they'll stop their little game so I don't have to separate them. But alas, they don't. That's just bad luck for them, though. Grinning from ear to ear, I grab each of them by one ear and pull until they not only jump apart but scream and beg me to stop. Maybe hardening my hands with stone is a bit much, but what can I do?

Wordlessly, I step between them and drag them behind me as I make my way to the teacher. His eyes have darkened. The sight puts me on high alert; although his muscles seem inactive at the moment, I wouldn't put it past him attacking me at any moment, at least based on his body language. Despite everything, I ignore his openly hostile behavior.

"Would you mind letting me teach this class for a minute?" Even though it isn't really a question since I would do it anyway, he looks at me sternly. Still, he moves one of his crossed arms to make an inviting gesture. Despite his faked friendliness, I simply nod and quickly turn the idiots around with me, making them whine even more.

Even when they beg with tears in their eyes, I don't let go of their ears. They've gotten on my nerves one too many times, especially Callisto when he woke me up this morning. 

Standing before the class, I look everyone up and down, examining their strengths and weaknesses. I even look each of them in the eyes to assess their mental strength, except for my old roommates, because they don't deserve it. Everyone is still standing at attention, but much more relaxed than before, this disrespectful pack. I take a deep breath and close my eyes. 

"Attention!" I suddenly shout. The air vibrates with a thunderous force, similar to a monster's.

The obviously poorly trained class quickly resumes their rigid bodies from before, all eyes looking straight ahead. I extend my right hand, letting go of Vinok's ear, summoning stones, and quickly forming a staff in my hand. The sound of crunching rocks can certainly be heard even from several meters away. It's gross, but luckily, it doesn't take long before the stone can no longer be cut through by almost anything.

With the weapon in my hand, I finally let go of Callisto's ear and begin walking down the rows between the students.

"I can see in your faces that you think yourselves to be the epitome of military power, the strongest and most intelligent of them all—" I stop speaking, slam the staff onto the ground, and shoot a wave of magic through the floor—"But, as you can see, that's nothing but wishful thinking." Most of the class collapsed from that alone, unable to stand on their feet after this sudden attack. Sky is also lying between them. He becomes visibly embarrassed when I finally look him in the eyes. Disappointed, I look away as I desperately try to hide the growing sneer on my face.

I get Daniel's attention by banging Vinok on the back of the head like a bell and ask him if he knows where the old weapons are hidden. When he responds positively, I grin mischievously at him. The second I tell him to get them, he seems doubtful. But I remain persistent and continue to explain to him that it doesn't matter if he has to break through walls, doors, or whatever, as long as he gets them. Since he still seems unsure, I promise to protect him no matter what he has to do.

He stares at me, his eyes wide, hope visible in their shimmer. "Are you sure?" he asks uncertainly. "I could hurt people, and even if I don't, it will be costly."

I step in front of him and put a hand on his shoulders. "Do what you have to do. These noodles need some real training for once in their pathetic little lives."

Without another word, he runs off with a big, goofy grin on his otherwise neutral face. He leaves me sighing, hoping that letting him free wouldn't cause too many problems.

I won't waste the time waiting for him, though. When I see one of the fallen trying to get up, I ram the end of my staff into his stomach and pin him down there. 

"All those lying here are eliminated and will, therefore, sit out this training for their terrible performance!" They're not happy, but it's not my fault they couldn't keep up with a simple attack. "If this school would run to my standards, you would all have been expelled by now, but fortunately for you and future misfortune, that's not the case."

The atmosphere becomes icy cold. Maybe they understood my words too quickly, or their heads are as empty as Vinok's when he sits in a class that has nothing to do with fighting. Whatever the case, I can't leave them like this.

"I'm kind," I announce loudly, receiving many scoffs. "I'm going to attack those still standing further, and if you flinch or crumble, you're out too."

Without further hesitation, I take the staff with both hands and twirl it around to build up speed, only to suddenly let it fly with my left hand—a loud thunder sounds, followed by a dull thud. I stare down at Brandon in disappointment. "You're supposed to be a defender; why does a hit with this staff bring you to your knees?"

When he doesn't give me the answer I want, I turn away from him, but not before throwing one final "Fuck you." As I turn around, I smack the back of his head with the other end of the stick. It takes all my strength not to grin as I hear him fall into the dirt where he and the other two belong.

But now my gaze is focused solely on Riven, and he can sense it too, or I believe so, as I see his larynx twitching nervously up and down. Still, I somehow manage to suppress the wide grin that is desperately trying to form on my lips.

Quickly and without warning, I sweep at him, only for Riven to elegantly jump over the staff. "Good," I couldn't help but praise him. He turns to me, obviously wanting to say something. But I only smile at him, banking on his inferiority complex, knowing better than most that he feels this way about the other two because of his low social status. I've learned through rumors, confirmed by the staff, that Riven is a scholarship student since he's an orphan.

Once he's off guard, I sweep at him again. He can barely jump over it again, though not as cleanly as before. Before he can fall, however, I swing the staff further and slam it into his left side, only to quickly ram it into the ground, nearly impaling Riven. Secured in the ground, I bend the staff to the other side and let it go. With an ugly crack, it hits his right side, sending him flying away. But that's still not enough for me. I pull the staff out of the ground, hurl it into the sky, and let it crash onto his stomach. A slight tremor runs through the ground as the force behind the final blow hurls him into the ground, even breaking some of the stone slabs.

"You're the lone wolf on a team, a dual wielder, usually with two daggers, never seen in the front row. Your only jobs are surprise attacks and maybe as a defender in the back row, but you have to be able to protect yourself against anything because there will never be anyone there to support you."

Even though Riven is writhing on the ground, obviously in pain, I don't care. I'd rather break every single bone in them than see their lifeless bodies strewn across the battlefield, only to have them join the bands of my soldiers that haunt me in my nightly terrors.

“Nobody could withstand these attacks!” an unknown voice suddenly calls out. Unable to control myself any longer, I roll my eyes.

Without any explanation, I activate my aura. Although it is weakened since it is no longer in my body, the glow of my ring shows me its activated state. I only hear a startled intake of breath behind me as I am already standing behind Callisto without anyone seeing; even the teacher looks surprised as I pass him. Without warning or any sign, I attack Callisto from behind, not holding back. The silence grows louder as the center of the staff collides with the backs of his knees. It takes a full second before anything happens. A cracking sound echoes, followed by a wave of pure energy that unbalances those trying to get back up. But something that surprises even me is the crumbling of the stone staff.

Callisto hasn't moved a centimeter. When our eyes meet, he even has the nerve to wink at me as if this is some kind of game. Maybe it is for him. But this feat is more than impressive. Even as I straighten myself out, I can only stare at the broken staff in my hand.

"Don't you think I deserve a reward?" The sudden proximity made the hairs on my neck stand up. Callisto's warm breath tickling the side of my ear makes me gasp loudly. The clearly heated look in his eyes only makes things worse. And when I turn to him, his lips are too close. My eyes widened of their own accord, my heart beating erratically. How I hate him; he is the bane of my existence. But his grin is more than anything I've ever wanted to see; I can already feel my strength fading.

Luckily, Daniels, screaming from far away, pulls me out before that demon can steal a kiss from me. I come to my senses, and just before he can do something that would change our friendship forever, I put my hand on his face, quickly shoving him away and pulling all of my strength into my legs to step away from him. Even after this rejection, he just chuckles darkly, licking his lips and clearly enjoying the chase more than he should.

I feel his lustful gaze on me as I move toward Daniel, who is screaming like a madman. His hands are full of metal weapons, but guards are chasing him, specialized men trained to protect the academy's students until they graduate. Daniel hides behind me as soon as he reaches me, breathing heavily and simultaneously giggling like a child caught with its hand in a cookie jar. I really have a good knack for choosing my friends.

The guards try to get past me, but with a wave of my hand and a single short sentence, I summon stone walls around them, preventing them from getting anywhere near Daniel. As the guards grow angry, I grin one-sidedly and hold up a hand.

"How much will it cost?" The guards look at each other in astonishment but say nothing. "If he tore down walls, I will take care of it myself; if he damaged anything else, I will pay for him since he stole these old weapons on my behalf."

Suddenly, the guards drop their weapons. They are visibly unsure, and I even see a hint of fear in their eyes. I offer them to fight me if that is not enough for them because I won't hand Daniel over to them. They quickly refuse, deactivate their weapons, and return them to their belts. With another wave of my hand, I drop the walls. The two guards thank me quietly and quickly walk away without looking back.

I shake my head as I watch them go, and before I know it, I'm laughing. "I'm sorry, I was a little rough when I got those." Still shaking my head, I put a hand on his shoulder, telling him not to do that again but to be more careful next time, as I won't be there to protect him every time.

Daniel swore with two raised fingers on his name and our friendship that he would be more careful in the future. But the glint in his eyes doesn't really give me hope; I swear he's somehow crossing his fingers even if I can't see it. But I'm sure, as he's been friends with Vinok for a long time, they've adopted each other's absolute worst traits.

Despite my beliefs, I ignore them and help Daniel get each of them a weapon. Although I told them they would be banned from training, after seeing their abysmal skills, I thought twice and forced them to train anyway.

"Okay, guys, that's it for today!" I announce when the sun is much higher in the sky. All three of my idiots have helped me train these pathetic newbies, just like I've been training them for months. Vinok is a little slow, while Daniel is a natural, and Callisto, on the other hand, was already pretty well-trained before we started. Still, I was able to help him get better, even though he will probably never be able to beat me.

The second I announce the end, everyone, including Vinok, falls to the ground. Exhaustion is clearly visible on their faces. Even Daniel is sweating profusely, so only Callisto and I are dry and still full of energy.

Soon, I feel an arm around me, a large hand resting on my left pec, groping it leisurely in public. However, I let Callisto do as he pleases because he honestly deserves it. "I still want that kiss."

A shiver runs down my spine as his breath surprises me once again. Why do I always end up with perverts? Though admittedly, Callisto is much worse than him.

I slowly feel myself sinking into his warm body. As I start to feel comfortable, my best friend's voice suddenly tears me away from the soothing scent of the guy behind me. I open my eyes and see him in the distance, in the same doorway Daniel ran out of. Smiling, I prepare to go to him, even though we haven't spoken to each other once since we met at school. But just as I'm about to free myself, my body freezes.

“That voice,” I scream in my head, “That can’t be!”

My body freezes as I see from the inside of the door a certain skin I know all too well, having explored it hundreds of thousands of times. I kissed every inch of it and sometimes even licked it, as someone in love and lust would do with their partner. I see his hair glistening in the sun. The shock that froze me turns to disbelief, just long enough to spin in the other direction until I almost look into the teacher's face.

"What's wrong?" The voice that would normally calm me down and free me from my nightmares couldn't. It only reminded me of the pain I had felt so long ago, but Callisto wouldn't let me fall into this pit again, I'm sure of it. He grips me tighter and pulls me closer until my head rests against his chest. "Whatever it is, I'm here for you."

But then my best friend's joyful voice calls me, promising me a surprise. I watch as Callisto's eyes jump to him, for him to grimace and open his mouth lightly. "He's beautiful," he whispers.

I freeze again. It's the same reaction he always got. But he's dead; I'm not just sure of it; I know it. I saw his dead body! With a body mutilated like his, he could never come back from the dead, at least not as he once was. Even if he were real, he wouldn't be him anymore.

Barely able to grab his shirt, which thankfully quickly draws his attention to me. No one before could look away from him so easily. "I can't move," I whisper, about to collapse in front of everyone.

“I can help you walk if you want,” Callisto offers, but I know I can’t do that right now.

"Please," I whisper again, choking on the tears welling up in my eyes. "Just get me out of here."

Without thinking, Callisto leans down a little, one arm already wrapped around my back, but his other arm quickly slides under my knees and lifts me off the ground like the knight in shining armor he has been to me for so long. Despite his arrogant, smug attitude, my feelings always seem the most important to him. I truly can't deny it anymore. I let my butterflies run wild while Callisto carries me away from there.

[Masterlist]