#i just want to write like (1) thread . | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stellamarielu · 3 months ago

Text

rusty

jack abbot x female reader

summary: after a dry spell in his sex life, jack would’ve never imagined the next women he’d have naked in his bed would be his favorite first year resident.

content: nsfw, 18+, mdni, resident!reader, touch starved!jack, established relationship, a little bit of fluff smushed in there, but mostly smut, jack being nervous to have sex for the first time in years, but then ofc something in him snaps and he gets a little freaky with it, jack uses the nickname kid for the reader (1) time, also uses the nickname sweetheart, fingering, handjob (if you blink you’ll miss it), p in v sex, dirty talk, condom use and the crowd boos (sorry had to keep it realistic! if i’m having sex with someone for the first time and they’re not wrapping it….questionable)

word count: 4.5k

author’s note: wanted to write something about big tough jack abbot being a little nervy to see you naked but i also wanted to write something about him having an inappropriate relationship with his resident…. so alas this was born. enjoy!

“I haven’t done this in a while.”

The words stumble from Jack’s lips in an exasperated sigh. They nearly get lost between kisses, the confession hidden amidst the steamy exchange as your bodies barrel through his front door.

Reaching up to thread your fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck, your forearms rest on his shoulders to steady yourself as he maneuvers you into his bedroom.

You don’t reply to his admission, just smile into the kiss as your hands trail down his torso finding the hem of his shirt. Your fingertips carefully tracing his skin underneath the material.

He wanted to tell you it had been years since he’d been with a woman like this— wanted to apologize in advance for being a bit rusty, but the light touch of your hands exploring the skin just above the waistband of his pants, had him losing his previous train of thought.

He couldn’t think about how long it’d been since he’d brought a woman back to his place, couldn’t even think about how insanely wrong it was to be kissing you in his bedroom.

With that being said, he should be proud of himself for holding out this long.

It had been months of having you on his shift.

Week after week of watching you prance around the ER with that cute little smile on your face, following every last one of his orders. Always meeting his sarcastic remarks with witty comments of your own, the two of you working effortlessly together like there was some sort of magnetic field between you that pulled him to every case you worked on.

It was so innocent at first, shared inside jokes and granola bars in the breakroom. Him giving you a hard time for your absurd coffee intake through the night, making comments about how the quad shot of espresso you walked in with was going to send you into cardiac arrest.

But then, there was the time he put his hand on your lower back to squeeze behind you at the triage desk. The second his touch met the polyester of your scrubs, applying just enough pressure to seep through the thin fabric, your head turned in his direction.

You didn’t mean to look at him, but you couldn’t help it. His fingers stayed splayed out on your back for one second too long, and your eyes shot to his, the electric current running through your body impossible to ignore.

A sudden tension emerged in the small space between you, his stare raking down your body to where his hand sat just above your waist, taking his time trailing them back up with a knowing smirk on his lips.

The moment was fleeting but it played out in slow motion before his hand was gone and he was breezing past you into the trauma bay.

After that it became a game of cat and mouse, both of you sensing a pull of desire toward the other but almost too afraid to do anything about it.

For Jack, it was because you were his intern, just a first-year resident looking to him for guidance and education. His apprentice. It felt wrong to look at you in any other way. He wouldn’t be able to sleep at night if he took advantage of the obvious power imbalance at play in the situation.

Not to mention he was off his game.

He had no problem coming across abundantly confident at work, but as far as dating went, Jack hadn’t waded into those waters for years. There was a part of him that gave up on his love life. Maybe that’s why he threw himself into work, to avoid the loneliness that found him in his lack of companionship.

You could sense his apprehension.

The way he would subtly flirt with you and then walk away from the conversation like nothing happened. He was trying to avoid the guilt of getting too familiar, but it left you confused about his intentions.

It wasn’t until one morning that you decided to rip off the band aid entirely, asking him to join you for breakfast after your shift.

It was a simple invitation, one that could’ve been strictly friendly, but the way he smiled when you asked, looking around to see if anyone else heard, told you it was the start of something else entirely.

And it was.

The two of you went to breakfast, talking for hours in a corner booth, over a stack of pancakes and a few slices of bacon.

It was the first time you saw each other outside of the hospital.

Everyone else in that restaurant could recognize the two of you for what you were; happy. Finding joy in each other’s presence through constant laughs and affectionate smiles. But Jack couldn’t see it that way— couldn’t shake the conflicting feelings of guilt.

It wasn’t until you reached over him to dip your bacon in a pool of syrup on his plate that he finally relaxed. He soaked it in, sitting with you like that, because when the nagging thoughts of how inappropriate it all was began to cloud his mind, the gentle touch of your hand brushing his thigh chased them away. Your fingertips curled just above his knee as you continued telling him a story, the hold making him forget why he was even worried about saying yes to your invitation in the first place.

That was the first time he crossed a boundary with you. Allowing himself to get lost in your voice, hidden away in some diner down the street from the hospital. But it didn’t stop there.

The next time was when he walked you home after work, only three days after your shared breakfast date.

He knew he shouldn’t have done it, but you parted ways outside the sliding hospital doors and he watched as you walked down the street, all by yourself.

For a split second he could imagine what his frame would look like walking next to you, and so he followed, catching up to your stride with satisfaction running through his veins at your surprised smile to see him standing at your shoulder. You lived in an apartment building a block away, he knew because you mentioned it one time, and even though his leg was killing him after such a brutal shift, he walked next to you all the way to the front door of your complex.

Your bodies lingered on the sidewalk, palpable tension bouncing between them through prolonged goodbyes.

That was the first time your gaze fell to his lips.

The curiously hopeful look in your eyes made his mouth go completely dry, because Surely you weren’t going to kiss him in broad daylight… right? The world spun around him while your eyes stayed fixed on the straight line of his mouth, until they fluttered back up, meeting his line of sight and smiling brightly.

“Goodnight Jack.” Your hand met his bicep, squeezing lightly as you turned to walk into the building with a small wave.

Goodnight, even though it was nearly eight in the morning.

It was something you said to everyone after each shift, bidding your coworkers a good stretch of sleep, knowing you all shared a fucked-up sleep schedule due to working the night shift.

Jack found the greeting endearing. Smiling wide every time he heard the sing-song chime of your voice wishing everyone a restful day before leaving work in the morning.

His days were hardly restful though, he never got much sleep when he went home, because you were always on his mind.

After that day in front of your apartment building, he went out of his way to walk you home nearly every morning, if only for a few extra minutes of hearing your voice, and a small hope that you would look at his lips like that again.

When you finally did kiss him, it was well worth the wait.

It happened on the roof.

An especially hard night landed you outside for some fresh air, overlooking the city as you tried your best to clear your mind.

Jack came up to check on you.

Avoiding him entirely, your apathetic stare stayed plastered on the lights of the city. He stood next to you in silence for a while before placing a gentle hand of reassurance on your cheek, bringing your gaze to his and searching your eyes to make sure you were okay.

It was emotionally charged, the way you crashed your lips into his.

He held your face delicately in his hands, using his jaw to dive into the kiss, hungry and sloppy and undeniably passionate.

More than anything he wanted to explore every inch of you— to let his hands travel your entire body, but instead his palms stayed strictly on your face, careful not to push things too far.

In fact, weeks of suppression followed while Jack tried to respect the unknown undercurrents of your relationship.

A few more kisses were shared, even some heated make out sessions and heavy petting in the on-call room at work, but nothing more.

He’d be lying if he said his trepidation wasn’t slightly due to the rather lengthy sexual hiatus taking place in his life. But he could only deny his urges for so long, and this morning after breakfast, instead of walking you back to your apartment, he invited you over to his place for the first time.

An unspoken agreement hung in the air the whole way home, one laced with heavy sexual tension.

That’s what landed you here— barely two feet past the threshold of his bedroom door with your hands dangerously close to the waistband of his pants, and Jack couldn’t dare to think straight.

The only thoughts he could muster revolved around how much he fucking liked you. This other worldly figure standing before him, toying with the ties on his pants, fingertips brushing his abdomen and fuck- he was on another planet. Your touch was sending a vaguely familiar heat rushing through his body and he wanted more— needed it.

Something about the situation sent him on a power trip. His cock pushing against the lose restraint of his scrubs at the sudden realization that he finally had you right where he wanted you after all this time. Months of getting to know each other and countless dates ending in polite kisses and lingering goodbyes— all of it leading to this moment with his fingertips curling into your waist.

But there was still a little sliver of him that felt nervous, slightly unsure of venturing into unknown territory with you.

He was still trying to convince himself that you were genuinely interested in him, because when he looked at you he saw this beautiful woman, all radiant and self-assured, on the arm of some guy nearly twice her age who rarely smiled and always had a grumpy wise-ass remark on his tongue.

His hands went rigid at the thought, the doubts taking him out of the moment for a few seconds, and you could sense the uneasiness in his touch.

Pulling away from the kiss, you watched his expression, his lips parted to make way for fast shallow breaths as he stared back at you, his eyes hooded with desire but swimming with hesitation.

“We don’t have to do anything Jack.” Your words were sincere as you continued looking for any sign of regret in the hazel of his eyes.

“No, I want this.” His brows furrowed as the winded confession fell from his lips. His hands grasped at your hips, holding firm while his thumbs rubbed into your sides.

“You sure?” Voice changing slightly, you moved into a more playful state, fingers coming to the tie on his pants as you kept your eyes trained on his face.

“We could just talk.”

A playful whisper slid between your lips as you undid the drawstring between your fingertips.

“Or maybe watch a movie.”

Then, your hand slid into the waistband of his underwear, only a few inches, just enough to make his breath hitch.

He tried to cover his surprise at your touch, now dangerously close to the base of his cock. Mustering enough self-control to speak, his words come out calm and collected despite the dizzying effect of your hand down his pants.

“You’re funny, kid. You know that?”

Kid.

A nickname he'd been calling you since the day you were assigned to his shift.

You were just an intern; young, hungry, and passionate. Had he known you’d end up with your hands halfway down his pants in the middle of his bedroom, he might've opted for a different title of endearment.

“Seriously Jack, we can take things slow-“

A low chuckle interrupts your attempt to comfort him, trying to give him a chance to back out.

He guides you back to sit on the edge of his bed, smirking and shaking his head from side to side.

“Stop talking.” The words are rushed. A deep rasp from his lips as he leans in to kiss you, pushing your body until your back meets his mattress.

“I don’t think you realize how long I’ve thought about this.” It was apparent that Jack was hungry— starving even— to see more of you. His hands working quickly to get your pants down your legs and onto his bedroom floor.

“And what do you think about Jack?” He’d never heard that tone in your voice before, low and sultry while you leaned up on your elbows to look at him through your lashes.

“Jesus- I’ve thought about having you on my bed like this,” There was nothing subtle about the way his eyes scraped over your as he paused between words. Eyes drifting to your lower half, legs parted slightly, a pair of black panties acting as the only barrier between his eyes and your naked body. “all spread out for me like this.”

At his words, your legs open further, sending a muffled growl straight to Jack’s closed mouth as he lets his hand fall on your inner thigh. Trailing upwards, his fingertips come in contact with the hem of your underwear.

“Can’t tell you how many times I’ve thought about pulling you into the on-call room after our shift.” He’s leaning above you, eyes glued to your clothed core, fingers toying with the thin material of your panties at the inside of your thighs.

“How badly I’ve wanted to fuck you on one of those shitty beds, or maybe even against the wall…”

“But you deserve better. To be treated right, on a real bed.” Suddenly the smooth linen of his comforter feels much warmer beneath you, your hands splaying over the pillowy fabric at your palms.

Jack watches the way your shoulders relax, and your head falls an inch to the side at his words, your body melting into the moment of shared desire.

“Want to take my time with you. Make you feel good. Watch you fall apart.” He leans in to kiss you, right as one of his fingertip’s dip below the fabric of your panties to run along your slit. You gasp into the kiss, and he takes the opportunity to pull away.

“To hear the little noises you make for me.” His lips are only inches from yours as his breathless whisper fills the space between them. His hand fully pushes your panties to the side, his touch light as a feather, and lingering at your core.

“Bet you sound so pretty when you cum.”

Your mouth falls open and you’re not sure what triggered it, his words, or the way he pushes a single finger into you. The movement is slow and precise as he watches your eyes flutter in pleasure.

For someone who’s sex life was currently non-existent, Jack didn’t miss a beat when it came to the rhythm of your gratification. The moan dripping from your tongue coming right on cue as he slips another finger in with the first, stroking with purpose and dedication as his name comes floating from your lips.

“Jack.”

The word was foggy and desperate as his touch subdued you, his fingers curling at the sweet call of his name, hooking at just the right spot.

“Fuck that’s it.” A whine of pleasure rippled through you at the pressure of his fingers against your walls. With one stroke after another, the building tension in your abdomen threatened to overflow.

Jack’s stare falls on his fingers as they work you open.

He can hardly handle how responsive you are to his touch; your hips bucking into his palm, little pleas falling from your lips— It’s enough to make him cum right there in his damn pants.

“God- you sound gorgeous.” The compliment is almost primal, his voice nearing a growl as he looks down at your body writhing on the simple motion of his fingers inside you, a slave to his touch.

He lets himself get lost in the noises flowing from your mouth, allowing each moan to act as a signal, showing him exactly where and how you want him.

“Even better than I could’ve imagined.” He finishes his thought and brings his stare back to yours, the fucked-out expression in your eyes telling him just how close you are.

His words send you reeling, acting as a catalyst for the strain pulling in your abdomen.

He can feel your body preparing to tumble over the edge, walls clenching around his fingers, and thighs flexing.

“There you go sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. That’s new.

It surprises you both the second it leaves his lips. But the surprise of it barely registers, instead the word is unleashing a flutter in your chest and a warmth between your legs. You’re obsessed with the way it sounds in the rasp of Jack’s voice. In fact, you like it so much your body trembles and whimpers fill the air as you come undone on his fingers.

His eyes watch as his movements slow, digits coated in your slick and pushing into you continuously even after your body finishes shuddering.

It’s almost sadistic the small smirk he’s wearing as his eyes stay fixated on his fingers sliding in and out of your body.

He was starved. Starved of touch— the warmth of another’s body. The way you pulled him in with each thrust of his fingers made him want to stay there all night, making you cum over and over again to feed his craving of your body at his mercy.

If it weren’t for your delicate hands gripping at his forearm, forcing him back to reality, he would’ve kept going, would’ve seen just how much more you could take.

“Jack.” Your voice breaks him from his trance, hand wrapping around his arm and pulling him back to hover parallel over your body.

An unsolicited grunt erupts from deep in his throat as your hands, once again, slide into his underwear. Only this time, they fall far enough to envelop his cock in your soft touch.

His hand comes down forcefully next to your head, palm flat against the mattress to hold himself steady as pleasure washes over him.

You’ve only pumped over his length once and he’s already squeezing his eyes shut in focus, trying not to spill into your hand.

“Sweetheart.”

In retrospect, he probably shouldn’t have used that nickname again. Not right now, when he was seconds away from having an embarrassingly quick orgasm.

Your grip tightened slightly at the word, hand working a little faster, and paying extra close attention to his overly sensitive tip. He has to put a hand over yours to conceal your efforts.

“I’m not gonna last long if you keep that up.” His brows raise at your smug expression, your hand still stroking him despite his attempt to stop you.

“I’m serious.” A breathless snarl meets your ear as his head falls lower, nearly resting in the crook of your neck.

You hum in response, one hand continuing its work between his legs, the other pushing at the pants still around his hips.

He was quick to oblige your unspoken request, bringing his own hand down to rid himself of his pants and underwear. His hands are then at your hips yanking your panties down your legs.

In a heated frenzy both of you took a few seconds to take off any remaining clothes. Sitting up to swiftly pull off shirts, and while you’re reaching to take off your bra, Jack stretches to his bedside table, fishing out a condom from its box that’s been sitting untouched in his drawer for far too long.

Then, you’re back to square one, his body hovering over yours, and his lips kissing down your neck.

Your hand finds him again, palm encircling his member as he freezes under your touch.

“You sure you wanna do this?” His voice is lost in the skin of your chest, his lips melting against your collarbone.

“You’re asking me? I thought you were the one who needed convincing.” The giggle in your voice has Jack nipping playfully at your skin, his hand confidently fitting between your legs.

“What can I say, you’ve persuaded me.” A teasing tone slips through his lust clouded whisper, fingers collecting the slick at your core with a groan on his tongue.

You grab the condom out of his hand, tearing it open and rolling it onto him with ease, the feeling causing him to lean further into your touch.

This was one of the reasons Jack was so drawn to you.

You held such discreet authority. Always taking charge with a charming smile and a sweet command in your voice.

He couldn’t have imagined the same power he witnessed at work would roll over into the bedroom. Your captivating ability to take quiet control was suddenly so obvious in the way you were guiding his now protected length to line up with your entrance, body shimmying down the bed to coerce him into you.

When the head of his cock finally pushes into you, you both let out noises of relief.

The placated gasp from your lips, and the profound groan on his, proves that you’d both been longing for this exact moment for weeks.

He takes his time. Learning the hug of your body. Savoring every inch of pure bliss, as he fills you at a painstaking pace. Your hands shoot to his back, fingertips digging into the broad expanse of his shoulder blades, just enough to encourage his movement until he enters you completely, pushed in to the hilt.

His eyes stay on yours, watching the way your lids almost close while you adjust to him, your mouth parted slightly at the stretch.

Then he’s pulling out and thrusting back in, moaning at the way you feel wrapped around him.

Your head tilts back into his comforter at the sweet friction of his strokes, and the sight beneath him has another moan bubbling up Jack’s throat.

It was exactly how he’d dreamt this moment— your back on his bed, with your head thrown back in pleasure. Getting to watch your body respond to him his perch above you, your naked figure far more beautiful than anything he could’ve imagined. It was all so perfect. You were perfect.

He picked up the pace of his thrusts, not too fast, but perfectly timed with the squeeze of your fingers on his back. He knew he must be hitting something right in the way you were gripping his shoulders and crying out for him. Crying out for him. Your voice was strained and winded as his name fell from your lips in a chant.

His self-control must’ve been at an all-time high, because he closed his eyes for a moment, gaining his bearings and talking himself down from cumming at the sounds of your whines.

He collects whatever composure is left in his body and brings a hand down between the two of you, fingertips finding that sensitive spot just above where his cock is driving into you.

He rubs steady circles into your clit, and judging by the way his name jumps from you an octave higher than before, he knows he’ll get to watch you cum again.

He makes it his goal. Setting his thrusts at a fixed pace, as his fingers deliberately stroke your bundle of nerves. He focuses completely on your pleasure to distract himself from the pulsing pressure running through his veins.

He needs to see you let go for him one more time before he can finish. An easy task given the way your back is arching off his bed, sending your hips further into him.

“I’m gonna-“ The words are hardly coherent as they slip between your gasps and moans— wanting to tell him you’re close but unable to string more than two words together.

“Come on sweetheart.” His words were directed straight to your core, eyes back down and watching between your bodies as he slides into you. His mind growing hazy at the sight of you taking his cock so well.

His encouragement was all you needed to let go. Your release washing over you in waves of bliss.

Jack’s eyes make the journey back to your face, watching in awe at your expression as it takes on a state of utter relief, your head falling even deeper into the blanket underneath you.

That image is what finally makes him succumb to the persistent chase of his release.

He’s groaning and panting, one of his hands coming to grip your hips, the other balancing himself on the mattress, pressed flat on the space next to your face.

He’s grunting profanities as he spills through his orgasm, allowing his elbow to bend so he can rest his forehead against yours. Both of you breathing heavy, eyes meeting in a moment of vulnerability and understanding as you bring a hand up to lace through his hair. Almost petting his grey curls, you lazily smile through the puffs of breath on your lips.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get over seeing you like this, an angel laid out on his bedspread— just for him. Giving you both a moment to recover, he stays like that for a minute. He’s leaning into you, listening to your soft breaths even out, and he can feel himself getting hard again. His dick is still throbbing, not even fully soft and he’s already ready for another round.

His cock getting hard again, that fast after sex, was something he hadn’t experienced in over a decade.

These days Jack needed plenty of time between orgasms to even think about getting another erection, but in this moment, still buried in you and hearing the tiny gasps of breath coming from your heaving chest, he wanted more. He could feel his addiction to you growing stronger, reminding him of the forbidden nature of your budding relationship.

“What are we getting ourselves into.” Speaking his thoughts aloud, his voice fills the room, a grin lingering in his lips.

He can’t help but smile as he imagines what the future holds for your relationship, his forehead still pressed gently against yours.

my masterlist

#jack abbot #the pitt #jack abbot x reader #jack abbot smut #jack abbot fanfiction #the pitt fanfiction #jack abbot x you #dr abbot #dr abbot smut #dr abbot x reader

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raytm · 1 year ago

Text

there is my writing for the day / jk

#i am gonna reply 2 like 1 thread and then maybe do my blade replies later idk i just wanted to PUNCH THE AIR write drabbles today #ooc.

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cheftsunoda · 7 days ago

Note

can you write a story on a sainz sister dating charles leclerc after divorcing max verstappen with whom she has a kid which leads to drama at the paddock.

karma wears prada — cl16

smau + written blurbs

charles leclerc x !sainz reader

max verstappen x !ex sainz reader

you were pop royalty — platinum records, sold-out stadiums, your voice on every chart and every stage. he was formula 1’s golden boy — fast, ruthless, worshipped by millions. you married in secret. you had a daughter. you built a quiet world of your own, away from headlines and cameras. and for a while, it was perfect. until it wasn’t.

when the truth came out — first as a rumor, then a photo, then undeniable — you packed your bags, held your baby close, and walked away from the man who promised you forever. you thought you’d have to face the fallout alone. you didn’t expect charles leclerc.

your brother’s teammate. his best friend. the one who never looked at you like you were broken. the one who made your daughter laugh before you could smile again. now, the paddock is on fire — caught between loyalty and betrayal, rage and whispers, broken hearts and new beginnings. and as the world watches, one question remains:

can you start over when the whole world is still watching the wreckage?

fc : kali uchis (i have vip tickets to see kali in less than a month in a half!!! my motherrrrr) (also used some pics of alexandra teehee)

before you read + (a/n): hiiii pookie!! took me forever to perfect this so i hope you enjoy!! max is lowkey an asshole in this so im soz and carlos is still w ferrari because in my mind i never had to go through that divorce too :) alsooo no hate to kelly, anything said is just for the purpose of my fictional nonsense.

—

deuxmoi

5,702,005 likes.

deuxmoi : yep. this one is reallllll messy. and we still have yet to get to the bottom of it. stay tuned.

—

view 789,000 other comments.

username000 : max CHEATED on THE yn sainz??? oh he’s never finishing a race again i fear 😭

username00 : kelly piquet must have a punch card at this point. one more and she gets a free f1 car

liked by deuxmoi and yn_sainz

↳ username00 : oop our queen is here. confirmation?

username0 : carlos is going to body slam him in the paddock.

username1 : she gave birth like a YEAR AGO. men are actual demons. protect yn at all costs.

username5 : i just KNOW her breakup album is gonna end careers. drop the tracklist queen xx

username7 : carlos unfollowing max and then reposting an old pic of yn with her daughter?? family comes FIRST 😤

username10 : she gave him a marriage, a child, and silence. and he gave her kelly piquet.

username11 : i just KNOW the group chat with carmen, alexandra, and lily is on fire right now.

username15 : can’t wait for the ‘you fumbled the woman everyone wanted’ edits. they’re loading as we speak.

—

flashback

monaco, 2:12am

You shouldn’t be awake. You’re rocking your daughter gently in the crook of your arm, whispering half remembered lullabies against her soft hair. She’s teething again. Clingier than usual. You don’t mind. It gives you something to do. Something to hold onto.

Your phone buzzes on the counter — a quiet vibration you almost ignore. But something in you, some sliver of unease that’s been growing for months now, makes you look. It’s a DM. From a name you don’t recognize. You open it.

I’m sorry if this is overstepping but… I didn’t know you and Max were still together. He told me you were separated. I wouldn’t have— You don’t deserve this.

There’s a screenshot. A message thread. A photo. Your husband. Smiling. Someone else’s hand on his jaw. Time slows. Your daughter fusses in your arms. You stare at the screen and feel nothing. Not right away. Just a long, slow ache in your chest, like something is pressing down and refusing to let go.

You don’t cry. You don’t scream. You press a kiss to your daughter’s temple and whisper, “Okay, baby. Okay. We’re leaving.”

—

Four hours later, the sun is barely up when the car arrives. You move quietly, deliberately, packing only what you need. You don’t leave a note. You don’t send a message. You take your daughter, her favorite stuffed animal, your passport, and disappear.

By the time Max wakes up to an empty apartment, you’re already on a flight to Ibiza.

No PR statement. No explanations. Just silence.

And the beginning of something new. For you. For your child.

—

the next morning

ibiza – 8:06 AM

The villa is too quiet. It sits tucked away in the hills, ocean just visible beyond the terrace, sun pouring into the white-washed kitchen. There’s a stillness here that makes your heart ache.

Your daughter sits in her high chair, fingers messy with banana, babbling to herself. She’s safe. She’s happy. She doesn’t know. You sip your coffee with trembling hands.

You haven’t turned your phone back on. Not yet. You can’t. You know the second you do, the world will rush in — agents, lawyers, team PR, headlines, Max. You want to stay in this moment just a little longer. Just you and her. The soft morning light. The sound of birds. The smell of the sea. You want silence. And for the first time in months, you have it.

—

monaco – 8:11 AM

Max wakes up to your absence like it’s a punch to the gut. At first, he thinks maybe you’ve taken the baby out for a walk. But the bed is cold. The closet is half-empty. The pacifier on the nightstand is gone.

Then he sees the open drawer. The missing passports. The baby monitor left behind. He calls you. Straight to voicemail. He calls again. Then again. He checks your location. Disabled.

Panic sets in. Not loud, but deep. Spreading. Heavy. He opens Instagram and sees it.

“Pop Star YN Sainz Allegedly Left Monaco With Daughter After Cheating Scandal – Sources Say Max Verstappen Seen With Kelly Piquet in St. Tropez”

And for the first time, it hits him: You’re not coming back.

—

madrid – 8:23 AM

Carlos nearly drops his phone when he sees the post. He reads it twice. Then again. And again. He doesn’t text you. He calls. You answer on the third ring.

“Hola?” your voice is quiet. Steady. But he knows you. He hears it. The exhaustion. The heartbreak.

“Tell me where you are.”

“Safe,” you say.

There’s a pause. You hear him breathing. Hear him trying to hold himself back.

“I’m going to kill him,” Carlos says flatly.

You almost laugh. “Get in line.”

He’s quiet for a beat. Then, softer:

“You should’ve called me.”

“I didn’t want anyone trying to talk me out of it.”

“I wouldn’t have.”

You believe him.

He exhales. “I’m coming to see you after the race.”

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “Okay.”

“Love you, hermanita.”

“Love you more.”

—

present day (race day)

The baby’s asleep. You’re lying on the couch with a blanket pulled up to your chin, phone resting on your stomach, TV muted. The pre race coverage flickers silently on the screen — cars in garages, skycams over the grandstands, an interviewer smiling too widely. You haven’t watched anything F1 related since you left Monaco. You tell yourself it’s because you’re busy. You’re a mother. You’re tired. But really… it’s because you can’t stomach seeing him in red and blue. Can’t stomach the way the world still treats him like nothing happened. Like you didn’t. Your phone buzzes quietly.

Charles Leclerc

You stare at the screen for a moment, startled. Then swipe to answer.

“Bonjour,” you say softly.

He chuckles under his breath. “That’s a terrible accent.”

You smile for the first time in hours. “Well, I’ve had other things on my mind.”

There’s noise in the background — voices, radios, something metallic being dropped. The paddock, alive and buzzing. You picture him sitting in the Ferrari motorhome, race suit halfway on, hair messy from the helmet fitting.

“I just wanted to check on you,” he says. “Before everything gets loud.”

Your chest tightens. He sounds calm. Gentle. Not like the rest of them — who all called asking for statements, reactions, damage control.

“You really don’t have to do that,” you whisper.

“I know,” he says. “But I wanted to.”

Silence settles for a moment. Not uncomfortable. Just full.

“How’s the little one?” he asks.

“Asleep,” you say. “Teething still. I haven’t slept properly in four days.”

Charles hums. “You need a break.”

“I need a time machine.”

He laughs quietly. “Well, I can’t offer that. But if you ever need someone to sit with her while you nap... I’m quite good with babies, you know.”

You can’t help the warmth that spreads in your chest. “Are you?”

“I have proof. I held Pierre’s niece once and she didn’t cry.”

“That’s a low bar, Charles.”

Another soft laugh. “I’ll take what I can get.”

You glance at the screen again. They’re showing Carlos now — focused, arms crossed, deep in discussion with his engineer. Your brother. Your anchor.

“You should go,” you say gently. “It’s race day.”

There’s a pause. Then: “You’ll be watching?”

You hesitate. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

He doesn’t push. Doesn’t ask why.

“Either way,” he says, voice quiet now, “I’m racing for you today.”

Your throat tightens.

“Good luck, Charles.”

“Merci, ma belle.”

The line goes quiet. The paddock fades from your ear. You sit in the stillness of the Ibiza villa, blinking at the television, heart beating a little differently than before.

—

3rd person pov

The confetti hasn’t even settled yet. Carlos is out of the car before his engineer can reach him, helmet off, jaw clenched. He doesn’t even look toward the cameras. Doesn’t acknowledge the cheers. There’s only one person in his line of sight — standing ten feet away in Red Bull gear, smug smile plastered on his face. Max. Third place. Another podium. Another reason to pretend like nothing happened. Carlos moves before anyone can stop him.

“Don’t,” Charles mutters under his breath as he tosses his own gloves down and jogs after him. “Carlos.”

But Carlos doesn’t stop. He’s already standing in front of Max, every muscle in his body pulled taut. Max turns slowly, lazily. Like he doesn’t know what’s coming. Like he thinks he’s still untouchable.

“You think I don’t know what you did?” Carlos spits, voice low but venomous.

Max shrugs. “If this is about your sister, that’s not really—”

Charles steps in fast, hand to Carlos’s chest, firm and calm. “Stop.”

“Move, Charles.”

“No.”

Carlos’s eyes flash. “He cheated on her. Lied to her. Let her disappear with his daughter and then ran off to play boyfriend with Kelly like it was nothing. And now he’s standing here like—like he deserves to celebrate anything.”

“I know,” Charles says softly. “I know. But don’t give him what he wants.”

Max scoffs. “What I want?”

Charles doesn’t even look at him. His eyes stay locked on Carlos. “You won. You raced for her today. Don’t let him take that from you.”

Carlos is shaking. But his hands curl into fists, not around Max’s collar, just at his sides.

“I need to see her,” he mutters.

Charles nods. “I was going to ask if I could come with you.”

Carlos blinks. For the first time all day, his face softens—just barely.

“You sure?”

“I promised I’d check on her,” Charles says. “I meant it.”

Carlos exhales through his nose, chest still rising and falling too fast. Behind them, Max walks away like nothing happened. Ahead of them, the exit looms — press waiting, questions brewing, cameras ready. But Carlos claps a hand to Charles’s shoulder and mutters, “Let’s get out of here.”

—

back to 2nd pov!

You weren’t expecting visitors. You’re in an old t-shirt, hair twisted into a messy bun, pacing the kitchen with your daughter on your hip, humming softly to keep her calm. The day’s been long — teething again, of course — and you’d barely kept your eyes open through the first half of the race. You didn’t even check the results. You just… didn’t have it in you today. Then your phone rings. Carlos. You answer immediately.

“I’m ten minutes away,” he says. No hello. Just that. “Don’t freak out.”

“What do you mean—? Ten minutes away from what?”

“From you.”

You blink, shifting your daughter higher on your hip. “Wait, you’re here? In Ibiza?”

“Yup.”

“Carlos—”

“And I brought someone,” he says quickly, before you can ask. “Just—open the door when we knock, okay?”

He hangs up before you can respond. Your heart stutters. You glance down at your daughter, who’s now wide-eyed and babbling softly like she knows something’s about to change. Ten minutes later, there’s a knock on the door. You open it slowly—and freeze.

Carlos stands there in a hoodie and sunglasses, like someone wouldn’t immediately recognize the British Grand Prix winner anywhere in Europe. But you’re not looking at him. Not at first. Because behind him, standing quietly, holding a small white stuffed bunny in one hand and a bag slung over his shoulder, is Charles.

Your breath catches. “Charles?”

He offers the smallest smile. “I brought her a gift. I hope that’s okay.”

You blink down at the stuffed animal. It’s the exact one she lost at the airport three weeks ago. The one she cried about for two days. You never told anyone that.

Carlos clears his throat. “I figured she could use some normal faces. And, well. I told Charles everything.”

You’re quiet for a moment. Your daughter wriggles in your arms when she sees Charles, reaching slightly, recognizing him even after weeks. Your eyes sting.

“Yeah,” you whisper, stepping aside, voice caught in your throat. “Come in.”

They do. Charles’s hand brushes lightly against your back as he walks past you — not a touch that demands anything. Just… reassurance. You glance at him, and he offers nothing but warmth.

“I made coffee,” you murmur to Carlos. “And there’s wine.”

Carlos sighs, dropping his bag and hugging you tight. “Wine. Definitely wine.”

And Charles? He stands quietly in front of you and your daughter, holding the stuffed bunny out to her like an offering.

“Hi,” he says softly. “Missed you.”

She takes the bunny with both hands and smiles. So do you.

—

The villa is quieter now. Carlos disappeared into the guest room twenty minutes ago, your daughter tucked against his chest, already half-asleep. You could hear him humming her lullabies in Spanish, the way your father used to for the both of you. You step out onto the terrace, blanket wrapped around your shoulders, glass of wine in hand. The ocean’s just a dark line in the distance, moonlight skipping over it like silver threads. The cicadas sing. The air smells like salt and jasmine.

Charles is already out there. Sitting on one of the lounge chairs, hair still damp from the quick shower he took, hoodie unzipped, legs stretched out. He looks over when you slide the door shut behind you.

“She’s out?” he asks.

You nod, sinking into the chair beside him. “Carlos has magic uncle powers.”

Charles smiles at that. “I believe it.”

Silence stretches for a few seconds — but it’s not uncomfortable. Just peaceful. Like the two of you are breathing in the same kind of relief.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” you say quietly.

“I didn’t plan to,” he replies. “But when I saw how angry Carlos was… and how badly he wanted to check on you… I just knew I couldn’t stay behind.”

You glance at him. “You raced today.”

He shrugs. “I’ve raced tired before.”

“But not like this.”

Charles looks at you now. Fully. Gently. “You matter more.”

Your breath catches. He doesn’t flinch or look away. Doesn’t pretend he didn’t mean it. He just says it plainly, like it’s always been true.

You swallow. “It’s been a lot. Everything... It doesn’t stop, Charles. The internet. The rumors. Max’s lawyers. The press trying to bait a reaction out of me—”

“You don’t owe anyone anything,” he says. “Least of all him.”

You rest your head back, closing your eyes. “I know. But I still feel like I’m holding my breath.”

He’s quiet for a moment. You hear the soft clink of his wine glass being set down.

Then, gently: “Can I tell you something?”

You open your eyes.

“I was scared to come,” Charles admits. “Not because I didn’t want to. But because I didn’t know if I’d be crossing a line.”

You look at him.

“Charles…”

“I know you’re not ready for anything. And I’m not asking you to be. But I meant what I said — I care about you. I care about her. I didn’t come here because I want something. I came because I wanted to make sure you knew you’re not alone.”

Tears sting your eyes before you can stop them. You don’t say anything. Just reach out and place your hand over his on the armrest. It’s small. Barely anything. But his thumb brushes your knuckles, and that says everything. You sit there in silence, wrapped in the warmth of the night, the waves humming in the distance, the feeling of something steady blooming slowly between you.

—

yn_sainz

liked by charles_leclerc, carlossainz55, franciscagomes and 7,777,000 others.

yn_sainz : thankful for all these angels and blessings i have in my life. more from me soon<3 promise you.

tagged : charles_leclerc, carlossainz55 and iamrebeccad

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

twitter!

f1gossipgirls : YN SAINZ POSTS FIRST PHOTO DUMP SINCE SPLIT — CHARLES SPOTTED WITH HER DAUGHTER 👀 popstar yn sainz just broke her silence with a photo dump from ibiza, including a very cozy shot of charles leclerc holding her baby (!!). caption? "thankful for all these angels and blessings i have in my life. more from me soon<3 promise you."

yeah. the internet is NOT okay rn.

—

view replies.

username00 : the fact that she said “angels” and included carlos, the baby, rebecca and CHARLES???? that’s a family post. that’s a FAMILY.

username88 : i just know max opened instagram, saw that pic, and walked straight into a wall

username000 : she really said “i'm healing, i’m glowing, and he’s helping raise the baby you forgot existed.” iconic behavior.

username15 : her dropping this after weeks of silence like she didn’t just emotionally flatten everyone??? girl i’m on the FLOOR.

username17 : charles is not the rebound. charles is the healing arc. charles is the redemption story. charles is the HOME.

—

The smell of coffee and fresh bread pulls you out of sleep. You pad into the kitchen barefoot, wearing one of Carlos’s oversized Ferrari tees and your daughter balanced lazily on your hip. Her hair’s a mess of curls and dreams, her thumb in her mouth, her eyes already scanning the room.

Charles is standing at the stove. In sweatpants. No shirt. Just barefoot, sleepy, and completely at home — flipping pancakes with one hand while balancing a bottle of milk against his side.

Carlos is at the table, cutting strawberries. He glances up and grins. “Good morning, madre superiora.”

You roll your eyes. “Don’t make me throw something at you.”

Before he can fire back, another voice chimes in from behind the island.

“Don’t encourage her, Carlos.”

You blink as Rebecca, your brother’s longtime girlfriend, emerges holding two mugs of coffee — somehow already fully dressed and glowing like she’s just stepped off a Vogue shoot. “Hey, mama.”

You laugh, caught off guard. “You’re here?”

“She landed late last night,” Carlos says, stealing a strawberry. “Didn’t want to wake you.”

“I wanted to surprise you,” Rebecca says, walking over to kiss your cheek. “And meet the little one. Finally.”

Your daughter reaches toward her without hesitation. Rebecca melts immediately.

“I made extra pancakes,” Charles says, glancing back at you. “Hope that’s okay.”

You smile sleepily, heart so full it aches. “More than okay.”

The five of you gather around the table — your daughter on Charles’s lap, sticky fingers reaching for fruit while he gently wipes her chin. Carlos buttering too much toast. Rebecca laughing at something dumb he says and stealing bites off his plate. There’s sunlight pouring through the windows, music playing softly in the background, plates passed around without question. It feels… right. Like this moment shouldn’t be rare. You sip your coffee and glance across the table. Charles is already looking at you. He doesn’t say anything. He just smiles, soft and quiet, like he’s exactly where he wants to be. And for the first time in weeks, you believe it.

—

It is quiet again. Rebecca and Carlos are in town picking up groceries. Your daughter’s asleep, finally settled after fighting her nap like a tiny warrior. The sky outside is streaked with pink and lavender, the last bits of sunlight trailing off over the sea. You’re on the floor of the living room, legs crossed, notebook open in your lap. Your guitar rests beside you, fingers tapping against the worn wood as you hum under your breath.

Charles sits on the couch behind you, legs stretched out, a book in his lap he hasn’t touched in half an hour. He’s been watching you. Not saying anything. Just listening. You scribble down another line, cross it out. Try again.

One thing about karma…

You pause. Sing it under your breath.

That bitch will find you.

You glance over your shoulder. “Too much?”

Charles shakes his head. “Not enough.”

You laugh — dry, soft, tired. “She’s… angry.”

“She should be.”

You look down at your lyrics again. The page is slowly filling. Not polished, not final, but raw. Real. Like something crawling out of your chest and finally, finally getting air.

Yeah, everyone's replaceable But not me, though You'll feel it deep down whenever you're alone You're livin' a lie if you're sayin' I'm wrong

You stop, throat catching. Charles speaks before you can spiral.

“I think that line’s going to wreck people.”

“Good.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then you ask, quieter, “Do you think he’ll hear it?”

Charles nods. “He’ll feel it.”

You blink quickly, swallowing the tightness building behind your ribs. “It’s not about revenge.”

“I know.”

“I don’t want to hurt him, I just…” Your fingers curl around your pen. “I want him to feel it. To sit with what he did. To know that he broke something that didn’t deserve to be broken.”

Charles sets the book aside and leans forward, resting his arms on his knees, voice low and steady.

“He’s going to hear this song one night when he’s alone. Maybe in the back of a car. Maybe in his apartment. And it’s going to cut deeper than anything you could ever say out loud.”

You look at him. Really look.

“And what if I’m never over it?” you whisper.

Charles doesn’t flinch. “Then I’ll sit with you through every moment of it. For as long as it takes.”

Your chest aches at how easily he says it. How much he means it. You glance back at your notebook. Your handwriting’s getting sloppier — more urgent, more alive.

Hope you’re at least real with yourself...Karma comes ‘round knockin’ at your doorShe’s comin’ to collect, ‘cause karma won’t forget…

The pen taps against the page, the rhythm of your rage and heartbreak and healing all stitched into one. And when you start humming again — soft, deliberate, full of power — Charles doesn’t say a word. He just stays with you. And somehow, that makes all the difference.

—

several weeks later...

yn_sainz

liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, yukitsunoda0511 and 11,000,000 others.

yn_sainz : that karma...she's a bitch you won't see coming. moral conscience is all yours my angels<3 love you all and remember to stay karmically intact. kisses xx

—

user has limited comments on this post.

yukitsunoda0511 : you've got that post divorce glow. i promise to stay karmically intact after this song (does shoving him off the track still count?) love you pooks

liked by yn_sainz

↳ yn_sainz : i feel like karma would forgive you, yukipie. love you my boyyyyy

liked by yukitsunoda0511

franciscagomes : you bodied this. physically. emotionally. spiritually.

liked by yn_sainz

alex_albon : lily has not stopped playing this since midnight...sigh...you ate mama

liked by yn_sainz and lilymhe

georgerussell63 : girl lets hold a "surviving max verstappen" seminar

liked by yn_sainz

↳ yn_sainz : we would both be there all damn day 💀

liked by georgerussell63

iamrebeccad : the most beautiful woman in the world. they will all regret crossing you, mi amor

liked by yn_sainz

charles_leclerc : 🌹🤍

liked by yn_sainz

carlossainz55 : so proud of you, mi vida<3

liked by yn_sainz

—

several weeks later...

f1gossipgirls (took me way too long to find a pic of max and charles where they look at least mildy tense...they are always so happy together and gay.)

10,00,000 likes.

f1gossipgirls : If you were wondering why the paddock felt ten degrees hotter this weekend, allow us to recap the absolute chaos that unfolded: Pop sensation YN Sainz made her official return to the paddock for the first time since her Moral Conscience drop — and she did not come quietly. She was photographed arriving in head to toe black, sharp sunglasses, and holding hands with none other than Charles Leclerc. She spent most of the afternoon laughing and walking with Lily Muni He, while Carlos played the world’s most protective big brother in the background. Meanwhile…Rumors swirled post-race of a heated exchange between Charles and Max Verstappen, who reportedly crossed paths in the Red Bull hospitality with zero smiles and maximum tension. And if that wasn’t enough...Later that night, YN and Charles were caught sharing a kiss behind the Ferrari motorhome, completely oblivious to the cameras — or maybe not caring at all. YN Sainz is back. With a vengeance. And in couture.

—

The paddock is buzzing long before you arrive. People know. They don’t say it — not out loud — but the tension is in the air like static. A few paddock photographers shift on their feet, ready. Social media managers hover by the entrance like lions with camera rolls open. And then the gates part. First, it's Charles. Red Ferrari polo, sunglasses, hair pushed back like he didn’t try but definitely did. Calm. Poised. Steady. Then you. All black. Silk blouse tucked into tailored trousers. Designer sunglasses. Statement earrings. A subtle red lip. Your heels click against the pavement like punctuation — not hurried, not performative. Just confident. Controlled.

Your fingers are laced with his. You don’t say anything. You don’t need to. You walk beside him like you’ve always belonged there. And maybe you have. Carlos is the first to greet you — waiting near the Ferrari hospitality, arms crossed, brow raised, he hugs you. Hard.

“Please tell me you didn’t wear black because you planned to kill someone,” he mutters in Spanish.

You smirk. “No promises.”

Charles chuckles beside you, but there’s tension in his shoulders. He can feel the eyes. The whispers. He doesn’t care about the noise — but he does care about you.

“I’m okay,” you murmur to him, as if reading his mind. “Let them look.”

And look they do. You pass Lily and Alex first — both of them giving you knowing smiles and whispered greetings. Then the photographers flash again. Then a Red Bull mechanic walks straight into a stack of tires because he’s too busy staring. But it isn’t until you cross into Red Bull territory that you feel it. The silence. Max is standing a few feet away — suit half-zipped, water bottle in hand. And for a second, everything slows. His gaze flicks to your hand in Charles’s. Then your outfit. Then your face.

He doesn’t say anything. Just lifts his chin slightly. The same way he used to when he wanted control. Power. But today, you don’t flinch. You don’t even stop walking. Charles squeezes your hand. You squeeze back. And just like that, you disappear into the Ferrari garage — the door sliding shut behind you like a final, satisfying period at the end of a chapter long overdue.

—

You’re seated on the pit wall steps, reviewing Ferrari timing sheets and sipping a smoothie, when you hear his voice.

“Can we talk?”

You look up — and there he is. Max.

You don’t stand. You don’t invite him to sit. “I’m busy.”

He ignores it, stepping closer.

“I just want to understand what’s going on. With Charles. With her.”

Your chest tightens.

“You had months to understand what was going on,” you reply coolly. “Now it’s not your business anymore.”

“She’s my daughter,” he says sharply. “It’s always going to be my business.”

Your voice stays even. “You haven’t asked about her once since February. You haven’t seen her in person in almost five months.”

“I’ve been racing. Travelling.”

“So have I. And Charles. And Carlos. But we show up.”

He flinches. His jaw ticks. “You’re parading her around with Leclerc like he’s—”

“Like he’s what?” you snap, standing now. “Like he’s present? Like he’s kind? Like he knows her favorite bedtime song and how she takes her bottle when she’s teething?”

He goes quiet.

“I’m filing for full custody,” he says suddenly.

You blink.

“I’m not going to let you turn her against me.”

“Max,” you say, voice steel under silk, “no one has to turn her against you. She’ll grow up and see what she needs to. I won’t say a word. I don’t have to.”

He opens his mouth, but doesn’t get the chance to speak again. Because Charles is walking over from the Ferrari garage — already tense, already reading your face.

“Everything okay?” he asks, stepping between you and Max.

“She’s fine,” Max mutters. “For now.”

Charles doesn’t blink. “You should leave.”

Max scoffs. “You’re not her lawyer, Charles.”

“No,” he says quietly, “I’m the one she trusts.”

Max stares at him. But he backs off. For now.

—

The race is over. Max P2. Charles P3. But neither of them are thinking about champagne. Charles finds him in the post-race cool-down room — alone, toweling sweat off his face.

“You really want to go to court?” Charles says, calm but sharp.

Max doesn’t even look surprised. “It’s not about you.”

“No,” Charles agrees. “It’s about her. And the baby you haven’t bothered to see. You don’t want custody. You want control.”

Max’s mouth hardens. “You think you’re better than me?”

“No,” Charles says, stepping closer. “I know I am. Because I’d never walk away from someone I love and then try to drag her back just because she found better.”

“You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know she cried herself to sleep for months. I know she had to play popstar and mother and survivor all at once. And I know that every single day you chose to ignore that.”

Max swallows.

Charles leans in just enough. “If you try to hurt her again — legally or otherwise — I will fight. Not on the track. Not for a title. For her. And I never lose when I’m fighting for something real.”

And with that, he turns and walks away.

—

The house is still. Your daughter is asleep down the hall. Carlos and Rebecca are staying the night again, curled up in the guest room with old movies playing low. The windows are open, letting the sea breeze drift in, warm and weightless.

You’re in the kitchen, standing barefoot at the sink, rinsing out her bottle, letting the silence settle around you. Charles steps in quietly, freshly showered, hair damp, wearing one of your brother’s hoodies. His eyes find you instantly.

“You okay?” he asks softly.

You nod, but don’t look up. “I heard what you said to Max.”

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak right away.

“I wasn’t trying to cause more drama,” he murmurs. “I just… couldn’t let him talk to you like that. Not after everything.”

You turn slowly, finally facing him. “You didn’t cause anything.”

He leans back against the counter, watching you. Carefully. Gently.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say. “You didn’t owe me anything.”

Charles’s brow furrows. “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” you whisper.

“No, it’s not.” He steps forward. “I don’t owe you anything. But I love you. And that means I’ll protect you — not because I have to, but because I want to.”

The words hit you like soft thunder. Familiar, terrifying, safe.

“You love me?” you ask, voice barely there.

He nods. No hesitation.

You blink fast, heart racing. “I don’t know if I’m ready to say it back.”

“You don’t have to,” he says gently. “I’m not in a rush. I just need you to know where I stand.”

You let out a shaky breath, eyes burning.

“I felt… held today,” you say after a pause. “Not just protected. Seen. Heard. It’s been a long time since I felt that way.”

Charles steps even closer, hands finding your waist.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says. “Whether you’re sad or strong or angry or radiant or terrified. I’ll be there for all of it.”

Your hands move to his chest, fingers clutching at the fabric of his hoodie like you need something to hold onto.

And then, softly — so quietly you’re not sure he hears it:

“I think I’m starting to love you too.”

He smiles. Not smug. Not surprised. Just warm. Infinite.

He leans down, forehead resting against yours. “We’ll take our time.”

And under the hush of night and the whisper of waves outside, you finally kiss him — slow, deep, full of everything you don’t yet have the words for. But he understands. He always does.

—

2 months later...

f1gossipgirls

8,100,009 others.

f1gossipgirls : Pop star YN Sainz and Max Verstappen faced off in court today over custody of their 1½-year-old daughter — and let’s just say the entrances alone told a story: YN arrived hand in hand with Charles Leclerc, who has not only been consistently present in the baby’s life for months (see: weekly IG story cameos and those now-iconic zoo day photos), but looked like he belonged beside her in every way. Calm. Solid. Unshakable. YN was also backed by her brother Carlos Sainz and his girlfriend Rebecca Donaldson, both of whom walked in arm-in-arm with her, radiating “try us” energy. Max Verstappen, meanwhile, arrived with Kelly Piquet — which... bold move? Sources say the courtroom tension was palpable, especially when Leclerc reportedly refused to acknowledge either of them inside. And the verdict? YN was granted full legal custody. Sources say Max is “furious,” but insiders insist there was never much of a case on his side. All we’re saying is… karma might wear Prada. And a Ferrari polo.

—

The courtroom is cold — painfully bright and unforgiving. You sit straight-backed in your chair, hands folded in your lap. Not shaking. Not hiding. You wore black again. Not for mourning — for armor. Your daughter is at home with your Mama and Papa, safe and smiling. She doesn’t know what today is. She just knows her mama kissed her four times before leaving and promised pancakes when she came back.

Charles is beside you. He hasn’t let go of your hand since you walked in. Carlos and Rebecca sit directly behind you, arms crossed, jaw tight. Carlos hasn’t blinked in fifteen minutes. He doesn’t need to testify. His presence says enough.

On the opposite side of the courtroom, Max sits with his lawyer. Kelly’s behind him, sunglasses still on indoors. He doesn’t look at you. Not even once.

The judge glances over the papers in front of her.

“Miss Sainz, you’re requesting full legal custody. Sole decision-making rights.”

“Yes, Your Honor,” you answer, voice steady.

The opposing lawyer stands.

“Your Honor, Mr. Verstappen simply wants to be involved. He is willing to discuss joint custody arrangements, but he feels he’s being pushed out of his daughter’s life.”

You speak before your attorney can respond.

“With respect, Your Honor,” you say clearly, “he hasn’t seen his daughter in person since February. He missed her first steps. Her first full sentence. Her first fever. He didn’t ask about any of it.”

Max shifts but doesn’t look at you.

You go on. “I never once denied him access. Not through the breakup. Not through the media storm. I kept the door open. I waited. And he chose not to walk through it.”

Your voice wavers — just once — but Charles squeezes your hand, and you steady again.

“I’ve been her sole caregiver. I’ve built her routine. I know her allergies. I know her laugh. I know the exact song that calms her down when she’s scared. And none of that is because I locked anyone out. It’s because no one showed up.”

The room is silent. Even the judge stops writing.

“Why now?” she asks gently. “Why fight for her now?”

Max speaks, finally. “Because I’m her father.”

You turn to face him. “Then where were you when she cried for one?”

The judge takes a breath. Her decision is swift.

"Full legal custody awarded to Ms. Sainz. Supervised visitation may be discussed upon demonstration of consistency and parental responsibility."

Max doesn’t react. He just blinks. You thank the judge quietly. And when you turn to Charles, he pulls your hand to his lips — kisses your knuckles, reverent and proud. Carlos exhales behind you, finally. Like he hasn’t breathed all morning. And as you walk out — head high, shoulders strong, the woman the world tried to break — you don’t look back. You never have to again.

—

The house is quiet when you get home. The baby is asleep on the couch in her favorite position — arms splayed like a starfish, one sock missing, soft cartoon lullabies humming from the TV. Mama left a note on the kitchen counter: She’s been an angel. We’ll give you some space. You’ve got this. Love you.

You stand there for a moment, just staring at her. She looks so peaceful. So untouched by the weight of the day. She doesn’t know what happened in that courtroom — how close things came to unraveling. How hard you fought. How close you were to breaking. And maybe that’s the point. You fought so she’d never have to know.

Behind you, Charles sets your bag down quietly, then comes to stand beside you. He doesn’t say anything. He just brushes his hand against your back, warm and grounding. You finally exhale. And suddenly — your knees buckle. He catches you instantly.

You don’t sob. It’s not loud or dramatic. It’s the kind of cry that lives in your chest for weeks. Quiet, exhausted, relieved. You curl into his hoodie, your hands gripping the fabric like it’s the only thing tethering you to the floor.

“I didn’t realize how scared I was,” you whisper, voice cracking. “Until she said it. Until the judge actually said I could keep her safe.”

Charles wraps his arms around you tighter, one hand cradling the back of your head. “You were never going to lose her.”

“I know,” you murmur. “But I kept thinking… what if he lies better than I tell the truth?”

“You didn’t have to lie,” he says softly. “You just had to show up. And you did. Every day. She’s yours. Always was.”

You look up at him, eyes red but full of something softer now. Something steadier.

“And you,” you say, voice low. “Thank you for—”

He stops you with a gentle shake of his head. “You don’t have to thank me. Loving you both? That’s not something I do for you. That’s just… who I am now.”

The baby stirs softly on the couch, letting out a tiny squeak before rolling onto her side and settling again. You and Charles both turn to look at her.

“She looks like you when she sleeps,” he says with a crooked smile.

You sniff, laughing through it. “Terrifying.”

“Beautiful,” he corrects.

You lean into his chest again, heartbeat slowly settling. The sun is streaming through the windows. Outside, the world might still be loud. Messy. Cruel. But here — in this quiet corner of your life — it’s just you, your daughter, and the man who never once let go of your hand. And for the first time in forever, you feel completely safe.

—

The villa is quiet, bathed in golden lamplight. Your daughter is asleep in her room, dreaming in soft babbles, the monitor humming gently on the kitchen counter. Charles is sitting on the floor of the living room, legs stretched out, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows as he sips tea and scrolls through his phone. He doesn’t notice you right away when you come in — carrying your laptop, a pair of headphones, and a nervous sort of calm in your chest.

You sit beside him and tuck your knees under you.

“I have something,” you say softly, “I want you to hear.”

He puts his phone down immediately, giving you his full attention. You hand him the headphones, then open the laptop and press play. He slides them on. You don’t watch the screen. You watch him. The intro is soft — strings, and then your voice, humming lightly. Not polished. Not perfect. But real. And the lyrics are the kind that make your throat close up even now.

When you smiled at me, something changed in my brain chemistry…A love felt infinitely, was my heart’s remedy…

Charles’s lashes lower as he listens, mouth parting slightly, hands clasped around the mug. You can see it in his face when the chorus hits.

Heaven on earth may fade away, but you and I are forever to stay in love…I don’t care about much anymore, it’s just us…

His lips curve — not into a smile, exactly. Something softer. Something felt. The kind of expression he only makes when he's looking at your daughter. Or you. The second verse plays and you look down, fingers knotting in your lap.

You wrote this album with no filter. You didn’t think about radio play or critics or charts. You just thought about them. The way your daughter clings to Charles when she’s sleepy. The way he runs his fingers through her hair while she babbles about nothing.

The way he looked at you that night in court when everything was falling and he stood steady anyway. When the track ends, Charles pulls the headphones off slowly, eyes glassy.

“You wrote that?” he says quietly.

You nod, biting your lip.

“For us?”

You smile. “It’s the first track. The whole album’s about you two.”

He sets the headphones down and cups your jaw gently, thumbs brushing the corners of your mouth.

“I don’t know what I ever did to deserve this,” he whispers.

“You showed up,” you say. “When no one else did. You didn’t try to save me — you just loved me until I remembered how to save myself.”

He kisses you then — slow and reverent. Like he knows you’re giving him your heart in more than just melody. And when he pulls back, his voice is rough and full.

“I want the world to hear that.”

“They will,” you say softly. “But I wanted you to be the first.”

The baby monitor crackles — a soft whimper, then silence. Charles leans forward, eyes still locked on yours.

“I can get her,” he offers.

But you shake your head and climb to your feet.

“She wants both of us.”

And as you both walk down the hallway — bare feet, tangled fingers, new music humming quietly from the laptop — you know now, more than ever: It’s just you. It’s just him. It’s just love. And it’s forever.

—

yn_sainz

liked by carlossainz55, charles_leclerc, lilymhe and 14,008,003 others.

yn_sainz : had to learn to rearrange my mind and be in peace <333 my new album for : you will be released on 10/16. the birthday of both my soulmates. charles, thank you for loving me when i felt unlovable and loving my angel like she is your own. you have been too good to us. i love you both more than anything in this world. my perfect little fam :)

tagged : charles_leclerc

—

user has limited the amount of comments on this post.

charles_leclerc : you both saved me right back. je t’aime, always.

liked by yn_sainz

alex_albon : crying, throwing up, screaming… and also requesting track 3 early

liked by yn_sainz

↳ yn_sainz : you and lily need to come over for early access listening party!!

liked by lilymhe and alex_albon

↳ lilymhe : ON MY WAYYYYYY

liked by yn_sainz

lando : both born on 10/16?? okay the universe shipped this.

liked by yn_sainz and charles_leclerc

lewishamilton : love like this is what makes the world feel soft again. congratulations, angel.

liked by yn_sainz and charles_leclerc

carlossainz55 : this post made me cry. happy now?

liked by yn_sainz and charles_leclerc

arthur_leclerc : you’re telling me i grew up with this man and he ends up the muse?? wild.

liked by yn_sainz and charles_leclerc

—

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cursedbycrossovers · 1 month ago

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Help Wanted ≠ Send Sacrifices (Pt. 2)

AN: Reading the replies on the first post makes me feel like I set out a plate of cookies and got a banquet in return, holy cow. I'm so honored, you guys.

Anyway, due to several requests, here you go! More cookies! Since I am also writing a bit for the threads on the original post (which should hopefully be done in the next couple days), I decided to take this one in a direction the other two did not. Please enjoy!

— — —

When Tim had received a message from Jason asking for him specifically to come to this warehouse, he had not been expecting this.

"Ah, Tim, you're here!" Hood sounded oddly cheerful for someone standing just a few feet away from a swirling green vortex that was frothing at the edges like a rabid animal. Seriously, any closer and it'd probably be getting on his shoes.

"I'm gonna hazard a guess and say that's what you called me here for?" Tim nodded in the direction of the toxic green whirlpool as he approached Hood's side. If Jason was standing so close, it was probably safe, but he stayed a half-step further back, just in case.

Why had Jason only called for him, though? Something like this was pretty clearly an all-bats-on-deck situation.

"Yup." Hood confirmed, the voice modulator in his helmet turning the pop of the 'p' into something rather grating. "Go on ahead and hop in."

Tim's thoughts screeched to a halt, and he slowly turned to look at Jason with an expression of pure confusion. "Why... would I... do that?"

"Well, if you don't, I'm gonna have to throw you in." Hood said pragmatically.

Tim blinked in shock, alarm bells beginning to go off in his head. Nothing about Jason's body language indicated he was joking.

"Riiiight..." Tim began inching away from Jason as subtly as he could, "Uh, any particular reason you want that to happen?"

Jason turned to stare into the glow for a few concerningly silent seconds. "He needs help."

Ooooh, Tim did NOT like the emphasis on that 'He.'

"Then why don't you go in?" Tim asked cautiously, then immediately flinched. That was not something you said to someone who was very probably not in their right mind at the moment.

Jason was silent for a second, and if Tim had to guess, he was making a face under the helmet. "I can, if you want me to, but you have to go too," he insisted.

Hood took a step forward, closer to Tim. His hands had seemingly unconsciously begun to rise from his sides.

Tim decided then and there it was time to cut his losses.

Tim whirled around and sprinted back the way he'd come in, beelining for the open window. The heavy clomp of boots behind him told him that Jason was giving chase. Tim's fingers flew over the keypad of his communicator, just barely managing to hit send before Jason's arm hooked around his waist, pulling him back and lifting him up off his feet.

Tim made a noise somewhere between a yelp and a screech as he was flipped over Jason's shoulder, and those heavy boots began to make their way toward the center of the room.

"Jason! Jason–" Tim tried to wriggle free, but Jason's grip was made of iron, his leather jacket and body armor making it so that Tim's hits and kicks landed ineffectively against Jason's torso.

The stiffness faded from Jason's frame the closer they got to the vortex, pausing once they were right on the edge.

"Don't worry, kid, we'll be fine!" He reassured.

"Jason, don't you dare–" Before Tim could finish hissing his threat, Jason leapt into the green with a cheer.

"Geronimo!"

— — —

Pt. 1 | Pt. 3

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc prompt #trying my hand at this “writing” thing #Help Wanted ≠ Send Sacrifices

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insertdisc5 · 2 years ago

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📚 A List Of Useful Websites When Making An RPG 📚

My timeloop RPG In Stars and Time is done! Which means I can clear all my ISAT gamedev related bookmarks. But I figured I would show them here, in case they can be useful to someone. These range from "useful to write a story/characters/world" to "these are SUPER rpgmaker focused and will help with the terrible math that comes with making a game".

This is what I used to make my RPG game, but it could be useful for writers, game devs of all genres, DMs, artists, what have you. YIPPEE

Writing (Names)

Behind The Name - Why don't you have this bookmarked already. Search for names and their meanings from all over the world!

Medieval Names Archive - Medieval names. Useful. For ME

City and Town Name Generator - Create "fake" names for cities, generated from datasets from any country you desire! I used those for the couple city names in ISAT. I say "fake" in quotes because some of them do end up being actual city names, especially for french generated ones. Don't forget to double check you're not 1. just taking a real city name or 2. using a word that's like, Very Bad, especially if you don't know the country you're taking inspiration from! Don't want to end up with Poopaville, USA

Writing (Words)

Onym - A website full of websites that are full of words. And by that I mean dictionaries, thesauruses, translators, glossaries, ways to mix up words, and way more. HIGHLY recommend checking this website out!!!

Moby Thesaurus - My thesaurus of choice!

Rhyme Zone - Find words that rhyme with others. Perfect for poets, lyricists, punmasters.

In Different Languages - Search for a word, have it translated in MANY different languages in one page.

ASSETS

In general, I will say: just look up what you want on itch.io. There are SO MANY assets for you to buy on itch.io. You want a font? You want a background? You want a sound effect? You want a plugin? A pixel base? An attack animation? A cool UI?!?!?! JUST GO ON ITCH.IO!!!!!!

Visual Assets (General)

Creative Market - Shop for all kinds of assets, from fonts to mockups to templates to brushes to WHATEVER YOU WANT

Velvetyne - Cool and weird fonts

Chevy Ray's Pixel Fonts - They're good fonts.

Contrast Checker - Stop making your text white when your background is lime green no one can read that shit babe!!!!!!

Visual Assets (Game Focused)

Interface In Game - Screenshots of UI (User Interfaces) from SO MANY GAMES. Shows you everything and you can just look at what every single menu in a game looks like. You can also sort them by game genre! GREAT reference!

Game UI Database - Same as above!

Sound Assets

Zapsplat, Freesound - There are many sound effect websites out there but those are the ones I saved. Royalty free!

Shapeforms - Paid packs for music and sounds and stuff.

Other

CloudConvert - Convert files into other files. MAKE THAT .AVI A .MOV

EZGifs - Make those gifs bigger. Smaller. Optimize them. Take a video and make it a gif. The Sky Is The Limit

Marketing

Press Kitty - Did not end up needing this- this will help with creating a press kit! Useful for ANY indie dev. Yes, even if you're making a tiny game, you should have a press kit. You never know!!!

presskit() - Same as above, but a different one.

Itch.io Page Image Guide and Templates - Make your project pages on itch.io look nice.

MOOMANiBE's IGF post - If you're making indie games, you might wanna try and submit your game to the Independent Game Festival at some point. Here are some tips on how, and why you should.

Game Design (General)

An insightful thread where game developers discuss hidden mechanics designed to make games feel more interesting - Title says it all. Check those comments too.

Game Design (RPGs)

Yanfly "Let's Make a Game" Comics - INCREDIBLY useful tips on how to make RPGs, going from dungeons to towns to enemy stats!!!!

Attack Patterns - A nice post on enemy attack patterns, and what attacks you should give your enemies to make them challenging (but not TOO challenging!) A very good starting point.

How To Balance An RPG - Twitter thread on how to balance player stats VS enemy stats.

Nobody Cares About It But It’s The Only Thing That Matters: Pacing And Level Design In JRPGs - a Good Post.

Game Design (Visual Novels)

Feniks Renpy Tutorials - They're good tutorials.

I played over 100 visual novels in one month and here’s my advice to devs. - General VN advice. Also highly recommend this whole blog for help on marketing your games.

I hope that was useful! If it was. Maybe. You'd like to buy me a coffee. Or maybe you could check out my comics and games. Or just my new critically acclaimed game In Stars and Time. If you want. Ok bye

#reference #tutorial #writing #rpgmaker #renpy #video games #game design #i had this in my drafts for a while so you get it now. sorry its so long #long post

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teaandspite · 1 year ago

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The Great Goodreads Diss List (Part 1)

Context: For many years now, I have been collecting funny lines from Goodreads reviews to share with my coworkers. (I do collection development, reader's advisory, and weeding at a public library, so I read a LOT of reviews)

Are some of these, perhaps, rather mean? Yes, but they are also very funny, and come from a place of honest frustration. In the tradition of Bargepole threads and lists everywhere, names and titles have been censored.

"First, I want to say that I understand how hard it is to write a book and how amazing it is when it is actually published. Congrats to the author for that accomplishment. That said--"

"Warning: This review will be lengthy due to pure hatred."

"I found myself feeling really, really annoyed with the world that this book is allowed to exist. We live in a universe where the passenger pigeon is extinct but this book goes along merrily being read by unsuspecting lovers of words and ideas and stories? It just seems like too much, you know?"

"Don't do it. Don't spring the cash for the hardcover. Instead, eat an entire bag of Twizzlers, spend some money you don't have at a high-end department store, look up on Facebook the shady college boyfriend that made you cry, research the current value of your home or 401K and then read all about how the big hedge fund managers are faring during the economic crisis. You'll feel about the same stomach pain if you waste your time reading this book."

"This wretched novel begins with the mugging of an old lady and it appears I may be in the process of repeating that loathsome crime as [author] was 78 when she wrote it. It is not nice to put the boot into such a poor defenseless old creature lying there with only a damehood, a Booker Prize and a few million quid. It’s a nasty job but somebody has to do it."

"I think this is the way dead people would write, if they could."

"I am considering setting up SPABB: Society for the Protection of Accurate Book Blurb. This blurb appears to have been written by someone from the publishers who met [the author] the night before, got very drunk, lost his notes and then constructed something in a fug of hangover the next morning."

"I congratulate [the author] on the early half of his book, which was thoroughly fun and made me laugh and think. I congratulate [the author] on the second half of his book, for finishing it. It reads like that was difficult."

"…a woman whose taste in contemporary literature has roughly the same batting average as a pitcher in the National League."

"The author is a pompous windbag."

"Recommends it for: No one. Recommended to me by: A friend who apparently wished to cause me great suffering."

"Makes me wonder: is it possible to obtain similes at a volume discount?"

"The repeated phrases made me want to mail a thesaurus to the author."

"I'm disappointed in myself for finishing this book."

"if the author described [character's] eyes as "obsidian" one more time I was tempted to write her and ask if her thesaurus broke."

"They say that an infinite number of monkeys with an infinite number of typewriters would, if given infinite time, eventually produce the complete works of William Shakespeare. [This book], on the other hand, would probably take the average monkey just under two hours."

"I can't imagine what the author had to do to get this nadir of Western literature printed on innocent trees, but he does seem to know a LOT about being well-connected in New York."

"This book is so bad it is almost worth reading just to make you appreciate the other books you are reading."

"Reads like it was written by a brilliant author, the night before it was due."

"raises interesting questions, like: can a book be so bad as to constitute an act of terrorism"

"has this author ever spoken to a human woman"

"This acorn has fallen so far from the tree that it can’t even see the forest."

"I’m guessing they are touted as ‘beach reads’ because no one will care if they get dropped into the ocean."

"This book begins with all the energy of a hand vacuum near the end of its battery life, and the pace doesn't quicken much from there."

"At least everybody’s eyes stayed the same color this time around.”

Part 2

Part 3

#the diss list #book review #goodreads #tumblrarians #literary criticism #library #bargepole

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koushirouizumi · 2 years ago

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{Kuro+Shiro} circa 2k13 r.p {I'm Shiro} (the first meeting in a new {Place})

"I drew MYSELF" "and wrote" "I LIED."

{DO NOT re-post} {DO NOT re-purpose}

(I miss my old r.p. partners and cast-mates from this time, but at least I know most of my closest mutuals are doing well. Also I wrote semi-nice descriptions 10~ years ago, I should {keep} trying this again...)

#koushirouizumi posts #koushirouizumi k #koushirouizumi shiro #koushirouizumi rp #koushirouizumi dw #koushirouizumi 2k13 #koushirouizumi threads #koushirouizumi shiro threads #c: shiro #c: kuroh #(You can forgive Kuro partners' One 1 typo {Maybe thinking of slowly posting some more like this from r.p threads of old})#(They were a really great cast mate though)#(I still miss everyone I played against)#(I had him in a multi fan base place {here included but also more than one!} and it was so fun to play against whole other casts omg)#(Shiro also had quite a few chase threads running from Homra + Scepter 4 members THAT was Def fun to play)#(Action-y threads can be *really hard* to come by in r.p. nowadays and I MISS THAT)#(The funniest part of playing Shiro was when I got to mess with 'Misaki'+Saru players especially and Izumos were also v. fun)#(then later on other K cast players found my other charas in same or other games TOO which was also fun)#(I kind of want to re write and compile all of Shiros longer threads into a K oneshot compilation and flip them on A.O.3. somewhere)#(I was writing much more based in the novels and short stories verses negl because I had just read some w WeismannTM at the time)#(Every now and then I remember Shiros updated stuff from the short stories that were out at the time and I just get Emotional)#(Anyway some of my 2k13 rp Wow Look 2k13 right about when the DSM-V was updating Aut!diagnosis info almost like some remember it!!!)#i drew myself and wrote i lied #(Shiro was SO Conflicted here haha & really WAS treating the whole thing Maybe Not As Seriously As Shiro Should Have Been)#(For MONTHS in That place but also {theyre still being SO DRAMATIC l m a o} bUT LIKE FOR REASONS)#(Then Kuroh shows up and is once again THREATENING TO KILL {+IF ITS A TRAP} and Shiros like ' ... Oh . ')#('Oh right I was RUNNING AWAY from ALL these people in my world for A TIME...' {'But you KNOW ME.'})#({Kuroh} '... So why are you 'hanging out' with them HERE?'#({Shiro} 'Ummm {Its Not Really That} I just sort of *showed up* and they *began chasing me everywhere* and Things Happened--')

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jadevine · 2 years ago

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Preindustrial travel, and long explanations on why different distances are like that

Update March 1, 2024: Hey there folks, here's yet another update! I reposted Part 2a (the "medieval warhorses" tangent) to my writing blog, and I went down MORE of the horse-knowledge rabbit hole! https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/741423906984951808/my-post-got-cut-off-so-i-added-the-rest-of-it Update Jan 30, 2024: Hey folks, I've posted the updated version of this post on my blog, so I don't have to keep frantically telling everyone "hey, that's the old version of this post!" https://thebalangay.wordpress.com/2024/01/29/preindustrial-travel-times-part-1/

I should get the posts about army travel times and camp followers reformatted and posted to my blog around the end of the week, so I'll filter through my extremely tangled thread for them.

Part 2 - Preindustrial ARMY travel times: https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/739342239113871360/now-for-a-key-aspect-that-many-people-often-ask

Part 2a - How realistic warhorses look and act, because the myth of "all knights were mounted on huge clunky draft horses" just refuses to die: https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/732043691180605440/helpful-things-for-action-writers-to-remember

Part 3 - Additional note about camp followers being regular workers AND sex-workers: https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/740604203134828544/reblogging-the-time-looped-version-of-my

I saw a post on my main blog about how hiking groups need to keep pace with their slowest member, but many hikers mistakenly think that the point of hiking is "get from Point A to Point B as fast as possible" instead of "spending time outdoors in nature with friends," and then they complain that a new/less-experienced/sick/disabled hiker is spoiling their time-frame by constantly needing breaks, or huffing and puffing to catch up.

I run into a related question of "how long does it take to travel from Point A to Point B on horseback?" a lot, as a fantasy writer who wants to be SEMI-realistic; in the Western world at least, our post-industrial minds have largely forgotten what it's like to travel, both on our own feet and in groups.

People ask the new writer, "well, who in your cast is traveling? Is getting to Point B an emergency or not? What time of year is it?", and the newbies often get confused as to why they need so much information for "travel times." Maybe new writers see lists of "preindustrial travel times" like a primitive version of Google Maps, where all you need to do is plug in Point A and Point B.

But see, Google Maps DOES account for traveling delays, like different routes, constructions, accidents, and weather; you as the person will also need to figure in whether you're driving a car versus taking a bus/train, and so you'll need to figure out parking time or waiting time for the bus/train to actually GET THERE.

The difference between us and preindustrial travelers is that 1) we can outsource the calculations now, 2) we often travel for FUN instead of necessity.

The general rule of thumb for preindustrial times is that a healthy and prime-aged adult on foot, or a rider/horse pair of fit and prime-aged adults, can usually make 20-30 miles per day, in fair weather and on good terrain.

Why is this so specific? Because not everyone in preindustrial times was fit, not everyone was healthy, not everyone was between the ages of 20-35ish, and not everyone had nice clear skies and good terrain to travel on.

If you are too far below 18 years old or too far past 40, at best you will need either a slower pace or more frequent breaks to cover the same distance, and at worst you'll cut the travel distance in half to 10 or so miles. Too much walking is VERY BAD on too-young/old knees, and teenagers or very short adults may just have short legs even if they're fine with 8-10 hours of actual walking. Young children may get sick of walking and pitch a fit because THEY'RE TIREDDDDDDDDDD, and then you might need to stay put while they cry it out, or an adult may sigh and haul them over their shoulder (and therefore be weighed down by about 50lbs of Angry Child).

Heavy forests, wetlands and rocky hills/mountains are also going to be a much shorter "distance" per day. For forests or wetlands, you have to account for a lot of villagers going "who's gonna cut down acres of trees for one road? NOT ME," or "who's gonna drain acres of swamp for one road? NOT ME." Mountainous regions have their traveling time eaten by going UP, or finding a safer path that goes AROUND, so by the time you're done slogging through drier patches of wetlands or squeezing through trees, a deceptively short 10-15 miles in rough terrain might take you a whole day to walk instead of the usual half-day.

If you are traveling in freezing winters or during a rainstorm (and this inherently means you HAVE NO CHOICE, because nobody in preindustrial times would travel in bad weather if they could help it), you run the high risk of losing your way and then dying of exposure or slipping and breaking your neck, just a few miles out of the town/village.

Traveling in TOO-HOT weather is just as bad, because pushing yourself too hard and getting dehydrated at noon in the tropics will literally kill you. It's called heat-STROKE, not "heat-PARTY."

And now for the upper range of "traveling on horseback!"

Fully mounted groups can usually make 30-40 miles per day between Point A and Point B, but I find there are two unspoken requirements: "Point B must have enough food for all those people and horses," and "the mounted party DOESN'T need to keep pace with foot soldiers, camp followers, or supply wagons."

This means your mounted party would be traveling to 1) a rendezvous point like an ally's camp or a noble's castle, or 2) a town/city with plenty of inns. Maybe they're not literally going 30-40 miles in one trip, but they're scouting the area for 15-20 miles and then returning to their main group. Perhaps they'd be going to an allied village, but even a relatively small group of 10-20 warhorses will need 10-20 pounds of grain EACH and 20-30 pounds of hay EACH. 100-400 pounds of grain and 200-600 pounds of hay for the horses alone means that you need to stash supplies at the village beforehand, or the village needs to be a very large/prosperous one to have a guaranteed large surplus of food.

A dead sprint of 50-60 miles per day is possible for a preindustrial mounted pair, IF YOU REALLY, REALLY HAVE TO. Moreover, that is for ONE day. Many articles agree that 40 miles per day is already a hard ride, so 50-60 miles is REALLY pushing the envelope on horse and rider limits.

NOTE: While modern-day endurance rides routinely go for 50-100 miles in one day, remember that a preindustrial rider will not have the medical/logistical support that a modern endurance rider and their horse does.

If you say "they went fifty miles in a day" in most preindustrial times, the horse and rider's bodies will get wrecked. Either the person, their horse, or both, risk dying of exhaustion or getting disabled from the strain.

Whether you and your horse are fit enough to handle it and "only" have several days of defenselessness from severe pain/fatigue (and thus rely on family/friends to help you out), or you die as a heroic sacrifice, or you aren't QUITE fit enough and become disabled, or you get flat-out saved by magic or another rider who volunteers to go the other half, going past 40 miles in a day is a "Gondor Calls For Aid" level of emergency.

As a writer, I feel this kind of feat should be placed VERY carefully in a story: Either at the beginning to kick the plot off, at the climax to turn the tide, or at the end.

Preindustrial people were people--some treated their horses as tools/vehicles, and didn't care if they were killed or disabled by pushing them to their limits, but others very much cared for their horses. They needed to keep them in working condition for about 15-20 years, and they would not dream of doing this without a VERY good reason.

—

UPDATE January 13: Several people have gotten curious and looked at maps, to find out how a lot of cities are indeed spread out at a nice distance of 20-30 miles apart! I love getting people interested in my hyperfixations, lol.

But remember that this is the space between CITIES AND TOWNS. There should never be a 20-mile stretch of empty wilderness between City A and Town B, unless your world explains why folks are able to build a city in the middle of nowhere, or if something has specifically gone wrong to wipe out its supporting villages!

Period pieces often portray a shining city rising from a sea of picturesque empty land, without a single grain field or cow pasture in sight, but that city would starve to death very quickly in preindustrial times.

Why? Because as Bret Devereaux mentions in his “Lonely Cities” article (https://acoup.blog/2019/07/12/collections-the-lonely-city-part-i-the-ideal-city/), preindustrial cities and towns must have nearby villages (and even smaller towns, if large and prosperous enough!) to grow their food for them.

The settlements around a city will usually be scattered a few miles apart from each other, usually clustered along the roads to the city gates. Those villages and towns at the halfway point between cities (say 10-15 miles) are going to be essential stops for older/sick folks, merchants with cargo, and large groups like noble’s retinues and army forces.

Preindustrial armies and large noble retinues usually can’t make it far past 10-12 miles per day, as denoted in my addition to this post. (https://www.tumblr.com/jadevine/739342239113871360/now-for-a-key-aspect-that-many-people-often-ask )

#writing #preindustrial #horse riding #horse care #writing advice #medieval

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