#babys second twitter text post

[philtrashnumberunus]

tweets gotten from @mostly-funnytwittertweets

[cressidagrey]

White Horse - Chapter 30: September 2024 - Part 1

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Isabelle Leclerc (Original Character)

Summary:

Max Verstappen is a World Champion. Isabelle Leclerc is invisible.

She watched her family give up everything for Charles’ career—Arthur’s karting, their father’s savings, even her childhood horse. She understood. She never asked for more.

But Max does. He notices the things no one else does, listens when no one else will, and puts her first in ways she never imagined. With him, she isn’t an afterthought—she’s a choice. And for the first time, she realizes she doesn’t have to be invisible.

Warnings and Notes: 

we have now moved on from Charles bashing to bashing his whole family, Discussions of toxic past relationships, talk about loosing a childhood pet, toxic families, mention of the loss of a parent.

As always big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble

Text Message: Belle Verstappen & Charles Leclerc

Belle:

I know we’re still figuring things out. But I didn’t want to let this moment pass.

You drove a perfect race today. Monza, Ferrari, the pressure — you carried all of it and made it look easy. That final stint? Surgical.

You earned every bit of that podium. And I hope, for once, you believe it too.

I’m proud of you, Charles. Really. Congratulations.

Charles:

…thank you. That means more than I know how to say.

I kept waiting for something to go wrong. For the strategy to fall apart or the engine to give up. But it didn’t. It just worked.

And hearing that from you — It kind of made it real.

Belle:

Let it be real. You deserve to keep the joy this time. Not just the pressure. And for what it’s worth — I was cheering. Loudly. The baby might be a Ferrari fan now. 

***

Instagram Stories: @/belleverstappen

***

Meanwhile on Twitter: 

@/f1girlmath:

Max lives on the grid.

Charles gets 24 hours in stories.

There’s a thesis in this. 📝

@/softforbelle:

She still posted.

Even after the birthday. After the years of silence.

She still showed up for his win.

Belle Leclerc is made of grace and titanium.

@/emotionalslipstream:

Belle Verstappen wrote a better Monza caption than Ferrari PR

and somehow still made it about him

not the noise

not the team

just Charles

@/wifemodeactivated:

Belle posting for Charles proves she’ll always be better than them.

But the feed belongs to the one who chose her first.

@/leclercfanclub:

idc what anyone says, Belle didn’t owe him a damn thing

but she still acknowledged his win

and did it in her voice

respect.

@/verstappenverse:

Charles in stories = ���I’m proud of you”

Max on the grid and feed = “You’re home” 🧡

@/burnerforbelle:

“She put him in her stories, not the feed” is my new way of classifying emotional boundaries

***

The fall didn’t feel real until the pain started to bloom.

Belle hit the tile hard — first her knees, then her elbow, then her wrist. The breath fled her lungs like someone had pressed the air out of her, and for a second, she couldn’t even register the sound of the water still running above her.

She didn’t scream.

She didn’t have it in her.

Only a sharp gasp, her body curling instinctively, her left hand cradling her right wrist where it throbbed in quick, hot pulses. Her knees scraped against the tile as she tried to shift, but the ache there made her suck in another sharp breath.

It wasn’t catastrophic. It wasn’t broken. But it hurt.

The baby jumbled under her skin, like he wanted to check on her, and she reached out with her good hand, pressing it against the place where her son had just kicked her. 

Max wasn’t home. Max wasn’t even reachable. He was off somewhere in southern France, testing GT3 cars, in a no-signal zone, blissfully unaware that she was sitting alone and soaked on the bathroom floor, towel out of reach, shaking with adrenaline and trying not to cry.

Emilie was in Lisbon. 

Lando and Oscar were both in England, simulator work for McLaren. Lily was in England too, visiting family. 

Everyone she normally leaned on — gone.

Her phone had landed just outside the shower door. She crawled to it with her good hand, knees burning with every inch of movement, and once she finally grasped it, she just sat there for a moment, dripping and shivering, and stared at her contacts.

She didn't want to call anyone. She hated asking for help. Especially now, when Max wasn’t here to shield her from the vulnerability of it.

But she couldn’t drive herself.

So she texted Arthur.

Belle:

Hey. Sorry to bother you. I slipped in the shower. I think I sprained my wrist. My knees are really bruised and I can’t get up without pain. I need someone to drive me to the hospital. Are you in town?

Three dots appeared. Then vanished. Then came back.

Arthur:

Merde. Belle I’m so sorry. I’m not even in the country — I’m in Maranello. Can you call an ambulance?

Belle:

I don’t think it’s that serious. I just need help driving. It’s fine. I’ll figure something out.

Arthur:

Don’t do that. Don’t say it’s fine.

I’ll call Charles. He’s in the city. He can be there in ten. Just sit tight.

Belle stared at the screen.

Her heart sank before she could stop it.

Belle:

Please don’t. I’m fine. I’ll call a driver. Really, Arthur. It’s okay.

Arthur:

It’s not okay. You’re hurt and alone. He wants to help. Just let him. Please.

She didn’t respond right away.

She didn’t want it to be Charles. Not when she was this vulnerable. Not when the bruises hadn’t even started forming yet, but the emotional ones already ached.

But her hand was starting to shake from holding the phone too long, and her knees throbbed with every shift in position.

She closed her eyes.

Fine.

Fine.

Belle:

Okay. Just… don’t make it a big thing.

Arthur’s reply was instant.

Arthur:

Promise. He’s already on the way.

Belle let the phone drop onto the towel beside her and sat perfectly still, wrapped in silence, her wet hair clinging to her back, her wrist pulsing with each heartbeat.

It was just a fall.

Just a ride to the hospital.

But the lump in her throat said otherwise.

***

Text Messages: Arthur Leclerc & Charles Leclerc

Arthur: You in Monaco?

Charles: Yeah, why? Everything okay?

Arthur: Belle slipped in the shower. She hurt her wrist and can’t drive. I’m in Italy. She needs someone to take her to the hospital.

Charles: Wait—what?? Is she okay?? How bad?

Arthur: Sprained wrist, maybe worse. Bruised knees. She texted me because she didn’t know who else to ask.

Charles: Of course. I’ll go. Where is she?

Arthur: At their apartment. She didn’t want me to text you. I told her I would.

Charles:…Why didn’t she want me to know?

Arthur: That’s not the point right now. Just go. Be there. Don’t make it about you. Just show up.

Charles: I’m already in the car. Send me the address

Arthur: Thank you.

***

Charles didn’t know what he expected when Arthur said go to her, but it wasn’t this.

Not Belle opening the door with her wrist wrapped in gauze and her knees bruised like she’d gone twelve rounds with concrete, her bump just visible beneath the loose fall of her dress. Not the way she moved—carefully, like everything hurt. Not the way she didn’t flinch, didn’t cry, didn’t ask.

She looked pale. Shaken. Her hair still wet from the shower, curling around her cheeks. She didn’t smile when she saw him. She didn’t frown either. She just opened the door, like he was a delivery, not her brother.

And Charles… froze.

He didn’t know what he expected. Gratitude? Relief? The way she used to light up when he came home from a race? Instead, she barely looked at him.

“I’m okay,” she said, preemptively. “We’re taking my car.”

She was giving him the honor of witnessing her pain, and only under her terms.

He blinked. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me. You drive a Ferrari. I’m not climbing into a low-slung performance ego machine with two busted knees and a baby inside me.”

There was a sharp edge in her voice, and it made something twist deep in his stomach. But he didn’t argue. He just followed her down to the parking garage in stunned silence.

And then he saw it.

 A green Volvo.

Modest. Safe. The kind of car that said I care more about surviving than arriving fast. He hadn’t even known she had a Volvo. Not really. Just memories of her mentioning needing a new car after her old one had broken down. 

“This is yours?” he asked, stupidly.

Belle didn’t even look up as she unlocked it. “Second one. GP picked it.”

Charles didn’t even know where to start with that sentence. That Max Verstappen’s race engineer had apparently picked out his sister’s car or that it was the second one. 

Charles frowned. “What happened to the first?”

“It got totaled,” she said. “In the wreck earlier this year.”

She climbed into the car, leaving him standing in silence.

He swallowed. A fender-bender. That’s what he had thought it had been.

Until Lewis of all people had told him that it hadn’t been that at all. A drunk driver had ran a redlight and Belle’s car had wrapped itself around a lamppost. Still…to hear her say it like this…so simply…

He hadn’t asked if she’d been scared. Or hurt. Or alone.

She winced as she buckled her seatbelt over her belly, shifting like every motion hurt. And suddenly, all Charles could see were the bruises.

The deep purple marks on her knees. The rigid tension in her jaw. The way she wasn’t meeting his eyes.

“You could’ve hit your head,” he said, too fast. “You could’ve blacked out. You’re pregnant, Belle. What if no one had picked up? What if you couldn’t get up? What if—”

“I did get up,” she said tightly, still not looking at him.

His fingers curled harder around the steering wheel. “You didn’t call me.”

“You haven’t exactly been first on my call list for a while.”

The words hit like a punch. Not cruel. Just… true. It landed heavier because she wasn’t even angry. Just tired.

“I would’ve come,” he said, his voice breaking. “If I’d known. I would’ve run.”

“I know.”

She said it so simply it wrecked him. No accusation. No pity. Just resignation.

His throat burned. He looked at her again — really looked at her. At the bump under her dress. At the bruise just visible above the knee. At the way her hand instinctively rested over her stomach, protective and automatic.

That was his little sister. Pregnant. Hurt. Alone. Because she hadn’t thought of him.

And he couldn’t even be angry about that — because he understood why.

“Your knees,” he said, voice hoarse. “They’re really bad.”

She snorted softly. “The tiles were wet. I slipped. It happens.”

But it wasn’t nothing. And Charles knew it.

“You’re pregnant, Belle.”

“Well spotted,” she said, dry as ever.

“You’re hurt.”

“I’m handling it.”

She said it like she always did — like it wasn’t remarkable. Like handling it was a reflex now.

And that’s when it hit him — harder than the sight of the bruises or the bandage on her wrist. The way she sat there, composed and still, like she didn’t expect anyone to help. Like she’d stopped expecting anything at all.

“I should’ve been the one you called,” he whispered.

Belle didn’t say anything for a long time. And when she finally did, it was soft — not bitter, not sharp.

“You’ve had years to answer,” she said. “But I stopped asking.”

Charles turned his head, blinking hard, the weight of that sentence crashing down on him.

How had it gotten this bad?

“How did we get here?” he asked quietly.

Belle stared out the windshield. Then: “It didn’t get bad. You just stopped noticing when it wasn’t good anymore.”

He couldn’t breathe.

He thought about Christmases. Birthdays. The texts she’d sent during lockdown that he never answered. The way she always showed up, always made it easier, always did the work — until she didn’t.

Until she got tired of being invisible.

And now she was in pain. Carrying a child. And he hadn’t known she’d fallen until someone else told him.

He didn’t know how to fix this.

But he knew what he could do, right now.

“Let me go in with you,” he said as the hospital came into view, his voice barely steady. “Please.”

Belle looked over at him — finally. Her eyes were exhausted, but not closed off.

“…Yeah,” she said. “Okay.”

And it wasn’t forgiveness. But it was something.

Charles nodded, already unclipping his seatbelt, adrenaline flooding his veins like he was pulling into the pit lane on the final lap.

He didn’t say I’m sorry. Didn’t say I’ll do better.

Not yet. Not until she believed it.

But as he got out and walked around to open her door, he said, “I’m not letting you walk into that hospital alone.”

And right now, that was all she let him give. And all he had to offer.

***

The waiting room smelled like antiseptic and old coffee.

Belle sat gingerly on the edge of the hospital chair, her knees throbbing beneath the hem of her dress, Charles’ hoodie draped over her shoulders. She wasn’t sure when he’d taken it off — only that one moment she was shivering under the air conditioning and the next, it had been gently draped around her shoulders without a word.

She didn’t thank him. He didn’t ask her to.

Charles sat next to her, one leg bouncing, hands clasped tightly between his knees. He hadn’t stopped watching her — in that quiet, wide-eyed way that made it clear he was trying not to freak out but was, in fact, absolutely freaking out.

“Does it hurt?” he asked suddenly, for the fourth time in twenty minutes.

“Yes,” Belle said dryly, “still.”

He winced. “Right. Sorry.”

She sighed, resting her head back against the wall. “I think I broke it.”

Charles looked at her wrist, wrapped in one of those temporary velcro splints the nurse had given her after triage. “I thought you said sprain?”

“I said I hoped sprain. I also said I was standing on one foot in a wet shower with a basketball where my balance used to be.” She rubbed at her forehead. “The math isn’t in my favor.”

A nurse poked her head in. “Isabelle Verstappen?”

Belle stood carefully, Charles immediately at her side.

“You can come back now. We’ll do X-rays on the wrist and an abdominal check, just to be safe.”

Charles started to follow, but hesitated at the threshold. “Should I—?”

Belle looked at him. “You’re already here. Might as well carry my purse while you’re at it.”

His shoulders dropped half an inch with relief, and he fell into step beside her like he didn’t know how to do anything else.

The X-ray was quick. The fetal monitoring took longer.

“Any dizziness? Cramping?” the nurse asked gently. 

“No,” Belle said. “Lots of movement. He kicked all the way here.”

“A boy?” Charles said suddenly, his voice hoarse. Bell turned her head towards her brother to see he him look…gutted. 

She nodded. “Your nephew.”

He blinked fast. “I didn’t think I’d find out like this.”

Belle shrugged one shoulder. “I didn’t think I’d tell you in a hospital gown, but here we are.”

Charles let out a breath that sounded like it hurt. “You’re going to be such a good mom.”

She looked at him, unsure how to respond to that — the sincerity in it, the quiet awe. The grief.

So instead, she offered a small smile.

“Thanks,” she said. “I hope so. He’ll be here in before christmas. Another 15 weeks or so.”

“You’re already 25 weeks?” he asked softly.

Belle shrugged. “He’s the size of a cauliflower this week. Or a soccer ball, depending on which app you ask. Very on brand, considering the kicking.

***

Charles sat stiffly in the chair tucked into the corner of the exam room, hands clenched in his lap, elbows digging into his thighs. He hadn’t spoken much since they checked in. Not since the nurse helped Belle up onto the bed, her movements slower than usual, guarded.

And now…

Now, he couldn’t take his eyes off the screen. Or the rise and fall of Belle’s belly. Or the sound.

The sound.

It was like a bird’s wings beating in his ears. Too fast, too strong, too real.

“Is that—?” he started, but his voice cracked halfway through.

Belle nodded, eyes on the monitor. “That’s him.”

Him.

A boy.

His nephew.

There was a long, stunned silence. The doppler monitor beeped steadily in the background, like it was keeping time for a life Charles didn’t even know he’d been missing.

The nurse smiled gently as she removed the probe, wiping the slick gel from Belle’s stomach. “Heartbeat looks excellent,” she said. “Very strong. And stubborn — he kept kicking the monitor.”

Belle exhaled, half under her breath. “Gets that from his father.”

Charles looked at her then.

Really looked.

Her hair was tied back in a messy braid, frizz escaping around her temples. Her wrist was wrapped in a brace. Her knees were bruised beneath the hem of her dress. She looked tired in a way he hadn’t noticed before — not just from the fall, but from everything.

And still, she was here.

Still calm. Still composed. Still doing this alone.

He swallowed the lump in his throat.

“I didn’t know it was a boy,” he said quietly.

Belle didn’t look at him right away. She adjusted her dress back down and sat up slowly, careful with the wrist, wincing a little as she moved.

“Well,” she said eventually, still not meeting his eyes, “now you do.”

The nurse excused herself with a warm nod, the door clicking shut behind her, and Charles was left sitting in the echo of a moment he didn’t know how to carry.

“What’s his name?” he asked, hesitating.

Belle glanced at him then — not sharply. Not warmly either. Just watching him.

“We haven’t decided yet,” she said. “There’s a list.”

He nodded. Then, after a beat:

“Can I… hear the list someday?”

Belle didn’t answer right away.

She just stared at him, unreadable, like she was trying to decide if the question cost him something or bought him something back.

And finally — finally — she said, “Maybe.”

It wasn’t a promise. It wasn’t forgiveness.

But to Charles, it felt like the first green shoot breaking through a scorched field.

Hope. Tentative. Small. But there.

And for now, that was more than he’d earned.

And everything he wanted.

***

Leclerc Sibling Group Chat

(Members: Arthur, Isabelle, Charles and Lorenzo)

Charles: She’s okay. The baby’s okay too.

Arthur: God. Okay. Okay. Thanks for going with her.

Lorenzo: How bad is it?

Charles: Sprained wrist. Bruised knees. Nothing broken. They ran every test. Baby’s heartbeat is strong. Stubborn, apparently. A boy.

Arthur: Wait— She’s having a boy?

Lorenzo: ...She didn’t tell us.

Charles: No. She didn’t.

Charles: She let me come in with her. Let me hear the heartbeat. Said I could maybe see the name list.

Arthur: Maybe?

Charles: I’ll take a maybe. It’s more than I deserve.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Raymond Vermeulen

Belle:

Hi Raymond. I know Max is in the middle of testing today and I don’t want to interrupt. Please don’t panic — everything is fine now. I slipped in the shower this morning and sprained my wrist. Got checked out at the hospital, no fracture, just bruises and a wrap. The baby is okay. He’s been kicking non-stop. We’re both fine. I know Max is testing today — no need to interrupt. Just let him know when he’s finished.

Raymond:

Belle. You fell. You’re pregnant. And you think “ We’re both fine.” is going to keep him from panicking?

Belle:

He’s testing.

He needs focus, not panic. I didn’t want to worry him while he’s working.

Raymond:

Respectfully — no. You are his wife. You are carrying his child. He would fire me if I didn’t tell him the moment I knew something happened.

You are his wife. You are carrying his child. You slipped. You got hurt. You went to the hospital. He will want to know everything.

Belle: I know.

Raymond: So when I tell him — and I will, because if I don’t, he’ll fire me— do you want me to soften it, or give it straight?

Belle:

…Softly. But honestly. Lead with “Belle and baby are okay.” Then maybe “She didn’t want to distract you mid-session, but wanted you to know.” Then the wrist.

Raymond:

Noted. He’s going to freak out anyway.

Belle:

Yeah. I know. Let me know when he’s free. I’ll call.

Raymond: He’ll be free now. Testing can wait. You don’t.

***

Text Messages: Belle Verstappen & Emilie Abadie

Emilie:

Just found the cutest little shop in Lisbon Don’t yell at me but I may have bought a tiny linen romper with embroidered lions (I blacked out, Belle, it was so small it looked like a pocket)

Belle:

Okay well now I’m crying a little so thanks for that

Emilie:

WAIT are you crying because hormones or crying because something’s wrong?? Belle?

Belle:

Don’t freak out I’m okay Just… slipped in the shower this morning

Belle:

Landed on my knees and wrist Baby kicked a few minutes after so I didn’t totally lose it I was at the hospital. Everything is fine.   Charles is with me

Emilie:

BELLE. WHAT. You slipped?! Why didn’t you call me?? Why is Charles there?? IS MAX WITH YOU?

Belle:

Max is testing GT3s today, he didn’t see my message I didn’t want to distract him while he was driving I texted Raymond — he’s going to tell him when he can And you weren’t even in the country, Em. 

Emilie:

You absolute menace I leave the country for ONE DAY and you go full final girl in your own bathroom??

Belle:

😂 That’s a dramatic way of putting it Just bruised. Wrist is sprained. Baby is fine. I promise. No bleeding. No cramps. Monitors look good.

Emilie:

Okay but also: I hate you a little right now I’m sitting in a café full of people eating pastel de nata and I just made a distressed noise loud enough to scare a baby Also I’m Googling flights Say the word and I will come home immediately

Belle:

Please don’t I’m okay I just didn’t want you to find out hours later and go full protective rage goblin on the entire continent

Emilie:

TOO LATE Also I’m keeping the lion romper Emotional compensation

Belle: Fair

Emilie: I love you. Next time you so much as trip I want a facetime. Do you understand me?

Belle:

Understood Love you too Now go eat your pastry and pretend I didn’t give you a heart attack before 10am

***

The GT3 session had been going well. Max was focused. Controlled. The way he always got once the helmet came down and the rest of the world went quiet.

The track was smooth beneath him, the car responding exactly how he wanted it to — until the pit radio crackled and Raymond’s voice came through, clipped and deliberate.

“Box this lap.”

Max blinked.

“Everything okay?” he asked, already backing off the throttle.

There was a pause.

Then: “Yeah. Just box, Max. Please.”

That please was new.

Max frowned, eased into the pit lane, and pulled into the garage with a practiced precision that didn’t match the sudden weight in his chest. The second he unbuckled and stepped out of the car, Raymond was already there — not panicked, not smiling. Still.

“Something happened,” Max said immediately.

Raymond didn’t waste time.

“Belle slipped this morning,” he said calmly. “In the shower. She’s okay. The baby’s okay. But she hurt her wrist — maybe fractured — and she bruised both her knees. She went to the hospital. She’s getting checked out now.”

Max stared at him, brain short-circuiting.

“No—what?”

“She’s fine,” Raymond said quickly, hands half-up like he was trying to keep Max from bolting. “She texted me. She didn’t want to interrupt the session. She didn’t want you to panic.”

Max didn’t move. Couldn’t.

She fell. She fell. She was alone. She got hurt and didn’t call him.

Max didn’t hear anything after “Belle slipped in the shower.”

He didn’t wait for Raymond to finish. He didn’t ask for more details. He just pulled his phone from his pocket with fingers that suddenly felt too cold, too tight, too slow.

He barely registered Raymond saying, “Max, she’s fine — they’re fine,” because his thumb was already hitting her name.

The line rang once.

Twice.

Then: “Max?”

Her voice was quiet. Soft. Tired.

“What happened?” he asked. No greeting. No preamble. Just the question that had sunk claws into his chest.

There was a beat of silence.

“Raymond told you.”

“Belle.”

“I’m okay,” she said, gentle but firm. “I slipped in the shower this morning. Bruised knees, probably sprained my wrist — maybe fractured. The baby’s fine. We got checked. Everything’s fine now.”

He sat down hard on the nearest concrete ledge, head in one hand. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“You were in the car. I didn’t want to worry you for something that wasn’t… dramatic.”

Max let out a sound — not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. “You falling while you’re pregnant is dramatic, Belle.”

“I got up. I handled it.”

“That’s not the point.”

She didn’t answer for a moment. Then: “I didn’t want you driving off a track at 200 kilometers an hour because I bruised my knees and got scared.”

He closed his eyes. “You got scared?”

Her voice cracked, just slightly. “A little. But I’m okay now. I’m home. Charles drove me back. He’s… still here.”

Max didn’t reply immediately. His hand curled tighter around the phone.

“I should have been there,” he said.

“I know,” she replied. “But it wasn’t your fault.”

He didn’t respond. Just breathed — hard and shallow — because that image was stuck in his head now. Belle, alone. Wet hair. Bruised knees. A hand clutched to her wrist. Their son, safe inside her. And Max — miles away.

“I’m coming home,” he said finally. “Now.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I need to.”

A pause. Then her voice, soft again. “Okay.”

He swallowed. “Are you in bed?”

“Couch. With ice. And a cat.”

“I’ll be there soon.”

Charles’s voice drifted faintly in the background — a low murmur, asking something — and Belle answered without pulling the phone away: “He’s on his way.”

Max stood again, the world narrowing to a single point: her.

“I love you,” he said, fierce and quiet.

“I know,” she whispered. “I love you too.”

“Give the phone to Charles.”

Belle hesitated.

“Max—”

“I’m not mad,” he said, though his voice was already fraying at the edges. “But I need to speak to him. Now.”

There was a soft shuffle, a rustle, and a reluctant, “He wants to talk to you,” followed by silence, then:

“Hello?” Charles' voice was low. Careful.

Max didn’t waste time.

“You’re still with her?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Because you’re not leaving.”

Charles blinked on the other end of the line. “I wasn’t planning to—”

“No,” Max cut in, sharper now. “I mean it, Charles. You don’t leave her side until I walk through that door.”

“I—of course. I wasn’t going to—”

“You don’t let her carry groceries. You don’t let her reach for anything above shoulder height. You keep an eye on her knees, and you make sure she drinks water and eats something that’s not toast.”

Charles was silent.

“She’s going to say she’s fine,” Max said, breath catching. “She always does. She minimizes things because she’s used to being the last priority. But she’s not. Not anymore.”

Charles swallowed. “I know that now.”

“No. You start to know it now. So until I’m home — until I see her with my own eyes — you’re staying.”

“…Okay.”

Max’s voice dropped, low and fierce. “Because that’s my wife. And our son. And they’re the most important thing in the world to me. I missed the fall. I won’t miss what comes after.”

There was a long pause.

And then, quietly, Charles said, “I’ll stay. You have my word.”

Max nodded, even though no one could see him. His hand was shaking as he brought it to his face.

“Thank you.”

***

The couch was soft, and her wrist was elevated the way the doctor had told her to keep it. Ice on and off in ten-minute intervals. Max was on his way — she could feel the momentum of it like thunder approaching. He hadn’t said how far out he was. He hadn’t needed to.

Charles hovered in the kitchen, pretending to tidy up the one mug Belle had let herself leave on the counter. His movements were twitchy, like he wanted to be useful but didn’t know how to occupy the silence.

Belle lay back with a soft huff, her knees aching with every shift in position. The bump was rounded now — her belly stretching the soft cotton of the old Red Bull hoodie she was wearing. Max’s, of course.

The front door buzzed.

Charles jumped like she’d slapped him.

“It’s open,” she called.

A second later, Lorenzo appeared, windblown and pink from the autumn. Arthur followed, clutching two paper bags.

“I heard,” Lorenzo said, without preamble. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Belle said. “I just fell. That’s all. Aren’t you supposed to be in Italy, Arthur?!”

“You fell,” Arthur echoed, exasperated. “While pregnant. That’s not just anything.”

She sighed. “Please don’t turn this into a family summit.”

“You scared us,” Lorenzo added, setting one of the bags on the counter. “So we’re allowed to overreact for an afternoon.”

He pulled out a small box and held it out. “Brought cinnamon rolls. Your favorite, right?”

Belle blinked at them. Then shook her head slowly.

“I… can’t eat those. I’m allergic to cinnamon.”

The room stilled.

Arthur blinked. “Since when?”

Belle raised an eyebrow. “Since always.”

Lorenzo’s brows furrowed. “But at Christmas—every year, you made cinnamon cookies. Three. Every time. One each for me, Arthur, and Charles.”

Belle smiled faintly. “I never said I ate them.”

Charles, who had been leaning against the kitchen island, suddenly looked like the floor had tilted beneath him.

“You made them every year,” he said slowly, like he was repeating a math equation he’d never properly solved. “Individually. You decorated them. You even remembered that I didn’t like the ones with the icing glaze.”

She nodded.

“But you couldn’t eat them?”

“Nope.”

“And you still made them?” His voice cracked slightly.

Belle met his eyes. Calm. Steady. “I liked the tradition. And it made you smile. That felt like enough.”

None of them spoke.

Arthur sat down heavily in the chair beside her. Lorenzo hovered near the edge of the couch, cinnamon rolls forgotten.

Charles just… stared. His mouth opened, then closed again.

Because she’d never missed a year. Not once. Every December 24th, like clockwork — cinnamon cookies. Warm from the oven. Plated and placed on the edge of the counter.

And she had never taken a bite.

“I didn’t know,” he said softly.

“I know,” Belle replied. “That’s the point.”

Belle shifted on the couch, adjusting the ice pack on her wrist as carefully as she could with one hand. Arthur had stolen the armchair like it belonged to him. Charles sat at the edge of the coffee table, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on her like she might break again if he looked away. Lorenzo had busied himself in the kitchen — not baking, not fussing, just being there. It was more than she was used to.

The box of cinnamon rolls sat unopened on the counter.

Arthur cleared his throat. “So… are we telling Maman?”

Belle didn’t even blink. “Absolutely not.”

Lorenzo let out a low, exhausted laugh from the sink. “Agreed.”

Charles looked startled. “Wait, really?”

Belle turned her head slowly. “Do you want to be responsible for the spiral?”

“She’ll call her entire prayer group,” Arthur muttered.

“She’ll show up with a duffel bag full of vitamin supplements and five volumes of prenatal food myths she found online.” Belle raised a brow. “And then she’ll refuse to leave.”

Charles leaned back slightly, frowning. “But she’d want to know.”

“Oh, she’d want to,” Belle said gently. “But we’re not talking about normal maternal concern, Charles. We’re talking DEFCON one emotional meltdown. And the second she sees a bruise, I become a cautionary tale in every conversation for the next decade.”

Arthur stretched out his legs with a sigh. “She’s been like that since Papa died. The moment one of us gets sick, she acts like it’s a prelude to a funeral.”

“It’s fear,” Lorenzo added quietly. “But it’s weaponized. Like if she controls enough of the environment, nothing bad will happen again.”

“We love her,” Belle said, softer now. “But the only thing worse than being hurt… is watching her panic about it.”

Arthur reached over and gently nudged her uninjured foot with his.

“So we’re agreed,” he said. “This doesn’t leave this room.”

“Not until the bruises fade,” Belle said.

“And Max calms down,” Lorenzo added.

Arthur looked at Charles. “You’re unusually quiet.”

Charles looked down at the floor, then back up at Belle. “I just… didn’t realize how many things you didn’t say. Because you were protecting the rest of us.”

Belle didn’t answer for a moment.

Then: “Now you do.”

And to her surprise — maybe to his too — Charles nodded.

“I won’t forget.”

***

The elevator doors opened, and Max didn’t wait for them to finish sliding apart before stepping out.

His keys were already in hand. The moment he reached the door, he didn’t bother knocking. He let himself in like it was a matter of oxygen.

The apartment was quiet — not silent, but soft with the kind of stillness that said people were there, speaking gently, keeping their voices level.

He stepped inside, heart hammering in his chest.

He saw her first.

She was curled into the corner of the couch, legs folded beneath her, one wrist wrapped and resting on a pillow, her bump rising softly under his old hoodie. Her hair was loose now, a little tangled, and she looked exhausted — but not pale. Not shaking. Just… there.

Breathing.

Safe.

His lungs unclenched for the first time in hours.

Then his eyes registered the rest of the room.

Arthur in the armchair, leaning back with his hands laced over his stomach. Lorenzo standing at the counter, cinnamon rolls on a plate he clearly hadn’t touched. And Charles — sitting on the coffee table, just a little too close to Belle, watching her with that stunned, protective expression Max hadn’t seen from him in years.

All three of them looked up the moment Max stepped inside.

The tension in the air shifted like a current.

No one said a word.

Max crossed the room in three strides and dropped to his knees in front of Belle — hands hovering, unsure for the first time in a long time. His voice was barely a whisper.

“Can I touch you?”

Belle nodded.

His hands moved gently, reverently — one over her knee, the other over the swell of her bump. Then, with visible relief, he pressed his forehead to her stomach and let out a breath like it had been held since morning.

“You’re really okay?” he asked, not looking up.

“I’m okay,” she whispered. “He’s okay. Just bruises.”

His hands moved up to her waist, and then he leaned in, finally cupping her face and kissing her temple — long and careful and completely unrushed.

Only then did he glance over his shoulder at her brothers.

His voice didn’t rise, but it carried.

“Thank you,” he said. “For being here.”

Arthur gave a quiet nod. Lorenzo offered a small, surprised smile.

Charles looked like he wasn’t sure whether to stay seated or stand. Max didn’t make him decide.

Instead, Max looked back at Belle.

“You should’ve called me.”

“I didn’t want you to crash a GT3 car over a bruised knee,” she murmured.

He exhaled sharply, a laugh made of panic and adoration. “You think that’s the part I care about?”

“You’re here now,” she said.

He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’ll always be here.”

The brothers gave them space after that — drifting toward the kitchen, murmuring about tea and leftovers and whether or not Arthur remembered how to use Belle’s espresso machine.

Max didn’t move from the floor.

He just held her hand, his thumb brushing the edge of the wrap on her wrist. He hated the bandage. Hated that it was real. That she had needed anyone but him.

But she was okay.

And the baby was okay.

And for now, that was enough.

***

The apartment was quiet again.

Arthur had grumbled something about work. Lorenzo had packed the untouched cinnamon rolls with a guilty look. Charles had lingered, awkward and earnest, before Belle kissed his cheek and told him to stop looking like she was made of glass.

Now it was just her and Max.

She was back on the couch, propped up with pillows and a blanket across her lap. Max sat beside her, one leg bent on the cushion, his body angled toward hers like he was trying to physically shield her from the memory of the morning.

Neither of them had spoken much since the door clicked shut behind Charles.

Now that it was over — the hospital, the retelling, the waiting — she was finally tired. Really, truly tired in the way that settled deep into her bones. The adrenaline had faded, and with it went her deflection, her careful calm.

Max reached for her hand — her uninjured one — and pulled it gently into his lap, rubbing slow circles over her knuckles.

“You scared me,” he said, voice low and rough around the edges.

“I scared myself,” Belle admitted quietly.

He looked down at her knees, still bruised and swollen beneath the blanket. Then his eyes drifted to the wrist brace. “You’re sure nothing’s broken?”

“The scan said no fractures. Just a bad sprain. Some inflammation. The doctor said I should be good as new in a couple weeks if I rest.”

Max nodded, then tilted his head slightly. “And you’re going to rest, right? Not sneak off to your office and Studio B to ‘just review a sketch’ or organize the linen closet or…”

Belle gave him a half-smile. “You say that like I’ve ever been good at resting.”

“I’m saying it like I will hide your laptop, your phone, and maybe your entire bag if I have to.”

She laughed softly — but it faded quickly.

Max’s voice gentled. “What happened, schatje?”

Belle exhaled. “I slipped. That’s it. I wasn’t even rushing. I just… lost my balance. And it wasn’t like a movie fall, you know? It was quiet. Fast. My knees hit first. Then my wrist when I tried to catch myself.”

Max swallowed hard, his jaw twitching.

“I laid there for a while,” she added, voice barely above a whisper. “Not because I was hurt badly — but because I didn’t know who to call.”

His gaze snapped to hers. “You call me.”

“You were on track. Testing. No signal.”

“You still call me.”

Belle didn’t reply right away.

Then, softer: “I didn’t want to be the reason you lost focus. Or got hurt. Or crashed.”

Max shifted closer, cupping her face gently with one hand.

“Listen to me,” he said. “You will never be the reason I fall apart. But if you don’t tell me you’re hurting—if you ever think you have to go through something like this alone—that is what will wreck me.”

She blinked fast. “I wasn’t alone.”

“I know,” he said, brushing his thumb along her cheek. “But it should’ve been me.”

Belle leaned into his touch. “It is now.”

He kissed her forehead. Then her temple. Then the tip of her nose.

“Next time,” he murmured, “we’re putting a non-slip mat in that shower. And rubber ducks with grip soles.”

Belle let out a soft laugh, eyes fluttering closed. “So romantic.”

“Only the best for you.”

His hand slid down to her bump, and Belle covered it with her own.

“He kicked after,” she said quietly. “Right there in the hospital. Like he was saying, ‘Don’t worry, Mama, I’m still here.’”

Max didn’t speak — just rested his forehead against hers, holding their son between them with the reverence of someone who’d nearly lost everything in a heartbeat.

And in that quiet, with the fading sunlight spilling across the floor and the ache slowly retreating from her bones, Belle finally let herself feel safe again.

Because Max was here.

And he wasn’t going anywhere.

***

Text Messages: Jos Verstappen & Max Verstappen

Jos: Raymond told me what happened. Is she alright?

Max: She’s okay now. Sprained wrist. Bruised knees. Baby’s fine. I’m with her.

Jos: Good. That kind of fall could have been worse. You must have been out of your mind.

Max: Still am.

Jos: I’m glad you’re there. I know what it feels like—when they get hurt and you’re not there.

Max: I didn’t know who she’d called. It wasn’t me. That was the worst part.

Jos: She didn’t want to scare you. Women do that. Try to be strong for us even when they’re the ones bleeding.

Max: She shouldn’t have to. She’s not just strong. She’s mine.

Jos: Then protect her. Not with fists or anger. With patience. With time. With the parts of yourself I didn’t teach you how to use.

Max: I’m trying.

Jos: You’re already doing better than I ever did. Tell her I’m glad she’s okay.

Max: I will.

***

They didn’t go home right away.

After leaving Belle’s apartment, the three brothers ended up walking without saying much. First toward the marina. Then past the café Charles used to swear had the best espresso in Monaco — even though none of them had gone there in over a year.

Eventually they sat on a low bench near the water, the kind that always seemed slightly too cold, facing out toward a sky smeared in gold and soft grey.

Lorenzo leaned back, arms stretched over the back of the bench like he needed more room to think. Arthur sat hunched forward, elbows on his knees. Charles stared straight ahead.

No one said anything for a while.

Then Arthur cleared his throat. “She looked small today.”

Charles didn’t answer. He didn’t know how to.

“Not weak,” Arthur added quickly. “Just… I forgot she could get hurt like that. I forgot she was carrying someone else too now.”

Lorenzo exhaled slowly. “It’s not that I forgot. It’s that I didn’t let myself think about it.”

Charles nodded once, almost absently.

“I didn’t even remember she had a cinnamon allergy,” Lorenzo said after a pause. “And she’s been baking those cookies since we were teenagers.”

“I thought she liked doing it,” Charles said. “I thought it made her happy.”

“She made us happy,” Arthur murmured.

Silence again. Heavier this time.

“I keep thinking about the cookies,” Arthur said suddenly. “She didn’t think she was part of the tradition. She thought she was serving it.”

That landed like a rock in Charles’ chest.

He thought of the hospital earlier that day. The bruises on Belle’s knees. The way she’d looked at him when he asked why she hadn’t called. Calm. Not cold — just used to it.

He thought of Max — dropping to his knees beside her, hands trembling, forehead pressed to her stomach like it was sacred ground.

“I don’t want to be the kind of brother she has to survive around,” Charles said.

Lorenzo gave a slow nod. “Then let’s stop being that.”

“And start noticing,” Arthur added.

Charles looked out toward the water, letting the silence sit for a beat before saying, “Do you think she’ll ever trust us again?”

Lorenzo didn’t look at him. Just said quietly, “She let us in the apartment, didn’t she?”

Arthur stood first. “That’s a start.”

And Charles — baby brother turned golden son turned witness to everything he missed — stood too.

He didn’t know how to fix it yet.

But for the first time in years, he wasn’t pretending it didn’t need fixing.

***

Text Messages: Charles Leclerc & Lewis Hamilton

Charles: I just wanted to say thank you. For being there that night. With Belle. When she had the car accident. 

Lewis:

I wasn’t going to leave her. She looked like she’d been through hell. And that car was a complete wreck. She didn’t want me to call you. When it happened. 

Charles: …what?

Lewis:

When I said I was going to call your phone, she grabbed my arm. Begged me not to.

Charles:

I didn’t… I didn’t know it was like that.

Lewis:

No. You didn’t. And I get it — families are complicated. But she didn’t trust you to see her hurt.

She didn’t believe she’d be safe if you saw her vulnerable.

Charles:

That’s not how I meant to make her feel.

Lewis:

Then change it. She didn’t need someone to fix the crash. She needed someone who wouldn’t look away from the wreckage.

Charles:

Do you think she still sees me like that?

Lewis:

I think she wants to see something else. But that’s on you. Not her.

Charles:

I’m going to fix it. I’m not going to be the person she’s scared of anymore.

Lewis:

Good. Then show up. Not just when she’s bleeding. But when she’s quiet.

That’s when she needs someone most.

***

Group Chat: HELP ME

(Members: Daniel Ricciardo, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Lewis Hamilton, Carlos Sainz Jr., George Russell, Alex Albon, Nico Hülkenberg, Nico Rosberg, Sebastian Vettel, Mark Webber, David Coulthard, Sergio Pérez, Fernando Alonso, Kimi Räikkönen, Zhou Guanyu, Logan Sargeant, Esteban Ocon, Lance Stroll, Valtteri Bottas, Pierre Gasly and Yuki Tsunoda)

Lewis: I think Charles might actually be learning. Like… real emotional growth. Apologizing. Listening. Not centering himself.

Daniel: 👏 Character 👏 Development 👏 😮‍💨 Took him fucking long enough.

Sebastian: Growth. Late, but welcome.

George: Did he cry? That’s when you know it’s real. I want misty eyes and a cracking voice.

Carlos: Crying is the bare minimum at this point. He let Belle plan his birthdays for a decade and forgot hers.

Lando: okay WHO is this Charles and what did you do with the emotionally constipated one?

Alex: Honestly though… Good for him.

Fernando: Took him long enough.

Oscar: Should we make a certificate? “Congratulations, you’re no longer a liability to your sister’s mental health.”

Logan: We should throw him a party. One he doesn’t make Belle organize.

Valtteri: I’ll bring the emotional support coffee.

David: Someone check if Charles is running a fever.

Mark: I’m just glad someone else is parenting the grid’s feelings for once.

Daniel: Progress, boys. It’s happening. Everyone hydrate and emotionally prepare.

Lewis:

He’s trying. For once, I believe him. Let’s see if he follows through.

Oscar: If he doesn’t, I vote Belle gets to slap him. On camera. For science.

Lando: I’ll bring popcorn.

[lazysoulwriter]

lockscreen. - pedro pascal.

requested! thank you. ♡ content: Pedro Pascal x reader, soft domestic reveal, internet discovering his lockscreen, fluff overload, public/private love, soft Pedro worshiping his girl energy.

---

You didn’t even know.

Which was wild, considering you lived with the man, kissed him daily, and had seen his phone a million times.

But somehow, Pedro had managed to keep his lock screen a secret from you. Until the internet found it first.

It happened during a blurry paparazzi video at LAX — him pulling out his phone at security, trying to scan his boarding pass. It was fast. One second, tops. But the girlies online were faster.

Within the hour, Twitter had exploded.

“wait. is that HIS GIRL on the lock screen???”

“stopppp pedro pascal having his gf as his wallpaper???”

“the way he’s obsessed with her like we are.”

“look at the way he smiles when he opens his phone. i’m gonna cry.”

“no bc imagine being someone’s safe space like that.”

You opened your phone that morning to eight missed texts, two missed calls from Lux, and a trending tag: #PedroPascalLockscreen

You scrolled, heart thumping — until you found it.

It was you.

Candid. Laughing. Wind in your hair, sunglasses pushed up, wearing his sweater. You’d forgotten that day completely, but apparently he hadn’t.

You were his background.

Pedro Pascal, international sweetheart, had you on his screen like a teenage boy in love.

You stared at the post, blinking hard, then heard his footsteps behind you.

“Morning, baby,” he mumbled, sleep-heavy and scratchy. “What’s got you up so early?”

You turned around slowly, phone raised. “You have me as your lockscreen?”

He paused. Froze.

“…Oh.”

“Oh?”

“I was gonna tell you, I just—kept it for me. That picture’s my favorite. You look happy.”

Your heart melted.

“You’re literally trending for being in love with me,” you whispered, stepping closer. “You realize that, right?”

He grinned sleepily, tugging you into his chest. “Good. Let them know.”

You giggled, face buried in his hoodie. “You’re such a simp.”

“Guilty,” he said, kissing the top of your head. “You’re my favorite view.”

---

✦ please do not copy, repost, or translate this work. © lazysoulwriter // i write with a lot of love and care, so please respect that.

---

taglist: @sarahhxx03 @lloydmustache @lolareadsimagines @greenwitchfromthewoods @silksepia @pascalswiftie @itstokyo-cos @mani-pedro @llsister @authorbriannarae13 @introvrtedjellyfish @aj0elap0l0gist @spencercmlover @cixrosie @cherrqbaby @cup-half-full-of-anxiety @kellyxo1 @freakbobcult @sunlightpleasure @barnes70stark @mooniscrying @ohnaurshayla @croissantbakerylws @nellispunk @kasienka @taylorswiftsrep-blog @emerencedaily @byzyz @noovaarq @kristend512

[duckprintspress]

Announcing the May Trope Mayhem Prompt List for 2025!

May Trope Mayhem is a multi-fandom/original creation event open to writers, artists, and creators of all kinds! Our creators have shared their favorite tropes, and we’ve put together a list of 31, one per day through the month of May. We encourage creators to join us for this month of fun tropey mayhem.

Our goal is to promote motivation and help with habit building, so we’re encouraging authors to keep their ficlets under 1,000 words, artists to stick to making just a sketch, gif makers to only do a single image, etc., as applicable to whatever you’re making.

This event is primarily held on Tumblr, but you’re welcome to participate anywhere Duck Prints Press has an account (you can see all our current platforms here) and we’ll keep our eyes on our tag everywhere!

How can you participate? It’s easy! There’s just a few simple rules:

write a ficlet or a poem, create art, make a gif, or create any other content that you want, aligned with the prompt for the day!

post your correctly tagged fills to Tumblr, and we’ll reblog them! We’ll reskeet works on Bluesky, retoot those on Mastodon, you get the idea. Note: we do not use Twitter.

you must tag warnings such as gore, MCD, sexual content, etc., so that people can make informed decisions!

please also tag fandom and ship, so people can find what interests them!

we ask that you put the tags at the top of your post, so they’re easy to find.

if you write more than 1k words and post the whole text on Tumblr or wherever, please use a read more if the platform allows.

if you create something with NSFW content or potentially triggering material, please put the entire work under a read more.

Ping us (duckprintspress) or tag your creations “#may trope mayhem” and so we can find them! We’ll reblog all fills that follow the above rules and are posted between May 1st and June 8th, 2025. Posting starts May 1st!

If you post to AO3, you can also add them to our collection there!

You don’t have to sign up for May Trope Mayhem, just post your fills. You don’t have to be a member of the Press nor do you have to be following us. You don’t have to be part of a specific fandom. We’re open to all ships, genres, formats, ratings, kinks, etc.! You can post whatever properly tagged content you want. You don’t have to post fills on the corresponding day, though we ask that if you’re creating for a day that hasn’t happened yet, please wait for that day to post.

Participating in May Trope Mayhem? Want to chat fandom, books, creation, and more? Join our Book Lover’s Discord Server!

This is a low-pressure event, held in good fun, and we look forward to seeing what you create!

MAY TROPE MAYHEM Prompt List Text Version:

Fairy Tale Fusion

Bachelor Auction

Stowaway

Superhero x Supervillain

Inherited Blessing or Curse

Tiny Adorable Eldritch Horror

Love Triangle to Polyamory

Wardrobe Malfunction

Body Guard Character

Fake Dating

Ghost Love Interest

Idiots to Lovers

Unresolved Sexual Tension* (*resolved)

“Who did this to you?”

Character is Conveniently Unrecognizable in Glasses

Breaking the 4th Wall

Time Loop

Wing Grooming

Accidental Summoning

Language Barrier

The House is Alive

Pet Acquisition

A+ Parenting

Mentor and Mentee

Amnesia

Body Swap

Royal x Knight

Second Chance with a Former Love

Identity Porn

Accidental Baby Acquisition

Magical Familiar

[linaslivery]

౨ৎ FOOLISH ONE ౨ৎ

masterlist / rules / requests & talks with me!

SUMMARY౨ৎ Love sucks. Men suck. Even worse? Your “date” stood up up. To cheer you up, your friend invites you to a F1 race to cheer on her boyfriend and meet some new people. Not your thing. But a new face gives you hope.

PAIRING ౨ৎ Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS ౨ৎ men sucking ass and being assholes (lando not included), spelling mistakes

A/N ౨ৎ i’ve been holding back this fic longer than i should have 🥴 enjoy!!

INSTAGRAM

y/n_l/n has posted 3 new stories!

201 people replied to your stories!

user1 DONT TELL ME WHAT I THINK HAPPENED HAPPENED :((

user2 all she wants is love bro 😞

user3 being stood up for the 3rd time is so tough. i’m so sorry lovely ❤️‍🩹

lilyzneimer my baby :(( text the gc if you want to talk 🩷

→ y/n_l/n i will in a bit i just need to recollect myself 🥹

oscarpiastri who needs to be run over. name and address.

→ y/n_l/n oscahhhh 😭😭

IMESSAGES

INSTAGRAM

y/n_l/n

📍 Sunshine State

y/n_l/n going on a trip 🌺🌴☀️🐬

1,498 comments

user1 i hope you have a wonderful trip especially after what happened :(

user2 girl you deserve this trip after the cheating ex-bf and 3 ghosters

user3 I NEED TO KNOW WHERE TO 😩😩

→ y/n_l/n that’s a secret 🤫

user4 you deserve this so much. men suck ass

→ y/n_l/n MEN SUCK ASS 🗣️ 🔥 !!!

oscarpiastri something tells me i’m going to regret this

→ user5 WHAT DO YOU KNOW OSCAR

→ user6 i’m telling you guys it’s a gp

→ user7 gp??? you guys know she hates them and she said it plenty times before 😭😭

→ user8 you never know.. 😋

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

oscarpiastri has posted a story 12 minutes ago!

562 people replied to your stories!

user8 HELLO DID YOU AND LILY LOSE Y/N??? 😭😭

user9 STOP NO WONDER SHE LOOKED SO LOST IN OTHER PEOPLE’S TWEETS😭

lilyzneimer oscar, y/n is actually going to kill us. why did she even leave the garage?!

→ oscarpiastri ✔︎ she needed to use the bathroom but i sorta forgot her directions aren’t… the best. → lilyzneimer she’s never coming back to a gp ever again. → oscarpiastri ✔︎ yeah. i wouldn’t be surprised.

landonorris ✔︎ i think i have who you’re looking for..

y/n_l/n OSCAR JACK PIASTRI OPEN YOUR MESSAGES RN A GUY GAVE ME HIS NUMBER

oscarpiastri ✔︎ why am i scared…

IMESSAGES

INSTAGRAM

y/n_l/n and oscarpiastri have posted new stories!

738 people replied to your story! 849 people replied to your story!

user10 “who is this man” GIRL THATS LANDO NORRIS 💀💀

→ y/n_l/n lando who now

→ user10 your..? your best friends team mate..?

user11 NOT LANDO TRYING TO FLIRT WITH HER WHILE OSCAR IS TRYING TO FIND HER

user12 why do lando and y/n look like they got caught doing something they aren’t supposed to do 😭

user13 the lando y/n meeting wasn’t expected but now? it’s a need.

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

landonorris ✔︎

landonorris WWE FUCKIJG DID IT. P1 🏆

5,493 comments

user14 HE DID IT!!

→ user15 IT TOOK A COUPLE YEARS BUT HE DID IT!!!

user16 sochi??? what’s sochi??? i only know miami!!

oscarpiastri ✔︎ well done man 👏👏👏

lewishamilton ✔︎ WELL DONE

y/n_l/n y’know… f1 races aren’t so bad

*♥️ by Author !!*

→ landonorris ✔︎ it’s better with you here. i mean, i did win the one race you’re here 😏

→ user17 lando making the moves??

→ user18 the second hand embarrassment because she didn’t reply back after that 😭😭

oscarpiastri ✔︎ @ landonorris making moves on one of my best friends??

→ landonorris ✔︎ why not?

→ oscarpiastri ✔︎ but why

→ landonorris ✔︎ why not

→ oscarpiastri ✔︎ but why tho 😐

IMESSAGES

INSTAGRAM

y/n_l/n

📍 Italia

y/n_l/n he said whoever loses pays.

tagged ; landonorris

1,250 comments

user19 LANDO-Y/N PT 2???

user20 is she there for emilia-romangna???

→ user21 I THINK SO

→ user22 the way they are fueling my delusion

user23 why are the cute together 🥴

→ user24 they can literally just be friends

→ user25 yeah and friends play chess and explore italy which is a romantic destination 💀

oscarpiastri ✔︎ sooo… did he win?

→ y/n_l/n are you kidding me? i wiped the floor with him

landonorris ✔︎ $100 down the drain 😐

→ y/n_l/n down the drain? more like down into my stomach

→ landonorris ✔︎ yeah yeah 😒

→ y/n_l/n ✔︎ don’t get pissy with me YOU are the one that insisted on going there AND paying BEFORE the chess game 🤨

→ user26 STOP THAT’S CUTE :((

user27 y/n and lando hanging out even though she hates grand prixs? this was not on my 2024 bingo card

→ user28 it def wasn’t but lord do they look good together

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

landonorris ✔︎

landonorris fun days 🌊

1,690 comments

user29 HELLO THE SECOND PHOTO???

→ user33 mommy? sorry. mommy? sorry. mommy-

user30 IT SO OBVIOUSLY HER

→ user31 her?? who’s her??

→ user32 y/n!! she’s oscar and lily’s friend and hanged out with lando not too long ago actually

→ user31 oh. but how do we know it’s her???

carlossainz55 ✔︎ little lando norris isn’t so little anymore 😆 they grow up so fast 😭

→ landonorris ✔︎ haven’t been little for the past 8 years…

→ carlossainz55 ✔︎ i don’t know the texts send say otherwise

oscarpiastri ✔︎ huh. interesting.

→ landonorris ✔︎ …😰

oscarpiastri ✔︎ @ y/n_l/n you left me and lily for him? this guy?

→ user33 OSCAR CALLING HER OUT FOR LEAVING THEM???

→ user34 classic oscar fashion 💀

→ y/n_l/n he promised me that he had something worthwhile 😕

→ oscarpiastri ✔︎ i did not need to know this.

→ y/n_l/n wdym???

→ y/n_l/n OMG OSCAR

→ y/n_l/n YOU LITTLE SHIT I DIDN:T MEAN IT LIKE THAT

→ y/n_l/n LANDO SAID HE HAD THE GOOD HÄAGEN-DAZS ICE CREAM :((

→ landonorris ✔︎ and it was some very good häagen-dazs ice cream 😏

→ y/n_l/n YOU’RE NOT HELPING LAN 😭😭

→ user35 LMAOAOOA

TWITTER

INSTAGRAM

y/n_l/n

320 people replied to your story!

landonorris ✔︎ dare I say.. boyfriend material?

→ y/n_l/n husband actually ☝️☝️

→ landonorris ✔︎ updates already?? barely even a month in 🥴

→ y/n_l/n what can I say? You’re the one and when you know, you know 🩷

IMESSAGES

TWITTER

IMESSAGES

INSTAGRAM

landonorris ✔︎

landonorris might have lost the race… but at least i’ve won first her heart :)) (ps: the only blonde that would separate us is if you dye yours blonde)

tagged ; y/n_l/n

3,018 comments

user36 THE CAPTION 😭😭

user37 AFTER THE DRAMA??

user38 bro said “lemme make a statement” after the accusations 😭

user39 everyone assumed so quickly as if it wasn’t obvious y/n and lando were dating

user40 i was expecting this but wasn’t at the same time

y/n_l/n ✔︎ yeah maybe second place

→ landonorris ✔︎ can i not be loving and romantic?? 😞😞

→ y/n_l/n ✔︎ just joking love you my mystical gnome 🩷

→ landonorris ✔︎ MYSTICAL GNOME???

→ user41 HELLO THATS SO RANDOM

oscarpiastri ✔︎ break her heart, and i’ll run you off the track

→ landonorris ✔︎ yes sir. won’t happen sir.

y/n_l/n

y/n_l/n i think i could get used to this sorta love. 🩷

tagged ; landonorris

3.959 comments

francisca.cgomes cutie(s)

→ y/n_l/n no u 🤭

→ landonorris ✔︎ it hasn’t even been a month and you already took my girl??

→ francisca.cgomes ✔︎ you snooze you lose 🤷‍♀️

user42 THEY BOTH DID IT!!

user43 CONFIRMED I REPEAT Y/N-LANDO IS CONFIRMED!!

user44 ITS HAPPENING GUYS Y/N FINALLY GOT A BF!!

lilyzneimer thank me everyone!! im the one that convinced her to go to the grand prix!!

→ oscarpiastri ✔︎ thank you lily!! (i don’t get to hear y/n’s heart breaking because of idiots)

→ user45 thank you lily!! (we all say in unison.)

user46 all it took was one miami win and one text message to convince y/n.

→ user47 booking my own miami ticket after this 👩‍💻

oscarpiastri ✔︎ okay… maybe you guys are just a bit cute

landonorris ✔︎ who’s that pretty girl and handsome man in the photos?? 🤔

→ y/n_l/n hmmm… i heard their names are y/n and lando the best couple to ever??? even though her boyfriend is a little stupid at times she still loves him 🩷

→ landonorris ✔︎ loooovveee youuuuuu

→ landonorris ✔︎ but seriously. i love you so much and i’ll never take you for granted or do any of the nasty crap you went through. you deserve the world my love ❤️

→ y/n_l/n what if i cried.

→ landonorris ✔︎ then i’ll wipe your tears.

→ oscarpiastri ✔︎ aw. (im hurling)

[undercvrfan444]

Summary - Roomie Satoru walks in on you during some uh, intimate time!

WC - 2.5k

AN- Okay wait because if this post gets flagged like my other one i’m going to be so mad. Hopefully yall like roomie Satoru because I love him.

Two weeks have passed since your little episode with Satoru. Naoya was now a thing of the past after reading his rather uh…colorful texts he had left for you! And you were kind of thriving truthfully. 

Everyday life had seemingly gone back to the way it had been before you were sprawled out on your roommates bed, his tongue plunged deeper inside you than anyone else had ever been. So aside from his teasing growing dirtier with each passing day and his occasional “accidental” walk in on you changing or getting in the shower, he was still your same old roommate. 

Earlier this morning Satoru was called into work which left you with much valued and needed alone time thankfully. Now listen, you absolutely loved the silver haired man, but being sexually on edge each time he came around was antagonizing. You were constantly on your toes whenever he was close. A part of you was still embarrassed with the drunken activities you had partaken in, especially knowing there was a video of the whole ordeal. 

With your roommate leaving for a few hours you decided to take this time to just relax. Take a nice shower without worrying about him walking in, make a warm cup of tea to relax the tense muscles, and delve into whatever show you wanted knowing Satoru wouldn’t be in your ear making sly remarks. However, as time passed you grew somewhat bored of the silence. 

One thing led to another and you were scrolling on twitter, a hand lazily between your legs. Clicking on a video that seemed to pique you interest, the girl on screen screeched dramatically and honestly it turned you off more than anything. Swiping out of the video and scrolling a little more you finally get sick of the cheap rehearsed porn on your phone. 

Then, as if a little devil appeared on your shoulder, a thought drifted into place.  

You still had the video Satoru recorded for Naoya. Slowly you opened your photos app, scrolling up a little while your eyes scanned for the little white number indicating where the video was. 

Found it. 

Was it weird that you were watching a video of your own pussy being eaten alive? No. Because you weren't necessarily watching the video to see yourself, but rather to see that messy mop of white hair. To see how his jaw flexed with each passing line of his pretty pink tongue. It was hard not to be pulled in by Satoru, anyone that knew him couldn’t argue with how sex seemed to be emanating from him in everything he did. 

Clicking on the video you were immediately flooded with red hot embarrassment. Your own moans matched the girl who previously annoyed you. Satoru’s chest came into frame for a second before he laid the phone flat on the bed, giving a perfect angle of your weeping pussy and the even wetter man behind you. 

“So pretty baby, can’t believe how good this cunt tastes.” Velvety rich words flow out of the speakers making your core ache. You could feel heat rising to your fingertips and down to your toes, arousal blooming. As time went on, slick seemed to pour out of you as if your pussy remembered the way Satoru took care of her. Moans fell from your lips in breathy huffs followed by the broken syllables of Satoru staining the air. Caught in your own world, you fail to hear the jingle of keys unlocking the front door you roommate insists on being locked. Something about “pretty girls like you are taken advantage of all the time.”

His soothing voice calling out to you informing of his arrival home falling on deaf ears. Heavy footsteps make their way to the start of the hallway before he freezes, ears perking up. 

“Fu~ck! ‘Toru..” Muffled high pitched whimpers bounce off the walls from your room. A tent growing impossibly fast from Satoru cultivating a mental image of what’s going on behind your door. How lucky was he to come home in time to get a glimpse of the perverted things you do behind doors, there was no way he’d pass this up. 

There were many ways for Satoru to go about this. He could either 

A. Interrupt your little party and embarrass you 

or 

B. Let you embarrass yourself. 

He decided to go with B. 

Of course. Who would he be if he didn’t indulge himself in a harmless tease?

So despite his cock aching underneath his uniform, he knew the look on your face would be worth a little discomfort. A small smile plays on Satoru’s lips as he makes his way into the bathroom, turning the shower on and stripping down. If he was going to embarrass you then he’d pull out every weakness he had against you. 

Back in your room, you’d finally reached an orgasm. Legs shaking while your eyes drew back towards your skull with how hard sparks tingled against your bones. Ragged breaths heated the cool air of your room while you regained your composure. Slipping off of your bed and reaching for a pair of shorts you had previously discarded, you finally heard the water running in the bathroom. 

Your eyes widened at the thought of Satoru coming home and possibly hearing you. It takes a few seconds before you conjure enough courage to step into the hall and make your way into the kitchen. 

Attempting to push away the horrifying thoughts of being heard, you open the fridge doors and rummage for something to drink. 

Satoru steps into the kitchen with a slightly damp towel hanging loosely on his shoulders and a pair of black shorts on. He smelt strongly of his soap, delicious herbal musk with hints of saccharine notes. Strands of wet hair curled nicely against his head while his undercut peaked through softly. 

“Oh hey!” 

You jump at his sudden chirp of voice, spinning to see a beautiful grin on his features. Swallowing thickly you move to lean against the island separating you two. “Hey. When did you get home?” 

Internally you wanted to cringe at how stupid you sounded, quite the opposite to Satoru who was beaming so bright you swore you could see light seeping through his pores. “A few minutes ago. Yaga let me leave early after dealing with a couple curses and bratty kids.” 

Nodding along, you take a swig of the cold water you fished from the fridge. The conversation dies as Satoru makes his way behind you, mimicking your earlier actions and finding something to drink. Your heart beat lurched against their confines beneath your ribs so hard it felt as though you might burst.

Before you get the opportunity to turn around, Satoru pressed his chest against your back. His legs finding their way between your own while he slots his chin on your shoulder, lips brushing against the sensitive skin below your ear. His hands press against the fatty part of your hips as they slowly squish into the countertop, hinging so that your face is flush with the cool marble below. 

“S-Satoru?” 

The man pecks gentle kisses down the column of your throat, leaning in with his hips to press his erection against your ass. “Is this what you imagined?”

Quiet whines float up into Satoru’s ears. Your elbows bend softly to keep yourself upright against the island. The air is dizzy between you, Satoru’s strong smell offering a familiar comfort you cling to in the tense moment. 

“What?”

Low rumbles of laughter erupt from behind you. “Don’t play dumb with me baby, you know exactly what I’m talking about.” His lips latch on to a few spots on your neck leaving blooming bruises in their wake. 

Humiliation was all you could feel. Unadulterated humiliation and…arousal. Satoru was so warm pressed against you it was impossible for you not to rut back against him. The thin fabric of your shorts did nothing to block his prying hands. All it took was a tug or two and you felt the clothing item slip down your legs. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” two thick fingers slip against your slit, teasing the already puffy hole. “You sounded so beautiful. The way you said my name would make any man go crazy.” 

Filthy squelch’s echo in the kitchen from where Satoru plays with your gooey folds. His abs flex against your clothed back, the older tshirt doing nothing to deter his advances. Any other time than now you would appreciate how strong your roommate was, all rippling muscles completely at your disposal. From your low lying position on the counter you can’t see any of Satoru’s actions, only feel them. 

Squeezing a clammy hand against your mouth, whatever schoolgirlish whine or moan that threatens to come out is muffled quickly. Sinking a long digit past the swabs of slick dripping down your thighs, Satoru can’t help but push the shirt he’d given you up your waist to expose more of your eager body below. “Why aren’t you speaking baby? You’ve got such a sharp tongue until I’m knuckle deep in your pussy.” 

Shaking your head, you can’t help but push back onto the wall of man behind you. Your pussy is still sensitive from the last orgasm so any touch is amplified. “It’s embarrassing! Just..stop talking.” 

A loud “tch” rings in your ears. “Embarrassing? Awe, how come?” 

Satoru slips another finger past your gummy ring of muscles, scissoring the two digits in a slow deep rhythm that has you leaning forward in an attempt to find a way for his fingers to plunge further within you. 

“Toru please! Don’t start with the teasing like last time. If you’re going to fuck me then do it already!” Your words come out in a shrill breathy whine. To be completely honest you’re not sure if you’d be able to take Satoru’s incessant teasing once more. Here you were, stretched over the kitchen counter while you gushed over your roommate's fingers and all he could do is act like a dickhead! 

Your pleas are music to his ears. 

You feel his touch slip away from your lower body, instead being used to push his own shorts down. Low groans vibrate in your shoulder from where Satoru latches onto the soft skin for an anchor. You might be needier, but Satour was right there with you. Craning your neck to look back, your met with a core achingly intimidating sight. 

He was huge. Both in length and sheer girth. Breaths get stuck in your throat when you feel his cockhead nudging at your clit in rough pumps, the bulbous tip hard against your red puffy lips. You wiggle your hips the best you can in this situation, toes barely skimming the cool wood floor of the kitchen. 

Inch by girthy inch, your pussy is fed with Satoru’s cock. “Oohh fuck baby, I haven’t even put it all in and your already clamping down on me.” Softly he slides his body against yours, leaning down to trail sloppy kisses mixed with nips over the curve of your shoulder. 

A deliciously burning sensation tingles as each thrust of Satoru’s hips pull gasps out of you. You’ve never been this full, ever. Finding a grip on the counter was a struggle. Each relentless slam of Satoru’s hips leave your body jerking forward, dragging your pebbled nipples against the sealed surface. “Feels like y’r gonna tear me apart ‘toru! Sl-ah! Slow down!” 

Satoru’s hips slap against your ass in unforgiving waves. The spongy spot buried deep in your cunt getting abused with each bite from his leaky tip. “Slow down?” Moving one of his hands down between your legs, his fingers latch onto your clit and roll the nub around between the pads of his finger tips. 

“No, I don’t think so baby. Remember that you -ngh-asked me for this.” A shit eating grin forms on Satoru’s perfectly straight teeth. A pack of wild horses could stampede through the kitchen and it still wouldn’t deter Satoru from fucking you silly on his cock. For months, uh uh fuck that, YEARS, this man has minded his manners and let you go about your sad relationships. Now that you were right where he wanted you there was a better chance of hell freezing over than him letting you tap out. 

The longer you struggle to find a grip on the counter, the harder Satoru’s thrust become. Like some pussydrunk teenager he becomes absolutely ruined by the sight of your ass jiggling against him. With each passing moment you can feel an orgasm building ferociously in your belly, that same spot you swear the male behind you fucks into. “Pl-please ‘toru. Not like this.” 

Luckily for you, he knew exactly what you meant. Pulling out of our your fucked out cunt, Satoru pulls you into him for support. Carefully he lifts you up until your back is stuck to the counter and he can wrap your ankles around his waist. “That what you want baby? Hmm?” Stars dance behind your eyes as the slippery feeling of Satoru’s dick realigns itself between your pussylips one more time. Leaning down to kiss you, the older man locks your lips with his in a strangely soft kiss while he spreads your walls apart. 

Lewd squelches erupt between your legs, louder now than before. Your previously shy orgasm is now raging through your muscles before you get a chance to say anything. Stark white blinds you as Satoru swallows whatever sounds arise from your throat, his hands hold your hips down on the marble to keep you in place as he chases a high of his own 

“S’toru! I-” 

“Shh I know baby, m’ right here. Give it to me pretty.” 

Wave after wave of euphoric pleasure crash over the two of you, bodies melded together with the sticky sap like slick from your pussy mixed with sweat. The world falls away around you for the entirety of your come down. Satoru being the only thing keeping you tethered to the world and him wanting nothing short of that role. 

Heavy pants mix together in hot breaths that fan over your chest like a warm blanket. Satoru pulls his achy cock away from the gluey entrapment between your legs causing a small pout to force its way onto your face. He giggles cutely, leaning down to peck a kiss on your damp forehead before searching for both of your clothes. Before he can put your shorts on he takes a rather long look between your legs, a mixture of both yours and his cum leaking down onto the counter; pooling. 

Without another thought Satoru reaches into his shorts pocket to pull his phone out, snapping a picture for safe keeping. “Think the neighbors heard?”

“Shut up and help me get clean. This is so gross I don’t think I can ever eat off the counter again.”

[beaureveries]

ONE SHOT : RATHER BE

paige x azzi

(this is inspired by the song “rather be” by GIVEON)

First time writing a pazzi fic, let me know what you think ! 😉

trigger : nothing but fluff ❤️‍🩹

- 1.2k words

——————————————————————————

It’s been three weeks.

THREE whole weeks gone by without Paige seeing Azzi and needless to say, she’s been going through it.

Paige has been out of her last 2 games with the Wings ever since she had the concussion protocol and the headaches were starting to really get to her, but her heart ache for Azzi was worse.

Way worse.

She missed her so bad.

But it wasn’t like she wasn’t talking to her. Paige would always video call and text Azzi every chance she got, and Azzi would always answer.

But talking and looking at her over the screen just made her miss Azzi even more.

She was feeling kinda lonely and she wanted Azzi to take care of her, but of course she wouldn’t tell Azzi that. She was busy with her own thing and with the UConn summer training coming up, there’s no way they can link up their schedules now. And she didn’t want to make Azzi worry, so she just tried to hide it for a while.

Of course that didn’t last long.

It’s Azzi we’re talking about, the girl she had eyes for ever since they were sixteen.

and the person who knew her better than anyone else.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Paige was lying lifeless on her bed, scrolling through Instagram while her ipad was on with the WNBA match up across from her.

Her speaker faintly playing in the background “Rather be” by Giveon

“Now Im in this room, wishing you would settle down and come around, I’ve been listening to all the songs that you loved all along, lost in the dark cause you stole the sun.”

Paige groaned, the lyrics to the song wasn’t really helping her situation right now.

And just as she was blankly spacing out in the dark room, a notification from her phone popped up, her favorite notification.

Az 💗 : hey p, what u up to?

Paige immediately opened the message, grinning ear to ear like she’s been waiting for this all day.

she was totally not.

P 💗 : nothing mama, just in bed. Missing u bad.

Az 💗 : I miss you too babe, how’s ur headache?

Paige shook her head giggling, the pain of her headache suddenly vanished from the face of earth.

P 💗 : gone, once I saw your message

Az 💗 : 🙄 whatever

Paige chuckled, she always loves to annoy Azzi.

Az 💗 : wanna call babe?

Paige didn’t waste a second and immediately clicked the call button.

The soft sound ringing once, twice before she saw the face she’s been missing the most.

“Hi” Azzi smiled through the screen, her dimples visibly showing.

And all the tiredness and boredom Paige had went off the roof.

“Hey pretty girl” she grinned.

“Have you eaten dinner yet?” Azzi asked immediately.

Paige smiled sheepishly.

“Of course you haven’t.” Azzi rolled her eyes.

“I ordered DoorDash to your apartment, it’s coming in 30”

“What did you order for me mama?”

“Wisconsin Mac and cheese with grilled chicken and a side salad, cause I know you’ve been skipping your vegetables whenever Im not there” Azzi replied in an obvious tone.

“You know me so well babe” Paige chuckled.

“Thank you Az, you didn’t have to order it for me. You could’ve just reminded me”

“Like you would listen if I told you to get vegetables” Azzi said sarcastically but failing to hide her smile while doing so.

Paige smiled, her heart suddenly felt light and easy, like the weight of the past three weeks suddenly lifted off her shoulders.

“Did you see Twitter?” Azzi suddenly spoke.

“No babe, I haven’t. Y’know I don’t really like being on there, why?” Paige furrowed her eyebrows.

“People are thinking you cheated on me with your Wings manager when you guys went out for lunch together” Azzi teased.

“That’s bullshit and you know it” Paige replied almost immediately, her tone suddenly went an octave lower.

Azzi laughed lightly “of course baby, I just thought it was hilarious for people to assume that you cheated on me a week after I posted the tiktok of us together, I thought I made it obvious but I guess people are just that dumb”

“I won’t cheat on you ever. What kind of dumb idiot would do that” Paige clearly annoyed with this subject.

“I know P, I trust you more than anyone and you know that” Azzi said softly reassuring her upset girlfriend.

“This is why I don’t like posting anymore, people make dumb ass rumors, it’s annoying as fuck” she replied back.

“I know P, I know….” Azzi calmed her down.

Paige took a deep breath and just took a minute to stare at her beautiful girlfriend. How could anyone, ANYONE. Assume something so disrespectful, the audacity to even assume she would cheat in the first place was insane enough but the AUDACITY to assume she would cheat to the one woman she loved, THE AZZI FUDD was just crazy.

Paige closed her eyes and tried to calm down.

The room slowly turning into a comfortable silence.

“Are you alright P?” Azzi suddenly asked out of the blue, her tone soft as ever.

“Um yea, I mean Im annoyed but I won’t fuss about something I know isn’t true” Paige replied.

“Not about that P, about you…” Azzi trailed off.

Paige twisted her browns in confusion “me? what about me?”

Azzi stared at her for a second before saying “you… just seem off these days, I mean we do chat and video call almost everyday but I feel like there’s something you’ve been hiding from me” Azzi said slowly.

Paige heart sank, of course Azzi would know whenever she felt off, she always knew.

“I mean… my concussion protocol?”

“Not that P, try picking a better excuse. I know whenever you hide things, other people might not notice, but I do. I notice Paige.” Azzi responded more seriously.

Paige lips thinned out for a second, her throat suddenly felt hard to speak.

“Talk to me baby, I know whenever you feel off” Azzi smiled softly, reassuring her girlfriend that she was there for her.

Paige sighed softly, she knew she couldn’t hide it from Azzi for long.

“I just… miss you so much- I mean I know you’ve been busy with training and ads- and I didn’t want to seem clingy and worry you, since we met not even that long ago… but I just- I don’t know, it’s kinda lonely here and I don’t really know what to do when I get out- and I miss your touch, our cuddles, annyoying you and uh im rambling-

“Paige.” Azzi cuts her.

“Do you want me to come over?”

“Azzi it’s a 4 hour flight and you have summer training soon-

“Do you want me to come over?” Azzi cuts her again more seriously this time.

Paige stared at her, a few seconds of silence before she dropped her head low, nodding slowly as a response.

“Words baby” Azzi said over the phone.

“Yea… that would be nice” Paige made a small smile, her eyes a bit glassy, emotionally drained after trying to hide it for the past three weeks.

“Okay baby, I’ll find a way” Azzi stated, smiling at her suddenly emotional girlfriend, which she thought was adorable.

“I love you” Paige sheepishly smiled as her cheeks flushed pink, thankful for the understanding and loving girlfriend.

“I love you too baby, and don’t say three weeks was short cause it also felt like an eternity for me” Azzi continued.

Paige stared at her through the screen with her heart eyes that she only ever laid on Azzi, “really…?”

“Really.” Azzi smiled.

Paige nodded at that, her heart suddenly felt full from all the love Azzi gave her.

She knew. that no matter what happens in the future.

They will always be alright.

Always.

They talked over the phone for what felt for hours (which was really for hours) before finally deciding they should both go to bed.

But before Paige fully decided to go to sleep, she opened the chatroom of her and Azzi

P 💗 : you know I’d rather be with you than the other half of someone who’s not even the half of you.

Paige sent it without hesitation, grinning proud of herself.

Az 💗 typing…

It took 3 minutes of Azzi typing back and forth before finally sending back a reply

Az 💗 : is that a lyric to a song…?

Paige smiled instantly dropped as her face flushed with embarrassment, she quickly send another text.

P 💗 : what… no?

Az 💗 : you know we share a playlist right p?

As soon as Paige read that message, she locked her phone real quick, staring at the ceiling out of pure embarrassment.

Five minutes went by, Paige eyes were already heavy from the lack of sleep.

But she checked her phone again.

Az 💗 : I’d rather be with you too, always.

Az 💗 : goodnight baby, sweet dreams.

Paige smiled, as she lazily typed a reply before sleep slowly caves over her.

P 💗 : goodnight baby, ily.

And that sleep was easily the best sleep she had in over the last three weeks.

[maxlarens]

Hi, I have a smau request for Charles (based on c.ai bot lol, and the fact that I love painting), so the reader is invited by her friends to a house for vacation, her friends are all with their s/o and they also always try to set up reader with someone, that's when her and Charles meet, and reader finally gives it a chance because she knows her friends won't stop to set her up. They talk for a whole evening about what they do in life (reader is an artist/painter) and they get along really well. Eventually they get together and reader is very liked by the public, even if there will always be haters, but most fans thinks she's just very adorable (especially because of her insta/twitter posts)

CL: slip up and i call you baby

pairing(s): charles leclerc x artist!reader

summary: you love your friends, you really do. you just wish they’d stop trying so hard to set you up with random guys. [smau + written fic] (read on: ao3) (part 2)

fc: faceless

word count: 5.1k

warnings: mild sexual references

a/n: this is such a cute idea! thank u so much for sending it in!! u will not believe how much this idea gripped me like i never write one shots like this its just unheard of for me if im honest. anyway i know u asked for a smau so i will be doing a second part/continuation to this that is solely an smau to make up for that. (ALSO sorry for disappearing i was super sick for the whole week and have been getting my shit back together in the aftermath😭)

(yn’s messages)

(instagram)

@ynusername just posted…

liked by @chloegarelli, @charlesleclerc and others

ynusername italy we are in u!!!

Amalfi Coast, Italy

You’ve never been particularly boy crazy. At least not the same way your friends are.

There have been a few not-quite boyfriend’s over the years, but those relationships never last long. They never really get you, or they never really get the art thing. Which means, of course, that they don’t get you and never will— and that’s fine, you’re content with that. If living for your art means you’ll never be in love then so be it and frankly, good riddance to them.

For the most part, you’ve given up trying. You go on a few dates here and there, but you never let them stick around. Even the ones that seem interested in your paintings you don’t bother with— none of them really seem to be able to grasp what art truly is to you. It isn’t just paint on a canvas, it’s living, it’s breathing. You are only yourself with a way to make art.

It’s difficult to put into words.

So you don’t. Instead, you send texts that say ‘thanks for your time but this isn’t working out’ and you keep the men your friends try to set you up with at arm's length. You placate Chloe and her partner Rowan– who collects friends like they’re Pokémon– with, “he wasn’t my type” and “I’m not looking for a relationship right now”, which you suppose is true, but also isn’t the entirety of it. Yet, every time without fail, there’s a new boy at the scene of the crime.

Chloe doesn’t get it, none of your friends get it. You don’t try to explain it to them. So, y’know, here you are again.

Anyway, here’s the thing: they’re getting closer. Inexplicably, without knowing how you really feel about it all, Chloe and Rowan are getting better and better at picking the boys who are able to tempt you. Which is a pain really, because sometimes you’re trying to have a perfectly nice vacation in Italy without the lure of a boy you can’t let yourself have. But alas, these things generally don’t go your way.

You should know that by now.

Charles Leclerc is bang on the money, he really is. He is unbearably cute, like so cute that you have to leave the room when he walks in, because you don’t trust yourself to be in close proximity to him right now. You have a hard time looking at his face when you are forced to be around him. The dimples when he smiles, the squint of his eyes even when he isn’t. If you look too long you’re liable to stare and that wouldn’t lead to anything good at all.

He’s nice as well. So nice, just like Chloe told you. You try to pretend he doesn’t exist and he still asks you questions about your job and the area of Monaco you live in— like he’s even interested, like he’ll remember you two weeks from now. You try your best to be pleasant, to answer without it being like pulling teeth, and to ask questions of him as well. You’ll probably see him again after this, so best to not to go too far and act like you hate him. It’s difficult though, toeing the line between friendly and encouraging of more. Or it feels difficult for you. Charles doesn’t make even the slightest suggestion of the two of you being set up by your nosy friends. That’s unbearable too. Part of you wishes he’d just make a clumsy pass at you so you can rebuff it and make your intentions abundantly clear. But, obviously, he doesn’t, because he’s perfect or something.

It sucks. You hate him, you think.

Or you want to.

On the second day of the trip, you’re on the villa’s private beach, laying in the hot sun. Chloe, Anaïs and Bea are there; everyone else is either still sleeping off the wine from last night or swimming in the glittering ocean. You’ve got a secondhand book, a 2B pencil and a pair of sunglasses over your eyes. You’re trying to read but you just end up doodling, drawing your friends bikini-clad bodies over the text and shading grapes into the margins. Trying desperately not to accidentally put Charles Leclerc’s dimples, messy hair, or sloped nose to paper.

“So,” Chloe says conspiratorially, as you abort an attempt at drawing a slightly squinted eye with thick lashes, “What do you think of Charles?”

You raise an eyebrow carefully at her over your sunglasses, betraying nothing of your inner turmoil, “I think nothing.”

Anaïs laughs, rolling onto her back, “That’s such shit. You practically sprint away from him everytime he comes near.”

“I do not,” you answer too quickly.

Anaïs laughs again, louder. Chloe joins in and Bea raises her eyebrows at you like you’re a fucking liar. You frown, glaring a little before stubbornly turning your head back to your book. The conversation about Charles ends there, but unfortunately your actions have spoken for themselves. A chill of something like panic chitters up your spine and into your shoulders. You have to roll them to make the feeling go away.

As the sun climbs higher in the sky you lose some people to the heat and gain others. It’s just you and Chloe sweating onto your towels when Rowan and Charles finally give up on whatever game they were playing in the ocean. Rowan collapses unceremoniously into the space between you and Chloe, kicking up sand and getting water droplets all over you like he’s a wet dog. You let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and an exasperated groan as you roll away from him, landing in the sand.

“Watch it,” you cry, “You’re getting my book all wet.”

Rowan laughs, “You’re drawing in it!”

“So.”

He pulls a face at you that makes you roll your eyes; then he turns into Chloe, shoving his face into her collarbone and flinging limbs over her. You snort, leaning over to snag the book off your towel before it gets dragged into the mess that Rowan is causing. You’re about to get up and go inside until you realise Charles is still standing there. Has, in fact, been standing there since Rowan ran over. Your breath catches, heart skipping a beat as you look up to find him standing there.

“Hey,” you smile briefly at him, quickly looking away from his damp hair and bare chest (–which is difficult to do because, holy shit–) so you can gather up your towel.

“Hi,” he replies.

He might smile back. You don’t look. You’re trying to get the image of his washboard abs out of your head. This proves difficult when you clamber to your feet and find yourself face to face with him.

“Are you heading back?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

God, you want to kick yourself. You’re being so awkward, and right in front of Chloe too, who may not be watching but is absolutely listening to you make a fool of yourself in front of a guy you have very firmly said that you are not interested in. It must be clear to him too, that you’re trying very deliberately to not be interested in him. You cant tell what would be worse; if that means he’ll think you’re a weirdo or if it means he’ll take it as a sign that he should make some kind of move.

Ugh.

“I’ll come with you?”

“Hmm,” you blink yourself back into existence, seeing the questioning look on Charles’ face, “Yes, yeah. Sorry.”

You say goodbye to Chloe and Rowan who barely look away from one another, still rolling around in the sand like teenagers.

“Gross,” you say to Charles, as the two of you trudge through hot sand toward the sandstone steps that lead up to the villa.

He laughs, a breathy thing that tapers off with a sigh, “A bit, yes.”

You don’t say anything else, but you find yourself staring at his back and the way his muscles shift and move underneath his tanned skin. At the top of the stairs you part ways, he smiles at you and you offer something awkward in return, trying to pretend you hadn’t been looking at him. You don’t think he notices, but your cheeks red burn anyway.

You don’t see him watching you leave.

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chloegarelli hungover, sunkissed and lovesick

Amalfi Coast, Italy

Dinner is a huge affair, as it always is on these trips.

You, Anaïs and Chloe spend three hours in the kitchen that afternoon making chicken fricassée and about a hundred different side dishes to go with it. Everyone crowds around the dinner table to eat and drink even more wine than the night before. Piero Piccioni plays on the old record player, crackling away as you laugh and talk and tell stories with your friends well into the night. You watch the sun set through floor-to-ceiling glass windows and you wish wish wish that you had your paints right now.

You brought along a set of oil pastels and one of your art notebooks, but it doesn’t compare at all to painting. If you could get your hands on cadmium yellow in all it’s hues, maybe vermillion and a powder blue, your lack of paintbrush or canvas wouldn’t even matter. You’d use your fingers if you needed to. It bothers you so much that you get up in the middle of clearing away the meal and go to your room for the pastels and notebook. You need to get it on a page at least.

You push a few plates to the side, folding out your notebook and immediately marking the page up with a creamy white pastel. Bea teases you when she comes over to take the rest of the dirty dishes, but you just mumble something unintelligible, too engrossed with smudging the sunset into something that looks like what you’d seen out the window. When the oranges and yellows blend to your satisfaction you take the black and brown and draw in the top of your friends’ heads, not thinking about how much attention to detail you’re paying to the shape of Charles’ side profile.

When you’re finished, you’re surprised to see that the table is cleared save for a few half-full wine glasses and a fresh bottle. Only Chloe, Rowan and Charles are still sitting by you. You’re listening to another Piero Piccioni album now, or maybe just the other side of the record. You remember saying goodnight to the others and saying yes to a glass of wine, so you’ve not been totally dead to the world, but it’s all in a bit of a haze.

You think this might be part of the reason why you can’t hold down a boyfriend. The disappearing into your art like you cant breathe until it’s finished. That may as well be the case if you’re honest.

You sigh, wiping your stained fingers on the next blank page, then you take a long sip from your glass of merlot, pretending you dont notice the others’ eyes on you.

“All done?” Chloe quips, somewhere on the border of teasing and being annoyed at you.

You look at her, your eyes just narrowing enough for her to notice. She does and purses her lips. You raise an eyebrow to ask okay, what’s your fucking problem? And you see her eyes flash to Charles. You follow her gaze to see him and Rowan pretending to look disinterested in your answer. Charles is tracing the base of his wine glass and absently biting the inside of his mouth. You have to tear your eyes away.

“All done,” you answer, tone clipped, before gathering your things (including the wine glass) and leaving the room in a move you hope doesn’t come off as too rude.

At your back you hear Rowan ask Chloe, “What was that?”

Chloe means well, you think as you wind through the villa, making your way to the balcony overlooking the private beach. She wants you to be happy and she thinks you need a boyfriend to be happy. But she’d found the love of her life in Rowan after only a few years of dating around and she doesn’t quite understand that it’s never going to work like that for you. There aren’t enough people out there that understand the kind of passion you have for your art and certainly not many that would also be compatible with you. You’re fine with that, but Chloe doesn’t know what to do with it. Especially not now she’s cottoned onto the fact that you have some kind of interest in Charles. It’s killing her.

It’s irrelevant though, whatever interest you have in Charles doesn’t factor into anything. He’s cute, he’s nice, but so were the dozen boys that you’ve already dated and not continued dating. So really, Chloe needs to stop pushing it because it’s pissing you off. You’re here for a holiday, not to be forced into conversations with a guy you don’t know. If she needs to have an argument to finally understand that, then so be it. You’ve been friends for years, it’ll blow over eventually.

You flick a switch and blinking lights illuminate the balcony. Fairy lights are wound up the posts and draped on the awning, intertwining with the lush green vines that have grown up through the wood slats. The air is balmy and the breeze light as you settle into one of two cushioned chairs situated by a coffee table. It’s perfect. You spread the oil pastels out next to your glass of wine and set your open notebook on your crossed legs, listening to the sound of waves lapping against the shore.

You’re alone for what feels like a long time but is probably only an hour or two.

When the sliding door clunks open you expect it to be Chloe coming over to have it out, but it’s not. Instead, Charles slips through the gap with the rest of the wine gripped in one hand.

“Hi,” he greets, smiling at you in a way that makes dimples carve in his cheeks, and dashing any hopes you have that he’d walk right past you.

“Hey,” you forget yourself for a moment and bite your lip on a broad smile.

He holds the bottle out toward you, offering more. You lean over your notebook and hold your empy wine glass up in acceptance.

“Merci,” you say, and in a moment of weakness (and probable wine drunk-ness) you gesture at the plush chair across from you.

Charles, somewhat caught off guard, looks between your outstretched hand, the chair, and your face, before shaking his head almost imperceptibly and finally taking a seat. Despite his apparent shock, you find it hard to believe he’d come out here simply to offer you some of the last of the wine. Surely, this is Chloe and Rowan’s doing. Though, strangely, you cant quite bring yourself to care.

He sets the bottle on the coffee table, next to your oil pastels. You lean forward to place a few back in their rightful spots, snagging your wine glass as you go.

Charles eyes’ scan your face for a moment, searching for something you suppose, then he points at your notebook, “Have you been drawing?”

You nod, “Mmm.”

You think perhaps the answer is a bit obvious. He seems to realise this, you watch a blush spread onto the top of his cheeks and he flutters his eyelids slightly, almost like rolling his eyes at himself. You don’t think about his eyelashes, thick and dark as they brush against his cheekbone, and you don’t think about his eyes, the lights reflecting off them, making them sparkle.

“What are you drawing then?” he asks after a moment of collecting himself, an edge of embarrassment to his voice.

You give in easily to the strange urge you have to show him, grabbing the notebook off your lap and holding it out for him to see what you’d been scribbling in the book for the past two hours. You let him take it off your hands, ignoring the spike of anxiety. He holds it gingerly, like it's a precious artefact (of course, to you, it is), which makes something warm bloom in your chest. You take a sip of wine and gesture for him to flip through a few pages, which he seems hesitant to do without permission. The book is angled in such a way that you can see most of the page, so you’re content to let him. Or at least you are until he flips to the page you’d started when you’d first come out here.

Panic drops like a stone in your gut because he’s looking right at a fully rendered drawing of his eyes. It’s in amongst some pillars strung with lights and covered in climbing vines; your best attempt at capturing the way the beach looked earlier in the day; and, perhaps your saving grace, Chloe half asleep on her towel. But the drawing of her is haphazard, it’s half-scribbled and half-finished, whereas the one of Charles eyes’ is as detailed as the sunset scene you’d done the page before. It had been something you just needed to get out, drawn in one of those hazes of yours. You’d felt better after it was done, your hands had stopped feeling like they were itchy.

Now, you itch to snatch the notebook off him, but you fear that would be even more incriminating. So you watch him look at the page and try to sit with the panicked feeling spreading in your chest.

Eventually, he points at the page, “Is this me?”

You bite your lip, breathing slowly through your nose to try and abate the blush spreading up your neck. You don’t say anything exactly, just shrug and rock your head back and forth in a kind of confirmation that doesn’t really admit anything. Though, there’s no denying the drawing is him.

“It’s good,” he says, seemingly stumbling over the words, “It’s very good.”

You frown into your drink, “Thank you.”

“I mean it.”

You know he means it. It’s not that.

“Yes,” you put down the wine glass, looking at him but avoiding eye contact, “I know. I know it’s good. I’m just… I’m embarrassed,” you admit.

He furrows his eyebrows– or it’s more that he squints and his eyebrows fold in with it. You watch his tongue dart out to run across the top of his bottom lip and you stamp down the less than innocent thoughts that come bubbling up at that. He waves the hand that’s not still holding carefully onto your notebook about for a moment, trying to conjure up words that he doesn’t have yet.

Slowly, he says, “You shouldn’t be embarrassed. I– It’s–”

He’s about to say flattering, so you cut him off, not wanting to hear the tone of it, whether it be pity or something else entirely.

You try to explain yourself, “Things get stuck in my head sometimes. Like after dinner,” you reach forward and flip the page back one, to the sunset, “I have to get it onto paper. Or… or… it just runs laps in my head for the rest of eternity, I guess. I don’t stop thinking about it.”

You cringe internally. You’ve just told him that you were so consumed by thoughts of his eyes that you had to draw them immediately. That is perhaps worse than just wanting to draw him because you thought he was cute. Charles raises his eyebrows, clearly surprised by your admission, but there’s perhaps also something sincere in there? You can’t pinpoint it, but it makes you feel a fraction better you think.

You sigh forlornly, “That’s weirder, huh?”

He laughs, properly laughs, and it sends some strange feeling skittering down your spine, “No. No, I get it. I don’t have any way to get it down as quickly as I’d like, but I definitely understand the feeling.”

You bite the inside of your lip, hesitant but still curious, “You understand the feeling? Really?”

“Yes,” he smiles easily now, relaxing more in the chair after he places your notebook onto the counter with a cautiousness you still don’t expect, “For me, with racing, it’s like I get an idea and I can’t sleep until I try it on track or talk about it with someone. Some of them don’t work, or aren’t possible, which is fine, but if it sounds right to me and it checks out with the people that it needs to, then, well, then it literally does run laps in my head.”

You laugh, mostly to yourself. You’re not sure yet if he understands what you’re saying, but he’s trying. That’s more than you can say for a lot of people. You try not to let that thought linger for too long.

“You think it’s similar?” you ask in a way you desperately hope comes across as curious and not accusatory.

He hums, waving his hand around again for words, “Perhaps. I think the urgency is the same. The passion is the same. Do you ever feel like something terrible will happen if you can’t–”

“Yes,” you’re a bit breathless in your haste to agree, to talk about this feeling with someone who understands, “Yes. I do. It’s like I need to put it somewhere before I lose it. Otherwise, it won’t be perfect, or it’ll be too late.”

“Exactly,” his eyes seem to light up, for a long second you watch the flickering lights reflect in them, “Exactly.”

“It’s never as good as I want it to be,” you admit, finding it easier to look him in the eye now that some strange barrier between you has been broken, “It’s never quite how I imagine it in my head.”

Charles points at your notebook, “These are very good, really. I don’t see how they could be better. But,” he shrugs, “Eh, I will win a race and still think of everything I did wrong.”

You nod eagerly in understanding as you lean back into the chair, finally relaxing into the cushions. It’s strange to have this conversation, knowing you’re talking about two entirely different careers, but feeling like they’re so similar. Maybe it’s just you and Charles that are similar, maybe your jobs have nothing to do with it? You don’t know, you just know it’s nice to feel like someone gets what you’re talking about.

Charles continues, speaking like he’ll explode if he doesn’t get this off his chest, “It’s there all the time, do you know what I mean? Maybe I’m not thinking about it every second, but it’s always there waiting for something to draw attention to it. And people ask what else is going on in my life, and of course I do other things, and I enjoy other things, but I want to be on the track. I want to be driving whenever I can.”

You nod again, more subdued now, “Mmm, right. I want to be making art all the time, and when I can’t it’s like missing a limb. To me art is– it– it’s like–”

“–breathing,” he finishes, almost the lilt of a question to it, but not really, it’s like he knows exactly what you mean… how you feel.

You exhale, long and slow, “Yeah. Like breathing.”

Both of you are quiet for a little after that. You’re trying not to stare at him, but it’s not easy. He’s looking at you almost blatantly and you can feel blood rushing to your cheeks the longer he stares. The air feels thick with some feeling you can’t place. All you know is there are butterflies in your stomach and a smile keeps pulling at the edge of your pursed lips.

The smile takes over as you catch him starry-eyed in your peripheral vision, you mutter, “Stop that. Stop looking at me.”

“Why?”

You tip your head back so you can’t see him looking at you, “Because.”

“Because?” he laughs breathily, shaking his head at you, “Okay, well, tell me if I’m misreading anything, but I’m pretty sure that drawing of me in your notebook says something, at least.”

You run a hand down your face, sighing loudly, “Yes, okay. I suppose it does. But– I–” for a moment you struggle for the right words to explain yourself, “I guess I’m not really looking to date anyone.”

He tilts his head to the side, furrowing his eyebrows and looking for all intents and purposes, like a confused puppy, “You guess?”

You nod, resisting the urge to just launch over the table and grab his face. He is very cute and he is making this so hard for you.

He sucks his teeth briefly, shrugging, “I’m not really either.”

“Alright,” you say, “Good.”

As over as that should make the issue, strangely enough it doesn’t feel like you’re done with Charles Leclerc and it certainly doesn’t feel like he’s done with you either.

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Amalfi Coast, Italy

You try to avoid Charles after that, you really do, but he doesn’t quite let you.

For a few days of the holiday you give him pointed looks and purse your lips a lot when he’s around. Chloe catches on straight away and that makes it all infinitely worse until she finally realises she might need to leave you alone (yeah, shocker). When Chloe finally forces everyone to get off your back about Charles, it becomes much easier to be around him. You’re not glaring at your friends while they make eyes at you, or worrying if you’re acting weird; you’re just allowed to be.

It’s nice. He’s nice.

But you knew that already.

Neither of you are looking for a relationship so there’s no pressure for it to be anything at all. But you have this sneaking suspicion that perhaps both of you are looking for a relationship with eachother regardless. You try to ignore the thought.

On day five, you’re sitting together on an outcropping of rock that overlooks the ocean and you’re letting Charles doodle in your notebook with a ballpoint pen. The bare skin of both your arms are pressed together, they stick with sweat from the hot midday sun but neither of you seem to care. As you watch him doodle inexpertly you can smell him— salt and sweat and whatever cologne he uses masking the very faint scent of burning rubber. Your hair, still damp, brushes his forearm, you wonder if you smell of acrylic paint and mildew from all the water cups you accidentally leave out for your paintbrushes.

You reach out to trace a line he’d made, “Here, it should be more like…” you taper off, taking the pen from his hand and quickly fixing the curve of the beach before handing the utensil back.

“Hmm,” he hums, giggling a little, “I guess that looks better.”

“You guess?”

He nods, “What if I had a very specific vision?”

You raise an eyebrow in disbelief, leaning back to look him in the eye you tease, “A vision. Did you?”

He tilts his head down to look at you. You’re very close now, you can feel his breath fanning over your face. In the reflection of his sunglasses you watch your lips part slightly and your eyelids flutter. Your chest grows tight with anticipation and maybe a little bit of panic. Still, you reach out and slide his sunglasses up to settle in his hair. You’re a little careless, but you like the way his hair pokes out from them at odd angles. As he breathes out you hear it catch for a split second.

“Did you?” you repeat, knowing he won’t remember what you were talking about.

He blinks twice, still staring at you, “Hmm?”

“You said you had a vision,” you breathe.

“Oh,” as he says it, his eyes flicker down to your mouth, only for a second, but it’s long enough to you know you’re done for.

You both lean in at the same time, your noses sliding off each other in your eagerness. You breathe a kind of laugh into his mouth and you feel him try to suppress a smile against your lips. It’s slow for the first few seconds, just you and Charles figuring out how your mouths fit together. His mouth is warm and wet and so soft, and it’s easy to lose yourself in it. You move the hand that had adjusted his sunglasses, sliding it up his shoulder to the back of his muscled neck. Your fingers weave into the short hair at the base of it, your nails scratching absently there. He groans, ever so slightly into your mouth and it sends heat skittering down your spine, into the low of your gut.

The hand of his that isn’t clutching onto your notebook slips forward and winds around to press at your bare back. He pulls you closer to him as you slide your hand up to cup the back of his head, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Soon it’s a mess of tongue and teeth and Charles blindly shoving your notebook somewhere it wont slip into the water so he can grab you with both hands. He tastes like red wine and coffee and you love the way his fingers dig into your skin and the way his teeth have been grazing at your bottom lip, like he wants to sink into it.

You’re almost in his lap when you’re forced to pull away for air.

Foreheads pressed together, you breathe heavily into the space between you. Your hand is still stuck in his hair and one of his on the small of your back, the other holding your knee. The sides of your noses touch, you nudge yours against his affectionately, tempted by the proximity of his mouth.

He laughs and you feel it against your lips, intermingling with your own breath, “Alright. That was–”

“Yeah,” you finish, dipping forward to kiss him again.

You’re lost for another few minutes. Tongue and teeth and the sound of the waves crashing against the rock behind you. And his hand on your jaw and in your hair and pulling you closer closer to him.

He pulls away this time, turning his head to press your cheeks together, mouth at your ear, “So,” he drags the word out with a laugh, “are you looking for a relationship now?”

You snort unceremoniously, and tease, “Hmm. I guess I would be amenable to that.”

“You guess?” he asks— but not really needing to at all because you can feel his dimples pressing into your cheek as he smiles knowingly.

You nod, smiling too, “I guess.”

🎨 yes of course i made a playlist>> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6cAJaZjvK0V7SrmxoMosBX?si=ADlJGHxxQYKnlZ1jWFJxfw&pi=a-AI0MKbo3RTqE

taglist: (pls message if you'd like to be added to the taglist for charles. my yuck! one is full so need to start a new one😭)

[logansargeantsbabymom]

Lonely Christmas

Lando Norris x Fem!Reader

summary: Lando and Y/N decide that they want to play a prank on their fans and the rest of the grid by hinting at breaking up over X (twitter)

warnings: Cursing & “Cheating”

F1 Masterlist

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“hey babe, I have an idea.” I said with a smirk as I plopped myself on the bed next to my Formula 1 race winner boyfriend, Lando Norris.

“Oh no, this doesn’t sound good” Lando says chuckling as he props himself on his elbow to get a better view of me, before leaning down pressing a quick kiss to my lips

“mm, I think we should prank your fans and the grid.” I said with the biggest smile I’ve ever smiled in my life.

“and how do you suppose we do that, hmm?” Lando said, his eyes flickering between my eyes and my lips.

Sitting up and criss cross apple sauce, I stare into his soul “I think we should stage a twitter breakup,” I searched his face for some type of answer

“What? Is this a way of telling me you want to breakup without telling me you want to breakup?” He looks kinda hurt, which quickly prompts me to swing my legs over his body so i’m sitting on his lower torso.

“Absolutely not baby! i love you beyond the galaxy. I just think this would be funny,” i plead but Lando looks unsure “I’ll tell you what to say and all !”

“fine, but only if you let me eat you out, BUT you have to sit on my face” Lando knows I’m insecure about my weight and crushing him to death.

“oh! fine!!” I say plopping right off his body and landing on the bed with a huff. “so i’m gonna tweet something to indicate that we’re breaking up but not actually saying anything”

“and how are you gonna do that-” I quickly interrupt him

“make me cry” i say nonchalantly

“what?” Lando’s face reads 50 shades of Stunned “no, I promised you and your family that the one thing i’d NEVER do to you is make you cry.”

Hearing Lando admit that means the world to me, but i need him to stop being nice and make me cry. It doesn’t take much for me to cry and since Lando doesn’t want to make me cry, I’ll resort to the next best thing: thinking of my (very much alive) dog die.

Just a few seconds of thinking of my (breed/dog) die, the tears well up in my eyes and I let out a choked sob, before whipping my phone out and taking a picture before posting it on twitter with the caption

"nobody wants a lonely Christmas but I'm about to call it quits with you. Breaking up is at the top of my wishlist and baby you don't have a clue."

I flip my phone to show Lando with a smirk plastered on my face. "So, what'd ya think?" I question as I post it and wait a few seconds before twitter starts going absolutely nuts. " wait wait let me read you some of the comments I'm getting, 'slut4ln' says 'NO MOM AND DAD PLEASE STOP FIGHTING' haha look, here's another 'mother/n' said 'mother always knows wtf is up, Lando Norris count your days' !!" the chuckles leaving my lips are loud

"I think that I don't know how to respond to that on twitter," Lando says with a faint chuckle "here, how about you take my phone, type out what you want me to say and then let me read it before posting it." a smirk evident on his face as he hands me his phone, before putting said hand on my thigh, rubbing it up and down.

"What about this...?" I question as I'm typing

"You say our relationships fading and you've been thinking bout leaving and though I know it's the truth I just don't want to believe it. You've gotta be kidding me, are we really breaking up? We just picked out a tree, damn."

"Okay Y/N/N lets give it a second to spread, we have to get juicy comments before we keep going, oh. never mind. George is texting me asking me what the fuck I did and why am I arguing twitter about it"

"fuck it, ignore him. we need to make this believable." I say swiping George's message away. "Opinion on this?"

"wait wait, let me tweet something else before you tweet y/n/n. Here, read this"

"You haven't even left yet and I miss you. I was looking forward to the holidays with you. How could you do this on Christmas, girl that's so malicious? C'mon baby, please don't make me beg cause I can go and date your friend instead. Yeah, I'll put the nut in meg. But If you're thinking about leaving, then I already blew it. screw it, then I guess I'll have to beat you to it, bitch."

"OKAYYYY LANDOOOO LET ME STEP UP MY GAME!!!" I scream as I finished reading his reply after he hit tweet bouncing up and down on the bed in excitement.

"okay, okay what about this for me?" I question as I finish typing, turning my phone so Lando can read what I typed.

"I tell you I love you but I don't really mean it, cause after this Christmas sorry but I'm leaving you."

"I'm starting to feel like you're just soft launching a break up with us right now" Lando says "Why else would you gave suggested a fake twitter break up?"

"Baby, please. This is just for shits and giggles. AHH OH MY GOSH!! OSCAR'S CALLING ME" I screamed in panic as I declined the call. "Lando, I think you need to eat me up in the twitter beef again, put your pretty head to work and think of some insults for me."

"I'm almost done, but first I got a question. Why is it one week before Christmas you feel the need to mention a break up with me is in the process but still pending? Is it depending on your gift and what I'm spending? Or are you fishing for more compliments? Because to my astonishment, you're acting like little kid. Was it something I said?Sometimes my head stops thinking, when I say some stupid shit to you, you know I don't mean it, it's just the season, it's confusing, can we just get along?"

"LANDO MY COMMENTS ARE GOING CRAZYYYY! LOOK" I giggle in excitement as I flip my phone so he can scroll through the comments

slut4ln: MOM AND DAD PLEASE STOP! CHRISTMAS IS RIGHT AROUND THE CORNER AND I CAN'T DEAL WITH A DIVORCE RN

georgeswhore: I wake up from a nap to SEE THESE?!?!?!?!

leclercsgf: What the absolute fuck did they fight about that THEYRE BEEFING ON TWITTER FOR AND AIRING OUT A POTENTIAL BREAKUP???

>y/nforpresident: potential? honey I think they are done

Landoslefttoe: Lando kinda ate mom up though 😭😭

LewisHamilton: Answer your fucking phones now!

CharlesLeclerc: LANDO?? YOU CALL YOUR GIRLFRIEND "BITCH"??

CarlosSainz: Cabron, call me asap and fill me in

LoganSargeant: Does this mean I actually have a chance with Y/n?

"I'm choosing to ignore Logan's comment," Lando said flipping my phone back so I could read it. "When are we gonna go public and say it was a prank?" Lando asks as he readjusts himself on the bed, pulling me down and closer to him so we're cuddling

"We can tell them all tomorrow" I yawn as I cuddle closer to my boyfriend "goodnight handsome"

"Goodnight precious" lando whispers as he kisses my temple

<333333

idk what this is but 🎀😗

@luckyladycreator2 @itsmiamalfoy @jeffs77 @ilivbullyingjeongin @forevercaffeinated-lee @daemyratwst @gulphulp @callsignwidow @f1wintermoon13 @teenwolf01 @victoriassecret101.

https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSesvRpKqBaYY-Ow5IgHoD0gSX6OzJ03qGMXOhHUI6Xg1wfKaA/viewform.

[broidobe]

𝔞𝔵𝔩 𝔯𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔞 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔤 𝔤𝔦𝔯𝔩𝔣𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔫𝔡

requested

𝓼𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓶𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷 ᡣ𐭩 𝓼𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭 𝓸 𝓶𝓲𝓷𝓮 𝜗𝜚 𝓰𝓾𝓷𝓼 𝓷 𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓮𝓼

⁎⁺˳✧༚guns and roses masterlist

the second you two went public, twitter/X threads were FERAL. “she was born after use your illusion,” “what do they even talk about,” “he’s dating someone the same age as sweet child o’ mine”—and axl hates it. not cuz it bothers him, but because he knows it upsets you.

i’ve been called worse by better people, he says, scrolling past the comments with a deadpan expression.

yeah?

yeah. like, you should’ve seen what kurt used to call me. now that was mean.

he’s so defensive over you.

like he’ll be chill 99% of the time, but if anyone dares make a disrespectful joke about your age or imply you’re a gold digger or trophy—he’s going nuclear. zero hesitation.

she’s not with me for money," he’ll growl in an interview. "she has a degree, a career, and a better handle on life than i did at thirty. grow up.

you tease him CONSTANTLY about being old.

you’ll say stuff like omg you were alive during the cold war? and he’ll glare at you with fake betrayal.

you little brat.

me?? i’m just a baby, remember?

yeah, and i’m about to put you in time out.

(but secretly? he lives for your sass. keeps him sharp.)

you steal his sunglasses and band tees all the time.

and he just lets you. he acts annoyed but he loves how you look in them.

you post a mirror pic in his vintage 1988 tour shirt and he comments “keep it.”

then sends you a text five minutes later:

wear nothin’ else when i get home.

he buys you vinyls and rare music memorabilia like love letters.

this is an original pressing of black sabbath’s first album. i got it in ‘71. it still plays.

you’re giving this to me?

you’re mine, aren’t you?

(dies)

lowkey insecurity moment from YOU?? yes.

you overhear some fans say you’re only with him for fame, or that he’s just having a midlife crisis, and it eats at you a little.

you don’t say anything, but axl notices.

you’re quieter. won’t meet his eyes. smile’s a little dimmer.

so he sits you down and goes

you know why i’m with you?

...why?

because you look at me like i’m still me. not just… axl fucking rose.

you are axl fucking rose.

no. with you, i’m just axl. the dumbass who forgets where he left his phone. the guy who can’t stop writing songs at 3am. yours. and that’s all i wanna be.

(you sobbed. admit it.)

on stage he’s SO MUCH WORSE.

he’ll make eye contact with you in the crowd and smirk like the devil himself.

dedicates “you could be mine” to you with that glint in his eye.

you’re bright red. the crowd goes nuts. he thrives.

he tells the guys you saved his life.

not in a dramatic, rom-com way. in the quiet moments.

she makes me wanna stick around.

like. not just for the band. or the fans. but... life, y’know?

and they all get it. and they’re so glad he found you.

he spoils you, brags about you, kisses your forehead like he’s saying a prayer, and goes a little crazy every time you wear red lipstick.

you bring youth back into his world.

he brings depth into yours.

together, you’re chaos and comfort.

[maplesyrupsainz]

˖⁺｡˚⋆˙i see u everywhere | 2023 grid˖⁺｡˚⋆˙

pt1

pairing: 2023 f1 grid x nepo baby y/n prost reader (she/her)

genre: social media au

warnings: nepo baby spoiled girl tbh!!! her father is alain prost :-)

summary: in which she is famous for doing almost nothing and being best friends with f1 drivers

a/n: multiple parts tehe this is so fun tbh hope u enjoy i loved this request 😊

request!!!!: I would love a smau with reader who’s a nepo baby but is everyone’s fave nepo because she’s just living life aesthetically and the grid loves her and she’s hinting at a soft launch (idrc with which driver)

fc: gracie burns

my masterlist

part 1 • part 2 • part 3 •

twitter ->

instagram ->

yourusername

liked by charles_leclerc, lance_stroll, and 738,193 others

yourusername get u a man that looks at u the way charles looks at the puppy

view all 11,103 comments

user4 get u a girl tht looks like y/n. period

yourusername that too

charles_leclerc why you sharing private moments

yourusername it's just a dog

charles_leclerc this is why you are single y/n

danielricciardo no it's actually because she keeps rejecting lando's advances

landonorris even i wouldn't want a dog hater

yourusername can you all piss off my post the reason im single is because im a feminist

charles_leclerc you weren't a feminist on friday night lance has the texts to prove it

yourusername im blocking you

user5 SHE IS SO INSANELY GORGEOUS

user6 someone leak lance's texts from friday night

lilymhe

liked by yourusername, alex_albon, and 523,182 others

lilymhe can you tell my girl came to visit

tagged: yourusername

view all 6,819 comments

alex_albon oh so this is why my girlfriend hasnt text me back

yourusername my bad

alex_albon someone please wife her up

danielricciardo @.landonorris that's ur cue mate

landonorris she keeps rejecting me don't rub it in i beg

lilymhe shut up everyone me & y/n are trying to make out i mean hang out

user7 i love them

user8 oh to be y/n prost

user9 does anyone else lowkey ship y/n & lando

yourusername

liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, 909,783 others

yourusername visiting my second fav ferrari driver in his home cuntry

view all 14,193 comments

charles_leclerc ❤️❤️❤️

landonorris put some clothes on y/n!

danielricciardo jealousy jealousy

user10 omg lando is down bad for her

carlossainz55 second favourite??? huh this is not what you were saying last night

yourusername WHAT??!

landonorris ????

lance_stroll carlos sainz u dirty dog

carlossainz55 what!!! it was because i cooked her favourite dish

user11 omg i screamed at this...

user12 there r two types of ppl: y/n x lando shippers or y/n x carlos shippers

user13 no im a secret third thing.. a y/n x charles shipper

user14 why is it crickets for y/n x lance????

user15 y/n x daniel found dead

twitter ->

instagram ->

lance_stroll posted a story

liked by yourusername, danielricciardo, and 827,102 others

danielricciardo pls invite me next time

user16 ugh i love her

user17 she is the prettiest girl in the world

landonorris put in a good word for me

user18 how does she do it fr

twitter ->

instagram ->

yourusername

liked by lance_stroll, georgerussell63, and 698,293 others

yourusername girls girls girls

tagged: yourbff, lilymhe

view all 7,830 comments

lilymhe hot moms hot moms hot moms

yourbff u cant say we're moms ppl will think ur pregnant lily

yourusername no it's me😊 im a mother to the entire grid

user22 Omg not y/n calling the grid children

yukitsunoda0511 hi y/n

landonorris heyyy

danielricciardo what's up?

charles_leclerc hello y/n/n

yourbff wtf why is everyone down bad for you

yourusername they just want attention

user23 the comments 💀 so real

user24 who wants y/n more me or every single f1 driver

landonorris posted a story

liked by yourbff, oscarpiastri, and 385,231 others

user25 URMMM LANDO?

user26 GET A JOB STAY AWAY FROM HER

lilymhe dating rumours in 3, 2,...

landonorris delusional if anyone thinks i could pull y/n

yourbff how badly do u want her

landonorris no comments

user27 in my mind u & y/n have been together for 5 years and u got married recently

yourusername

liked by lilymhe, taylorswift, and 1021,183 others

yourusername met u at the riiight time

view all 18,193 comments

user28 is that...... hear me out.... lando norris?

lilymhe ❤️

yourbff 🧡

user29 THE HEARTS I CANT

user30 Y/N ARE YOU EFFING SOFT LAUNCHING RIGHT NOW

user31 her soft launching after the undeniable gf material pic of her on lando's story yesterday???

danielricciardo aww y/n has a soft spot

yourusername not for you i dont

danielricciardo you have so much anger in you y/n

oscarpiastri i suggest therapy to her almost everyday

yourusername u ppl are so mean dont be surprised when im not around next season

landonorris dont make unfunny jokes y/n

user32 hmmmm 🧐

twitter ->

instagram ->

ynprostupdates

liked by user15, user34, and 39,293 others

ynprostupdates an instagram post from y/n today including what looks to be a soft launch picture, along with an instagram story posted by f1 mclaren driver lando norris last night has led to connections being made that the two are dating. this is 100% alleged with little further connections being made outside of flirty comments on y/n's social medias. other connections being made by fans include other f1 drivers charles leclerc, carlos sainz and oscar piastri. what are everyone's thoughts on y/n's potential new f1 man?

view all 11,193 comments

user37 LOL stop this madness!!!

user38 i rly think it's someone we wouldn't expect at all

user39 me too if they were trying to be subtle about it they wouldnt be posting stories & flirting like with lando, this feels like a distraction from the truth so they can fly under the radar !!

user40 y/n seems more like the grid mother atp

user41 i would love for it to be charles besties to lovers🥹🥹

user42 imagine it's someone random she barely interacts with like max or pierre

yourusername hahah all will be revealed in time my lovelies

ynprostupdates omg y/n🥹 leak to us!!

twitter ->

THE END 🤍

[forever-rogue]

I saw this one post on Twitter of how this girl’s bf pre-padded her underwear for her when she was in the shower and I thought it would be a cute idea if you wrote something like this for Eddie?

AN | No, but this is so sweet! Eddie would totally be that boyfriend. 💕

Warnings | Language, Reader has period

Pairing | Eddie x Fem!Reader

Word Count | 2.6k

Masterlist | Main, Eddie

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

You groaned as you flopped onto your bed, tired and hungry, and feeling like your insides were eating themselves. You laid there for a moment before, wondering if you could kick off your pants and just continue lying there. It was a feeble attempt and didn’t get you very far and it just made things even more uncomfortable. 

“Fuck,” with a heavy sigh, you rolled onto your back and stared at your ceiling, breathing in and out slowly in order to attempt to quell your internal turmoil, “fuck.”

Before you could get up, your phone buzzed next to you. When you grabbed it and saw that there was a new text from Eddie, you immediately felt better. And then remembered that you were supposed to spend the night at his place tonight. Now you weren’t so sure that you should. Not that you were weirded out by having your period in front of Eddie, or that Eddie would be grossed out by it, you were genuinely feeling terrible…and mildly worried about Eddie witnessing you having your period.

But you really wanted to see Eddie. It had been a few days since you’d seen him, both of you busy with work and other fun adult things, and you’d been missing him a lot. You were going to see him, you decided, he was worth dealing with a little pain. 

You texted him back and let him know that you’d be over soon, but also warned him that your period had started. Just in case you got there and fell asleep within minutes after eating a bar of chocolate. 

After you managed to peel yourself off the bed, you packed your overnight bag and headed to Eddie’s apartment. If there was anything that could make you feel better it was Eddie and motrin. You’d consumed the one and were only a short drive away from the other.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Eddie opened the door for you before you even managed to knock, a pretty smile on his face and his big brown eyes alive and bright. 

“Hey baby,” he took your bag from you before wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling in you for a sweet kiss, “missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you too,” his sweet words always still managed to make your face warm up. You wrapped your arms around him and hugged tightly onto him, causing him to laugh softly. He set down your bag before hugging you back just as fiercely, before taking your face in his hands and peppering your face in gentle kisses.

“There’s my girl,” he whispered as finally managed to put a proper smile on your face, “I’m sorry you’re suffering. But I’m glad you’re here so I can hopefully make you feel better.”

“Just seeing you has made me feel better,” you promised, “besides, it’s not like you made me get my period.”

“No…but I can help you get rid of it,” it took you a moment to catch onto what he was saying - until you saw the smirk and raised eyebrow on his face, “for a while anyway.”

“I…Eddie,” you playfully shoved him as the two of you laughed, your face warm at the idea of getting pregnant by him, “first of all - you’re the worst. And second of all, let’s get back to that discussion in a few years.”

He didn’t say anything but he managed to make a small sound in the back of the throat, that sounded almost strained. He was immediately struggling not to let his mind wander too far in that direction just yet, “yeah - yeah, c’mon. Tell me how to make it better. Have you eaten? Are you hydrated? Need a nap?”

“Yes…ish to both of those,” you offered him a sheepish expression as you walked into the kitchen to get yourself some water. He trailed after you with an incredulous look on his face. He definitely wouldn’t have been able to handle it as well as you, “I’ve been working and dying, Eddie. I haven’t had time to worry about anything!”

“Well, how about you let me make it better? I’m going to make dinner and you’re going to take a nice, hot shower,” he started to usher you towards the bathroom, “I’ve heard that can help. So hopefully it does. I got that body wash and shampoo and conditioner that you like too. You’re here enough anyway, figured it’d be nice for you to have some stuff here.”

“You did that for me?” you turned around and looked at him with wide eyes as he slowly nodded.  Your heart warmed; you had been spending more and more time at his place and it was nice to have things moving in that direction. You did want to move in with him soon - everytime you imagined your future it was always with Eddie. You sighed softly, “that’s so sweet, Eddie. Thank you.”

“Nothing to thank me for,” he insisted, “I just want you to be comfortable and feel better.”

“Do you know one thing that would help even more?” you offered him a coy smile which was answered with a soft laugh.

“You want some of my clothes for pajamas?” he asked as you nodded eagerly, “one step ahead of you. I’ve got a fresh towel and clean clothes for you in the towel warmer.”

Before he met you, he’d never have even considered a towel warmer. Hell, he didn’t even know that people actually owned them. It seemed like such a ridiculous luxury, and maybe it was, but he was willing to listen. You’d insisted that he needed one and that they were totally worth it…the next time you were over at his place, he’d bought a towel warmer. 

“You are amazing, Eddie Munson,” you pulled him in for a kiss and let your lips linger against his. His arms wrapped around you without hesitation as he kissed you a few more times, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” his big brown eyes grew soft as he practically turned to putty in your arms, “now go and get comfy and warm and I’ll make dinner.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Eddie had gone in and turned on the shower, turning it to the perfect temper. You’d shaken your head at him, but before he left you to your own devices, he helped you to gently strip off your clothes. It was such a small, intimate thing, but it meant so much to you. Once you were rid of all your clothing, Eddie held your hand as you stepped into the shower.  He gave you a small kiss before heading back to the kitchen to finish dinner. 

When Eddie had said that he’d purchased a few of your things to keep at his place, he wasn’t kidding. Along with the things he used, where all the things you loved and kept at your own apartment were in the shower. He was always doing things like this, things that he thought were so small and insignificant but that meant so much to you. 

You took your sweet time to get clean, relishing the feel of the hot water on your skin before reluctantly stepping out of the shower. Once you stepped out of the shower and opened the towel warmer, you were greeted by the sight of a big, fluffy towel along with a fresh set of Eddie's clothes. They happened to be some of your favorites that you often stole from him. 

But it was the sight on the countertop that caught your eye and piqued your curiosity. It was clean underwear that happened to have a fresh pad stuck to it. You raised an eyebrow but your heart melted at the gesture. Eddie had this planned all along. 

You dried yourself off and slipped on the clean underwear and clothes before slipping out of the bathroom. You heard Eddie in the kitchen, singing softly to himself as he shuffled around. You loved this man. Truly, fully, so much that it made your heart ache. 

He stopped as soon as he heard you, looking up to catch your eye and offer you a small smile. He looked so pretty with his hair piled on top of his in a bun, sporting a pair of gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt. It was ridiculous the effect the simple clothing had on you.

“Hey baby,” he whispered softly, “feeling better?”

“Much,” you confirmed as you went over to him and pressed a kiss to his cheek, “thank you for everything. The underwear…where did you get that idea? I wasn't expecting it, but it was really nice. No one’s ever done anything like that for me.”

“It wasn’t…a big deal,” his cheeks turned a pretty shade of pink as he tried to play it off, “I, umm, I saw some people mention it on twitter and yeah. It was just an idea. You’re dealing with enough right now, so it just seemed like an easy thing to do.”

“Well, I appreciate it very much,” you promised, gently nudging his hip with yours, “I appreciate you very much, Eddie. Thank you.”

He mumbled something in response as he focused his attention on his pan. He wasn’t one to look for praise and you knew that the attention sometimes made him shy. You made sure he knew just how much you loved and cherished him. 

You grabbed some plates and helped him to finish up dinner. He tried to protest but you ignored him; you wanted to help him. You liked working together, you were a team after all.

When he grabbed plates and piled them with food, you were excited to see that he had made your favorites. He had really gone all out just to make you feel better. 

The two of you took your time eating, before moving to the couch and cuddling up next to each other. You were tucked into Eddie’s side with his arm around you, your favorite place to be, with a big, warm blanket thrown over the two of you. Eddie had let you take your pick of what to watch and you’d settled on a true crime documentary. He never understood why you were able to relax to such things, but he never questioned it. He just enjoyed it along with you. 

You made it about halfway through the first episode of the series before you felt yourself nodding off. You tried to fight it but eventually gave in and let yourself fall asleep. Eddie hadn’t been surprised, but glad you were able to relax. He paused the show and made sure you were as comfortable as possible as he let you sleep for a bit. Before it got too late, he’d wake you up to go to bed. 

Eddie pressed a kiss to the top of your head, making sure you were as comfortable as possible. You were still semi-aware, in that almost asleep but still mildly awake state, and you were almost positive that you heard Eddie singing softly under his breath. It was sweet, warm and rich, and you were pulled into the siren’s call of slumber and fell asleep.

You weren’t sure how much time had passed before you were gently woken by Eddie. You blinked a few times to clear away the bleariness and found him smiling at you. He gently brushed some of your hair out of your face, brushing his knuckles tenderly against your cheek.

“I think it’s time for bed, huh pretty girl?” he whispered as you nodded meekly. Getting into bed and wrapped up with him sounded like almost heaven. You slowly climbed up and off the couch, stretching slowly to wake up your tired bones and muscles. Eddie follow up suit before wrapped his arms around your waist and slowly padding along with you to his bedroom, “wanna know a secret?”

“Tell me,” you murmured as he pressed a big kiss to your cheek, causing you to laugh softly.

“I always sleep better with you,” he confessed softly, almost unsure if he should have admitted it to you, “I can’t wait till we can sleep together every night.”

That was enough to make your heart flutter with excitement and nerves. Eddie was definitely part of your future, but it still made you feel good to know that you were part of his too. 

“Me too, Eddie,” you promised and then you remembered your current predicament, “oh. Are you sure you want me to sleep in your bed?”

“Umm,” he looked at you, brows creasing in confusion, “yes? Why wouldn’t I?”

“What if I….bleed on your sheets or something?” your face warmed up as you tried not to think about the embarrassment you’d feel if that actually happened, “I don’t want to make it gross.”

“Baby,” so soft and tender that it almost made you cry, “I’m not worried about a little blood. It’s not disgusting or gross at all. If it happens, we’ll wash the sheets and call it a day. The only thing I’m worried about is making sure you’re doing okay.”

“I….yeah,” you looked at him with teary eyes and he smiled fondly at you before wiping away the tears that rolled down your cheeks, “I’m doing alright. Because of you - you’ve made me feel a lot better.”

“And to think you were going to cancel on me,” he tutted softly as he ushered you into the bedroom and started to turn down the bed, “you know you never have to hide anything from me.  I want to hear everything, all the good and all the bad.”

“I know,” you admitted softly, “it seems so silly now.”

“Well you are a member of the silly goose society,” he kissed the tip of your nose as you snorted in amusement, “anything else you need before we get in bed?”

“I just have to use the bathroom and then I’ll be good to go,” you started padding towards the bathroom. Eddie trailed after you, already reaching into the cabinet under the sink to grab a fresh pad for you. You reached for it to replace the one you had just tossed into the trash but Eddie didn’t let you take it, instead sticking it into your underwear for you, “thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” he whispered, “it’s not a big deal at all. Need some painkillers or anything?”

“I just need you,” you grinned, washing your hands before letting Eddie pulled back towards the bed.

“You’re in luck,” he slid under the covers, holding them up so you could get in after him, “I’m all yours and I’m ready to cuddle.”

“Sounds perfect,” Eddie immediately pulled you into his arms, tangling his limbs with yours. You relaxed and melted into him, his warm body having a soothing effect on yours, “I love you, Eddie.”

“I love you too, baby,” he wrapped his arm around your waist and pressed a row of kisses to your shoulder, “get some rest. And if you need anything at all, just tell me, okay?”

“I will,” you squeezed his hand, “promise me you’ll always tell me if you need anything too.”

“I promise always,” he said through a yawn that you ended up echoing, “good night, sweetheart.”

“Good night, Eddie.”

[demie90s]

(You already know who I finna do it about😏. Flaujae. I’m doing it for Flaujae.)

Name-Dropper

Flau’jae Johnson x fem!reader

MASTERLIST | MORE

Summary: Your already known in the industry—rapper, influencer, and little sister to a hip-hop icon. But when I drop my debut album and name-drop Flau’jae the internet goes feral.

Warnings: Explicit lyrics, strong language, suggestive content, public tension, mutual obsession

Word count~ 0.3k

My name been in rooms I wasn’t even old enough to walk in.

People like to think I came outta nowhere, but they forget—I been around legends since I was in baby Phat. My debut wasn’t a SoundCloud freestyle or TikTok snippet. Nah. It was a feature. On a Lil Wayne track. And Nicki Minaj too. I was 16. Still in uniform. Spit a 12-bar verse in one take while Birdman watched from the booth. They said I had Lauren Hill in my tone, Foxy in my eyes, and Missy in my pen. But none of that meant anything to me. ‘Cause that was just a Tuesday. And Lauren? That’s Mama.

Yeah. That Lauryn Hill.

And no, I didn’t grow up easy because of it. She made me earn everything. Said talent wasn’t enough. Said this world eats girls like me for breakfast. I ain’t even get my first cosign from her until I sold out SOBs off a mixtape.

So when I dropped my first full album this year, it was a moment. No skips. All truth. I poured every version of me into those songs. The sweet, the rage, the divine, the down bad. And yeah, I talked about women. Real plain. Real casual. I always have. But one track? One track had a name.

“Flau’jae.”

Didn’t censor it. Didn’t hide it in a metaphor. I spelled it out in the second verse, clear as day.

“If I’m ever courtside, she better stretch right / ’Cause I’ve been plotting since her mixtape mic nights / Said she only do music, I’m tryna change types—”

Twitter exploded. Blogs ran wild. “Who’s the mystery rapper obsessed with Flau’jae Johnson?” “Are we witnessing the start of the gayest beef-turned-fling of the year?” Meanwhile, I was eating shrimp in Turks like it wasn’t my name trending in every bracket forum.

I waited weeks. No response. No shade. No bars. Silence. So I popped out.

LSU’s game was packed. Student section going feral. I pulled up like the stage was mine. High boots, trench dragging, lips glossy and outlined, camera-ready. I sat courtside. Dead in front of the bench.

She didn’t look at me first. She waited ‘til the second quarter. Fast break, finish at the rim, crowd goes wild. Then, just before the inbound—she glanced. A real look. The kind that makes your chest clench.

Game ends. LSU wins. I knew they would. Then the mic hits.

Unannounced performance. Special guest. I step onto the court with a live band, no background vocals, no dancers. Just me. Beat drops. Track seven. The crowd screams before I even open my mouth.

I walk the court like a runway. Rap her name right to her. Let the lyrics drip from my lips slow. I don’t wink. I don’t flirt. I tell the truth.

And Flau’jae? She don’t hide it. Don’t duck. She just smiles. Cool. Collected.

I finish the song and walk off to a standing ovation like I didn’t just confess on national television. Two days later, she posts a story. Black screen. White text.

“Type changed.🐯”

I just smiled.

’Cause mama didn’t raise no fool. She raised a legend.

@xxsnowxx213 @draculara-vonvamp @kcannon-1436-blog @zizi-bee-yapping @kaliblazin @perksofbeingatrex @soapyonaropey

[aquaholicsanonymousworld]

Take Him

Pairing: Josh Allen x Popstar!Reader

Summary: After Josh Allen’s ex leaves a shady Instagram comment, someone claps back in her defense. In retaliation, the ex escalates things, calling Josh a “brain-dead CTE athlete.” The internet erupts, with fans and NFL players calling out the disrespect. Josh wants to ignore it. She doesn’t.

Inspired by: It's ok, I'm ok by Tate Mcrae

She wasn’t new to the internet. She knew how people talked. Knew how exes loved to reappear the second something good started happening. But this was next level.

It started as a casual Instagram post—a simple game day pic, her wearing a Bills hoodie, captioned “Go Bills ❤️”.

And then the comment from Josh’s ex. "Funny seeing her wear that hoodie. Just remember, I had him first. ❤️"

Dawson Knox: "First doesn’t mean best. We in the NFL, not preschool."

Less than an hour later, she fired back.

"Luckily, my boyfriend owns a team and doesn’t play for one. Don’t have to be with another brain-dead CTE athlete."

And just like that—the internet exploded.

THE INTERNET WENT WILD.

PopCultureBuzz (@PopCultureBuzz): "Did Josh Allen’s ex REALLY just go there??? This is INSANE."

NFL Memes (@NFL_Memes): "Calling an NFL player a ‘brain-dead CTE athlete’ is actually sick. Like… huh???"

Bills Mafia Fans: "Not even we talk about our guys like that. Josh won, we don’t claim her."

Her phone lit up with messages—everyone asking if she’d seen it. If she was going to respond.

She stared at her screen, letting out a slow exhale.

Slowly a smirk started forming. "Oh, okay. She wants to play."

Josh, sitting beside her on the couch, groaned. "Just ignore it, babe."

But she had other plans.

She was in the studio the next morning.

Sitting with her producer, humming a melody, flipping through her notes until she landed on a phrase she had scribbled down the second she saw the comment:

"It's ok, I'm ok…"

And just like that, the song came to life.

A song dripping in sarcasm, mocking the idea that his ex still had any power over their relationship.

It's okay, I'm okay, had him in the first place It's okay, I'm okay (okay)

By the time the track was finished, she knew exactly what she was going to do.

So, baby, don't get this twisted (hey) No, nothin' could make me miss it Take him, he's yours

She teased it on Instagram, just a short clip of her at the mic, captioned:

"You had him first? Cool. I have him last. 🖤 #ItsOkImOk"

PopCultureBuzz (@PopCultureBuzz): “Wait… this is DEFINITELY about Josh Allen’s ex???”

NFL Memes (@NFL_Memes): “‘Take him, he’s yours’—OH SHE WENT FOR THE THROAT.”

Bills Mafia Fans: “This is our new anthem. No notes.”

He was mid-film session when his phone started blowing up.

Knox nudged him, holding up Twitter, "Bro… what did your girl just drop??"

Josh sighed, already knowing.

He opened his messages—yep, there it was. A text from her.

“Don’t be mad 😘”

Josh rubbed his temples, shaking his head. When he heard her voice dripping in sarcasm, flipping the whole ‘I had him first’ thing back on the ex?

He grinned. Oh yeah. She was absolutely unhinged. And he loved it.

She was at home, scrolling through the chaos, when Josh walked in, shaking his head.

"Really?" He held up his phone, playing her song back to her.

She grinned. "Really."

Josh sighed, setting his phone down before grabbing her waist and pulling her close.

"You are… completely unhinged."

She smirked, looping her arms around his neck. "You love it."

Josh chuckled, kissing her forehead. "Yeah, I do."

And just like that, the song was out and his ex was claiming she got "hacked."

[madridfangirl]

Tit for Tat

(Jude Bellingham blurb)

It was evening in Madrid & morning in San Francisco when Jude's phone pinged.

'Hey.'

It was his girlfriend. One of his few silver linings in this otherwise shitty year. Jude smiled & picked up the phone immediately.

'Heyyy wassup.'

'You tell me. Wassup with you?'

'Not much. Had an okay training. Not looking forward to this weekend's game. Gonna be shite, all our backline is out.'

'Hmmm.'

'But only a few games to go. Then hopefully we rebuild. That's what we are telling ourselves.

'Hmmm.'

'To lift the spirits you know. And to keep going.'

'Your spirits seem to be fine.'

Jude thought it was a compliment. In their 1.5 years together, he had learnt to read sarcasm in her voice but was still catching up on text.

'Yeah well, someone needs to keep it cheerful in the dressing room.'

He smiled to himself while typing back. But when she didn't respond for 30 seconds, that was his first clue that something was off.

'Not just in the dressing room.'

His mind started whirring at supersonic pace. What was this about? He went to Twitter & searched his name. Most hits were about the game from a day before. He had actually done decently well in the match. Not great but not bad either.

When nothing came up, he had to ask.

'Umm what?'

She sent him links to two post match photos. With fans. Girls.

And Jude stiffened. But tried to downplay it. Coz there was nothing there, not really.

'What about them?'

'You tell me.'

'Just normal pics with fans.'

'Are they? Normal?'

'Yes.'

'The face you're making in the second one? BOTH her arms around you? Normal?'

Jude tried calling her but she disconnected at first ring. He sighed & went back to typing.

'She was just really excited to be there. Die hard long term fan. Like you. She was just giddy with excitement so we took a goofy photo. That's all.'

He knew she wasn't the kind to get jealous easily. She actually gave him a fairly long rope and understood some aspects that came with his job. Something must have really ticked her off about these ones.

The silence from her was making him jittery. He looked at the second photo again & something clicked in his head.

'It's the cheeks, isn't it?'

'What do you think?'

Yeah it was the cheek touching. Clear as day now.

He tried video-calling this time. Same result. Disconnected.

'Pls dove, lemme see you. Let's talk.'

Few seconds later, she called back. Audio call. That was all he was gonna get.

'Heyyy. So listen - like I said it all happened in a blur and I didn't realise that...'

'...that she's wrapped around you? And you're humouring it?'

Jude took a deep breath. Her tone was calm, too calm for his liking.

'Babyy....'

'Don't baby me.'

'I don't know what else to say really. Like...I hear you and I'd try to be more mindful but honestly...in that moment it was just normal. Harmless. Like you needed to be there to feel it.'

'The first one was harmless too?'

Something in her tone threw him off. It looked perfectly harmless. The photo. Then how could she possibly know?

'What do you mean?'

'Oh stop playing dumb. You know what I mean. Did she try something?'

Jude scratched his head. Literally. Because how the hell could she possibly know? Maybe female intuition was really a thing.

'Ermm...'

'What...did she do? Out with it.'

Jude felt like a schoolkid being reprimanded in the principal's office.

'Kinda...pressed her...herself...into me...a bit....but I pulled away soon.'

Ananya was quiet. She just felt that vibe from her instantly. Like many others who didn't shy away from trying with Jude. Perfectly ok to be a one night thing or a side squeeze for him. Shooting their shot even when they knew he was taken. The absolute lack of self-respect pissed her off. Sadly, there were too many to count. So much, that she was losing her faith in women in general.

'Bab.....dove, say something pls.'

She didn't. Coz she was mad.

'The first one was not my fault. I swear. Like I pulled away. I swear.'

She believed him on this. Could sense it from his tone. But these photos on her feed is what she woke up to and that made her cranky. Mostly at others but a little bit at him too. For being so delectable that everyone just wanted a piece.

The second photo continued to irk her though. For fuck's sake, her & Jude had an exact photo like this. Cheeks squishing & all. And she knew that Jude knew he was flirting with the line there. He knew it, but still made that fucking face, humouring that stranger.

Naah, he wasn't getting away with that.

'Hello hello. Earth to dove - you're freaking me out & you know it.'

'Maybe this could be a life lesson.'

Her tone changed, even calmer now. Jude sat up on the couch, his video game on pause, his snack forgotten.

'Like how?'

'Like every action has an equal & opposite reaction.'

Ok, this was NOT good.

'What are you plotting?'

'Plotting? Ooh such a harsh word. I was just wondering, since you find that photo soooo normal, it's only fair if I get one too right? With another man?'

Pin Drop silence. Heavy breathing. Just like she expected.

What a joy it was to give him a taste of his own medicine. So much fun. So she doubled down.

'Remember the guy who sits next to me in economics, the one who came to drop by the notes to my apartment when you were here? He's quite friendly. Maybe I'll go thank him today with a hug like that. And capture the harmless moment.'

Still silence. On second thoughts, she should have taken the video call. To see his face right now would be precious.

'Fine, you made your point. Let's drop it. Now.'

His tone turned deep. Authoritative. And that pissed her off even more. He didn't fucking have a leg to stand on right now & he had the balls to dictate things to her? To hell with that.

'Oh you'll know when I have made my point. You'll SEE it.'

'ANANYA - Be reasonable.'

'Naah that's boring.'

Jude shut his eyes & exhaled loudly, nostrils flaring, composing himself.

She was so fucking far, on a fucking different continent. If she were close by, he had multiple ways to resolve an argument like this, to shut her up creatively and make her forget everything else other than his name. He was itching to grab her right now but sadly, he couldn't.

He knew confrontation won't work, it would push her to do something STUPID. So he had to try a different tactic.

Tool 1: logic.

'I didn't go & do it myself. It happened to me.'

'Things can happen to me too. Many things. I just don't let them. By drawing a line. It's quite basic, not rocket science.'

And just like that, his logic went out the window.

On to tool 2: emotional blackmail.

'Dove, you know I'm trying. You know I can be stupid at times when I don't mean it. You know I love you.'

Now that would have worked in other situations. But she was on guard today. Plus, the impact of it would be magnified with a classic Jude hug, him clinging to her, nuzzling his face into her neck. But distance didn't allow that & it made her not fold.

'It's fun to be the stupid one at times. Wanna see what it feels like.'

Last tool in his arsenal: guilt.

'So you'll hurt me knowingly, yeah? That's what you wanna do? Hurt your baby?'

'Oh...you little.....I HATE YOU.'

This was the window he needed. The chink in the armor he was waiting for.

'And I love you.'

'You bloody ass. I know what you're doing. Don't think you'll win like this.'

'Win? How could I possibly win when you're so far away? When I haven't held you in 2 months? Fuck that win.'

'Fuck YOU.'

'Pls do. I'm dying out here.'

'JUDE BELLINGHAM....'

'Okay okay I'm sorry. How about this? You wanna get back at me? Fine won't stop you. But do it when you're here in 3 weeks for your field trip. When I'm around, when I can come get you if needed. Just....give me that.'

'I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself. Don't need my prince charming to come save me.'

'I know. But just for my peace of mind? Am sure you can find someone here.'

She was tempted to say 'what if that's someone from the club?' but she held back. Jude had no sense of humour when it came to her & she knew it won't go down well. It was a step too far. She didn't wanna hurt him that much. Just a tad bit.

For Jude, it was a calculated bet. It bought him time. And even if the thought was still fresh in her head when she came to Madrid, he'd fuck it right out of her senses. All he needed was to get his hands on her once.

'Fine.'

'You're the best you know.'

'I do know.'

'That's my girl.'

'The jury is still out on that.'

'The jury has already announced my punishment. Can we put this behind us now? Wanna see you.'

'Getting late for class.'

'I'll wait.'

'Class is for 4 hours back to back.'

'That's fine.'

'You have training in the morning.'

'Dove I won't be able to sleep till I see you properly. So call me when you're back, I'll be up. Need this.'

'...Ok.'

'I'm waiting.'

'Ok.'

'Bye love.'

'Bye Jude.'

......................................................

Don't ask me why I wrote this? Even I don't know. Just happened 🤷‍♀️

[kpeanuts]

@tadc-funfair-au's Pomctober/Pomni Inktober Day 5 - @sm-baby's Carnival AU

WALL OF TEXT INCOMING

Hands down, no competition, my favorite AU to read and learn about as it unfolds. On the other hand, this might be the one that I am least proud of after drawing. I know I said that I'd come out swinging for Day 5, but I legitimately couldn't find the vision. I feel like I made so, so many mistakes just on this one alone. Ignoring the practical mistakes for a second, for some reason, I had such a hard time thinking on what I wanted to have as the setting. I thought of using Pomni's tent with her on the dive-board or on a pedestal you see the ringmaster standing on, then I thought in the bedroom hallway, and even after sleeping on it I still couldn't get it right. Eventually I just decided to draw sentient Pomni outside of Kinger's throne room (at least I'm pretty sure Kinger would have an ornate entryway to his room, idk). I'm absolutely terrible at drawing environments, interior or otherwise, only reason why I thought Day 3's background looked remotely good was because I was able to use the horror aspect of it to cover it up, but Carnival doesn't have the same attributes to use as a veil. But it's whatever, I can't bring myself to touch the file further since I know that it's just going to get worse.

I'm going to skip over Day 6 completely for two reasons: One, refresh my mind in terms of drawing TADC and do research for Day 7. Two, I don't feel like logging into Instagram (or twitter, which means that I'm going to skip over Day 10 as well).

Now, while I am going to stop drawing TADC and Pomctober for tomorrow, I've found another Inktober prompt list, Goretober. So I'm going to just do a few drawings for that one and warning people in advance that do not wish to see that kind of stuff: PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY, GO SET YOUR FILTERED TAGS TO INCLUDE "cw: guro", "cw: blood", "cw: death" AND/OR "cw: gore"! I'll be including the Violence content label but this is just for good measure.

With that, finally, I'm done with the usual ranting. Again, I'm going to be posting a few very violent and bloody sketches for Goretober later on, so go filter out the tags I listed above by going to "Settings" > "Account" > "Content you see" > "Filtered Tags". Those posts won't be showing up often, and I might make an entirely separate blog in the future just to make sure that my usual content isn't mixed in with the mature. I shall leave you with that warning, and safe travels!