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neferaskingdom · 8 months ago

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♡ Vegas Baby | MV1

NEFERASKINGDOM

Summary: After winning his fourth world championship, Max Verstappen stuns the world with a live radio proposal.

A/N: This was inspired by this post by @altxanna idea so good it made me get over my writer's block and write this 4.2k monstrosity.

MAX VERSTAPPEN MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST

Max Verstappen crossed the finish line in fifth place, but that didn’t matter. The entire world was fixated on the fact that he had just won his fourth World Championship.

“AND MAX VERSTAPPEN DOES IT AGAIN! FOUR WORLD TITLES!” David Croft shouted, his voice teetering on the edge of hysteria. The Las Vegas skyline lit up like a fireworks display on overdrive, the crowd roaring in approval.

“Forget where he finished—he’s a four-time world champion!” Martin Brundle yelled, equally excited. “This is history!”

Max, however, barely seemed to notice he’d crossed the line in fifth. He was just… Max. Calm. Collected. His voice came through the radio, steady as always, but with a hint of amusement.

“Thanks, guys. It’s been an incredible season. I’m so proud of the team. Huge thanks to GP, Christian, everyone.”

“You’ve done it, Max! Four-time champion, man!” GP screamed, clearly unable to keep the excitement in. “This is massive, mate! You’ve earned this!”

“Yeah, I know,” Max said, his voice deadpan. “But listen, there’s one more thing.”

The radio went quiet for a second.

“Uh… What’s that, Max?” GP asked, his tone suddenly cautious.

Max didn’t respond right away. Then, he casually dropped the bomb.

“Y/n, a bet’s a bet. We’re getting married tonight.”

“WHAT?!” GP exploded. “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST SAY?”

Max’s tone didn’t change. “We’re getting married. Vegas chapel. Tonight.”

The entire Red Bull garage froze. Even the other engineers looked around in total confusion.

Max continued, his voice as if he were discussing the weather. “It’s been planned. I won the fourth title, she agreed to the bet, so… wedding time.”

GP sputtered. “Max, you—WHAT? No, no, no. You can’t just say that on the radio! You can’t just—”

“I’m doing it,” Max said, already tired of the conversation. “It’s happening. Vegas. Tonight.”

The radio was dead silent for a long moment, then GP finally spoke, his voice laced with a mixture of disbelief and dread. “Max, I—What in the world did I just hear? Are you seriously making your wedding announcement over the team radio?”

“Of course, I’m serious,” Max replied. “She said if I won my fourth title in Vegas, I could pick the wedding date. So, I picked tonight.”

“Max, you can’t—you—what the hell is wrong with you?!” GP spluttered.

Back in the commentary booth, David Croft could barely hold it together. “Did Max Verstappen just announce his wedding on live radio after winning his fourth world championship? Is that what I just heard?!”

“I think that’s exactly what you heard, Crofty,” Martin Brundle said, voice dripping with astonishment. “This is pure, unfiltered Verstappen.”

David Crofty just stared at the screen, blinking in disbelief. “Honestly, I can’t even process this. We’ve seen some wild moments in F1, but this... this might just take the cake.”

“Yeah,” Brundle said with a chuckle. “You can’t script this stuff. Not even in Vegas.”

Meanwhile, in Red Bull’s hospitality area, Y/n was standing stock-still, her eyes wide as she stared at the screen. The radio call still blaring in her ears.

“Did—did he just announce our wedding? Like… right now?!” she hissed, her hand gripping the counter in disbelief.

A Red Bull mechanic standing nearby looked just as stunned. “Uh, I think he did, yeah.”

“He’s lost it,” one engineer muttered under his breath, his face pale.

“I don’t even know what’s happening anymore,” another whispered.

The others weren’t any better off, most of them looking like they might faint. A PR rep came over, trying to maintain professionalism but clearly in shock. “Y/n, um… Max just… did he just announce your wedding?”

“Don’t look at me,” Y/n groaned, burying her face in her hands. “I can’t even… He’s the worst.”

“Vegas, baby!” another joked, only to get smacked in the arm by Y/n as she stormed past.

Back on the track, Max, utterly relaxed, parked his car in parc fermé and stepped out, throwing his helmet in the air before catching it like it was no big deal.

“So, yeah,” Max said, grinning at the cameras. “Got my fourth title, and now I get to marry my girl. Vegas chapel, let’s go!”

The reporters and photographers surrounding him stared at him in utter confusion.

“Wait, what? You’re—what?!” one reporter stammered.

Max smirked. “Yep, Vegas. I won, she lost, and now we’re getting married.”

He tossed a thumbs-up to the camera as if it were a completely normal thing to say.

“Max,” one reporter finally managed, “you’re serious about this, right? You’re really getting married in Vegas?”

Max’s grin widened. “I’m serious. A bet’s a bet. No turning back.”

Back in the Red Bull garage, chaos had officially set in. Christian Horner, who had been pacing for the last five minutes, finally stopped and glared at a nearby mechanic. “What am I supposed to do with this now?!”

“I don’t know, Christian,” the mechanic said, holding up his hands in defeat. “Maybe we start picking out flowers?”

“Someone get me a drink,” Christian muttered, walking off, leaving a sea of confusion behind him.

Y/n stormed through the paddock like a woman possessed, her face a mix of disbelief, panic, and barely contained rage.

She spotted Max leaning casually against a barrier in parc fermé, looking like he had no care in the world—despite having just announced their impending Vegas wedding to the entire world. He was surrounded by Lewis, Fernando, George, and Carlos, who were all still there congratulating him and clearly trying to comprehend what had just happened.

“MAX!” Y/n screeched as she closed the distance.

Max turned, his smug grin stretching even wider. “Oh, there she is! The future Mrs. Verstappen. Took you long enough.”

Y/n planted herself directly in front of him, glaring. “WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?”

Max blinked, his expression far too innocent. “What? I kept my promise.”

“Your promise?” Y/n echoed, incredulous. “You hijacked the championship celebration to announce a fake wedding! On LIVE TELEVISION!”

“It’s not fake,” Max said matter-of-factly. “A bet is a bet.”

Carlos, standing nearby, raised an eyebrow. “Wait, wait, wait. You bet your wedding on the championship?”

“Of course,” Max said with a shrug, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m a man of my word.”

George choked on air. “You’re a menace.”

“Exactly,” Y/n said, throwing her hands in the air. “Max, this is insane! You can’t just—”

“Relax, schatje,” Max interrupted, his tone annoyingly casual. “It’s Vegas. This is what people do here.”

“Not normal people!” Y/n snapped.

Lewis, still dabbing at his face with a towel, gave a bewildered laugh. “I’m sorry, are we actually talking about a real wedding right now?”

“Yes,” Max said confidently. “Tonight.”

“No,” Y/n shot back.

“Yes.”

“MAX!”

“Yes, Y/n,” Max said, leaning forward slightly. “We are getting married tonight, and that’s final.”

“Final?!” she spluttered. “How is this final? There’s no plan, no venue, no—”

“Vegas has plenty of chapels,” Max interrupted smoothly.

“I don’t have a dress!”

“You’ll look great in anything,” Max countered.

Y/n groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I don’t even have someone to walk me down the aisle!”

Max tilted his head, clearly unbothered. “Oh, that’s easy.” He turned to his left, where Lewis stood mid-sip from his water bottle. “Lewis! Can you walk Y/n down the aisle tonight?”

Lewis froze, the bottle halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“Can you walk her down the aisle?” Max repeated, as if this were a completely reasonable request.

“I—” Lewis blinked, looking between Max and Y/n. “Uh… sure?”

“What?! No!” Y/n shouted.

“Why me?” Lewis asked, baffled.

Max shrugged. “You’re a world champion. She deserves someone of high status.”

Before Y/n could combust, Fernando Alonso stepped forward, a sly grin on his face. “Hold on,” he said, raising a hand. “If anyone is walking her down the aisle, it should be me. I’m the most appropriate for the role.”

Lewis turned to him, visibly confused. “How do you figure that?”

Fernando gave a dramatic shrug. “Experience. I’m wiser, more distinguished. A father figure, if you will.”

Y/n groaned, “Oh my God, Fernando—”

Lewis snorted. “Father figure? Please. More like grandfather figure.”

The group exploded into laughter. George doubled over, wheezing, while Carlos clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his own cackles.

“You wound me, Hamilton,” Fernando said, his tone mock-offended.

“Yeah, but I’m not wrong,” Lewis quipped, smirking.

“This is not happening,” Y/n muttered, covering her face with her hands.

Max leaned closer to her, his grin pure mischief. “See? Problem solved. You have two excellent candidates to walk you down the aisle.”

“This is NOT solved!” Y/n screeched.

George finally spoke up, still chuckling. “You know, for the record, this is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever seen”

“Agreed,” Carlos said, shaking his head with a grin. “But I can’t look away.”

Max clapped his hands together. “Alright, then. We’re all set! Lewis or Fernando—it’s Y/n’s choice.”

“I CHOOSE NEITHER!” she yelled, clearly on the verge of a breakdown.

Max leaned back, entirely unfazed. “Suit yourself. But one way or another, schatje, we’re getting married tonight.”

Y/n turned to the other drivers, her eyes pleading. “Can someone PLEASE talk some sense into him?”

Lewis shrugged. “I don’t know, Y/n. He seems pretty set on it. You might just have to roll with it.”

Fernando smirked. “And let me know when you decide. I’ll be practicing my ‘giving away the bride’ speech.”

George buried his face in his hands again, mumbling, “This is a fever dream.”

Y/n, meanwhile, was contemplating her life choices as Max grinned at her, utterly pleased with himself. This was going to be a nightmare—and she was the star attraction.

Suddenly, Lando came sprinting out of nowhere, practically skidding to a stop in front of Max. His curls were a chaotic mess, and his face was split into an ear-to-ear grin that made him look like an overexcited puppy.

“MAX!” Lando yelled, throwing his arms up. “FOUR-TIME WORLD CHAMPION! YOU LEGEND! Also mate, what the hell?! Are you really getting married?!”

Max turned, his ever-present grin widening. “Obviously.”

“I thought it was just a rumor!” Lando said, flinging his helmet onto a nearby table. “I mean, come on, you say insane stuff on the radio all the time! I figured this was one of those things.”

“Nope.” Max popped the “p” for emphasis. “It’s happening. Tonight.”

Y/n, who had been pacing nearby in a futile attempt to process her life choices, groaned audibly. “I hate all of you. All of you.”

Lando glanced at her, then back at Max. “Wait, so this is real? Like… actually real?”

“As real as it gets,” Max replied, clapping Lando on the shoulder. “And since you’re here…”

Lando squinted. “Since I’m here, what?”

Max’s grin turned sly, his hand still on Lando’s shoulder. “How do you feel about being my best man tonight?”

Lando froze, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. “Wait, what?”

“You heard me,” Max said, still looking far too pleased with himself.

“Me?!” Lando gestured wildly at himself, his voice rising an octave. “Why me?!”

“Why not you?” Max countered smoothly.

“I don’t know!” Lando threw up his hands. “You could ask your trainer, your engineer—anyone! We’ve been rivals this entire year!”

Max tilted his head, his expression softening slightly. “Exactly. We’ve had a lot of ups and downs this year, yeah? Fighting for the championship and everything. But at the end of the day…” He paused, his grin shifting to something more genuine. “You’re a good friend, Lando. One of the best. And I’d like us to bury the hatchet. Tonight.”

The sudden sincerity hit Lando like a truck. His eyes widened, his lip quivering just a little as he stared at Max. “Max…”

The group went quiet—well, as quiet as it could be with the chaos of the paddock swirling around them. Even Y/n stopped pacing to stare, her eyebrows raised in surprise.

“You really mean that?” Lando asked, his voice thick with emotion.

“Of course,” Max said, giving Lando a firm pat on the back. “You’ve been there through all of it, mate. Who else would I want standing next to me tonight?”

Lando’s hand flew to his face, his bottom lip wobbling. “Oh my God. I think I’m gonna cry.”

“Don’t cry,” George mumbled, clearly trying to stifle a laugh. “This is ridiculous enough already.”

“Shut up, George!” Lando snapped, though it lacked any real venom. He sniffled, blinking rapidly. “Max, you big idiot. That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Max smirked. “Well, don’t get used to it.”

Y/n, watching this entire exchange with her arms crossed, muttered under her breath, “I cannot believe this is my life right now.”

Carlos, standing nearby, leaned over to George and whispered, “Do you think Lando will actually cry at the altar?”

“Oh, 100%,” George replied without hesitation.

“I’M NOT CRYING!” Lando shouted, wiping furiously at his eyes.

“Sure, mate,” Carlos said, grinning.

“Shut up!” Lando whirled back to Max, pointing a slightly wobbly finger at him. “Fine! I’ll do it. I’ll be your best man. But only because that was the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Good.” Max nodded approvingly. “We’re gonna have a great time. Bring tissues, though. You’ll need them.”

Lando groaned. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re emotional,” Max teased, clapping him on the back again.

“Can I leave now?” Y/n interjected, looking thoroughly exasperated.

“Nope,” Max said cheerfully. “We’ve still got wedding planning to do. And Lando needs to rehearse his speech.”

“Speech?!” Lando exclaimed, his face paling. “No one said anything about a speech!”

“Oh, come on,” Carlos said, grinning. “Just wing it.”

“This is a nightmare,” Y/n muttered.

“See, schatje?” Max said, turning to her with a mischievous smile. “Everything’s settled”

“Kill me now,” she groaned, dragging her hands down her face.

“Not before the wedding,” Max quipped. “I need my bride alive, schatje.”

Carlos, grinning, nudged George. “Do you think she’ll kill him before they even make it to the altar?”

“I actually might” Y/n snapped, making everyone laugh—except her.

Max clapped his hands together, cutting through the lingering laughter. “Alright, boys, fun’s over. See you after the podium, yeah?”

Carlos snorted, throwing an arm around George. “Come on, hombre. Let’s get out of here before they decide to do something crazier.”

Max turned to Carlos, his grin turning devious. “Speaking of you, Carlos, I need another groomsman. What do you say?”

Carlos blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Me? Really?”

“Obviously,” Max said, rolling his eyes. “You’re good at standing around looking pretty. Perfect for the job.”

“I’m honored,” Carlos said, puffing out his chest dramatically.

Y/n, standing a few feet away, raised her hand. “Dibs on George for my side, then.”

George’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait, what?”

“I called dibs,” Y/n said firmly, crossing her arms.

“That’s not how this works!” Max exclaimed, glaring at her.

“It is now,” she shot back, grinning.

Max groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “You are impossible.”

“You’re marrying me,” she said sweetly. “This is your problem now.”

Before Max could argue further, he grabbed her hand, tugging her away from the group. “We need to pick more people. Properly.”

As they walked through the paddock, Max started listing names under his breath. “Alright, I want Charles on my side.”

“No way,” Y/n said immediately.

Max frowned. “Why not?”

“Because I’m picking him,” Y/n declared, speeding up her pace as soon as she spotted Charles standing by his car.

Max groaned. “You can’t just steal all the good ones!”

“Watch me.”

By the time they reached Charles, Y/n was already stepping in front of Max, her grin wicked. “Charles! You’re going to be my maid of honor.”

Charles looked up, his face blank with confusion. “Wait, what?”

Max shoved Y/n aside, scowling. “Ignore her, Charles. You’re going to be one of my groomsmen.”

“No, he’s not!” Y/n snapped, stepping back in front of Max.

“Yes, he is!” Max shot back, sidestepping her.

Charles blinked between them, his brows furrowing. “What is happening right now?”

“You’re gonna help me with my wedding,” Y/n said, grinning like she’d just won the lottery. “It’s happening tonight.”

Charles just stared at her, still not sure if he was in a dream or being pranked. “Uh… are you serious?”

“Charles, listen to me,” Y/n said, grabbing his hands dramatically. “I need you on my side. You’re the only one who understands how insane Max is.”

Max pulled her back by the shoulder. “He does not understand that! He’s my friend, not yours.”

Charles raised a hand. “Guys, what—”

“Do you really want to stand next to Max?” Y/n asked, cutting him off.

Max glared at her. “Do you really want to be stuck with her?”

“I feel like I don’t want to be stuck with either of you,” Charles said cautiously, his confusion growing.

“Charles,” Y/n pleaded, gripping his arm. “Please. You’ll get to wear something cool”

Charles blinked, still completely befuddled. “I… I don’t know what’s happening. Am I even invited to this wedding? Because you’re asking me to do a lot without any context.”

“Don’t listen to her!” Max interjected, gesturing wildly. “You’ll have more fun on my side. I’ll let you hold the rings.”

“No we’re letting Yuki hold the rings!” Y/n shouted.

Charles blinked again, looking between them like they’d both lost their minds. “Are you two seriously fighting over me right now?”

“Yes!” they yelled in unison.

Charles sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “This is the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Say yes to me, Charles,” Y/n said, batting her eyelashes.

“No, say yes to me,” Max countered, practically growling.

Charles threw his hands up. “Fine! I’ll be on Y/n’s side. But only because she asked first.”

Y/n cheered, sticking her tongue out at Max. “Suck it!”

“I feel like I should be insulted,” Max muttered as Charles smirked at him.

The wedding was somehow happening. In the span of a few hours—thanks to an intense series of last-minute phone calls, frantic text messages, and a team of Red Bull employees being worked to the bone—the ceremony was set to begin. And despite the fact that no one really knew how they’d gotten here, the whole thing had turned into the weirdest Formula 1 event in history.

Y/n stood in the back, adjusting her dress, eyeing the people around her in disbelief. Max had somehow managed to throw together an entire wedding in record time, which was somehow both impressive and terrifying. She was walking down the aisle with Lewis and Fernando—two of the most iconic figures in F1. She couldn’t decide between them, so she’d invited both to walk her down the aisle. Because, why not?

“You sure you’re okay with this?” Lewis asked, smoothing out his jacket. His suit was impeccable, of course. He was an icon of style, so a last-minute wedding wasn’t going to stop him from looking good.

“I’m just trying to survive this,” Y/n muttered

“We’re in Vegas. Anything goes,” Fernando quipped, the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. “At least the wedding's got personality."

“You both know I’ll never live this down, right?” Y/n said, shaking her head. "This whole thing is so Max, I feel like I should apologize to everyone for being part of it."

“You’ll be fine,” Fernando added with a smile, adjusting his cufflinks. “It’s Max. You know he doesn’t do anything half-heartedly. He’s probably already planned the honeymoon.”

Y/n laughed nervously. “I’m pretty sure he has. You’ve both seen what happens when Max gets an idea in his head. And somehow... this is actually happening.”

“You’ve got this,” Lewis said. “We’re here for you.”

Before Y/n could respond, the doors swung open, signaling that it was time. The aisle was a bit too short for a proper procession, and the whole thing had a sense of hurried chaos as they started walking down toward the altar.

At the front, Max stood there waiting, looking like he was about to burst with excitement. His best man, Lando, had been fighting tears all night and was now sniffling into a tissue. "I swear this is the happiest day of my life," Lando muttered to Carlos, wiping his eyes.

Carlos, looking slightly concerned, just shook his head. “It’s their wedding Lando, not even your own. stop bawling.”

“Yeah, but it’s their wedding,” Lando said, eyes still damp. “There’s too much love in the air.”

Max had his hands tucked in his pockets, grinning like a kid on Christmas morning. When he spotted Y/n, he gave her an exaggerated wink, as if to say, “We made it.”

“You good?” Fernando asked, glancing at Y/n as they reached the front.

“I’m questioning every life choice I’ve made,” Y/n muttered under her breath, feeling the full weight of the absurdity of the situation.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” Max said, grinning.

At the back of the room, Oscar and Franco stood with baskets of flowers, both looking thoroughly confused in their roles as flower boys. Oscar had been dragged into this because of his unwillingness to protest. Franco, on the other hand, was too amused to care about the situation and just went along with it.

“Oscar, why are we doing this again?” Franco whispered, furrowing his brows as he sprinkled petals on the floor.

“Because Yuki said we had to. And I’m not arguing with him,” Oscar muttered, holding his basket as if it were a grenade about to go off.

“Who cares? It’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience! Attending Max Vertsappen’s wedding?,” Franco said with stars in his eyes, “I’ll tell my grandkids about this.”

Yuki, holding the rings, couldn’t contain his excitement as he gave them instructions. “Guys, you’re doing great. Just, uh, try not to look confused. I need this to look professional. Oscar throw the petals properly! more passion! more energy! more footwork!”

“I’m already questioning my entire existence,” Oscar said, looking at Franco for solidarity. Franco just smiled and threw a handful of petals into the air.

The Elvis officiating the wedding was already in full swing, not entirely sure of the gravity of the moment but having a blast nonetheless.

"Y’all ready to get hitched?" Elvis said, his voice more vibrant than Y/n could’ve imagined.

Max, barely containing his excitement, looked over at Y/n. “Ready for this, love?” he asked, his voice low, though it carried a hint of playfulness.

Y/n smiled, glancing at him for a moment. “More than ever.”

Then, in front of everyone, they exchanged their vows.

Max spoke first, his voice unwavering, but there was an undeniable tenderness in his words. “Y/n, you’ve turned my world upside down. You’ve made every race, every moment, better just by being there. I promise to keep being the person you’ve decided to stand at an altar with, the person you love—even when I’m an absolute nightmare. I’ll always fight for us, for this. I love you.”

Y/n could feel her heart in her throat as she spoke. “Max, you’ve always been… Max. But you’ve shown me that you are a person with the biggest heart. You’ve made me laugh, cry, and love harder than I thought I could. You’re my best friend, and I can’t wait for the next chapter of this crazy life with you. I love you.”

There were no grand gestures or over-the-top theatrics; instead, it was just them—raw, honest, and completely present in this moment.

Max smiled at her, the kind of smile that made everything feel right, before turning to the officiant.

“Elvis, hit me with that ‘you may kiss the bride’ line,” Max said, giving a wink.

And so, amidst the madness, they kissed, sealing their vows with a moment that felt right in all its simplicity. The crowd cheered, some clapping and others, like Lando, wiping away happy tears. It wasn’t the wedding anyone had expected, but it was exactly what Max and Y/n had needed.

As they pulled away, Y/n’s gaze met Max’s, and for a brief moment, it was just the two of them, everything else fading away.

As the ceremony ended and the newlyweds turned to leave, the crowd of friends and teammates erupted into applause, some of them still trying to process what had just happened.

Lando was grinning, wiping his eyes. “This is so perfect. I’m still not sure how we managed to get here in two hours, but it’s amazing.”

Charles was smiling too, giving Y/n a thumbs up. “Congrats, both of you. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Max is married now.”

Lewis patted Max on the back. “She’s got you now. Good luck with that.”

Y/n smiled at him, a little breathless. “So, are you planning to annoy me for the rest of our lives?”

Max grinned back, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Absolutely. You’ve signed up for it, so no turning back now.”

Everyone laughed, but there was a deep sincerity in the air. This was their moment—imperfect and hurried, but beautiful in its own way.

4K notes · View notes

stoop-fairy · 2 days ago

Text

i wanna get him back ! grid smau

summary — in which your exes text you after seeing your thread (and replying to it)

content warnings — mild swearing. mentions of past relationships + breakups. food mentions. that’s it i think. who does she get back with? we’ll never know. i never thought i would be doing a part 3 tbh

1 2 3

lando !

yuki !

max !

carlos !

lewis !

charles !

franco !

george !

oscar !

daniel !

587 notes · View notes

housepartyprotocol · 6 months ago

Text

Existing Love

Max Verstappen x Uni Student! Reader

Summary: a sneak peak into the life of Max and his private girlfriend

Masterlist / TipJar

ynusername

liked by maxverstappen, yourbff and 3,952 others

ynusername It's getting colder, workload is getting heavier

view all 79 comments

yourbff I hate looking at photos of what you do

ynusername its beautiful no yourbff no

user is this max's girlfriend? i saw he liked

user thats the public idea, they are quite private user she is pretty

maxverstappen

liked by redbullracing, landonorris, ynusername, and 651,876 others

maxverstappen One more race before winter break, lets keep pushing!

view all 10,008 comments

user 4 time world champion right here!

user god he is delectable

user he is taken i swear user if not posted officially doesn't count user thats fucking stupid

landonorris Looking forward to seeing you soon, you know where

user what on earth is going on maxverstappen don't you dare embarrass me landonorris i would never do such a thing

ynusername

liked by maxverstappen, yourbff, and 2,643 others

ynusername When your friends are the only things keeping you going...

view all 12 comments

yourbff okay, now i'm feeling worried about your mental state

ynusername Thriving! Dying! Same thing! yourbff u need an intervention

user shes who i wanna be when i grow up

maxverstappen

liked by landonorris, redbullracing, ynusername, and 520,263 others

maxverstappen and with that, the 2024 season comes to an end.

view all 240 comments

user Dutch Lion!

user sometimes i forget how not old he is, and then he says something like this

user i bet this was written by like a young social media manager user or his gf, shes younger than him user he has a gf? since when? user why is she never in the paddock tho, that's sus...

landonorris 4 seasons in a row of championships. I say no more

maxverstappen Agressive, shame you werent on track landonorris wow danielricciardo woww redbullracing wowww user damn! max has got some SASS landonorris you will be regretting that.... you'll see maxverstappen Lando....

ynusername

liked by maxverstappen, landonorris, yourbff, and 3,140 others

ynusername Approach to the Christmas holidays may not be synonymous with parties, but for a uni student, everything is synonymous with parties

view all 19 comments

yourbff feral

ynusername wowwwwwww ynusername true maxverstappen true

landonorris I maybe shouldv'e gone to uni

ynusername all you would like is the parties, and they don't happen to often with us landonorris i would find other people

user okay i came across this account, why is lando norris here?

user and max verstappen?!? user thats Max's gf, we all think

maxverstappen

liked by landonorris, ynusername, danielricciardo and 473,838 others

maxverstappen Lando may be cut out for the partying lifestyle of a uni student, but I cannot handle another party for a year.

view all 275 comments

user lando looks hot as shit

user okay that girl must be his gf, she used the same picture in her posts

user you guys are getting insanely stalker-y user is it really stalker behaviour if they are both public Instagram user yes

user why is Max posting thirst traps of Lando. Not complaining

landonorris I mean i think i feel my liver die but YOLO

mclaren do we need to talk about your alcohol consumption maxverstappen Ha, get outed! landonorris No I was just getting an immersive week experience into the life of a uni student user he got sooo wasted

user damn i wished max posted thirst traps of himself like that

ynusername

liked by yourbff, maxverstappen, landonorris, and 4,002 others

ynusername driving flying home away for Christmas!

view all 21 comments

yourbff I am still so jealous you are in Monaco for Christmas

yourbff I am jealous you are in Monaco again full stop, this time without me ynusername I can't believe it myself yourbff also stop posting him, its sappppy ynusername girl its the first time i've posted him! yourbff stop it im feeling singleeee

user she has gone to see MAX it's so obvious

user or she is having fun on holiday with no other reasons user god leave some people be

user Monaco looks insane

maxverstappen

liked by ynusername, redbullracing, landonorris, and 620,632 others

maxverstappen it really is a wonderful time of the year

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user max in a relationship confirmation?!

user does it matter

landonorris can't believe you got her to join you for Christmas, how?

maxverstappen becuase she loves me... landonorris bs. how much you pay her? maxverstappen nothing landonorris fine. Ill ask

user max being a white wine drinker, would not have guessed

user he is a sophisticated man

ynusername

liked by maxverstappen, landonorris, yourbff and 2,952 others

ynusername Ending the holiday on a high point

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maxverstappen <3

ynusername <33 user OMH

yourbff come back I miss you

yourbff ... i need your notes ynusername I'm coming home soon yourbff YAy, bring ya man ynusername maybeeee

maxverstappen

liked by ynusername, landonorris, and redbullracing, and 835,235 others

maxverstappen 2 years ago a beautiful woman got tripped up by an idiot (me) on the sidewalk of the streets of Monaco, and since then has had my heart wrapped around her finger. YN, my love, to many more years

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user CONFIRMATION

ynusername <33

user this is her?? user we were right! user the fact that you were right with an assumption, doesn't justify a year of stalkerish behaviour maxverstappen I love you x landonorris gagggggggg maxverstappen grow up

#social media au #social au #f1 #max verstappen #formula 1 #formula one #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fluff #max verstappen fic #max verstappen fanfiction #max verstaooen smau #formula 1 fic #f1 fic #formula 1 smau #f1 smau

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adynorris · 18 hours ago

Text

Best fic ever on this mfing app and i will die on this hill

second chances — masterlist.

mob boss! lando norris x reader

summary: Lando Norris runs his empire with precision. As the head of The Reaper's Circle —the most influential mob in Monaco— he must be ruthless, untouchable, and always ten steps ahead.

But when a chance encounter at a quiet coffee shop leads to an unexpected connection, he finds himself treading dangerous ground. She’s ordinary and completely unaware of the world he operates in. Yet, he keeps going back. It starts as an indulgence, a curiosity—until suddenly, it’s not.

Because while Lando may be watching her, he’s not the only one.

status: ongoing

one: wrong place, wrong time ↘ trivia

two: hush, hush baby

three: clean up ↘ fun fact

four: a familiar stranger

five: devil's in the details

six: don't blink ↘ characters & cameos

seven: invisible string ↘ characters & cameos

eight: midnight meets ↘ trivia

nine: friendship is magic

ten: three's a crowd ↘ characters & cameos ↘ characters & cameos

eleven: somebody's watching me

twelve: the watcher ↘ fun fact

thirteen: passenger princess

fourteen: mask on, mask off ↘ fun fact ↘ trivia

fifteen: creature of habit

sixteen: what could've been, and what will be ↘ fun fact

seventeen: dream a little dream of me ↘ trivia

eighteen: the things we don’t say ↘ fun fact

nineteen: the talk ↘ fun fact ↘ trivia

twenty: you've been made ↘ fun fact ↘ trivia

twenty one: hypothetically ↘ trivia ↘ trivia

twenty two: balancing act ↘ trivia ↘ characters & cameos

twenty three: all the stars ↘ trivia

twenty four: dinner, but like, in a friend way ↘ fun fact ↘ fun fact

twenty five: here in spirit ↘ characters & cameos ↘ fun fact ↘ trivia

twenty six: distance

twenty seven: margot ↘ fun fact ↘ trivia

twenty eight: that funny feeling

twenty nine: blind spot

thirty: daniel

thirty-one: what we (don't) say

thirty-two: getting familiar

thirty-three: in another life

thirty-four: so close, yet so far

thirty five: normal people

thirty-six: peek-a-boo

thirty-seven: this ends now

thirty-eight: trouble’s calling

thirty-nine: you’ve been made

forty: fallout

forty-one: lost

forty-two: hello? are you there?

forty-three: y/n new!

forty-four: a life for a life coming July 13th…

#bestficever #moblando #iloveyousaffu #saffu's works #formula 1 #formula 1 fic #lando norris fanfiction #lando norris #second chances

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vitalverstappen · 2 days ago

Text

Color Me in Your Key - L. Lawson

summary: Between paint-stained mornings and moonlit melodies, something between you and the late-hired music counselor begins to bloom

pairing: Liam Lawson x reader, arts camp counselors au

warnings: swearing, use of y/n

word count: 9k

masterlist

It wasn’t unusual for camp to smell like pine needles, paint thinner, and possibility. Every summer it came alive with barefoot artists, off-key singers, and wild-eyed counselors who’d given up their city internships to live in the woods and create things that might fall apart in the rain. You were one of them.

As the visual arts counselor, your kingdom was the art barn: a sprawling open-air studio strung with fairy lights, lined with battered easels, paint splattered tables and pottery wheels. It sat on the edge of the woods, nestled between the lake path and the amphitheater, and you could always hear music or laughter drifting in with the breeze. You lived in a permanent state of half-day acrylic and sunburn, your fingers always stained and your clothes dotted with last week’s color palette.

The kids adored you. The other staff respected you. The new music counselor? Undecided.

Liam arrived on the first day of counselor training with a dented guitar case, a crooked smile, and no idea where anything was. He was technically a late hire - someone dropped out, and the director had texted you in all caps the night before with: “WE GOT A MUSIC GUY”

You met him fifteen minutes into the first staff meeting. Your camp director, Molly, was off putting out literal or metaphorical fires (no one ever really knew which), leaving you in charge of orientation and the half-asleep group of counselors clustered in the dining hall.

The door creaked open and in stumbled the new kid - sleep tousled hair, camp brochure sticking out of his back pocket, and a cardboard tray with two different coffees.

“You’re late,” you said, crossing your arms as the room turned to look.

“I’m Liam,” he said, stepping over a duffel bag someone had abandoned and offering you one of the drinks. “Peace offering?”

You narrowed your eyes. He had that look: boyish, confident, very used to charming his way out of things. City boy swagger wrapped in forest-inappropriate sneakers. The guitar case slung over his shoulder looked like it had lived five lives already. You accepted the coffee anyway.

“Orientation started at eight,” you said, voice dry.

“Technically,” he said, blowing on his drink, “so did I. But I was making friends with a racoon behind Cabin Monet. We have an understanding now.”

You didn’t smile. Not really. But the corner of your mouth might’ve twitched.

The meeting continued, but you felt his eyes on you. Not in a creepy way, simply curious. Intrigued. Like he couldn’t decide what kind of person you were yet. You hated that you were wondering the same.

By the time the group dispersed and you were back in the art barn prepping for the first set of workshops next week, Liam had wandered in.

“This place smells like turpentine and ambition,” he said, leaning against the doorway.

“That’s how you know it’s working.”

He wandered between the tables, touching nothing, just looking. His fingers hovered over a half-finished candle holder you had been working on. “You in charge here?”

“What gave it away?”

He grinned, pointing to the whiteboard filled with your neat handwriting, the first lesson plan already scrawled in bullet points and color-coded arrows. Beneath it sat your infamous chipped ceramic mug, the one boldly labeled in red paint: “Do Not Touch Unless You’re Bleeding.”

“You always this intense?”

You glanced over your shoulder, arching a brow. “You always this nosy?”

He didn’t answer immediately - just gave a lazy shrug and went back to slowly wandering the room. But there was a stillness to him now, like wasn’t just killing time or poking fun, but really looking. Taking things in.

His eyes drifted from the tangled fairy lights drooping across the rafters to the shelf of mismatched mugs in the back corner, each one donated by a camper or rescued from the dining hall’s “lost and found” pile. He lingered on the aprons hung like flags along the wall, their fabric stiff with years of dried clay, gesso, and glitter. His fingers ghosted near the worktable you’d commandeered as your own - covered in half carved candles, unfinished sketches, and a jar of murky paint water that definitely hadn’t been changed in a few days.

You weren’t used to people being quiet in your space. Not like this. Not the music department. They were usually louder, messier, and a little too in love with their own chaos. Liam… didn’t fit that mold entirely. At least not yet.

Finally, he said, quietly, “My mom was a painter.”

You blinked, surprised. That wasn’t where you thought this was going.

You glanced at him. “Yeah?”

He nodded once, still not looking at you. “Watercolor, mostly. Landscapes. The soft, sad kind. I used to sit in her studio and try to paint along. I was awful.”

Your lips twitched “That tracks.”

He laughed, and the sound echoed in the rafters, warm and open and entirely unfiltered. It startled something in you - a laugh that easy shouldn’t be allowed this early in camp. Not when everyone else was still caffeinating and pretending to be more organized than they were.

“She used to say good art isn’t always pretty. Sometimes it’s just true.” He shrugged, suddenly self-conscious.

He glanced at the candle holder sitting near the window, your latest half-finished project - dripping with glaze, shaped like something between a flower and a flame. “Anyway. That’s cool. That piece. Looks like it’s about to tell me my future or light on fire. Maybe both.”

You raised a brow. “You always get sentimental before lunch?”

“Only when I’m trying to impress the hot art counselor.”

Your brush slipped from your fingers and clattered to the floor, leaving a streak of wet blue across the wood.

He winced. “Too much?”

“Just bold,” you said, turning back to your workspace like it didn’t matter. Like your ears weren’t burning. Like you hadn’t already replayed the way he’d said hot art counselor three times in your head.

He didn’t leave. He didn’t fidget. He returned to leaning in the doorway, one foot resting against the frame like he had nowhere else to be and no intention of moving.

You busied yourself with organizing brushes that didn’t need organizing, mostly just to get your heart rate back under control.

“Do you know where your workshop space is yet?” you asked, mostly to change the subject.

“Nope.” He popped the p. “Pretty sure I was supposed to follow someone, but I got distracted by the tiny frogs near the garden.”

You sighed, more fond than annoyed. “C’mon, I’ll show you.”

The music cabin was tucked down a short trail behind the amphitheater, half swallowed by blackberry bushes and shaded by a canopy of old pines. It looked like someone had once tried to repaint the exterior dark blue but gave up halfway, leaving sun-bleached streaks that looked like watercolor washes in a storm.

Inside, it smelled like old wood, dust, and the faint, lingering sweetness of someone’s long-forgotten vanilla candle.

The windows were streaked. The floor creaked. Someone had left a pile of cracked percussion instruments in one corner, including a tambourine that had been attacked by at least five sticker-happy campers and one lonely maraca with googly eyes stuck to it.

A keyboard sat near the front window, missing its middle C. A ukulele hung on the wall by a nail and what looked suspiciously like duct tape. You spotted a coffee cup still full of something suspiciously green You didn’t ask.

Liam turned in a slow circle, soaking it in. “Alright,” he said. “This place is falling apart.”

You leaned against the doorframe, watching him. “So are most of us. Welcome to camp.”

He looked back over his shoulder at you - and this time, the grin was different. Not his earlier smirk, Not performance. A smaller one. Softer.

“I like it here already.” He paused, head tilted slightly. “Though I do think this place needs a bit of fixing. What’re you doing tomorrow?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Depends. Are you about to lure me into manual labor with charm and vague promises of creative fulfillment?”

Liam put a hand over his heart and scoffed in offense. “I would never.”

You stared at him.

“Okay,” he amended, “I absolutely would. But also - I’ve got big dreams for this room, and zero spatial planning skills. You seem like the kind of person who alphabetizes your paintbrushes.”

You rolled your eyes, stepping into the room beside him. The floor groaned under your feet.

“This place needs more than alphabetization. It needs Lysol. And an exorcism.”

“Perfect,” Liam said brightly. “You bring the cleaning supplies, I’ll bring the snacks. And the emotionally supportive playlist.”

You glanced around again - the warped floorboards, the half-collapsed music stand, the broken stool that was probably a lawsuit waiting to happen - and sighed like someone accepted a noble burden.

“Fine,” you gave in. “But only because I can’t stand to see that ukulele suffer another day.”

Liam grinned, victorious. “Meet me here at eleven?”

“You mean before or after I question all of my life choices?”

He laughed. “During. Definitely during.”

That night, after the first full day of counselor training, you found him again. Not on purpose. You were just looking for somewhere to sit that wasn’t buzzing with small talk and oversharing games.

The staff bonfire was halfway through a s’mores war. Someone was trying to stack flaming marshmallows three-high. Connor from Theater was quoting Shakespeare dramatically with a mouth full of chocolate. The lake glimmered in the distance.

And there was Liam - perched on one of the logs, head tilted down, plucking at his guitar with the kind of quiet focus that made the whole world feel a little more in tune.

The firelight turned everything golden - his face, the curve of his hands, the worn wood of the guitar. His expression was soft, brow furrowed in concentration, as though he was chasing a melody through smoke.

No lyrics, simply music. Raw and half-formed and full of space.

It made you think of skies before a storm. Of bare canvases. Of everything unfinished.

You weren’t watching him. Not really.

But you noticed the way the other counselors drifted toward him. Like warmth, or gravity. Like he was his own kind of campfire.

Someone asked him to play a song, and he didn’t even look up. He nodded and kept playing, sliding into something richer. More sure. It started low and rough and grew into something that made you stop mid-step.

And stay.

You sat on the edge of the circle, watching the flames flicker, letting the music wrap around you like a thread you didn’t mean to follow.

You stayed longer than you meant to.

And later, walking back to your cabin under the hush of pine needles and stars, you realized something.

You were humming.

It was the song he hadn’t finished.

The one you kind of hoped he’d play again.

You showed up to the music cabin at exactly 11:02 a.m., half hoping he’d forgotten. Or bailed. Or slept through it, like the other counselors who’d spent too long at the bonfire.

But there he was.

Sitting on the front steps, legs stretched out and crossed at the ankle, a broom balanced across his knees like a makeshift sword. In one hand, a coffee cup. In the other, one waiting for you. He wore the same band tee from last night, layered under a flannel that looked like it had lived through several garage bands and one mild emotional crisis.

“You’re late,” Liam said, squinting up at you like he’d been waiting exactly that long to make a joke. He held out the extra coffee. “I considered calling a search party. Or the racoon behind Cabin Monet.”

You took the drink, trying not to let your fingers brush his too long. “I had to emotionally prepare for the smell in here.”

“That’s fair. It’s…layered.”

Inside, the cabin was exactly as tragic as you remembered. Maybe worse in the daylight. The sun, slanting through the dusty windows, illuminated every flaw: the fraying curtains, the warped floorboards, the uneven stacks of sheet music curling like dried leaves. A spider had now taken up residence on the keyboard. The maraca with googly eyes sat on a cracked plastic chair like some kind of cursed mascot.

“Still think this is a good idea?” you asked, popping one of the windows open with your elbow. A cloud of dead flies dropped to the floor in a delicate little puff of doom.

Liam looked around slowly, then nodded with utter seriousness. “It’s a fixer-upper. With potential. Like a deeply weird indie film character.”

You smirked. “Charming, but needs therapy.”

“Exactly,” he said brightly. “And maybe a humidifier.”

You started with the rest of the windows. They resisted. Each one fought you with years of grime and stubborn hinges, but eventually opened, letting in a breeze that immediately made the place feel more alive.

You stripped the sagging curtains and balled them into a corner. “Donation pile,” you said, knowing full well no one would touch it again until August.

Liam grabbed the broom. And promptly proved he had no idea how to use it.

“Have you… ever used a broom?” you asked, watching him attempt to wrangle dust into a pile and mostly spread it into the air.

“I was more of a vacuum kid,” he replied

“Rich.”

“No, lazy. We lived in an apartment.”

You sighed. And took over.

Liam slunk to the corner, tasked with the instrument graveyard. He rolled up his sleeves - forearms streaked with dust and old ink from somewhere - and started talking to the maraca like it was helping him sort.

It took hours.

Dusting. Sweeping. Arguing over whether to keep a poster of some indie band no one had ever heard of. You hauled a trunk full of tangled cords from behind the little stage while Liam unearthed a disco ball and promptly wore it on his head like a helmet until you threatened to paint it pink.

You used some of your leftover paint to repaint the peeling window sills in a soft, buttery gold. Liam found a half-broken milk crate and turned it into a shelf for pedals and cables. He strung up a line of twinkle lights across the rafters, stepping carefully along the wobbly bench while humming something soft under his breath.

At one point, you found a warped box of sheet music stuck behind an old filing cabinet. Pages were stuck together, water-stained and curling.

“These any good?” you asked, holding one up.

Liam took it from you, thumbed through the wrinkled pages. “Nope, but they weirdly smell like my childhood. That’s gotta be worth something.”

You tilted your head. “You grew up around music?”

He nodded. “My dad played guitar. He was in some cover band for a while, played a bunch of bar gigs in the area.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. So you didn’t.

Instead, you simply watched him - soft in the light, sunlight painting extra gold into his hair, fingers ghosting across the keys of a piano that didn’t quite work. There was something about him that made the dust feel less heavy. Like even the messiest parts could be music if you listened right.

“You’re not what I expected,” you said before you could stop yourself.

He looked over, brow lifted. “Yeah?”

“I figured you’d be cockier. Louder. More… theater kid energy.”

“Oh I have theater kid energy,” he said, mock offended. “I just hide it until it’s time to monologue.”

You snorted. “You’re ridiculous.”

“True. But I also found the replacement key for the piano, built a shelf out of a milk crate, and survived your glitter bomb drawer. So I think that makes me officially useful.”

You tilted your head. “Marginally.”

By the time the sun began its slow descent behind the trees, the cabin looked different.

Still imperfect. Still crooked. But brighter. Lighter.

The walls glowed in the soft, slanted light. The new shelf stood proudly under the window. The corner stage had been cleared of mystery boxes and dead pens. The spider had been politely relocated.

You ended the afternoon sitting on the cabin steps with the door wide open, sipping the dregs of cold coffee and watching birds dive across the treetops. Liam settled beside you, guitar balanced on his thigh. His elbow brushed yours. Neither of you moved.

“I’ve been trying to finish that song,” he said.

You looked at him.

“The one from the fire,” he added. “But it keeps changing. Like it wants to be something else.”

You didn’t say anything, just watched him, gentle and golden and halfway to something vulnerable.

He met your eyes. “It kind of reminds me of this place. A little messy. A little magic.”

Something lodged in your throat. Something you didn’t know what to name yet.

“Play it for me,” you said quietly.

And he did.

Camper arrival day was a storm.

At exactly 10:07 a.m., the camp exploded with life. The quiet hum of the morning gave way to a full-blown sensory stampede: the crunch of gravel under tires, car doors slamming, parents calling out reminders with one foot on the gas, and teens tumbling out of minivans with backpacks bigger than their actual bodies.

The parking lot buzzed with movement and nerves and oversized tote bags. Music blared from open windows - everything from obscure indie tracks to full-volume show tunes that rattled the trees. One car had three kids singing along to Wicked at top volume, choreographed hand motions and all.

Camp had finally begun.

You stood near the check-in table with a clipboard in one hand and an iced coffee sweating in the other. Your shirt was already smudged with streaks of ochre from loading paint crates into the barn that morning. You wore it like armor.

To your left, two of the theater counselors were mid-argument over whether Cabin Sondheim could accommodate six or seven drama kids without imploding. To your right, the film counselor was frantically trying to stop a drone from getting tangled in the overhead pines while three teens shouted ideas for their “cabin intro short film.” One of them was already wearing a beret.

And in the middle of it all, unbothered, sunlit, and completely himself, Liam was perched on the porch rail of the office cabin, guitar in hand, legs swinging like this was just another easy Sunday.

He glanced over when you walked past. “Look at them,” he said, not even pausing his strumming. “It’s like a musical just vomited all over the parking lot.”

You didn’t break stride. “They’re excited.”

“They’re terrifying.”

Right on cue, a girl with pink streaks in her hair ran past yelling, “I HAVE FIVE NOTEBOOKS AND A VISION BOARD.”

Liam blinked. “...And mildly inspiring.”

You arched an eyebrow. “You’re scared of teens?”

He gave you a look. “They can smell weakness. And insecurity. And I haven’t fully memorized the camp song yet.”

“That’s what the lyric sheets are for.”

“I used mine to swat a mosquito.” He paused, then added, deadpan: “It survived.”

You sighed and pulled a spare from your back pocket, expertly folded into quarters. Without ceremony, you tossed it at his face. He caught it midair, grinning.

“God, you’re prepared for everything. I respect it. I fear it.”

By mid afternoon, the cabins were filled, the parking lot was clearing, adn the dining hall had devolved into a mix of nametag swaps, water bottle trading, and spontaneous “who packed the weirdest snack” contests. The bunk assignments had mostly settled - along with the usual amount of minor drama and someone sobbing over a forgotten retainer.

You strolled down the gravel path toward the art barn, relishing the first quiet moment in hours. The buzz of camper noise faded behind you. For a blissful second, it was just you, the warm wind, and the smell of pine and pencil shavings.

Until-

“Hey, Picasso!”

You turned.

Liam jogged to catch up, hair a mess from what looked like an intense game of human knot. His cheeks were flushed, shirt rumpled, clipboard clutched in one hand and a marker tucked behind his ear like it had grown there.

“They’re already asking about your classes,” he said, breathless but smiling. “I had one kid corner me about acrylic vs. gouache for dramatic expression.”

You smirked. “Gabe. Cabin Van Gough. He’s a returning chaos gobin. Last year, he turned the entire ceramics wheel room into a recreation of the French Revolution.”

Liam flipped the clipboard, scanning quickly. “Yeah that tracks. He lit up like a Christmas tree when I told him about Music and Movement.”

“I’ll send thoughts and prayers.”

“You’re not even worried,” he muttered, mock-offended.

“He once made a flute out of bubble tea straws and tears. You’ll be fine.”

Liam laughed. “These kids are wild.”

“They’re brilliant,” you corrected. “They just don’t have any filters yet. No fear of failure. It’s…refreshing.”

He glanced sideways. “Kinda like you.”

That made you blink.

“What?” you asked.

He shrugged. “You just… seem like the type who paints first and figures out what it means later. Brave in that ‘please don’t look at me while I’m being vulnerable’ sort of way.”

You rolled your eyes to cover the flicker in your chest. “I am exactly that type.”

He nudged you gently with his elbow. “I like that.”

You tried not to smile.

Tried harder not to look like that sentence was still echoing in your chest when you reached the art barn steps and waved him off.

“Don’t let the chaos goblin eat you alive.”

“I’ll try. No promises.”

As he turned back toward the music cabin, you watched him go - clipboard in hand, sunlight curling around him like it belonged there.

The sun was dipping into the treetops when the amphitheater filled with noise.

The campers flooded in like a living watercolor - streaks of dyed hair, glittered cheeks, cargo shorts covered in patches and pins. The older ones claimed the back rows like royalty, legs slung over benches. The younger ones bounced between counselors, wide-eyed and smelling faintly of sunscreen and nerves.

You stood backstage, just out of sight, clipboard in one hand, watching it all unfold.

“Remind me again,” Liam said from behind you, voice low, “what exactly happens at this thing?”

“You pretend to be awake and well-adjusted for about forty-five minutes,” you said, not looking at him. “We introduce the staff. The kids scream. The director makes a speech that’s twice as long as it needs to be. And then we let them loose on the elective board like wolves.”

“Sounds cute and terrifying.”

“You’ll fit right in.”

You felt him glance sideways at you. “Was that a compliment?”

“Don’t let it get to your head.”

Before he could reply, the camp director - Molly, in her signature Hawaiian shirt and combat boots - strode onto the stage, holding a megaphone she didn’t need. Her voice carried without it.

“Alright artists! Writers! Drama queens! Music nerds! Beautiful chaos goblins - welcome to summer!”

The crowd erupted into cheers and applause.

Molly held up a hand, grinning like a conductor waiting for her orchestra to settle. “Before we release you into the creative wilderness, it’s time to meet the incredible staff that’ll be guiding you through glitter glue disasters and emotional breakthroughs alike.”

“Let’s start with Visual Arts, give it up for y/n!”

You stepped out to polite clapping, which turned into loud whooping when a few returning campers recognized you. One of them shouted, “We missed you, Van Gogh Vibes!”

You gave a little salute, trying not to blush.

“And joining us this year for Music,” Molly said, her voice taking on that slight tone of mischief, “a new face with plenty of strings attached - literally - give it up for Liam!”

Liam walked out with that lazy kind of confidence you had come to expect, one hand waving, the other shoved in his pocket. The applause was immediate - mostly from the theater kids, who were clearly already planning to adopt him - and someone shouted, “HE’S CUTE!”

Liam shot you a sideways grin.

You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt.

He leaned a little closer as Molly moved on. “Hot art counselor and a fan club? You’re crushing me in approval ratings.”

“Keep talking during announcements and I’ll ‘accidentally’ assign you the recorder ensemble.”

His smile widened. “Tempting.”

You turned your attention back to the front of the stage where Molly was now introducing the electives list, and the energy of the amphitheater shifted like a storm rolling in - campers whispering and plotting, eyes scanning for clipboards, crushes, and chaos.

“We’ve got returning favorites and a few new surprises!” Molly announced. “Yes, the pottery wheels are fixed. Yes, we brought back Advanced Stage Combat. And yes, Liam will be leading a songwriting workshop, even though he just found out five minutes ago.”

Liam blinked. “I’m sorry, what?”

You didn’t suppress your laugh fast enough.

“Oh don’t worry,” you said. “I’ll help you make a sign for your table. Something tasteful. Like glittery music notes and a warning label.”

“‘May spontaneously burst into sad guitar solos’?”

“‘Hot mess, but teaches harmony.’”

He bumped your shoulder, laughing. And maybe - maybe - you didn’t lean away.

As the assembly wrapped and the kids swarmed toward the elective sign-up boards like a living tide, you caught one last glance at the stage.

Liam was helping a camper tune her ukulele, crouched beside her and smiling like he had all the time in the world.

You felt something shift. Not huge. Just… a click. The kind of moment you’d normally sketch later, trying to catch the quiet of it in lines and ink.

You turned away before he looked up, your chest a little too warm.

Summer had officially begun.

And you had no idea what it was going to make of you.

The morning sun was already too bright, slicling through the trees like a spotlight as you fumbled with the art barn’s stubborn lock. Your arms were full - canvas panels tucked under one, your sketchbook wedged under the other, and a cup of coffee balanced dangerously on top of a container of charcoal sticks.

You kicked the door open gently with the toe of your sandal, and the world had changed.

Inside, the barn was golden.

Fairy lights still glowed faintly along the rafters, even though the sun had taken over. Dust danced in shafts in the morning light. The long work tables were already dressed in chaos: dried paint, gouged cutting mats, a collection of unclaimed brushes resting like forgotten relics in a mason jar. You breathed in deep.

Turpentine. Wood shavings. Clay dust. Possibility.

You smiled.

It was time.

Your first group trickled in just after 9 a.m. - ten kids from a mix of cabins, all different energy levels and outfit choices. Some came quietly, eyes big and nervous behind wireframe glasses. Some already had paint under their nails. One girl wore a hand-sewn cape. No one questioned it.

Gabe from Cabin Van Gogh entered like he was storming the Bastille.

“Are we doing expressive self portraits?” he asked before even sitting down. “Because I brought colored pencils and trauma.”

You didn’t even blink. “We’re starting with blind contour drawings.”

“Same thing,” he declared, already unzipping a pouch full of oil pastels and strange intent.

You introduced the lesson, stepping into the rhythm of your role like muscle memory. Already you could feel the hum of creation settling in - the slow, warm buzz of kids unlocking something in themselves. The new girl from Cabin O’Keeffe hadn’t said a word, but her lines were delicate and sure.

At the far table, two boys were arguing about whether emotions had specific shapes. You let them. You encouraged it, even. That was the point.

By the end of the hour, there were portraits hung with clothespins along the twine wall, some beautiful, some messy, all strange and wonderful.

You were still scraping dried paint off a brush when a familiar voice floated in from the path.

“Permission to steal your chaos gobin?”

You turned.

Liam stood just outside the barn, framed in morning light like some scruffy storybook hero. Clipboard under one arm. Guitar strap across his chest. His camp tee was half tucked into a pair of track pants, and his hair was a windswept disaster. He looked like he’d already run a mile, lost a bet, and made three kids cry - inspiringly.

“Gabe,” you called, not taking your eyes off Liam. “Music class.”

Gabe sprang up with the energy of a caffeinated squirrel. “Do we get to scream into the woods?”

Liam raised an eyebrow at you. “What are you teaching them?”

“I only plant the seeds,” you smiled sweetly.

His first class was a mess. But somehow, a beautiful one.

The kids were feral - in that glorious, overstimulated-artist kind of way. They had zero interest in sitting still. Half of them were more interested in the weird noises they could make with the old tambourines than any kind of chord structure.

Liam didn’t fight it. He leaned into the wild.

“This isn’t about scales,” he said, leaning against the edge of the cabin’s tiny stage. “This is about sound. Feeling, Chaos with rhythm.”

That got their attention.

He ran through warmups that involved clapping in odd patterns, making beats with their feet, and pairing sounds with movement. By the time he passed out small instruments, the cabin was alive with accidental harmony.

You dropped by the back of the room mid-lesson, totally just to bring him the pack of extra mallets he’d forgotten. Really, you just wanted to watch.

Liam caught your eye as he guided one of the kids through a clapping game in 6/8 time. His smile was a little breathless, a little proud. He gestured towards the girl who was too nervous to speak earlier - now shaking a rain stick in perfect time.

Liam pointed to her, then looked at you, mouthing: She’s amazing.

You smiled and mouthed back: You’re doing good.

His ears turned pink. You didn’t mention it.

By lunch, the kids were buzzing with stories - “Did you see how good the music cabin looks now?” “We made art with our eyes closed!” “I accidentally invented a drum rhythm and it gave me emotions!”

You found Liam in the shade behind the dining hall, sitting in the grass with his shoes off and his lunch tray balanced on his knees. A breeze moved through the trees.

He looked up at you with that same quiet, open grin you were starting to associate with real things. Not performance or charm. Just Liam, peeled back a little.

“You survived,” you said, settling down beside him.

“Barely. But I’ve been offered three bands, two interpretive dance troupes, and one marriage proposal.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Gabe?”

“Gabe.”

You laughed, head tilted back toward the sky.

He nudged your foot with his. “Hey.”

You glanced over.

“Thanks for stopping by earlier,” he said, quieter now. “The kids kinda lit up when they saw you. You’ve got that… safe place energy.”

You blinked. A little floored.

“...Thanks,” you murmured, unsure what to do with the warmth blooming in your chest.

“Also,” he added, more casual, “you have blue paint in your eyebrow.”

You groaned and shoved him gently. He caught your hand without thinking, held it just for a second too long.

The horn blew in the distance, signaling the afternoon rotations.

He let go. You stood up.

But when you turned to glance over your shoulder as you walked away, he was still watching you. A little dazed. Like maybe the paint in your eyebrow had nothing to do with why his heart just stopped.

That night, after lights out, you couldn’t sleep.

The camp had settled into its soft summer hush - the kind that only happened when every flashlight was finally off and even the squirrels had given up their drama. You heard the gentle chirp of crickets, the rustling whisper of pine branches, and, faintly, the occasional distant “shhhhhh” from a counselor trying to stop a giggle fight in Cabin O’Keeffe.

Your bunk felt too warm. Your mind wouldn’t quiet. So you slipped out from under the covers, pulled on your hoodie - the one with the paint-streaked sleeves - and grabbed your sketchbook just in case the sky gave you something to draw.

The porch boards creaked under your feet as you stepped outside barefoot. The air kissed your skin, cool and clean, thick and pine and dew and the faint trace of lake water. Your breath fogged slightly in the moonlight.

And there he was.

Liam.

Leaning against the porch rail of his cabin, hoodie pulled over his messy hair, sockless, strumming softly at his guitar like it was part of his heartbeat. Just sound - quiet, open chords without lyrics, notes that wandered without needing to land anywhere. Like something he didn’t want to forget.

You didn’t say anything. Just slipped on your flip flops, padded down the steps, and stood next to him, letting the melody settle into your bones.

He looked over, startled for half a second, then smiled, gentle, tired and glad.

“You too, huh?” he said quietly, voice barely above the crickets

You nodded. “Too much paint in the bloodstream. Can’t sleep.”

He hesitated. Then reached out his hand.

You took it.

He didn’t say where you were going. You didn’t ask.

You walked down the moonlit path together in silence, dodging the glow of motion-activated lights, stepping over roots and pinecones, muffling your laughter when you nearly fell over a rock neither of you saw in time. His hand stayed warm in yours.

When you reached the lake, the world opened.

The trees fell away into shadows, the dock stretched into darkness, and the water - god the water - looked like it had swallowed the sky. Stars were everywhere. In the trees, on the surface, tangled between the ripples. The moon hung low and soft, a silver coin held gently between the lake and sky.

You both slipped off your shoes and sat on the dock, your bare feet just brushing the water - cool, shivering, alive. You could feel your heart slowing, synching with the sounds of the lake, the hush of wind through pine needles.

Liam set his guitar down beside him and laid back on the wooden planks, arms behind his head.

You glanced at him, surprised.

“You don’t wanna play something?”

He shook his head, the motion lazy. “Nah,” he said softly. “Just listening.”

You didn’t ask what for.

Instead, you laid back too - sketchbook on your chest, hoodie hood pulled halfway over your eyes - and stared up with him.

The sky was impossibly loud with stars. Infinite. Blinking. Watching.

After a while, Liam spoke again, voice distant and close all at once.

“You ever feel like it’s… too much?”

You blinked. “The sky?”

He paused, “The everything.”

He said it like he wasn’t expecting an answer. Like he didn’t need one. Just a place to put the feeling down.

You let the silence stretch before answering, soft and real. “Yeah,” you said, “all the time.”

Another beat. Another breath.

“Same,” he murmured. “But you help. Somehow.”

Your chest fluttered - something quiet and warm and true blooming behind your ribs.

You turned your head toward him. He was already looking at you.

His eyes were soft in the dark, unreadable and entirely honest. You could see the shape of him in the starlight. The line of his jaw, the mess of hair shadowing his forehead, the corner of his mouth twitching up just slightly like he was thinking something he might say or might not.

Neither of you moved.

You didn’t need to.

Everything between you was lit with something bigger than the moment - something shy and ure and waiting.

You didn’t kiss. Not yet.

But you were close.

Close enough to count freckles. Close enough to breathe the same space.

And when you finally walked back, just before dawn, your feet were muddy and your hands were cold, but your chest felt full. Tethered.

You snuck back just before dawn - feet muddy, hearts full.

At breakfast the next morning, he passed you a cup of orange juice like nothing had changed.

But when your fingers brushed, he didn’t pull away.

And when your eyes met across the table, you knew.

Everything had.

Sunday evenings only meant one thing: the weekly assembly.

The amphitheater buzzed with the barely-contained chaos of ninety something teenagers attempting to sit still after dinner and dessert. The stone benches radiated leftover heat from the sun, fireflies blinked lazily at the edges of the woods, and the air smelled like marshmallow residue, dried pine, and faintly of glitter.

On stage, Molly was in rare form, clipboard in one hand and megaphone in the other, though she again, didn’t need it.

“Cabin cleanliness rankings are posted outside the dining hall,” she was saying in a tone that suggested doom. “Cabin Monet: Congratulations on surviving your war with the squirrels. Cabin O’Keeffe: You are on very thin ice. And if I hear one more story about campers in Advanced Stage Combat actually fighting again, I swear to god, I will cancel it.”

Groans and gasps erupted.

Usually, you’d be halfway zoned out by now, mentally editing lesson plants or imagining a world where Molly’s megaphone had an off switch. But tonight, you had an announcement to make. An important one.

You stood near the edge of the stage with your clipboard, pretending to study your notes while actually watching Liam try - and fail - to adjust the mic stand for the third time.

“Do you need it to be crooked?” you whispered as he squinted at it.

“It’s for dramatic effect,” he whispered back. “The chaos adds tension..”

You raised a brow. “It adds confusion.”

“Same thing, if you’re doing it right.”

You rolled your eyes as Molly raised her hand with theatrical flair. Instantly, the crowd quieted - not silent, never truly silent, but the kind of organized chaos she could work with.

“And for one last announcement…” she called, grinning wide. “Quiet down - especially you, Cabin Sondheim!”

A ripple of shushing and snickering spread across the benches. You felt the buzz begin - that almost electric current that only came from anticipation.

“Now,” Molly continued, drawing the moment out like a master conductor, “I know we’re only a couple weeks into the session, but you all know what’s coming. It’s time to talk about one of the most chaotic, most glitter-infested, most legendary nights of the session…”

There was a long pause - just long enough for the campers to start vibrating with anticipation.

“The Annual Mid-Camp Talentttt Shooowwwww!”

The amphitheater erupted. Cheers, screams, one air horn (somehow?), and the unmistakable sound of someone from Cabin Frida already beginning a victory chant.

You stepped forward, barely containing your smile. “That’s right,” you said into the mic, “in exactly fourteen nights, this stage becomes your playground. Your spotlight. Your chance to shine.”

Liam leaned in beside you, grinning like the stage was home. “Singers, dancers, spoken-word poets, jugglers, people who can balance spoons on their noses - this is your time.”

“And yes,” you added, “group acts are allowed. As long as no one loses a tooth this year.”

A voice from the crowd yelled “It was worth it!”

You and Liam both cracked up.

“Sign up sheets will be outside the dining hall starting tomorrow morning,” you continued, regaining your balance. “You’ll have time to rehearse during electives, after dinner, and any spare moment you can beg, borrow, or bribe for.”

“We will also have a very official panel of judges,” Liam added. “Me, the raccoon behind Cabin Monet, and the ghost of Beethoven.”

You shot him a look.

“...Kidding,” he muttered into the mic. “It’s just the counselors. But we will be dramatic about it.”

He gave the crowd a smirk. Somewhere, a camper swooned audibly.

You stepped back, giving the mic back to Molly, who wrapped things up with a campfire-style chant that had everyone stomping and clapping along.

As the sun vanished completely, lanterns flickered on around the amphitheater and the campers scattered back toward their cabins, chattering excitedly.

You and Liam stepped off the stage and watched them go - some already strategizing routines, others doing group cartwheels, one kid trying to convince their bunkmate to let them do shadow puppets with interpretive dance.

“This is going to be chaos,” you said under your breath.

He grinned. “The good kind.”

And you believed him.

The talent show was a week away, and camp had officially tipped from playful chaos into full-blown creative mania.

Every corner of the woods pulsed with rehearsals. The amphitheater thudded with tap shoes and spoken word. The path to the lake had been turned into a catwalk for costume testing. Ukulele chords floated through the trees, interrupted only by the occasional shriek of “That’s MY hula hoop, Gabe!” - followed by someone sprinting past in full costume.

Even your sacred art barn had been overtaken. Half-finished set pieces leaned against the paint-splattered walls. Paper mache planets dangled from the rafters. Your canvases were now roommates with three cardboard trees, one paper mache volcano, and what appeared to be a confetti cannon made from recycled water bottles and hope.

So when you finally carved out a moment of silence - real silence - it felt like stumbling into a clearing after being lost in the trees.

It was just after dinner, golden hour stretching long and soft across the hills. Most of the campers were still in the dining hall, finishing dessert and arguing over group names. You’d slipped away without telling anyone - without telling him - and wandered to the only place that still felt like yours.

The music cabin.

The lights were off, except for the soft golden glow of the string lights Liam had hung up a few weeks ago. The window was open. Crickets and cicadas chirped. The room felt lived in - worn and warm and kind.

You had curled up on the edge of the stage, sketchbook in your lap, the image of the stars above the lake coming alive on the page, when you heard footsteps.

Then guitar strings.

Then: “You always steal my hideout”

You looked up.

Liam stood in the doorway, backlit by the last blush of sunset. His guitar was unsurprisingly slung over one shoulder, clipboard tucked under his arm like a half-forgotten accessory. His shoelaces were uneven. He looked like he’d run across the whole property just to be here.

And from the curve of his grin - tilted and warm - maybe he had.

“The dining hall was loud,” you offered, smiling just a little. “I needed somewhere that smelled less like ketchup and sugar.”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a gentle click. “Yeah, they were arguing about whether or not a tap routine could be done in crocs. I left before it got violent.”

You laughed softly. “Coward.”

“Survivalist,” he corrected, settling beside you on the stage. He dropped his clipboard with a thunk and sat cross-legged, his knee bumping yours in the process. Neither of you moved.

For a while, you didn’t talk.

The night hummed. Crickets, distant guitar chords, the faint murmur of someone’s bluetooth speaker out by the fire pit. Inside the music cabin, it was just the two of you. And breath. And space.

Then he glanced sideways at you. “You looked tired today.”

You blinked. “That obvious?”

He shrugged. “Only to me.”

You let your pencil fall still against the page. “I think I hit the part of camp where everything feels like too much. My brain’s glue. My hands are shaky. I forgot my coffee this morning and actually cried.”

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t tease.

He just nodded. “Been there.”

Another beat.

“You know,” he added, voice quieter now, “You don’t have to do everything alone.”

You looked over at him, surprised.

“I see how much you do. For the kids. For the other counselors. For Molly. You keep everyone running.” He strummed a soft chord, like punctuation. “But you don’t let anyone help.”

You looked down at your sketchbook again, now slightly smudged from where your thumb had pressed too hard. “It’s easier sometimes. Doing it myself. At least if it falls apart, I know whose fault it is.”

“Yeah, but that means you don’t get to fall apart. And that’s… kind of unfair.”

You didn’t know what to say.

So instead, you just looked at him,

At the way his crewneck sleeves were pushed to his elbows, wrists freckled and ringed with a bracelet one of the kids had made. At the way the gold of the string lights warmed the edges of his face. At the quiet way he was watching you, like you were something sacred.

Then he set his guitar aside - carefully, like it was something living - and reached for your hand.

You let him take it.

His fingers laced with yours like it was muscle memory.

“I missed you today,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

His thumb brushed over the back of your hand. “You never have to.”

Silence stretched between you. But it was good silence. Full.

Then he leaned in.

Slow. Careful. Like he was giving you time to say no, to pull away, to change your mind.

You didn’t.

Your lips met in a hush of warmth. Gentle at first, like a discovery. Like the beginning of something that had been building for weeks. But then his hand rose to cradle your jaw, and your fingers curled into the hem of his sweatshirt, and it deepend.

The kiss turned into color and quiet and all the wild softness the rest of the world didn’t make time for.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads touched. Your breaths mingled.

“Hi,” you whispered, half breathless.

He smiled, lips still close. “Hi.”

You stayed like that for a while, foreheads pressed together, breath shared, hearts slowly stitching themselves into something braver.

Liam’s hand was still resting against your cheek. Yours had slipped beneath the fabric of his crewneck, fingertips brushing the warmth of his side, like you needed proof he was real.

The kiss had settled something in you. But it had also cracked something open.

You pulled back slightly, just enough to see his eyes. They were soft. Unshielded.

“I didn’t think this would happen,” you said quietly.

Liam cocked his head. “Us?”

You nodded, eyes drifting to the worn wood of the cabin floor. “I don’t usually… I don’t let people in. Not really. Not here.”

“Camp or this cabin?”

“Both,” you admitted. “I’m the one with the clipboard. The one who knows where the extra scissors are, and how to fix paint spills, and who needs a snack before they snap. I’m not the one who gets distracted by guitar boys with crooked smiles and unfinished songs.”

He laughed - just a breath of it. But it wasn’t mocking.

“You’re not distracted,” he said gently. “You’re just… human. And maybe a little guarded.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Little?”

He smiled, eyes crinkling. “Okay, medium guarded. But you care. So much. And you pretend it’s control, but it’s not. It’s heart.”

That hit something deep. You looked away again, swallowing.

“Hey,” His voice was soft.

You looked back, and found his gaze still steady on yours.

“I didn’t come here looking for this either,” he said. “Honestly? I thought I’dbe here for eight weeks, teach a few kids how to strum chords, maybe eat some marshmallows, and leave with sunburn and a funny story.”

“And now?”

He exhaled. Ran a hand through his hair. Let the truth settle.

“And now, I think I’m going to leave with something I don’t know how to name yet.”

That made your chest ache in the best way.

“I’m scared,” you said suddenly. “Not of you. Just… how easy this feels. How much I already want you to stay.”

Liam leaned in, brushing his nose against yours. “Then be scared. Me too. But I’m still here.”

You closed your eyes. Just for a second. Letting it settle. The weight and lightness of it all.

When you opened them, he was still watching you like you were the most important thing he’d ever seen.

“I like you,” you whispered. “A lot more than I planned to.”

“I’m really glad you said that,” he murmured. “Because I think about you when I’m falling asleep. And when I wake up. And basically every second I’m not being hit in the face with a kazoo.”

You laughed into his shoulder. He pressed a kiss to your hair.

Outside, the night breathed around you.

Inside the music cabin, something quiet and real was beginning.

And this time, it wasn’t just a song.

The day of the show, the camp woke up buzzing.

Not the usual sleepy rustle of morning bugle calls and cereal spoons clinking - but real, kinetic energy. Like every kid had mainlined sparkles and adrenaline for breakfast.

Kids sprinted past the cabins in full costume. Someone blasted Queen from a speaker at 7:14 a.m. sharp. Even the frogs seemed louder, as if they knew something big was coming.

The art barn was in chaos by 9:30 a.m.

Cabin Kahlo’s paper mache wings were missing in action. Theater was demanding last-minute paint touch-ups for their backdrops. The film kids begged you for fake blood for their zombie-musical parody. You shut it down quickly. You didn’t even own fake blood.

Your usual camp shirt had acquired three new paint smears - turquoise, gold, and something you were afraid to identify. Your hair was a mess of bobby pins and pipe cleaners. Your clipboard was clutched like a lifeline. But the rehearsal schedule was color-coded, your iced coffee was still mostly cold, and you were ready.

Well. Almost.

You hadn’t seen Liam yet.

He’d slipped out of the dining hall early, guitar case in hand and something unreadable in his eyes. He gave you a two-finger salute from across the oatmeal station and disappeared out the side door before you could corner him.

He was up to something.

You knew it.

But there wasn’t time to investigate. Someone was actively attempting to hot glue sequins to their eyelids and another counselor was chasing down a rogue stage curtain like it owed him money.

By lunch, the nerves had started to settle in. You caught glimpses of campers rehearsing in corners, mouthing lyrics to themselves, trying to psych each other up. Even Gabe was quiet. Gabe.

You found Liam backstage at the amphitheater around 2 p.m., helping set up lights with theater counselor Connor and rewiring a mic that definitely hadn’t worked since 1988.

“Hey,” you said softly, nudging his foot with yours.

He looked up from where he was crouched beside the soundboard - cheeks flushed, hair tousled, screwdriver in one hand, smile slow and sure. “Hey.”

“Everything holding together?”

“Barely. But we’re running on zip ties and blind faith now, so what could go wrong?”

You grinned. “Any surprises I should know about?”

He tilted his head. “Define surprise.”

You squinted at him. “Liam.”

He stood, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “Okay, so I may or may not have rearranged the closing slot.”

“You what-?”

“For emotional impact,” he said. “And also because I finished the song.”

You froze.

“The song?” you asked, softly now.

He met your eyes. That look - the one that always felt like the moment before a summer storm. Gentle, but charged.

“The one from the bonfire. From the dock. From…this whole summer.”

You didn’t say anything. Simply reached for his hand and squeezed.

He squeezed back.

That evening, the amphitheater glowed.

Lanterns swung from the tree branches. Campers buzzed like lightning bugs, tugging on costumes, whispering nerves, adjusting microphones. The air smelled like hairspray and nerves.

Molly gave a rousing pre-show pep talk that turned into a dramatic reading of a Shakespeare monologue, and someone from Cabin Monet had already spilled lemonade on the lightboard and a raccoon was spotted near the stage twice.

You stood in the wings, headset slightly askew, heart pounding with secondhand adrenaline. The show had started, and the acts were better than anyone expected - heartfelt and weird and wonderful.

A group of kids tap danced in swim fins to “Eye of the Tiger.” One trio read haikus about the camp showers. Gabe delivered a spoken word piece about macaroni art and heartbreak that nearly brought the crowd to tears.

And then, just before the closing act, Liam walked onstage.

Alone.

The chatter stilled. The night held its breath.

He stood at the center of the stage, guitar slung low, dressed in his usual attire - hoodie sleeves pushed up, laces untied. But his voice was steady when he leaned into the mic.

“This one’s for someone who made this place feel like home,” he said. “Someone who sees the world in color, even when everything feels black and white.”

Your heart cracked open.

Then he began to play.

It was the song. His song. Your song. The one you’d heard in pieces, in fragments, around corners and under stars. But it was now full - complete - and it was beautiful.

Soft at first, a slow build. Like memory. Like a sketch becoming a painting.

Verses about summer air and tangled string lights, about paint-stained fingers and hands that felt like safety. The chorus swelled with hope. With want. With something that sounded like falling in love, softly and completely.

You didn’t even realize you were crying until Connor handed you a tissue without looking away from the stage.

When the last chord faded, there was a heartbeat of silence. Then the amphitheater erupted. Campers on their feet, stomping, screaming, howling. A standing ovation.

But Liam didn’t look at them.

He looked at you.

And smiled like he already knew your answer.

34 notes · View notes

valiwrites · 3 days ago

Note

vali where did you go??? you didn't love us anymore?? :((

[ found this in my drafts :) yes i was gone for a while 😔 school drained me im sorry for waiting, i will make more stories from now on! otherwise check my wattpad: vickybutter for full stories ]

sick ━ charles leclerc

pairing: charles leclerc x female reader

warnings: nothing only fluff

The sky over Monaco was a dull grey, heavy clouds rolling over the coast like someone had drawn the blinds on the entire city. The rain hadn’t let up since dawn, the soft patter against the windows weaving in and out of your thoughts like background music to a film.

You stood barefoot in the kitchen, stirring a pot of chicken noodle soup with one hand, phone cradled between your shoulder and cheek. You were talking to your mom, half-distracted, eyes occasionally darting to the hallway leading to the living room.

“…no, Mom, he’s not dying. It’s just the flu,” you said with a small laugh, though your brows furrowed slightly. “Yes, I made him tea. No, not the ginger kind. He hates ginger. Yes, I made him change his socks.”

You hung up just as the soup hit a slow, rolling boil. The entire flat smelled like garlic, thyme, and something soothing. Comfort food. You hoped it would help. Charles wasn’t a good patient—he hated being down, hated being weak. Maybe it was the athlete in him, or the Monegasque stubbornness, or both.

You ladled the soup into a bowl, grabbed a glass of water, some tissues, and the cold medicine you’d all but forced him to take earlier. You balanced everything on a tray and padded into the living room.

Charles was exactly where you’d left him: slumped sideways on the couch in a sea of fleece blankets, his face half-buried in a pillow, damp hair matted to his forehead. His usual olive skin was paler than normal, with a rosy flush over his cheeks and nose that would’ve been cute if he didn’t look so miserable.

“Soup delivery,” you announced softly.

He stirred, blinking blearily. “You’re an angel.”

“You say that now. Wait until I make you take another dose of that disgusting syrup later.”

He groaned, weakly. “I’d rather crash the Ferrari.”

You laughed, setting the tray down and sitting beside him. You pressed a hand to his forehead, frowning. Still too warm. “Your fever’s not breaking.”

“Maybe it’ll go away if I just… stop acknowledging it.”

“Oh, so we’re doing the ‘ignore it and hope it disappears’ method? Very scientific, Mr. Leclerc.”

He cracked a tired smile. “It works for tire degradation.”

You rolled your eyes and handed him the soup, waiting as he slowly sat up to sip at it. He made a small, appreciative sound in the back of his throat after the first spoonful. You reached over and tucked the blanket around his legs again—he’d been kicking it off in his sleep all morning.

“Do you want to try eating more later?” you asked, gently carding your fingers through his hair.

“If it’s this soup, then yes.”

You tilted your head. “You’re sweet when you’re feverish.”

“I’m always sweet,” he croaked, before breaking into a harsh cough that made him double over. You rubbed his back until it passed, then handed him the water.

“I don’t know how you still look good like this,” you muttered. “It’s genuinely unfair.”

He sniffled dramatically. “Don’t lie. I look like a sickly goat.”

“You do not. Goats don’t have eyelashes like yours.”

He leaned his head against your shoulder after a few more bites of soup, warm and slightly damp. “Marry me.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

He chuckled, throat raw. “Not now. But one day. When I’m not disgusting.”

“Charles,” you said with a soft smile, wrapping an arm around him, “you could propose in the middle of a tissue avalanche and I’d still say yes.”

He paused, eyes lifting toward yours in that half-sleepy, vulnerable way you’d only seen a handful of times—moments when the helmet was off, the walls down.

“…Yeah?” he whispered.

You kissed his temple. “Yeah.”

A few hours passed in quiet.

Charles fell asleep against you, the soup forgotten, his fingers still loosely tangled with yours. You scrolled through your phone, read a few pages of a novel, checked his temperature again. He stirred every now and then, mumbling in French, half-lucid dreams mixing with the sound of the rain.

At one point, he startled awake, sweating and disoriented.

“Shh, baby, it’s just the fever,” you murmured, wiping his forehead with a damp cloth. He leaned into your hand like it grounded him.

“I thought I missed the race,” he said, still halfway in the dream.

“There’s no race. You��re safe. You’re home.”

He exhaled slowly. “Okay.”

Later, you coaxed him into a lukewarm bath to help bring his temperature down. He sat in the water like a sulking cat, hair damp, eyes drooping.

“I hate this,” he muttered.

“I know. But you’ll feel better. And I promise not to take any embarrassing photos.”

“…You better not.”

You tossed a clean towel at him. “I’ll delete the ones I already took, then.”

“Chérie!”

That evening, the rain let up for a while. The apartment glowed gold with lamp light, warm against the grey outside.

Charles was bundled in fresh pajamas and propped up with pillows in bed, scrolling aimlessly on his phone. You sat beside him with a heating pad over your lap and a book in hand. The air smelled faintly of eucalyptus from the diffuser you'd set up earlier.

“Thank you for taking care of me,” he said, voice still rough but clearer.

You looked over. “You’d do the same.”

“I know. But still. You could’ve just left me to wallow.”

“You’d get soup on the ceiling if I did.”

He laughed—really laughed, even if it turned into a cough halfway through. You leaned over and pressed your lips to his cheek, letting them linger.

He reached up and gently cupped your face, thumb brushing along your jaw. “You make even the worst days feel bearable.”

You kissed him again, softer this time. “That’s the job, isn’t it?”

His eyes searched yours, even glassy and heavy-lidded, and there was something more serious behind them now. “If I ever got really sick—like, properly sick—would you stay?”

The question knocked the breath from you for a moment.

“Of course I would. You don’t even have to ask.”

“I think about it sometimes,” he admitted, “how racing is everything one day, and the next… it’s gone. What if I wasn’t Charles Leclerc anymore?”

You closed the book and set it aside, fully turning toward him.

“You’d still be you,” you said, fingers brushing his. “I fell in love with you. Not just the driver. Not the Ferrari suit. Not the podiums. You, who snores when he’s stuffed up and eats cereal with a fork when we’re out of spoons. You who loves his family more than anything and sings off-key in the shower.”

He swallowed hard. “You make it sound like I’m worth staying for.”

“You are,” you said simply.

A long pause, just the sound of the rain starting up again outside.

Then: “I’m definitely marrying you.”

You laughed, threading your fingers through his again. “Not until you can say it without coughing halfway through.”

“Fine. But start looking at dresses anyway.”

#f1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 #mclaren formula 1 #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #f1 fic #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #charles leclerc x male #charles leclerc x male reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc

158 notes · View notes

harrysfolklore · 8 months ago

Text

matchmaker - op81

summary: oscar finds a puppy wandering around the streets of monaco that leads him to meet his lucky charm

folkie radio: AN OSCAR FIC FINALLY OMG!!!! i have to say thank you to @cambrayficsrecs for sending this idea !! i LOVED IT and i hope you like this

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, yourbff and 209 others

yourinstagram meet the newest monaco resident: arlo 🤍 swipe to see the goodest boy helping me settle in my new home 🐾

view all comments

yourbff HE'S PERFECT!! miss you already but so happy for you 😭

username1 the cutest addition to monaco!!

username2 remember when you said you'd never get a dog? 😂

alexandrasaintmleux my new favorite neighbor!!! can't wait for our puppy playdates 🤍

↳ yourinstagram arlo and leo are going to be bffs 🥹🥹

username3 told you moving to monaco was the best decision

username4 i'm visiting asap just to meet this angel

yourbff2 can't believe my best friend lives in monaco now

username5 you're living the dream with the goodest boy!

username6 look at that face!! when can i visit?

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texts between alex and yn

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liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 583,827 others

oscarpiastri Enjoyed being a temporary dog dad today 🐾 glad this good boy made it back home safe! might have to get one of my own now...

view all comments

username1 MY HEARTTT

username2 OSCAR YOU CAN’T DO THIS

maxverstappen1 Don't let lando see this

↳ landonorris too late. getting a dog.

mclaren Best teammate and dog sitter 🧡

username3 OSCAR WITH A PUPPY THIS IS NOT A DRILL

username4 the wholesome content we needed today

alexandrasaintmleux arlo already misses his rescuer! thanks again oscar 🤍

username5 get this man a dog asap

username6 the way he took care of a stranger's dog 🥺

username7 okay but imagine oscar with his own puppy

username8 JUST GET A DOG

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yourinstagram has added to their stories

replies:

yourbff ARLO OMG 🥺🥺 what happened to him?

↳ yourinstagram sneaky little minx disappeared from the balcony.. he’s safe tho

username1 omg poor you! good thing you found him

username2 is this knight in shinning armor who saved arlo cute?

↳ yourinstagram STOP 😭

username3 i need to visit so i can meet arlo

alexandrasaintmleux I could give you his insta… or his number 👀

↳ yourinstagram STOP IT ALEX

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texts between alex and yn

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liked by alexandrasaintmleux, oscarpiastri and 28,724 others

yourinstagram turns out the nice guy who found arlo last week also happens to be pretty good at driving cars 🏎️ congrats on p2! @/oscarpiastri

view all comments

username1 GIRL WHAT IS YOUR LIFE RN

username2 you move to monaco and suddenly you're in f1 garages???

alexandrasaintmleux told you you'd love f1 🤍

↳ yourinstagram love you !

username3 OMG OSCAR

username4 SHES THE OWNER OF THE DOG

username5 this plot twist though 👀

mclaren 🧡

username6 the way this all started because arlo escaped

charles_leclerc I won you know? 🤔

↳ yourinstagram congrats charles !

username7 YOUR LIFE IS A MOVIE

username8 the best meet cute ever??

oscarpiastri Couldn't have done it without my good luck charm 🐾

↳ yourinstagram arlo says you’re welcome!

username9 IS THIS THE OWNER??

username10 the cutest storyline of the season

username11 THE WAY HE COMMENTED

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oscarpiastri sent you a direct message

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liked by username1, username2 and 14,826 others

f1gossip Oscar Piastri spotted having coffee with the owner of the now-famous beagle puppy in Monaco this morning 👀

view all comments

username1 THE WAY THIS STORY KEEPS GETTING BETTER

username2 from rescuing her dog to coffee dates we love this journey

username3 this is better than drive to survive

username4 THEY’RE SO CLOSE HELLO

username5 this is the cutest thing ever help

username6 the fact that the dog is there too 😭

username7 someone check on lando he's losing his bachelor buddy

username8 the good luck charm strikes again

username9 living a wattpad story fr

username10 HE LOOKS SO HAPPY

liked by oscarpiastri, alexandrasaintmleux and 47,935 others

yourinstagram turns out there's more to monaco than just fancy cars 🤍

view all comments

username1 THE WAY YOU MOVED TO MONACO AND IMMEDIATELY LIVING A ROMCOM

username2 OSCAR?????

username3 arlo the ultimate wingman

username4 this storyline keeps getting better

username5 OMFG WHAT IS THIS I NEED THE CONTEXT

alexandrasaintmleux told you he was cute 😌

↳ username1 OMFG ALEX

↳ username2 i love her

↳ charles_leclerc 😂😂😂

username6 need full story time asap

username7 the way this all started because she lost her dog 😭

username8 living for this plot development

oscarpiastri arlo approved ✅

↳ username1 OSCAR STOPPPPP

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yourinstagram has added to their stories

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texts between oscar and yn

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liked by yourinstagram, landonorris and 986,033

oscarpiastri Great weekend with the team 🧡 Ready to head back home to Monaco though... missing my favorite good luck charm 🐾"

view all comments

username1 OSCCCC

username2 is he talking about the dog? 😭

landonorris which one? 👀

↳ oscarpiastri 🤫

↳ username1 HELLO???

↳ username3 DECODE THIS

alexandrasaintmleux someone's eager to get back 😌

↳ charles_leclerc Your matchmaking services working well

↳ username1 LET ME INNNN

georgerussell63 The power of puppy love

username3 WE ALL KNOW WHICH GOOD LUCK CHARM

username4 the way he said "home" to monaco 🥺

username5 did anyone else catch him waving to someone on facetime after the race??

username6 some of this comments saying “the dog” his name is ARLO and he’s an icon

username7 i’m going to call it right now oscar is dating the dog owner

username8 OSC 😩

yourinstagram 🤍

liked by username1, username2 and 8,739 others

f1gossipinsider Straight from Barcelona to dinner in Monaco... Oscar Piastri spotted at Le Grill with a certain someone 👀

view all comments

username1 THE WAY HE DIDN'T EVEN GO HOME FIRST

username2 man flew straight from barcelona to take her to dinner i'm crying

username3 not me zooming in to confirm it's her

username4 THATS DEFINITELY YN AND ARLO UNDER THE TABLE

username5 fastest post-race exit we've ever seen

username6 Le Grill?? Man's not playing around

username7 our favorite story continues...

username8 this man SPRINTED from the circuit

username9 the commitment >>>

username10 our boy's got his priorities straight

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texts between oscar and yn

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liked by lilymhe, oscarpiastri and 45,099 others

yourinstagram turns out watching someone drive in circles for 2 hours isn't so bad after all 🏎️ proud of you @/oscarpiastri 🧡

view all comments

username1 OMGGGG

username2 look at little arloooo

francisca.cgomes So lovely meeting you! Welcome to the family ❤️

yourbff we have soooo much catching up to do

carmenmmundt You're a natural! Can't wait for Hungary

alexandrasaintmleux look who's becoming an f1 expert

↳ charles_leclerc Stop taking credit for this

↳ alexandrasaintmleux never 😌

↳ username1 HELLO??

username3 the WAGs adopting her immediately >>

username4 ARE THEY DATING??

username5 oh what a plot twist

username6 THIS IS GIVING ME LIFE

username7 so the key go getting an f1 driver to date you is getting a dog i see

username8 ARLO IS SO CUTE

oscarpiastri Best good luck charms ever 🤍

↳ username1 OSCAR STOP

↳ username2 i simply cannot do this

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texts between alex and yn

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oscarpiastri has added to their stories

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liked by carlossainz55, yourinstagram and 1,099,832 others

oscarpiastri First Grand Prix Win. Incredible 🧡 Thank you to the two lucky charms who changed everything

view all comments

username1 IM CRYING

username2 HELLO TWO LUCKY CHARMS ??

landonorris GET IN THERE MATE!! Proud of you 🧡

alex_albon THATS MY BOY

username3 IS HE TALKING ABOUT ARLO AND YN??

username4 im actually sobbing

username5 man won his first race and chose to be THIS cute about it

username6 SOMEONE SAID HE KEPT SHOWING HER THE TROPHY

georgerussell63 CONGRATS OSCO 🙌🙌

username7 from monaco meet cute to whatever this is im crying

username8 THIS IS ADORABLE OSCAR HELLO

username9 not to be parasocial but he's so in love

username10 THE WAY ARLO WAS THERE FOR HIS WIN

yourinstagram we're incredibly proud of you 🤍

liked by username1, username2 and 10,877 others

f1gossip From first F1 win to celebration dinner - Oscar Piastri living his best life in Budapest tonight! Sources say he couldn't stop smiling and kept calling her "my girlfriend" to everyone 👀

view all comments

username1 OH MY LORD

username2 is this oscar "i don't like pda" piastri??

username3 I CANNOT BELIEVE MY EYES

username4 the way this all started bc she lost her dog...

username5 I NEED THIS TO HAPPEN TO ME

username6 this is how we find out oscar is not single anymore

username7 EVERYBODY SAY THANK YOU ARLO

username8 lord i've seen what you've done for others

username9 the best meet cute in history

username10 THAT SHOULD BE ME

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, oscarpiastri and 60,826 others

yourinstagram home sweet home with my favorite race winner (and his trophy that he definitely didn't make me pack extra carefully) 🏆✨ still pinching myself about this weekend 🧡

view all comments

username1 CRYING

username2 the way we all watched this love story unfold

username3 most precious f1 couple no debate

landonorris Mans giving away his caps now?? love's changed him

lilymhe cutest neighbors ever! dinner tomorrow? 🤍

↳ yourinstagram count on it!

username4 LOOK AT ARLOOO I CANT

username5 i can’t believe oscar has a gf now

francisca.cgomes you two are goals honestly

mclaren Our lucky charm is back home! 🧡

username6 remember when she didn't know what DRS was 😭

username7 she's literally living the dream

username8 how to go from dog mom to f1 wag: a novel

alexandrasaintmleux my biggest masterpiece 🥹

↳ charles_leclerc STOP TAKING CREDIT

↳ alexandrasaintmleux NEVER

↳ yourinstagram arlo was the real matchmaker

username9 HOW DO I GET THIS LIFE

username10 they’re so in love i can’t

oscarpiastri My two favorite things in monaco ❤️

↳ yourinstagram three* don't forget the trophy

↳ oscarpiastri Trophy’s just a bonus 😘

liked by yourinstagram, landonorris and 1,549,022 others

oscarpiastri To the best wingman and matchmaker in F1 - thanks for running away that day in Monaco. Changed my whole life 🐾❤️ (YN says I need to stop spoiling him but look at that face)

view all comments

username1 IM FULL PN SOBBING NOW

username2 ARLOOOOO🥹🥹🥹

alex_albon most successful matchmaker in monaco

mclaren Our honorary team member 🧡

username3 i love one fairytale love story

alexandrasaintmleux YOU’RE ALL WELCOME

↳ username1 alex 😭😭

↳ charles_leclerc you're still not getting credit for this

↳ oscarpiastri It was all Arlo

username4 HE CALLED HIM HIS WINGMAN 😭

username5 from runaway dog to f1 power couple

username6 netflix writing this down rn

username7 cupid who? we only know arlo

nicolepiastri ❤️

username8 most iconic f1 meet cute ever

username9 the real mvp of the season

username10 OSCAR DOG DAD

yourinstagram our matchmaker 🤍

6K notes · View notes

gguk-n · 2 days ago

Note

I love ur recent yoongi x williams!reader smmm

I was hoping if u could make more for the other members??

*Tae Tae mic face*

no face claims!!! I kind of sat on this request for so long until tae went to paris😉

y/n.y/l/n

Liked by olliebearman, haasf1team and 237,390 others

y/n.y/l/n First race with my new home for a while. #blessed

olliebearman you are soo old😔. can't believe you're gen z user1 she in form!!❤️ user2 loved the race😍 user3 black and red is so her colour!!🥵 haasf1team we love you🥰 Liked by Author kimi.antonelli 👍

y/n.y/l/n

Liked by olliebearman, haasf1team and 345,903 others

y/n.y/l/n Thank you @/celine for making me your brand ambassador

user4 OMG!!😦 user5 pretty and fast😌 user6 she's so perfect for the brand 🥰 haasf1team our driver isn't just good, she's really good 😌 y/n.y/l/n haasf1team thank you 🙏 kimi.antonelli 🤣 you're a brand ambassador y/n.y/l/n kimi.antonelli shut up 🤐

y/n.y/l/n

Liked by bogummy, thv, haasf1team and 1,239,487 others

y/n.y/l/n Paris you were so pretty. Might just come back with my lover

bogummy ❤️ user7 OMG!!! VVVVVV😫 user8 So prettyyyy😍 user9 Have them come to races pls!!! 😪 user10 haasf1team take notes for invites user11 best thing to come out of this whole thing😭 user12 what if she's dating one of them 🙃😏

y/n.y/l/n

Tagged thv Liked by thv, haasf1team, bts_bighit and 2,340,569 others

y/n.y/l/n my dream come true!! my biggest supporter🤣

haasf1team new dad!! olliebearman he's stealing my fav person from me 🥲 kimi.antonelli we're stealing him for some gaming 🫣 user18 that first picture, they are so cute and cringy 🥹 user19 wtf 😬 user20 I'm crying!! Not her first picture from Paris😭 user21 the only couple I support in this sport user22 Taehyung WAG era 😍😍 user23 bts x f1 please 🙏 user24 now to get all the members so that they'll embarass him 🤣🤣 user25 for someone who said I can't tolerate childish behaviour anymore he decided to date the most childish person on the grid user26 who asked who??? y/n.y/l/n user26 he did. I couldn't say no to that face user26 y/n.y/l/n OMG YOU REPLIED!! tata mic face asked her out. confirmed ✅

68 notes · View notes

formulaaddict14 · 3 days ago

Text

Broken promises ( SMAU )

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary : From cutesy Instagram posts to an unexpected break up

Warnings : angst-ish smau??

Author note : pet sitting has to be the best way to earn money ( cute animal + pay ??? ) BUT ANYWAY i will try and post daily until Uni starts 😞

- — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — -

yourusername just posted :

Liked by charles_leclerc, urbsf and 610,283 others

I’ll miss you forever, you promised you’d never leave but here we are 🕊️🤍 @/charles_leclerc

user01 : what did they break up??!!

user02 : GIRL WHAT

urbsf : ANSWER MY CALLS NOW.

user03 : CHARLES HELLO??

charles_leclerc : I wish to clarify that we did not indeed break up but I am going on a business trip 🥲

| yourusername : seems like abandonment to me 🤷‍♀️

| user04 : YOU GUYS JUST FREAKED EVERYBODY OUT.

user05 : I really just thought my parents broke up 💔

user06 : Y/N you poor soul, always know we’ll support you and bash his attempts at abandoning you 🥹🙏

| yourusername : Thank you 😞💕

user07 : What an evil man he is 🙄 liked by creator

user08 : She’s so manipulative tbh like…

| user09 : She’s joking chill…

user10 : Almost jumped out of a window btw!

F1.gossip just posted :

Liked by user04, user12 and 891,272 others

Charles Leclerc seen on a sunset walk with mystery girl after going on a business trip and leaving his girlfriend in Italy 👀🏎️🏁

user11 : INSANE…

user12 : HUHHHH

user13 : literally what is going on 😭

| user14 : we need cars on track asap lmao

user15 : super sketchy to say the least 😬

user16 : Imagine cheating on THE Y/N

user17 : Guys what if they are just friends??

| user18 : there’s another pic of them holding each others hand on twitter btw

| user17 : okay nvm then 🫣

user19 : WTHHH

user20 : SOMEONE CHECK ON Y/N THIS INSTANT

yourusername just posted :

Liked by urbsf, ursister and 791,283 others

Italy is gorgeous and thank you to the loveliest best friend ever for cheering me up 🍋🌺✈️

user21 : Imagine cheating on such an ethereal woman 💔 liked by creator

user22 : GIRL BREAK UP WITH HIMMMMM

user23 : why’s she liking hate comments targeted at charles, like girl what are you being messy for 🙄

| user24 : he cheated on her? 😭

urbsf : girl anytime, I will NEVER leave you 💞 liked by creator

| yourusername : 🥹🫶

user25 : DUMP CHARLESS

user26 : post break up glow coming in hard 😭

user27 : I get such secondhand embarrassment from those twitter pictures of charles 💔

ursister : You look stunning love 💕 liked by creator

user28 : Charles fumbled HARD

user29 : Okay so the break up is pretty much confirmed? 🥲

| user30 : THIS being the post after her last satire post is actually making me sob.

user31 : Charles we WILL throw hands…

F1.gossip just posted :

Liked by ursister and 712,989 others

Another sighting of mystery girl and Charles Leclerc admits break up rumours between him and Y/N 👀📸

user32 : Charles it is impossible to defend you now 😭

user33 : this is soo embarrassing lmaoooo

user34 : He’s not even denying the rumours this is so humiliating 🫣

user35 : HOW DOES ONE CHEAT IN A WOMAN LIKE Y/N???

user36 : Not the smiling at the camera 😭

user37 : Public humiliation final boss 🙏

user38 : Y/N is literally so pretty and then doing THIS?

user39 : Ohhh… 😬

user40 : Charles… please stop…

user41 : Y/N dodged a bullet.

| user42 : more like a nuke 😓

yourusername just posted :

Liked by urbsf, ursister and 698,028 others

Unbothered, crying and contemplation is all I have been feeling lately 🍦🌼🌊

user43 : Queen behaviour as usual.

user44 : IN LOVE WITH THAT OUUTFITT

user45 : Caption is so real 😭

ursister : Girl you can forget that man and focus on yourself now 👏 liked by creator

user46 : Loveee herr

user47 : Charles wasn’t all that anyway 🤷‍♀️

user48 : Hot girl summer incoming?

urbsf : I know a queen when I see one 👸

user49 : Charles’ sightings have given EVERYONE secondhand embarrassment 😭

user50 : Revenge era?

- — - — - — - — - — - — - — - — -

149 notes · View notes

oscpstri · 25 days ago

Text

twin flames | piastri

piastri x fem motogp!reader, 1.06k

oscar piastri was a force to be reckoned with and whatever he was in formula 1, you were the same in motogp. you were always around each other, but you couldn't help it, the challenge was delicious.

INCLUDES: use of y/n, reader is an exact replica of osco maybe even a bit more badass bcs duh, inaccurate and fictional events

NOTE: ok i got this idea from the smooth criminal glee cast performance...... they're both so hot AND literally the best in both of their groups so like why not recreate that same tension in a very (VERY) serious sport. again, i only know the basics to motogp so pls do bare w me. also im not the proudest of this but i wanted to write

FULL ONESHOT: BUT YOU LIKE IT

( masterlist | more OP81 )

You and Oscar Piastri were the same person in different fonts and different websites.

Oscar was well-known for being a rising superstar in Formula 1— winning Formula 3, Formula 2, and being the championship leader in the season so far.

You were the same— just in a different motorsport. You took home the gold in Moto3 and Moto2 and were high up in the clouds mid-season, absolutely dominating the field.

The both of you started at the very same time— careers paralleling each other in different universes. You two knew of each other, but never met until one fateful day when Quad Lock decided to create an F1 and MotoGP crossover with their global ambassadors.

You sat in your brand gear, cradling your helmet in your hands. Oscar stood with his arms crossed, Quad Lock hat on full display.

They had decided it would be a good idea to put the both of you in karts and pocket bikes for two separate videos. Obviously, Oscar crushed you in karting and you crushed him in bikes— everyone saw that coming.

The media thought that interaction would be the last they saw of you two in a while. Until the annual motorsports gala where the both of you tie for "Athlete of the Year".

They bring you both on stage— the perfect representation of differing categories in the sport. Oscar lets you talk first, signaling you to go ahead in front of the microphone. As you do so, you say something that triggers the tension that you and the F1 driver have had since you both saw each other from across the room.

"...And lastly, I want to thank Mr. Oscar Piastri who I share the stage with today for being a great second option." You lift the trophy up as the crowd breaks out into applause. You spot your fellow riders cheering you on and you spot the F1 drivers snickering in their seats like pre-pubescent boys.

Media outlets explode at your acceptance speech, reporters have a field day asking Oscar what his thoughts were on your words, and you merely enjoyed the entertainment of it all.

Two months later, the both of you find each other at a charity event. You get in the simulator and impress everyone with your lap times. Oscar gets on the bike and impresses everyone with his balance. And while a crowd of interested fans crowded you, you only paid attention to each other.

"And you doubted my two-wheel abilities?"

"Yeah, thought you'd find it hard to balance. What with that big head and all."

You two bicker the whole time. Focus still locked onto the simulators you both started, but attention onto the person beside you. The crowd started pulling their phones out, tweeting and posting clips of the moment. Your dynamic eventually went viral and the media dubbed you two as golden twins— the prince of Formula 1 who crossed paths with the princess of MotoGP.

This eventually leads you two to exchange numbers, not doing much with it except for the weekly banter. After a race, you would text Oscar and compliment him on it. Of course, mentioning the atrocious understeer that almost cost his race. After a race, Oscar would text you and compliment you on it. Of course, mentioning the cocky stab at gravity that almost makes you go flying into the stands.

You two eventually end up on a podcast together, trying to out-snark each other with each flying minute. This leaves the hosts confused as to what was happening and the fans just ate it up like they were starved. Were they flirting? Fighting? Or both?

Then this leads to a helmet swap a week after the podcast aired. Your teams called it marketing, you two called it stupid. Yet you still did it. And the only evidence that that interaction happened is a picture of the two you side-by-side, holding each other's helmets up like you enjoyed it. And maybe you kinda did.

Fast forward a few months, Quad Lock has you both in a chokehold once again. Marketing makes you do simulators, reaction tests, everything you do as training. And its a back and forth of you and Oscar winning.

"Now I know why you win all the time." Oscar sends you a cheeky smile.

You narrow your eyes playfully, trying to hide the smile that wanted to stretch on your face. "Oh yeah?"

"I've never been there to distract you."

Twitter erupts, fan pages explode, and the Formula 1 and MotoGP teams absolutely love the back and forth. So much so that Quad Lock decides to bring Oscar to a race.

You won, of course, and Oscar stayed for the entire podium celebration. You enter your garage afterwards, sticky from the champagne. You spot Oscar and quickly walk towards him, a smirk on your face.

"Enjoyed the race?"

Oscar smiled at this, shoving his hands in his hoodie pocket. "Yeah, until you won."

You place the champagne bottle and trophy down on an empty table, looking at the driver with an impressed expression. You take your hat off and toss it towards him. He effortlessly catches it and admires it, the blue Michelin hat sat drenched in champagne in his hands.

"You can have that as a token of you being here," you start, picking up your trophy and bottle. "Already have a lot of those, anyway."

You wink as you walk away, leaving him stunned in place, hands still gripping onto the hat like it was a brick of gold.

Two weeks later and it was your turn to show up for the other's race. Oscar won, like he always did, and you stayed for the podium celebration as well.

Walking back to the hospitality, you hear footsteps jogging towards you until you spot a familiar champagne-soaked driver next to you. He says nothing, just a stupid smile on his face, before he holds out the Pirelli hat that you take.

"Hope you were taking notes, two-wheels." And he runs off before you could reply. You walk slower than you did a few minutes ago, mentally processing what just happened.

Because whatever this was, you liked it. You had finally found someone who could match you. Someone who wasn't better or worse than you— but someone who was the exact same. And you found it intoxicating.

976 notes · View notes

cheriladycl01 · 11 hours ago

Text

Rock your world - Kimi Räikkönen x Geologist! Reader

Plot: Kimi can’t get his head around the fact that you dedicate your life to studying rocks … but he gets involved like no other. You're Barbie and he's just Ken.

You'd forced your husband out on holiday. Well actually that's a lie. It was the location you'd forced him to go. He had wanted to spend summer break in Bali, but you'd argued that you wanted to go to Arizona and of course that's where you ended up going. You started off in the Grand Canyon.

"We've been walking for hours Kulta" he complains as you kneel down on your pad, dusting through some of the sediment with the brush you'd brought with you.

"We haven't even reached the best bit yet Kimi! Come on!" you grin, before beckoning him to come over close to you.

"Look at this one! It's definitely a fossil! Did you want to crack it open?" you ask showing the large smooth and round rock you'd found. He nodded, gabbing the other rock you'd found that was perfect to hit it with.

"What do you think it is?" he asks before he starts to crack at it.

"Maybe it will be a marine fossil? I haven't found one of those here yet! Do you remember the trace one you found last time? It's still up on our wall in the dining room" you smile and he nods sitting on the edge of the rock.

He starts to hammer away at it until he pries the middle open spotting the centre of the fossil!

"Oh woah! Look at that!" you gasp seeing the intricate details of the curled up shape embedded into the rock.

"That one is very detailed! Shall i wrap it up and bag it?" he asks, wiping the sweat from his brow. Once he takes the bag of his shoulders you realise why he's sweating. The heavy bag, full of fossils, rocks and sediment jars is heavier than you can lift.

"Oh! I'm sorry i didn't realise how much we'd picked up! I promise we'll go back after wrapping this one up! I owe you a drink tonight!" you sigh, looking at him with a guilty expression on your face. One that made him melt.

"It's okay, but he owe me more than a drink" he smiles a cheeky grin, pulling you closer and placing a kiss on your forehead, knowing its not sweating from not having a bag of rocks on your back.

"I am really sorry!" you say, rubbing his shoulders.

Once back at the hotel, you set up your journal and started logging all of your finds, Kimi was lounging on the bed in shorts scrolling through all the American channells until he stumbled across one showing last weeks F1 highlights which he happily sat and watched.

You worked so late that you didn't even realise the time, it was nearing 2am when Kimi shuffled off the bed before coming up to you hugging you from behind.

"It's pretty late now, come to bed..." he says, turning his head to look at you, his cheek resting on your shoulder. You turn to him, before looking down at your watch, eyes widening at the time.

"It's so late! We've got to look at the crater tomorrow and I'm nowhere near done" you exclaim gesturing to the journal and all the papers on the desk you'd been using as your work space for the entire vacation.

"I've already postponed it for you, we'll go on Wednesday. But you owe me a spa day tomorrow after becoming your personal backpack" he says, spinning the backless chair around to face him. He takes your glasses off, placing them on the desk and closing your book. He lifts you up and bring you into the bed.

"Time for sleep!" he grunts out, pulling the covers up over you before hugging you tightly. Soon you fall to sleep, it was an exhausting day afterall and the hiking definitely wore you out enough to send you off quickly.

Waking up the next morning and you were incredibly thankful to your husband for postponing looking at the crater.

Today you'd spend a day relaxing around the hotel in the pool and at the spa facilities that were offered. When you were eating breakfast, Kimi had explained the days plans.

"So we'll rest while food goes down, then we'll go for a swim, steam room and sauna and then ive booked us in for a couples massage. Then we'll have lunch, you can read your book while i catch up with messages from the team, then you've got a manicure and haircut booked while my intrsuctor has requested i go to the gym" he says and you smile, he couldn't get more perfect.

"Mmmmm that sounds nice. You'll be okay in the gym after yesterday?" you ask and he just laugh.

"Don't worry, I'm not as sore as you despite all the heavy lifting" he says, rubbing your shoulders and making a gesture to your complete plate. "Did you want some more?"

"Mmmmm maybe some of those little strawberries and apples. Thank you honey!" you smile, pushing the dishes further away.

As you watch him walk away you cant help but think of how amazing you're life is and how thankful you are to have him in your life.

y/user

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y/user: my husband just doesn’t get it 🪨 🏔️ 💎

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fan1: wait, this is kimi’s private wag wife? How am I here?

-> y/user: I have no clue, how’d you slip in here undetected!

-> fan1: no please let me stay here!

->y/user: promise to behave and not share anything?

->fan1: yes ma’am 😗

kimimatiasraikkonen: I just don’t understand, they all look the same to me!

-> y/yser: ALL LOOK THE SAME?! ONE IS A

Instagram Story Caption: more studies on 🪨

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stoop-fairy · 11 days ago

Text

“love, actually” — cl16

summary — little sainz, the rising actress and leclerc’s ex (not for long)

fc & cw — camila morrone. again, boring. timeline might not make sense but do we really care. i think there’s no big warnings.

🎵 good looking boy — suki waterhouse

tagged: sukiwaterhouse, rileykeough

liked by carlossainz55, sukiwaterhouse and 589,623 others

sainzyn i will always love you

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sukiwaterhouse my baby girls 🤍🪽

carlossainz55 la sutileza no es algo de familia — subtlety’s not a family thing

user3 oh charles you fumbled so hard ..

rileykeough 70s girls

sainzyn co-girlfriends 👯‍♀️

user14 i don’t think im ready to see these 3 in one screen 😭

iamrebeccad miss you baby

sainzyn i miss you more honey

🎵 silver springs — fleetwood mac

liked by lewishamilton, alex_albon, charles_leclerc and 571,827 others

sainzyn women who love too much.

aaaand, that’s a wrap on the wildest, most beautiful chapter of my life so far. 🌼🎸 to the cast who became my family, to the crew who made every stressful moment look like magic, thank you.

and to camila dunne, thank you for teaching me softness and strength all at once.

y a la niña que soñaba con momentos así, espero estés orgullosa 🤍 — and to the girl who dreamt of moments like these, i hope you’re proud

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carlossainz55 no podría estar mas orgulloso de ti pequeña, mereces todo esto y más 💙

sainzyn te amo 💙

rileykeough can’t wait for the world to fall in love with you the way we did 🧡 the heart of the six.

sukiwaterhouse your final scene left me crying. my golden girl 🥹

user15 charles liked this.. oh i hate him

mrsamclaflin i’m beyond proud of you.

user6 can’t wait to cry my eyes out for camila 😭

user9 song choice…

user72 you guys look into it too much.. the book was slightly based off of stevie and lindsey

lewishamilton so proud 🩶

sainzyn hami 🩶

liked by pierregasly and 548,719 others

charles_leclerc 2023 season 🏎️

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user18 hard launching a new girlfriend months after breaking up with yn and with a fleetwood mac vinyl is crazy work

pierregasly bold move mon frère 🫣

user17 be so fr rn.

arthur_leclerc soo, no more likes for [redacted]??

carlossainz55 interesting timing

user67 you have 30 minutes percy boy

user8 i’m throwing up charles please delete this

user92 charles is allowed to do whatever he wants, he’s a grown man who doesn’t have to be stuck on the same girl 🤷‍♀️ it’s not his fault her and her fans haven’t moved on

user5 i don’t think you can move on from a 3 year relationship in 4 months, but that’s just me i guess 😟

user56 guys carlos commented.. what if that’s yn?

user47 that’s what i’m sayinggg

liked by carlossainz55, iamrebeccad, kikagomes and 456,180 others

sainzyn carlos is third wheeling me and my wife

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iamrebeccad let’s go on a date and leave these two alone baby

sainzyn asap

carlossainz55 excuse me??? you’re the third wheel here

user7 oh she has a man too..

user56 haha oh wow okay

user38 you bitches are dumb because that’s very obviously charles.

kikagomes i believe my invite got lost in the mail..

sainzyn sorry baby i have beef with pierre rn but i’ll send my jet for you 💋💋

iamrebeccad added content to their stories.

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossains55, iamrebeccad and 672,829 others

sainzyn god forbid a girl gets back with her ex

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iamrebeccad sorry

sainzyn oh baby no you did the lords work because people were clueless even though it was obvious

charles_leclerc te amo ❤️

sainzyn te amo más, mi corazón 🤍

landonorris audibly gasped

sainzyn bitch shut up you knew all along

user62 i’m up for a threesome guys ❤️

carlossainz55 👍❤️

user38 see. i said yall were dumb and i was right

charles_leclerc je suis pas ton ex though 🤷🏻‍♂️

liked by sainzyn, pierregasly, kikagomes and 789,203 others

charles_leclerc you already know how proud i am. i told you after every scene, every night you thought you could’ve done better.

but this is less about what the world sees and more about what i get to come home to. thank you for taking me back when you didn’t have to. for choosing me again.

i’ve watched you lose yourself in this and still find your way back to me. i don’t take that lightly.

te amo, mon cœur. always. 🤍

see comments

user82 i’m crying real tears.. this is cinema

sainzyn couldn’t be more happy. je t’aime, mi vida.

carlossainz55 👏

pierregasly tell your girlfriend to leave MY girlfriend alone

sainzyn ?? i’ve known her longer than you shut up shes mine

user75 ynles community we win again

user9 okay now get married

kikagomes losing her to a man AGAIN.

user62 i stand on what i said about that threesome guys ☺️

#f1 social media au #f1 smau #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 social media au #formula 1 smau #f1 fic #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smau #charles leclerc social media au #charles leclerc x female reader #formula 1 fic #f1 x reader

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mirrorball-leclerc · 14 hours ago

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so american - charles leclerc & max verstappen

─── ❝ and they laugh at all my jokes, and they say i'm so american ❞ ───

masterpost

click here to be added to the so american masterlist

track 001. you’re so gorgeous, i can’t say anything to your face

track 002. fuck my life, won’t you let an innocent woman be?

track 003. i only threw this party for you

track 004. if you asked me to, i’d give you everything

track 005. you should stay in my good graces

track 006. tba

track 007. tba

track 008. tba

track 009. tba

track 010. tba

#so american series #f1 instagram au #f1 x oc #f1 oc #f1 smau #f1 social media au #f1 #formula one #f1 fic #formula 1 fic #f1 x female oc #charles leclerc x female oc #max verstappen x female oc #lestappen x female oc

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saffusthings · 18 hours ago

Text

second chances

mob boss! lando norris x reader

part forty-four: a life for a life

word count: 5.3k

warnings: this chapter contains graphic descriptions of violence and gore. reader discretion is strongly advised.

forty three | forty four | forty five

The barrel didn’t move.

Lando sat still, spine rigid, his eyes locked on the blank space of the wall across from her bed. He could feel the pressure — the weight of the gun pressing against the back of his skull, cool and unflinching.

Alex’s voice came soft at first, his tone carefully measured.

“Tell me,” he asked, “how does it feel? Seeing her like this?”

Lando didn’t answer. He didn’t have one.

Still seated, Lando turned a little more, enough to catch a clearer glimpse of him now — face pale, eyes rimmed red, breathing sharp. The man looked older now, at least more than the last time he’d seen him. There was something about him that was sharper around the edges — like something inside him had been splintering for a long time, and this was just the crack that finally showed.

“Albon?” he asked, confirming only what he already knew.

Alex Albon.

The gun pressed up against the back of his skull didn’t budge. Alex’s voice came closer to Lando’s ear, before he laughed, the sound short and bitter.

Something told Lando that Alex was most certainly not amused.

“Maybe it’s worth it,” the Thai man murmured. “Just for this. Just to see that look on your face while you sit here, like you’re anything but the reason she’s here in the first place.”

Lando’s jaw clenched. His fingers curled slowly around the edge of Y/N’s hospital blanket, not sure if it was to anchor himself or to keep from lunging.

Probably both.

In the silence of the moment, Alex took the opportunity to step closer. Lando could hear the sound of his shoe echoing — the shift of weight, the quiet squeak of the floor beneath his boots.

It was only then that Lando finally turned. Slowly, he rose to his feet, careful not to startle the man behind him. Now, they faced each other, and it took everything in Lando not to betray the confusion that began to settle deep in his gut.

Alex looked… wrecked.

Not furious, or even triumphant – just wrecked.

“Jesus Christ,” Lando muttered, swallowing thickly. “What the fuck are you doing?”

Alex didn’t answer. He just pressed the barrel of the gun up to Lando and stepped closer, shoving Lando forward a step, just enough to make the machines monitoring her beep harder. Lando caught himself by the edge of the plastic before he stumbled into her bedside.

“Really?” Lando barked bitterly. “You pull this shit now? Because what, you’re mad that you two broke up? Jesus. I knew you were soft, but fuck me.”

Alex didn’t flinch, but his eyes did darken while Lando’s quickly scanned the rest of the room.

No Logan. No Oscar. No fucking security. Where the hell were they? This was a hospital. What kind of joke was this? They’d have posted people. Logan was supposed to be—

He didn’t have time to finish the thought before Alex was speaking again..

“You think this is about that?” Alex muttered. He sounded insulted. “You think I did this because of some breakup? Because, what, she dumped me?”

“Didn’t she?” Lando snapped. “I don’t know, you were barely around long enough to get dumped, mate.”

Now that got Lando the reaction he wanted.

Alex shoved Lando — hard, the gun digging into his ribs now. Lando’s back hit the wall with a thud, the frame of a medical cabinet biting into his shoulder. But it was worth it — because Alex’s hand was trembling now, if even just barely.

Standing there between the gun and the hospital bed, Lando watched him. He took in the twitch of Alex’s jaw, the way the man’s eyes kept darting to Y/N’s bed. It was clear that the guy wasn’t built for this – that much was obvious. Lando had worked long enough with killers to know the man standing before him wasn’t one.

All Lando saw when he looked at him – when he studied the hatred darkening Alex’s face – was a man pretending to be much braver than he really was. All Alex seemed to be was a man playing at being a criminal and talking a big game, when in reality, there was no way he had the guts it would take to back it up.

“You,” Lando pointed, laughing, “are fuckin’ mental. I don’t even know you.”

“I’m not crazy,” Alex hissed, like the mere idea offended him. He pressed the gun deeper into Lando’s ribs, but his knuckles were white from strain.

“Sure,” Lando bit back. “Yeah. You’re just runnin’ around, what? Waving guns at strangers? Totally sane behaviour.”

“I’m not crazy!” Alex snapped, shoving harder metal harder until it bruised the bone beneath. “You just– You just don’t get it.”

“Then fucking make me understand, why don’t you?”

“I’m not crazy!” Alex shouted, this time loud enough to make Lando instinctively look toward the door.

Someone had to have heard that, right? Security? A nurse?

No one came.

Where the fuck was Logan?

Logan always had an eye on her. He should’ve noticed something was off by now. And what kind of hospital just lets a guy walk into a private recovery room with a gun?

Lando’s brain was spinning, trying to calculate an exit, trying to keep his breathing even. He was interrupted by Alex pressing the barrel into his chest now, forcing him further backward.

“Don’t you get it?” Alex seethed. “I know you’re a lot of things, Norris. But I never took you for a fool.”

Lando exhaled slowly, jaw clenched tightly. “I’m not.”

Alex’s mouth twisted. “Then maybe you’re just stupid. Because you really think I’m going to let you walk out of here after this? After what you did to her?”

Lando’s jaw twitched. “I didn’t do shit,” he growled. “You’re the one that hurt Y/N!”

Alex's voice cracked — something bitter and cracked wide open. “I didn’t want to hurt her!”

The confession echoed too loud, seemingly reverberating through the walls. His breathing was starting to get shallow. Lando’s mind was moving faster now, trying to calculate distance, angles, timing. But the barrel was now practically lodged between his ribs, making it’s home there.

He’d have to disarm or take a shot. Either way, it was close.

“She– She’s here because of you,” Alex said, lip curling. “Because of what you are. She was happy. She wasn’t supposed to be part of it. But then you showed up.”

Lando’s nostrils flared. “I didn’t want this for her either, asshole.”

“Bullshit,” Alex spat. “You could’ve let her go. But you didn’t.”

The gun pressed in tighter, sharper. Lando’s heart was hammering in his chest now, but he kept his voice even.

“What the fuck are you talking about,” Lando hissed. “Don’t put this on me. I didn’t make you do shit. You think I made you stick a knife in her chest? You think I—”

Alex shoved him against the wall before he could finish, gun pressed over his sternum now, Lando’s back knocking the emergency button that wasn’t wired to anything.

“Stop,” Alex snapped, voice booming. “You think I wanted to hurt her?!”

HIs eyes squinted like the mere act would be enough to remove the tears that threatened to cloud his vision. “You weren’t there. She trusted me. She looked at me like I was safe. You think I wanted to see her eyes change when she realized I wasn’t? You don’t know what it was like — to look in her eyes when she realized I broke that trust. You think I wanted to feel the knife go in? Hear the sound it made? Hear her choking as the blade punctured her lung–?”

Instantly, Lando’s face changed. Just like that, the sound of Alex’s voice was replaced by the sounds of her trying to speak, trying to fight the thick globs of blood that prevented from being able to say even the first syllable of his name without coughing within an inch of her life.

Her life.

Lando’s ears rang, and for a moment he was somewhere far away. In that moment, he was back on the cold tile of Books & Brews, his eyes frozen on where her blood pooled on the tile, the weight of her in his hands the only thing grounding him. He looked down now and saw the black splotches — evidence of the hours he spent listening for the soft wheezing that meant that she was still alive.

That fucking sound of her choking, gasping, drowning in her own blood…

That broke him.

Lando snapped.

In the blink of an eye, Lando surged forward, catching Alex off-guard just long enough to punch him straight in the face — again, and again, until blood slicked his own knuckles and Alex hit the floor with a groan. His fists landed, sharp and fast, knuckles splitting against cheekbone, nose, jaw, crashing into Alex and driving him backward with the force of every fucking ounce of anger in him.

“You fuckin’ bastard,” Lando shouted, breathing heavy now, voice raw. “I’m going to kill you for what you did to her! You had no right to even touch her. She trusted you, you piece of shit!”

Alex staggered, blood already in his mouth, but Lando didn’t stop.

“You are fucking dead, you hear me? You don’t get to talk about her like that, you don’t get to fucking touch her, you sick fuck—”

He beat Alex down to his knees, blood speckling the floor. The gun slid a few feet across the room, metal clattering loudly as it spun across the marble.

Alex scrambled for it. Lando reached for a kick, but Alex got there first — his hand clambering for a grip before dragging it toward himself. As soon as his fingers wrapped themselves around the grip, Alex didn't hesitate to raise it in the air, aiming it directly at Lando.

Lando froze.

The nuzzle of the gun was now pointed right at his chest. The only sound in the room other than that of the monitors was the sound of heavy breathing, both men panting. Blood from Alex’s mouth mixed with split as it stained his teeth, trickling down his chin.

Now that he was more certain that Lando would be less likely to strangle him with a loaded gun pointed at him, Alex turned his face to the side, spitting the blood out of his mouth. “I did it to get your attention, you bastard.”

Lando’s chest heaved from the effort it took to hold himself back. Right now, all he could see was red. There was nothing but cold-blooded murder on his mind.

”She isn’t some– some thing!” Lando shot back. Anger filled his lungs like smoke, thick and toxic, making it difficult for him to breathe. He could barely even get the words out, red in the face. “You had no reason—”

“Because I saw the way you looked at her!” Alex shouted suddenly, voice ripping through the quiet like a whip. “I saw what you did every time you walked into that shop — like she was the only thing keeping you– keeping you human.”

Lando’s mouth opened, but no words came out. Alex kept going, his jaw clenched.

“You don’t get to be the kind of man you are and love someone like her. That’s not how this works. You don’t– You can’t have both!”

Lando shook his head slowly, his expression perplexed. “You’re not makin’ any sense—”

“I wanted you to lose someone you loved!” Alex roared. “I wanted you to know what it feels like!”

“What? What the fuck is this about, Albon?”

Alex stepped forward. One step, then another. Each one more unhinged than the last, eyes wide, blood dried blood marking his chin.

“I needed to get your attention. And, well, it worked, didn’t it?” he said, voice hoarse, eyes wild. “You’re here. You care.”

Lando’s heart dropped.

“I did it,” Alex whispered, teeth clenched, voice almost breaking. “I did it to get your attention. And now you know what it feels like, don’t you? To lose someone you love.”

He spit blood onto the floor.

“I wanted you to feel it, Norris. I wanted you to know what it’s like. What you did to me.”

Lando’s breath caught.

“What I—”

But Alex didn’t let him finish.

“When I went to see her tonight, she looked happy to see me. Of course she was — I was her friend, wasn’t I? She hugged me.”

His voice cracked, but his grip on the gun didn’t.

“That was when I did it,” Alex whispered. “Right when she hugged me. I had to. It– It had to be close enough for me to feel the breath leave her lungs.”

Lando’s stomach churned, vision narrowing, red creeping in at the corners.

“I needed her to bleed slowly,” Alex explained. “Slow enough that you’d find her. So that you’d see her there. That way, when you walked in, when you saw her dying, you’d finally fucking look at me.”

Lando’s head dropped back against the wall, chest heaving. “Well,” he rasped. “You’ve got me. Congratulations.”

Alex’s eyes burned.

“That’s right,” he whispered. “Are you looking now?”

So she wasn’t just collateral.She was the price.

Shit.

Lando brought his hands up.

Not all the way — just enough to feign compliance, enough to give himself some room to move, to think. His breathing was still sharp, his pulse hammering in his throat, but he forced his face to stay slack. Blank. Calm.

If Alex saw panic, he’d pull the trigger.But if he saw calculation? He might hesitate.

And that’s all Lando needed.

He shifted slightly. Just enough to let the cuff of his trousers fall lower over his ankle. The hospital tile was cold against the back of his heel as he bent one leg slowly, moving like he was steadying himself from the earlier blow. His fingers twitched once.

The backup gun was still there.

Small, matte black, and concealed perfectly in an ankle holster. He flexed his foot, just to double-check it hadn’t come loose.

Then he moved.

Lando’s fingers inched toward his ankle — slow, practiced, the way he’d done a hundred times before. His backup piece was strapped just beneath the hem of his trousers, snug in the holster, easy to draw if he could just reach for the grip. His hand moved in the most miniscule motion, just a flick, smooth and practiced, a movement he’d done a hundred times before in dark rooms and back alleys—

But Alex wasn’t as stupid as he looked.

The second his fingertips brushed the grip, Alex’s eyes snapped away from Y/N’s still figure laying on the hospital bed and down to where Lando’s hand brushed dangerously close to his ankle holster. The next second, Alex’s boot came fast and hard, knocking Lando’s hand away before he could aim his weapon. The gun skittered across the floor, sliding somewhere under the hospital bed.

Bloody hell, now they’re both useless.

Then Alex slammed him back with the flat of his arm, until his shoulders slammed the wall. It forced Lando back hard enough that the back of Lando’s head cracked against the wall with a dull thud. His skull whipped against the plaster, white light bursting behind his eyes.

“Look. At. Me!” Alex barked.

Lando’s vision swam. His mouth tasted like metal. But he blinked the blur away, eyes locking on the man in front of him.

For a split second, he stared. Really stared. He tried to see past the split lip, the wild eyes, the too-tight grip on the gun. He tried looking for something familiar, anything – a connection, a moment, a why.

But his mind stayed blank.

Drug deal gone bad? Doubtful — he didn’t run his own deals that low-level.

Did I short him? Not his style.

A casino grudge? Maybe. Lando knew the look of a man who lost big and blamed everyone but himself — but this? This wasn’t that.

Scanning the situation, Lando kept his tone easy, shrugging like he wasn’t still bleeding from the mouth.

“Look, mate. If this is about money, you’re wasting your fucking time,” he tried to tell Alex. “I don’t pay every bloke who points a gun at me. If I did, I’d be flipping burgers or filing taxes by now.”

The next punch came fast — it split his lip wider, his head snapping sideways with the force. Before Lando could recover, Alex’s hand shot out and grabbed his jaw, his fingertips digging in, forcing the man beneath Alex’s hand to look straight at him.

“Look. Closer.” Alex gritted out between clenched teeth. “You better recognize me like your life depends on it. Because it does.”

Forced to look forward, Lando kept his eyes on him — locked in, face to face.

And yet, nothing.

“Clearly I don’t,” Lando mumbled through his swollen lip and locked jaw. “F’ I did, I wouldn’ be here, now would I?”

Alex hit him again.

The world blinked black for a second. Lando’s head snapped to the side, a splatter of blood landing on the floor beside him. He slumped slightly, groaning, chest heaving.

When Lando’s vision cleared, he kept his gaze steady this time. He stared, studying the angles of Alex’s face — the cut of his jaw, the bridge of his nose, the way his eyes flared when he was angry. He concentrated on him like he was a puzzle with missing pieces.

And maybe… maybe there was something.

Something faint, a distant resemblance – like a face he’d glimpsed in a room once or a name half-heard in a conversation he couldn’t remember the context for. Looking closer now, seeing Alex’s face felt a bit like looking at a blurry photograph buried in the back of his mind, stubbornly refusing to come into focus.

But no matter how much Lando tried to concentrate, he couldn’t make it out. Even despite his best efforts, he couldn’t drag the scrap of memory out of the murky depth up to the surface of his mind.

Alex watched him struggle, and smiled as if he was relieved. It almost seemed like he wanted Lando to suffer through it, like the not-knowing was some punishment Lando deserved for a crime he couldn’t even remember committing.

Whoever the fuck Alex Albon really was — Lando was going to remember.

Even if it killed him.

His head was pounding, his mouth slick with blood, but his brain was moving — one thought cutting through the haze: Logan.

Logan was supposed to be here.Logan was supposed to be watching her.He should've noticed.

If I could just call—Just one ring—

The cold barrel of his own gun jabbed harder into his ribs.

“Don’t fucking bother,” Alex snapped, his voice thin and shaking with something barely contained. “What, you trying to call the blonde bloke? Eh… something Sargeant, yeah?”

Lando froze.

“Don’t worry. He’s not dead. Wouldn’t be that stupid. George just helped me... put him down for a bit.”

Lando’s pulse kicked faster.

“George,” Lando muttered. “Russell?”

Alex smiled grimly. “Yeah. That one. Man’s a lot of things, but loyalty’s easy when you pay him enough.”

Lando stared, still panting through his teeth, still thinking at a million kilometers an hour.

George. George fucking Russell. Of course.

The man was a mercenary for hire who had gained a name for himself during the time he worked for the Wolff, an Austrian mob that had had its own golden era. Surveillance, hits, security, contaminants – he did it all.

But when they stopped being able to produce top quality product, they kicked him to the curb in favor of newer blood – Kimi Antonelli. Russell had to watch as his rank as Toto’s right hand was discarded like his years of loyalty and hard work meant nothing, all because they lived in the naive hope that talent like Antonelli’s would help restore the Wolffs to their glory days.

The worst part was? The Wolffs gave up on producing the best drug in the market. They too now distributed Noxium for a partial cut, making their money off of someone else's hard work.

Yet they never took George back in.

George Russell had always been something cold and deadly. Hell, he’d been trained by the same guys in Williams that Logan had, but there was a certain edge to him that even the Wolffs seemed to sense – a certain madness that made him a loose cannon instead of an asset.

Now Russell was left wandering the streets like a stray dog, offering his services to whoever paid him the right price – like sticking a needle in the neck of Lando’s favorite knife-wielding assassin, Logan Sargeant.

“Kid’s not getting up any time soon,” Alex continued, calmer now, more assured by the growing frustration displayed on Lando’s face. “And that means you’ve got my undivided attention.”

Lando’s lip curled. “You went through all that trouble just to see me?”

“No,” Alex muttered, shaking his head slowly. “I went through all that trouble to make sure you saw her. Like that.”

Lando’s gut clenched. It took everything in him not to look over at her. Something told him he was going to vomit if he did.

This is all your fault.

Lando’s brain worked fast — faster than his pulse, faster than the ache pounding in his skull. He measured angles from the door to the window, to the gun on the floor.

By all accounts, his chances were slim.

But hey, he’d worked with worse.

He shifted just barely, his weight tilting to the balls of his feet. He needed some trick, some distraction, anything – anything to reset the balance of power. “You didn’t have to hurt her,” Lando spoke just loudly enough, hoping it’d be enough to get divert Alex’s attention.

“I didn’t want to hurt her,” Alex snapped back, and for a second — just a second — he sounded sincere. He sounded wrecked.

Lando didn’t buy it.

“I wasn’t supposed to,” Alex tried to explain, like he was trying to convince himself of it too. “But it was the only way. The only way to get your attention.”

That was when Lando Norris made his only mistake. He glanced beside him to check on Y/N – just a flick of his eyes, barely noticeable at all. A motion done only on instinct.

But it was enough.

From where he stood, Alex Albon saw it instantly. It wasn’t much—a small crack, a human moment, the briefest flicker of emotion.

But it was too late for Lando to take it back. Lando didn’t have to move more than an inch before Alex followed his eyes — flickering, just for a second, toward what mattered most.

Her.

That was all it took.

Alex’s expression shifted, like a wire snapping behind his eyes. As if coming to some sudden realization, he turned sharply and swung the gun away from Lando and aimed the barrel of it directly at her, finger tightening on the trigger. His hand shook not from hesitation, but from something worse — the unsteadiness of a man who didn’t want to do this but would anyway.

Lando recognized it too late.

Desperation.

“How about now?” Alex spat, voice suddenly frayed and frantic. “Now do you remember?”

Lando’s heart slammed against his ribs. His body moved on instinct, stepping forward, hand raised, voice cracking before he could think better of it.

“I— I don’t!” he shouted, breath hitching. “I don’t, alright? Fuck—don’t. Please. Don’t.”

No no no no, not like this. This isn’t how it’s supposed to happen—

“Don’t fuck with me!” Alex bellowed, his voice breaking apart mid-shout. His whole frame was shaking now. “I’m done playing games with you. I’ll fucking kill her. Right now, Norris. You think I won’t?”

Lando’s hands stayed raised. His mind was burning, every thought racing past each other, tripping over the panic.

What kind of man did this? What kind of sick bastard turned around and hurt the one person who trusted him most, who had nothing to do with any of this—

“You can’t do this,” Lando hissed, his voice low. “She trusted you. How could you do this to her?”

Alex’s eyes glistened not with tears, but with a grief so loud it had nowhere left to go. His eyes were red — not just from exhaustion, but from something deeper. A corrosion. “Don’t try to pull that clever shit with me. You– You think I’m stupid?”

“I’m not— I swear to God, I don’t know what you want,” Lando snapped, chest tight, rage and panic swirling, burning. “Just– Put the fucking gun down.”

“You think I won’t do it?” Alex snarled, louder now. “You think I won’t kill her right now?”

His whole body was shaking, but the gun was steady, pointed right at her.

One twitch of his trigger finger. That’s all it’d take.

Lando’s hands were still up, but his fists clenched until his knuckles ached. He wanted to kill Alex. God knows he wanted to.

But one wrong word, one wrong move, and it’d all be over.

For good.

“Why? Why her? Trust me, you don’t want to–”

“Because you hurt someone I loved!” Alex screamed, voice splintering down the middle.

Lando went still.

“What?”

Alex’s breath hitched again. His whole body jerked like he was fighting himself.

“My sister,” Alex spat, like the words themselves tasted bitter. “My sister, Norris. She’s hooked up to machines just like that — can’t walk, can’t fucking speak, because of you.”

Lando’s mouth opened. Nothing came out.

He only blinked in confusion.

He still doesn’t get it.

How fucking dare he.

“What are you—”

“You don’t remember,” Alex snarled. “Of course you fucking don’t. She’s been in this hospital for four hundred and twenty three days. She’s hooked up to machines just like that — can’t walk, can’t fucking speak, because of you. She’s been lying here, wasting away, all because you don’t care who you hurt as long as you get to go home happy!”

And suddenly it hit, like glass shattering in Lando’s memory.

A crash.Metal on metal.Screams.Blurred headlights, a mangled car, reckless speed. The squeal of tires against pavement as he fled the scene in the midst of an Interpol chase..Collateral.

“You—” Lando whispered, eyes wide. “...There was someone in that car?”

Alex let out a cold, humorless chuckle.

“That’s right.” His voice dropped low, gaze dark.

“Fuck,” Lando whispered. To his credit, he almost seemed sincerely remorseful – except for the fact that Alex wasn’t even looking at him. Instead, Alex’s gaze was focused on Y/N in the hospital bed in front of him, while his mind recalled another bed much like hers.

“She’s still here,” Alex said, his voice shaking. “Just down the hall. She breathes through a tube.”

Lando’s heart hammered, sweat cold on his back. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, breathless.

Alex’s laugh was dry. “Sorry? Fuck you.”

Lando swallowed.

“You were driving like no one else on the road mattered, like nothing could touch you. But for one single moment, your car hit hers and kept going. And she—”

His voice broke.

“She hasn’t woken up since.”

Lando’s mouth went dry.

“My sister,” Alex continued. “Was a fucking nurse. She worked night shifts to pay for my university. Ever since our mom died, she paid our rent. She—she loved me, you get that? She did everything for me. And you left her bleeding out in the street like she was just—”

His voice cracked again. “—like she was just some thing. Like roadkill.”

Lando’s stomach sank.

“And now she’s gone. She’s gone.” Alex’s head tilted. “She might still be breathing. But she’s not there. And you? You got to live, to keep going like nothing even happened.”

Finally, Lando seemed to find his voice again. “She– She didn’t deserve that.”

“No,” Alex said, stepping closer, “but it’s what she got.”

Alex’s gait was steady as he approached closer to the foot of her bed, but his eyes felt hollow as he looked up from her to glance at Lando now.

“It’s fair, isn’t it? A life for a life.”

And so, for once in his life, the reaper was laid bare, a phantom made human. For once, Lando Norris was nothing more than a scared boy with no cards left to play.

Lando’s breath caught, raw in his throat.

His eyes flicked between Alex’s hand — steady on the trigger — and her. Y/N, still motionless in the bed, chest barely rising under the weight of machines keeping her here, keeping her alive. Alex now had his gun pointed at the one thing he’d spent weeks, months, trying to protect — even when he’d done the exact opposite.

Panic hit him like a brick to the chest.

“What are you doing?” he said, his voice suddenly frayed, raw. “You said you didn’t want to hurt her!”

Alex’s eyes were wild. “I didn’t.”

“Then don’t.”

“I didn’t want to have to,” Alex corrected, voice splintering now. “But if I have to make you understand, I’ll finish what I started.”

Lando’s breath stuttered. He stepped forward instinctively, hands up. “No. No—no, okay. Just—look, take anything. Whatever you want, I’ll get it. Just not her, alright? Not her.”

“Why not?” Alex asked, tilting his head curiously. “In just a second, I could–”

“Wait!” Lando’s voice broke, sharp and unsteady. “Wait.You don’t wanna do that. Take– Take me. You want money? You want– what– a car? I’ll give it to you. Whatever it is you want. You can have it all.”

The gun stayed fixed in its place.

“Just not her,” Lando whispered. “Please. She’s everything.”

Alex chuckled under his breath — low and humorless — before studying Lando for a moment. Something bitter and dark twisted behind his eyes. He didn’t lower the gun.

“Beg me.”

“What?”

“Beg me not to kill her.”

Lando’s mouth parted, a breath caught in his throat.

Beg me not to kill her.

“I–” Lando swallowed. “I don’t understand.”

His eyes flit to the familiar face that lay in the center of the room, to the one person he knew for certain mattered more than anything.

Alex took a step closer to Lando, now standing between the two of them. He seemed to consider his next words very carefully, taking a steadying breath before he spoke. “I want to hear you beg, Norris,” he explained, gradually becoming more sure of himself with each word.

“I want to see you brought to your knees. That’s what this is, right? You said she’s everything. So go on, prove it. Beg.

The room was still, its silence interrupted only by the hissing and beeping of the machines.

Lando stood there, hands still half-raised, pulse hammering so loud he thought he’d throw up. But when he looked at her — pale and fragile and so stupidly her even now — he didn’t hesitate.

His voice cracked when he spoke.

“Don’t.”

The word came out weak. Pathetic.

“Please,” Lando tried again. “Don’t hurt her. Please don’t take her away from me. I’ll do anything. I’ll give you anything. She didn’t deserve this.”

His knees almost buckled, but he stayed standing.

This is all your fault.

“Please.” Lando stood there, shaking — not from fear for himself, but from the sheer fucking terror of how close the gun was to her chest, to her heart, to what was left of his.

His pride scraped the back of his throat, but he swallowed it. He didn’t care.

“I…” he started weakly, “am begging you. Please. Don’t hurt her.”

Alex didn’t move.

“Say it again.”

Lando looked in Alex’s eyes, desperate for some semblance of control. But all he saw instead was own rage mirrored back to him only this time with something a thousand times more potent behind it.

Grief.

“I’m begging you. Don’t take her from me.”

Lando’s voice cracked as he offered all that he had left now in exchange for the life of his love.

“Please.”

a/n: still not feeling 100% about this chapter, but if i proofread it any longer i was gonna start going crazy crazy. so here it is - consider this a totally not belated gift for lando's home race win!

i hope you enjoyed this chapter, and as always - lmk what you think :)

(pls lmk if there's any error, im like delirious rn)

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