jzprncess

[jzprncess]

update: still haven’t fixed my laptop or gotten a new one but i am writing on my phone. it may take longer though since i absolutely hate writing on my phone but its better than nothing. i’m saving up for a car so i cant really buy a laptop unless i ask for one for my birthday. requests will be closed but you’ll still be able to put one in, i just won’t add it to my list until i reopen them since i have tons to write.

[jzprncess]

The ghost in my room at 3am listening to me talk to myself about the fic I’m reading

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my laptop broke so i’m taking a hiatus like a kpop idol

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guys i’m so unbelievably sorry, put me in ff writer jail with the way i haven’t been active or posting. i’m just overwhelmed and unmotivated to write anything and i have sooo many requests to do. i think what i will do is finish all of them, even the smaus and the longer stories and just have them ready to go to post instead of writing a few each week.

don’t murder me!

[jzprncess]

to love and to let go 𓇢𓆸

pairing : george russell x reader

oneshot

word count : 2,143

main summary : Years after their breakup, Y/N attends George's wedding, hoping to find closure and say a silent goodbye to the man she once loved. But as old feelings resurface amidst the celebrations, Y/N and George are forced to confront the bittersweet reality of what they had—and what they’ve lost. A story of love, heartbreak, and the unspoken words that linger long after goodbye.

note : the coincidence that im posting this on george’s birthday (or around) is mind blowing fr. i dont keep track on their birthdays and i found out when the f1 insta account posted about it. but here’s a short oneshot unfortunately.

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Y/N had always known this day would come. From the moment she’d walked out of George Russell’s life, she’d understood that one day he would move on. He was too kind, too handsome, too remarkable not to. But knowing it and living it were two entirely different things.

The plane ride to Spain had felt endless, every hour stretching into what felt like days. As the plane began its descent, Y/N’s stomach twisted in knots, her nerves gnawing at the edges of her composure. She stepped off the plane, the heels of her shoes clicking softly against the polished airport floor. The air here was warmer, softer, carrying the scent of orange blossoms and saltwater. It felt alive, vibrant in a way that London rarely was—a reminder of how far she was from the life she had built and the man she had once loved.

The invitation had been in her bag for weeks, folded and unfolded so many times that the once-crisp edges were now soft and worn. She’d stared at it late at night when sleep eluded her, her mind drifting to memories she tried so hard to bury. The elegant gold script still felt like a dagger: You are cordially invited to the wedding of George Russell and Carmen Mundt.

What had compelled her to come? Curiosity? Guilt? Some masochistic need to see him one last time, even if it broke her heart in the process? She didn’t know. All she knew was that staying away felt impossible.

The taxi ride to the venue was agonizingly quiet. Y/N stared out the window, her mind racing as the city melted into sprawling vineyards and sun-dappled hills. She tried to focus on the beauty of the landscape, but her thoughts kept returning to George. She could still hear his laugh in her memories, feel the ghost of his touch on her skin, and see the way his eyes would light up when he talked about racing. He had been her everything once, and now he belonged to someone else.

When the taxi pulled up to the venue, she almost told the driver to keep going. The sight before her stole the air from her lungs. The courtyard was a dream, with flowers blooming in shades of pink and white, their delicate petals swaying in the breeze. Fairy lights were strung between the trees, casting a soft glow that made the entire space feel like a fairytale. It was perfect. It was painfully perfect.

Y/N stepped out of the car, smoothing the fabric of her dress with trembling hands. She had agonized over her outfit for weeks, finally settling on a deep navy gown that felt understated but elegant. She didn’t want to draw attention, but she also didn’t want to disappear entirely. As much as she tried to steel herself, she felt like an imposter in a place she didn’t belong.

The ceremony hadn’t started yet, and the courtyard buzzed with the chatter and laughter of the guests. Waiters moved gracefully through the crowd, balancing trays of champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres. Y/N slipped into a quiet corner near the back, her heart pounding as she scanned the sea of faces. She wasn’t ready to face him—not yet.

Her fingers tightened around the stem of her champagne glass as her gaze drifted toward the altar. And then she saw him.

George was standing with his groomsmen, his head tipped back in laughter. He looked radiant, his smile brighter than the Spanish sun. His suit was impeccably tailored, and his hair was styled just so, but it wasn’t his appearance that made her heart ache. It was the happiness radiating from him, so pure and unguarded. She had always loved his smile, but seeing it now, knowing it wasn’t for her, felt like a cruel twist of fate.

Y/N turned away, her chest tightening as she fought back the tears threatening to spill. She had thought she was prepared for this moment, but nothing could have prepared her for the sharp sting of seeing him again.

When the music started, signaling the beginning of the ceremony, she slipped into a seat near the back, keeping her head low. The bride appeared moments later, a vision in white. Carmen was beautiful in a way that felt almost effortless, her dress simple yet stunning, her every step radiating grace.

Y/N’s breath caught as she watched George’s face light up. His eyes were fixed on Carmen as though she were the only person in the world. That look—it was the kind of love people wrote songs about, the kind of love Y/N had once dared to dream about. She pressed her nails into her palms, willing herself to stay composed.

The vows were everything she had feared they would be. George’s voice was steady, filled with so much love and reverence that it was almost unbearable. He spoke of Carmen as though she had saved him, as though she had filled a void he didn’t know existed. Y/N blinked rapidly, her vision blurring as his words cut through her.

When the officiant declared them husband and wife, the crowd erupted in applause. Y/N clapped along, her movements mechanical as her world crumbled around her. And then, as if fate had one last cruel twist to deliver, George’s eyes found hers.

The noise of the crowd faded into nothing as their gazes locked. His smile faltered, just for a moment, and Y/N felt the weight of unspoken words hanging between them. She lifted her hand to her chest, her fingers trembling as she pressed them lightly over her heart.

George mirrored the gesture, his hand resting over his heart as his eyes softened. There was something in his expression—a mix of regret, gratitude, and a love that had once burned so brightly but now flickered like a dying ember.

Y/N forced herself to smile, though it wavered under the weight of her emotions. She nodded at him, a silent acknowledgment of everything they had shared and everything they had lost.

As the crowd rose to their feet, cheering and celebrating, Y/N stayed seated for a moment longer. She watched as George turned back to his new wife, his hand slipping into hers as they walked down the aisle together. They looked happy, and that should have been enough. But it wasn’t.

Y/N stood slowly, her legs unsteady as she made her way toward the exit. She didn’t look back. She couldn’t.

But as she walked away, she felt the weight of George’s gaze on her, heavy and lingering.

And he was watching her, his heart aching in a way he couldn’t explain.

For a moment, Y/N thought about stopping, about turning around and saying something—anything. But she knew it wouldn’t change anything. George had moved on. It was time for her to do the same.

As she stepped into the quiet evening, the sun dipping low on the horizon, she let out a shaky breath. The ache in her chest was sharp and unrelenting, but she knew it would fade with time. It had to.

And yet, as the sound of the celebration echoed behind her, she couldn’t shake the feeling that a part of her heart would always belong to him.

Y/N kept walking, her heels clicking softly against the stone path leading away from the ceremony. Each step felt heavier than the last, as if the weight of the past was trying to pull her back. She didn’t let herself stop—not when her chest felt like it was caving in, not when the distant laughter and music threatened to drown her.

The car that had brought her here was still waiting by the curb, the driver leaning casually against the door as he scrolled through his phone. He straightened up when he saw her approach, but Y/N shook her head. “Not yet,” she murmured, her voice barely audible even to herself.

She turned instead toward a quiet garden off to the side of the venue. It was empty, secluded, far enough away from the celebration to muffle the sound of joy that felt like it didn’t belong to her. She sat down on a bench, the cool metal pressing against her back, and let out a shaky breath.

Her hands trembled as she pulled out her phone. She didn’t even know why she bothered—there was no one she could call, no words that could fix the way her heart felt like it had been shattered into a thousand irreparable pieces.

Her fingers hovered over George’s name in her contacts. She hadn’t deleted it. She thought about it once, right after they’d broken up, but some part of her couldn’t do it. It felt too final. Like deleting him from her phone would mean erasing every memory they’d shared, every laugh, every touch, every whispered promise.

Her thumb moved to the call button, but she stopped herself. What would she even say? Congratulations, I’m so happy for you? A lie. Or worse, I miss you. I still love you. The truth, but one that had no place in the world he lived in now.

Instead, she opened their old text thread, scrolling back through the messages she hadn’t looked at in years.

George : “Drive safe. Let me know when you’re home. Xx.”

Y/N : “Stop worrying, I’m fine. :)”

George : “I’m allowed to worry. It’s in my boyfriend contract.”

She laughed softly, bitterly, at the memory. She’d forgotten how easy it had been with him, how natural. And maybe that was what hurt the most—not just losing him, but losing the version of herself that existed when she was with him.

The sound of footsteps pulled her out of her thoughts. She looked up, startled, and froze.

George was standing there, hands in his pockets, his tie slightly loosened as if he’d been in a hurry to leave. He looked at her the way he always had, with that quiet intensity that made it feel like she was the only person in the world.

“Hey,” he said softly.

Y/N’s heart dropped. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came out. What could she possibly say to him? That she hadn’t expected him to follow her? That she wished he hadn’t? That part of her was glad he had?

“I saw you leave,” he continued, stepping closer. “I… I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

His voice was gentle, familiar, and it made her chest ache even more.

“I’m fine,” she lied, her voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill. She glanced down at her hands, fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “You should go back. Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“I don’t care about everyone,” he said quietly. “Not right now.”

Her head snapped up at that, her brows furrowing. “George, you just got married. You can’t be here.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I know. I know I shouldn’t. But when I saw you…” He trailed off, shaking his head as if he was trying to make sense of his own thoughts. “Y/N, why did you come?”

The question hung heavy in the air, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to answer. She wanted to tell him the truth—that she had come because she needed closure, because she needed to see for herself that he was happy so she could finally let go. But now that he was standing in front of her, every reason she had seemed insignificant.

“I don’t know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He nodded, as if he understood, even though she wasn’t sure she did herself. “I never thought I’d see you again,” he admitted, his voice tinged with something that sounded like regret.

“Me neither,” she said. And then, after a pause, “You look happy, George.”

His expression softened, but there was something behind his eyes—something that looked almost like pain. “I am,” he said, but it sounded like a question more than an answer.

Y/N smiled, even though it hurt. “Good. That’s all I ever wanted for you.”

She stood up, brushing off her dress. “I should go. I don’t want to ruin your day.”

“You’re not ruining anything,” he said quickly, taking a step toward her. “Y/N, wait—”

She turned to face him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Goodbye, George.”

And with that, she walked away, her heart breaking with every step.

George watched her go, his chest tight with the weight of everything he hadn’t said. He knew he should go back to the celebration, to the life he had chosen, but in that moment, he couldn’t move.

Because a part of him—the part he thought he had buried—was still walking away with her.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

taglist : @heluvsjappie @awritingtree @steamy-smokey @alex-wotton @ssarqhxo @rainy-darling @mymilkshakefun @hs2016 @linnygirl09 @rawr-123s-stuff @meadhbhcavanagh @coral7161

[jzprncess]

the missing melody ♪

part 3 previous

pairing : franco colapinto x singer!reader

faceclaim : various people!

summary: Y/N announces exciting news, keeping her fans buzzing. Restless, she spends the night awake and finds comfort in a late-night call with Franco, who has to hang up for race day. The next morning, nerves and excitement fill her as she worries about Franco after his crash during the Brazilian Grand Prix. Despite only knowing him for a month, Y/N is falling for him and decides to surprise him in Las Vegas for the next race, reflecting on their growing connection as she rushes to catch her flight.

warnings : some singers do not exist in this au since i might take their songs!

y/n's mini album playlist - its on spotify

note : lowk do not know if this fits well since i wrote it awhile back an i dont feel like rereading it lol.

 ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

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yourusername what would you guys do if i dropped a mini album in a few hours? I forget I have children to feed 👀👀

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username3 LITERALLY CRYING IF YOU DROP IT. I'M READY. 🙏🙏

F1GOSSIP I’d sell my soul for a mini album.

username1 I WILL CRY ON THE FLOOR. FEED US PLEASE.

username2 Manifesting that mini album like it's my full-time job.

username4 Feed us, we’re starving!

username6 Sooo we’re about to be fed AND blessed, I’m here for it.

username5 i still can’t believe she's back

gracevanderwaal you know you wanna drop it girl

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bensonboone ready to get sent to heaven ☁️

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madisonbeer oh pls do 😭😭😭

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third pov

Y/N set her phone down after reading through the overwhelming flood of comments and DMs pouring in. Her fans were ecstatic, begging her to release the mini album as soon as possible.

With her laptop open on the kitchen counter, she stared at the six tracks she’d poured her heart into over the past couple weeks. The raw emotions, the late nights, the breakthroughs—each song held a piece of her story.

“Alright,” she muttered to herself, clicking open her notes app. “If I’m doing this, it needs to make sense.”

She scribbled down the track names, numbering them in various orders. Should she start with the vulnerable acoustic ballad that mirrored her hiatus? Or lead with the upbeat anthem that felt like a comeback?

As she toyed with different combinations, a thought crossed her mind. Franco had been listening to her yap recently about ideas—maybe he could help her settle on a title. She grabbed her phone and typed out a quick message.

messages

After texting Franco and finalizing the album title ‘Breathe Again’, Y/N sets her phone down, letting out a long sigh as she takes a moment to reflect. The decision felt right, the title capturing a sense of renewal and strength that she had been channeling throughout the past few weeks. She leans back in her chair, eyes drifting toward the window where the soft, golden glow of the evening sun filters through the curtains. It was quiet in her house, the only sound was the gentle hum of the air conditioning.

Her mind drifts to the photos she had taken recently—images that had been a source of inspiration for her mini album. She pulls up the gallery on her phone, scrolling through the collection. Each photo had a story, a memory, or a feeling attached to it. There were shots of early morning fog clinging to the trees outside her home, a few candid pictures from when she had visited the beach, the wind tugging at her hair, and others of her walking through empty streets at dusk, feeling as if the world was holding its breath with her.

Y/N smiles to herself as her fingers gently tap the screen to select the photo. It wasn’t extravagant, not a dramatic moment or a flashy pose, but it held something far more meaningful. The photo was taken from the back seat of a moving car, capturing just the view through the window. Outside, the trees sped past in a blur, their shapes dissolving into streaks of green and brown as the car moved along. The only thing visible in the shot was the natural world unfolding outside, with no sign of her face, just her silhouette as she sat quietly in the back. There was something serene about the image, the simplicity of being in motion, surrounded by nature, yet detached from everything else. It was the kind of photo that spoke to her journey of healing—about moving forward, even when it felt like the world was rushing by. It was real, and it felt right for the album’s theme of finding peace and strength amidst the chaos. And of course, with a little twist of falling for someone new.

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francolapinto i’ll be here

yourusername you better be

y/n’s pov

Y/N sank into the couch, clutching her phone as her thoughts raced. She scrolled past Franco’s name a dozen times, debating whether to call him or let him rest. But she couldn’t shake the jittery excitement coursing through her. The album was dropping in a few hours, and her nerves were impossible to ignore. She knew she wouldn’t sleep tonight, but maybe hearing his voice would help.

After a deep breath, she tapped his name, and the phone began to ring. It didn’t take long for him to answer, his familiar voice warm and slightly amused.

start of phone call

“Hola, trouble,” he greeted, his accent making her smile. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Not even close,” she admitted with a laugh. “It’s dropping in the morning, Franco. I don’t know if I’m excited, terrified, or both.”

“Both is good,” he said. “It means you care. But we talked about this—‘Breathe Again’ is perfect. It’s going to be amazing.”

Y/N felt a small rush of gratitude at his confidence. He’d been there when she’d been agonizing over the title, encouraging her to go with something that truly reflected her journey.

“You really think so?” she asked, fiddling with the hem of her sweatshirt.

“I know so,” Franco said firmly. “You’ve been working on this for weeks. People are going to love it. Plus, you have me hyping it up from the pit lane.”

She laughed, imagining him sneaking mentions of her album into post-race interviews. “I’m holding you to that,” she teased.

“Done. So, what’s keeping you up? Overthinking or too much caffeine?”

“Both,” she admitted, slumping further into the couch. “And maybe a little imposter syndrome.”

“Stop that,” Franco said immediately. “You’re Y/N L/N. You’re a badass. Remember what I told you—this album isn’t about perfection; it’s about being real. And that’s why it’s going to hit people in the heart.”

His words felt like a balm, calming her just enough to breathe easier. She shifted the conversation to him, not wanting to hog all the attention. “What about you? Are you ready for tomorrow?”

“Always,” Franco replied. “But race day nerves are a thing, even for me.”

“You? Nervous? I don’t buy it,” she teased.

“Okay, maybe not nervous,” he admitted. “But it’s Brazil. The crowd is insane. The energy is next level. It’s like racing in the middle of a concert.”

“That sounds amazing,” she said, a bit wistfully. “You’re lucky you get to experience that.”

They fell into a comfortable rhythm, their conversation bouncing between her album and his race. She told him about the meaning behind some of the tracks and how each song reflected a piece of her journey. He asked thoughtful questions, like, “Which song was the hardest to write?” and “How do you know when a song is finished?”

“Honestly, sometimes I don’t,” Y/N confessed. “It’s like I have to force myself to stop tweaking things and just let it be.”

“That’s like racing,” Franco said. “At some point, you have to trust what you’ve done and just go for it.”

When the focus shifted to him, Franco painted a vivid picture of the upcoming race, describing the challenges of the track and how the high altitude affected the car’s performance.

“Do you ever get scared?” Y/N asked, genuinely curious.

“Not really,” he said. “But there’s always this moment at the start, right before the lights go out, where everything feels... still. Like the world’s holding its breath. And then it’s chaos.”

“That sounds intense,” she said, shivering at the thought.

“It is,” Franco said with a grin in his voice. “But it’s also the best feeling in the world.”

Eventually, their conversation turned playful, almost like a round of 21 questions.

“What’s your go-to comfort food?” she asked

“Dulce de leche on everything,” he replied. “Yours?”

“Hot Cheetos,” she said.

“Figures,” Franco teased. “Classic Gen Z choice.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Dulce de Leche. What’s your most embarrassing moment?”

“Oh, that’s easy,” he groaned. “Waving back at someone who wasn’t waving at me. You know when you’re sure it’s for you, and it’s not?”

“I’ve done that!” Y/N laughed so hard she nearly dropped her phone. “It’s the worst.”

“And yours?” he prompted.

“Tripping on stage during a show,” she admitted, cringing at the memory. “I tried to play it off, but it was so obvious.”

“They probably thought it was part of the act,” Franco offered.

“Sure, let’s go with that,” she said with a chuckle.

The hour flew by, their laughter and easy conversation making time feel irrelevant. But eventually, Franco’s voice grew softer, a sign that fatigue was catching up to him.

“I hate to say this, but I need to sleep,” he said reluctantly. “Big day tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Y/N agreed, though she wished the call didn’t have to end. “Thanks for staying up with me.”

“Always,” Franco said warmly. “Good luck tomorrow. You’re going to crush it.”

“Good luck to you, too,” she replied. “I’ll be watching.”

“Sweet dreams, Y/N,” he said softly.

“Night, Franco.”

As the call ended, Y/N leaned back into the couch, her heart full and her mind a little calmer.

Y/N set her alarm for 9:00 a.m., double-checking it twice to make sure she wouldn’t accidentally sleep through the morning. The thought of her mini album finally releasing had her stomach flipping with a mix of excitement and nerves, but she tried to push it aside as she made her way to her room.

Once inside, she flicked on the bedside lamp, casting a warm glow over the space, and began her nightly routine. She changed into an oversized t-shirt and soft pajama shorts, tying her hair into a loose bun before settling on the edge of her bed. The house was quiet except for the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen, but her thoughts were anything but calm.

Her mind wandered, inevitably landing on Franco. A small smile crept across her face as she thought about their conversation earlier. The sound of his voice, his confident yet playful encouragement, the way he always seemed to know exactly what to say—it all made her chest feel warm and fluttery.

She leaned back against her headboard, hugging a pillow to her chest as she allowed herself to dwell on him a little longer. He made her feel something she hadn’t felt in a while: excitement, not just about her work or her music, but about life. It was like seeing the world in brighter colors.

Y/N chuckled softly to herself, the sound breaking the quiet of the room. “I feel like a teenager in high school,” she whispered, shaking her head at how giddy she felt. It was silly, but it was true. The butterflies, the overthinking, the random smiles at nothing—it was like she was back in her teenage years, crushing on someone in secret.

Without thinking, she reached for the notebook she always kept on her nightstand. It was her sanctuary, a place where her thoughts and feelings often turned into lyrics. Grabbing a pen, she opened it to a fresh page, the faint scent of paper filling the air.

She tapped the pen against her lip, thinking for a moment, then wrote the words: I feel so high school. The simplicity of it made her smile. It wasn’t a complete lyric yet, just a fragment, but it captured the light, bubbly feeling she couldn’t quite shake.

As she stared at the words, her mind raced with possibilities. Could this be another song? A hidden track someday? She didn’t know yet, but for now, it was enough to capture the moment.

Setting the notebook aside, she turned off the lamp and slid under the covers. Even in the dark, her mind refused to quiet, replaying memories of their conversations and imagining what tomorrow might bring.

alarm ringing

At the first ring of her alarm, Y/N's eyes snapped open, her body still heavy with the exhaustion of staying up late. She groaned, disoriented, not quite believing it was already 9:00 a.m. She had barely gotten any sleep, but she had set her alarm on instinct, knowing she couldn’t afford to sleep in.

She rolls over in bed, the soft morning light filtering through the curtains as she reaches for her phone on the nightstand. The screen lights up, briefly blinding her sleepy eyes. After a quick glance at the time, she unlocks it with a practiced swipe of her thumb. Her fingers hover over the screen, lingering for a moment as she debates if she should text him.

Even though she’s just woken up, the thought of Franco crosses her mind immediately. She imagines him at the paddock, likely already in the midst of the buzzing race-day chaos. He’s probably shaking hands with fans, posing for pictures, or answering rapid-fire questions from broadcasters surrounded by the wet air, with heavy rain drenching everything in sight. It’s his element, and the image of him—calm and confident—makes her smile softly to herself.

With a small sigh, she decides to text him. The familiar sound of her keyboard clicking under her fingers fills the quiet room as she starts typing. She keeps it casual but thoughtful, knowing how hectic his day must be.

messages

Y/N grabs the cereal box from the counter, pouring herself a bowl as she leans back into the couch. The screen of her phone is flashing with notifications about the album release, but it’s still too early to press "send" on her post. She needs a distraction. She hits play on the F1 broadcast, just in time to hear the pre-race chatter about the rain in Brazil. She can't help but smile a little, feeling the excitement of the race season.

The soft sound of the cereal crunching is the only thing that fills the room for a moment, and Y/N stares at the clock, watching the seconds tick by. She scrolls through her phone, making last-minute adjustments to her album post while keeping one eye on the screen. The F1 broadcast is so familiar, comforting almost, with its chaotic energy that she missed during her time off.

"Weather looks like a mess today, but that’s just Brazil for you," the commentator says, bringing her back to the present. Y/N tilts her head, thoughts still racing, but everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion. She absentmindedly stirs her cereal, her finger hovering over her phone screen, ready to post when the time comes.

The race begins, and she can't help but feel a little nervous energy bubble up—Franco’s out there, racing in the rain, a place where anything could happen. She bites her lip, watching as the cars race off, feeling oddly connected to the moment.

A few laps in, the race is going as expected—intense, slick, unpredictable. The camera zooms in on Franco’s car, and Y/N leans forward, a smile creeping onto her face. She knows he’s got this. He’s in his element.

Then, just as Y/N hits the "post" button to announce the album's release, her phone rings with a loud buzz. The commentator's voice breaks through the moment: “Red flag for Colapinto. It’s a big crash, and we’re going to have to pause the race for now.”

Y/N freezes.

The spoon she was holding clatters softly onto the table. Her heartbeat hammers in her chest as she replays the words over and over. "Red flag... for Colapinto..." She slowly turns toward the screen, eyes scanning the faces of the team members and the rain-soaked track.

She stops breathing for a moment. The bad weekend, the tense race conditions, all of it flashes through her mind. "Please be okay, please be okay," she mutters under her breath, her fingers nervously typing a quick message to Franco. She barely registers the notification from her album release going live.

franco’s pov

The world was spinning. Or maybe it wasn’t—the car had stopped moving. Franco’s ears were ringing as he leaned his head back against the seat, staring at the rain-splattered visor of his helmet. He could hear muffled voices in his ears, the panicked chatter from his engineer cutting through the haze.

“Franco! Are you okay? Talk to us!”

He groaned softly, wincing as he shifted in his seat. His body ached, but nothing felt broken. That was good, right? Definitely a good sign.

“Yeah,” he rasped, voice cracking as he reached for the release on his harness. “I’m... I’m okay.”

The marshals were already there, waving frantically as they helped him climb out of the car. The rain was relentless, soaking through his suit as soon as his feet hit the asphalt. Franco glanced back at what was left of his car—a crumpled mess of blue and white—and let out a shaky breath.

“Well,” he muttered to himself, running a hand through his damp hair, “guess that’s my day done.”

He turned away, his mind already jumping to the list of people he’d have to reassure. The team, his family, her.

Especially her.

y/n’s pov

Y/N was still glued to the TV, her cereal now soggy and forgotten in the bowl next to her. The commentators were running through the replay of Franco’s crash for the fifth time, slow motion showing every agonizing second as his car spun out and slammed into the barriers.

She wasn’t breathing. At least, it felt like she wasn’t breathing. Her leg bounced nervously, her nails digging into the edge of the couch.

“Get up,” she whispered, eyes locked on the screen as they finally cut to a live shot of Franco stepping out of the car. She let out a loud, relieved breath, slumping back against the cushions. “Thank god.”

Her phone buzzed, the flood of notifications from her album release catching her attention. Fans were posting their reactions—excited, emotional, over-the-top—but it barely registered.

“Oh my god,” she muttered, finally remembering that her album was live. She glanced at the clock. It was 10:15 AM. She’d been so caught up in the race—and Franco’s crash—that she hadn’t even checked her post or seen the reactions.

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yourusername i don’t even know where to start... breathe again is finally here. 💙

this mini album is more than just music—it’s a piece of my heart. it’s the moments where i didn’t think i’d make it, the nights i didn’t recognize myself, and the mornings i fought to find the light again. it’s about falling apart and learning how to pick up the pieces, one deep breath at a time. and its about something else… you’d have to listen to find out!

thank you for waiting for me, for letting me figure out who i am again. thank you for giving me the space to come back when i was ready.

this isn’t just my album—it’s ours. i hope these songs make you feel seen, heard, and held.

link in bio. tell me which one feels like home to you.  #BreatheAgain

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madisonbeer girllll you did a number with this one, we deffff gotta collab!

↳yourusername yes! double yes!

username1 y/n really said, 'y’all need healing' and then dropped an album for us to get our life together

username2 ‘Chaotic’ has me screaming into the void. I’m in my feelings but also vibing at the same time.

username3 so who's ‘enchanted’ about????????? y/n?????? Hello?????

username4 my neighbors are about to become fans. I don't care how early it is right now.

username5 “i just wanted you to know that this is me trying” EXCUSE ME???? DID YOU JUST STAB ME?!?!?!

username6 brb im sobbing

username7 ho did you just hit me with a ford f150?!?!?!!?

noahkahanmusic we have to collab. 

↳yourusername why all serious haha (yes)

username8 “they talk shit, but i love it everytime” BAHAHAHAH iconic

Her phone buzzed again, but it wasn’t Franco. It was just more notifications—more comments, more fans reaching out. The sheer volume of it all made her head spin. She hadn’t expected this much of a reaction. She had known people would listen, but this... it felt like she was being swallowed whole by it all. It was overwhelming, but in a way, it felt like something she couldn’t escape.

She switched her attention back to the TV screen. The commentators were still talking about the crash. They kept replaying the moment over and over, and each time it made her heart stop.

He wasn’t just some driver on the track anymore. He was someone she thought about when the lights went out and when the world got too loud. He was someone she’d shared enough moments with to make the thought of him hurt more than it should.

A few minutes later, the screen showed an image of Franco being helped off the track, his helmet now off, but his expression unreadable. Her heart dropped. She could see the rain, the puddles on the track, the chaos unfolding around him. The scene was chaotic, yet there he was, walking under his team’s support, keeping his head down.

She took a deep breath and tried to steady herself, feeling that familiar mix of protective instinct and helplessness. This was part of the life he’d chosen, the one where every race had that potential risk of danger. But it never made it easier to watch.

The announcer’s voice broke through her thoughts: "Franco Colapinto, unfortunately, out of the race today due to a crash. He’s been taken to the medical center for precautionary checks, but we’re hearing that he’s okay. We’ll keep you updated."

The relief hit her like a wave, but it didn’t take away the gnawing worry that lingered. She needed to know how he was doing, but there was nothing more she could do right now. He was out of the race, and all she could do was wait for more updates.

She leaned back in the couch and closed her eyes, letting the sound of the race drown out everything else for a moment. It was the only thing that grounded her right now. Everything else—her music, her career, the fans, the pressure—it all felt like it was spinning out of control. But here, in this moment, at least she had this connection to him, even if it was distant.

Her phone buzzed again, and this time, she didn’t hesitate. She reached for it, a small part of her hoping it would be a message from Franco himself, something that would assure her he was okay. Instead, it was a reminder for her album launch, a simple notification to congratulate her on hitting another milestone in the release.

She sighed. The world kept turning, no matter how she felt.

In that moment, Y/N realized something she hadn’t truly thought about until now: the music had always been her escape, her way of telling her story without saying a word. But now, with the album out there and the weight of her feelings laid bare for the world to hear, it felt like she had no choice but to face those emotions head-on.

And maybe, just maybe, the chaos of everything—whether it was the race, Franco, or the pressure of fame—was part of her healing. The only way out was through.

She let the sounds of the race continue to wash over her, trying to block out the weight of her thoughts. But, in the back of her mind, she couldn’t help but wonder what Franco was doing, how he was feeling, and if he had listened to the album. Would he know that, even without his name, there was a piece of him in her songs?

She shook her head, pushing the thoughts aside, and refocused on the race. She wasn’t going to let anything distract her from this moment, from this connection to him—no matter how small or distant it seemed.

For now, she just needed to breathe again.

franco's pov

Franco sat in the quiet of the race room, still processing the crash. The team had been struggling all weekend with car issues, and when he lost control on lap 34, it all fell apart. His body still ached from the impact, his head spinning from the sudden stop, but it wasn’t the physical pain that lingered the most—it was the frustration, the disappointment.

He had been so close to making it through the race. But now, he was sitting in the aftermath, forced to watch the race unfold from a room that felt more like a holding cell than a place of recovery. Alex had been out of the race from the start, unable to even take his place on the grid. It had been a tough weekend for the Williams team—nothing had gone right.

Franco’s phone buzzed again, and this time, he didn’t hesitate. He picked it up, seeing the message from Y/N still there, her words jumping out at him:

"I’m so worried right now. please tell me you're ok. I can't stop thinking about you."

Franco leaned back in the chair, reading Y/N’s message again. He had just crashed on lap 34, and the weight of the race day was starting to sink in, but Y/N’s message made his heart race in a completely different way.

Franco blinked, his stomach doing that familiar flip. Why does she always make me feel like this? he thought, slightly flustered. It wasn’t like they were dating or anything—he could never figure out where they stood—but damn, that little “thinking about you” was enough to make his face go hot.

He quickly wiped his hands on his pants, trying to hide the small blush creeping up his neck. Okay, focus... he thought, but the message was making it hard to do so.

Finally, he decided to keep things light, adding a bit of humor to ease the tension.

After sending her last text to Franco, Y/N sat back, a soft smile spreading across her face. The worry was still there, of course. She couldn’t stop thinking about him. But at least she knew he was okay, which brought her some comfort.

Still, it wasn’t enough. She felt the itch to do something, to show him she cared in a bigger way, to really surprise him. He’d been through so much lately, and she was determined to be there for him.

She grabbed her phone again, not wasting any time.

Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. It was on. She was going to make it happen.

She quickly found the first flight to Las Vegas, and within minutes, the ticket was booked. There was no turning back now. The clock was ticking, and she needed to get on the plane before Franco.

With the flight confirmed, she tossed a few things into a bag—comfortable clothes, her phone charger, and the essentials—and headed out to the airport.

The nerves hit her as she drove, but it was nothing compared to the excitement bubbling inside. Franco wouldn’t see this coming. She just hoped she’d get the reaction she was hoping for when she showed up to surprise him.

It wasn’t just about being there for the race, it was about being there for him—letting him know that she cared more than just as a fan or a friend.

yourusername added to their story

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francolapinto  GET OFF OF YOUR PHONE WHILE DRIVING. Also, where you going? 🤯

↳yourusername somewhere……. I have a mischievous grin on my face. 🙃🙃😏😏😉😉

↳francolapinto WHAT ARE YOU UP TO?!?!?!😤😤 anyways, wanna call later? I don’t leave until early morning tomorrow so i’ll be bored. also, your plane leaves thursday morning yeah? 🧐

↳yourusername NOTHING hehehe. I can’t talk tonight, ill be busy. yeah thursday…why? You cant wait to see me huh? 😏 i’m just that awesome.

Y/N sat at the airport gate, her eyes scanning the crowd as she waited for her flight to Las Vegas. It was just the calm before the storm—her flight didn’t leave for another hour, and Franco wouldn’t be arriving until the morning. She had the night to herself, time to reflect before everything became a whirlwind.

She pulled out her phone, scrolling through the texts from earlier with Franco. She couldn’t help but smile, feeling a rush of excitement wash over her. They’d only known each other for a month, but in that short time, she’d found herself thinking about him more than she cared to admit. Their connection had been instant, easy, and now, here she was—ready to surprise him in Las Vegas.

She felt a mix of excitement and nerves. The truth was, she hadn’t seen him since Austin, and while their time together had been brief, there was something about him that made her want to take the plunge, do something a little crazy. The more she thought about it, the more this whole surprise felt right.

Tonight was about anticipation. She had hours before she’d see him again, and as much as she was looking forward to the reunion, she couldn’t help but think about how weird it was that they hadn’t had much time together yet. There was still so much to learn, so much they hadn’t experienced. But for now, this surprise—coming to Las Vegas to greet him—was her way of taking a chance.

With a deep breath, she snapped out of her thoughts. She’d be in Vegas soon, and before long, she’d be face to face with him. And that made her heart race with a mix of excitement and nerves. She couldn’t wait to see what would happen next.

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

taglist : @heluvsjappie @awritingtree @steamy-smokey @alex-wotton @ssarqhxo @rainy-darling @mymilkshakefun @hs2016 @linnygirl09 @meadhbhcavanagh @rawr-123s-stuff @coral7161

[jzprncess]

threads of the past ౨ৎ

pairing : charles leclerc x reader

face claim : various people

main summary : Y/N and Charles grew up together in Monaco, sharing a close bond until her mother took her away after a family conflict. Many years later, after a loss she had to endure, Y/N returns to Monaco to fulfill a promise. There, she unexpectedly reunites with Charles, now a successful Formula 1 driver

part 2 previous

word count : 4,874

warnings: some designers do not exist in this au since i might take their fashion pieces!

note: my writing motivation is back. i honestly have the next part written out in my head. i hope you guys enjoy this one like you did the last. you may think this one is lacking unlike the last one but its the simple lore that was needed to build the story.

────୨ৎ────

Y/N sat frozen, her mother’s words from the letter echoing in her mind like a whisper she couldn’t ignore. Her fingers clutched the edges of the paper, creasing it as tears blurred her vision. She felt an overwhelming mix of emotions—grief, confusion, and a deep ache for a past she had buried but never truly let go of.

Go back to Monaco.

The words hit her like a tidal wave, crashing over her carefully constructed life in New York. She stared out the rain-speckled window, the city streets below buzzing with the endless motion of taxis, hurried footsteps, and life moving on. Her mother’s absence left an unbearable stillness, a void that no amount of city noise could fill.

New York was home now. It had been her mother’s dream to build a life here—a dream she had passed down to Y/N like an inheritance. It was where they’d built their routines, their traditions, their tiny world above the deli. It was where her mother had taught her to sew late into the night, where they’d baked cookies on Christmas Eve, where they’d danced in the kitchen to old jazz records on lazy Sunday mornings. New York was more than just a city; it was their sanctuary. How could she leave it behind?

But then, Monaco…

The memories were so vivid they felt tangible, like the scent of saltwater and fresh lavender carried by a Mediterranean breeze. She could see her father laughing as he helped her balance on a bike for the first time, hear the distant hum of the harbor as she and Charles raced down cobblestone streets, their carefree giggles echoing in the air. The warmth of those moments wrapped around her like a long-forgotten blanket, stirring something deep in her chest.

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, guilt creeping in. She had tried so hard to move on, to create a life that didn’t revolve around what was left behind. But her mother’s words reopened wounds she thought had healed, forcing her to confront the parts of her life she had deliberately ignored.

Her thoughts wandered to her father. She had spent so many years trying not to think about him—about what they could have had if life had been kinder. There were pieces of him scattered in her memories, fragments of love and laughter that had faded over time. Now, her mother’s letter made her wonder: had she spent too long running from his memory? Had she missed out on understanding who he really was, or who she was because of him?

But it wasn’t just about him. It was about everything she had lost. The years she could have spent in Monaco, the friendships she could have nurtured, the life she could have had with Charles if things had been different. It all felt like a distant dream, one she wasn’t sure she could return to without breaking herself all over again.

And yet… what if her mother was right? What if Monaco was the missing piece of the puzzle?

The thought scared her. She had spent the last ten years building something here, something her mother had been proud of. She had grown roots in this city, and tearing them up felt impossible. Could she really pack up everything she had built, everything her mother had worked for, and leave it behind?

Her gaze fell to the letter again. Her mother’s handwriting, once so familiar, now felt like a message from a world that no longer existed.

“I don’t want to leave you, Mom,” Y/N whispered, her voice trembling. Her chest felt tight, the weight of the decision pressing down on her. She knew that going back to Monaco would mean facing everything she had avoided for so long. It would mean confronting her grief, her regrets, and the pieces of herself she had tried to bury.

But it would also mean honoring her mother’s wish, fulfilling a promise that had been made before Y/N was old enough to understand it. It would mean reconnecting with the parts of her that she had left behind, no matter how much it hurt.

Her tears fell freely now, landing on the letter in her lap. She took a shaky breath, her hands trembling as she folded it carefully and set it aside.

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” she admitted, her voice barely audible. “But I’ll try. For you.”

The decision wasn’t final—not yet. It would take time to gather the courage to face everything waiting for her in Monaco. But for the first time, Y/N allowed herself to imagine it. To picture the streets, the harbor, the life she had left behind.

She wasn’t ready to pack up and leave just yet. But in her heart, she knew the first step had already been taken.

Y/N tucked the letter into the top drawer of her desk, her fingers lingering on the handle for a moment before she pushed it shut. Her room felt smaller now, like the weight of her memories had made the walls press inward. She leaned back in her chair, staring at the ceiling, her mind still racing.

Hours passed in a haze. She busied herself with tasks she didn’t need to do—organizing her closet, rearranging the kitchen shelves, watering her plants even though she’d done it yesterday. Anything to avoid the gnawing ache in her chest.

By the time the sun began to set, Y/N found herself on the fire escape outside her window. She sat there with a mug of tea, the metal cold beneath her as she looked out at the city she loved so much. The skyline was painted in hues of orange and pink, the soft hum of life below serving as a constant reminder of why she had stayed.

Her phone buzzed beside her. She hesitated before picking it up, half-expecting a message from someone from Monaco who had heard the news. Instead, it was a simple text from her best friend in New York.

gracie : Hey, just checking in. You good? Let me know if you want me to bring over some food or just sit and scroll TikTok with you. Love you.

A small smile tugged at Y/N’s lips. Gracie always had a way of knowing when she needed a little grounding. The thought of her best friend showing up with her oversized hoodie, a random array of snacks, and the determination to turn any bad mood around made Y/N’s chest ache in the best way.

She glanced back at the letter, then at her phone.

y/n : I’m okay. Just… processing. But thank you. I love you, too. 

It was a lie—she wasn’t okay, not entirely. But how could she explain the turmoil in her chest? The memories of Monaco tugging her one way and the life she’d built in New York pulling her another? How could she tell Gracie that her heart felt like it was caught in a game of tug-of-war with itself?

The truth was, she didn’t know what to do. She didn’t know how to face the idea of returning to Monaco, a place she hadn’t called home in years.

Her gaze fell on the letter again, her mother’s handwriting looping across the page. The words “find your way back” seemed to glow, as though they were written just for her, meant to haunt her in this moment.

Gracie would understand—she always did. But this? This was something Y/N wasn’t sure she could explain to anyone.

Y/N stared at the stack of stationery in front of her. She hadn't written a letter in years—texting, emailing, and social media messages had long replaced the old-fashioned art. But this time, there was something different. Something final.

She had made her decision, but that didn't make the weight of it any easier to bear. She needed to say goodbye. To all the people who had made New York feel like home, who had helped her heal, and who had been there for her in the quiet moments of grief.

The pen felt heavy in her hand as she began writing.

Dear Leo,

I don't even know how to begin this, or if it will even do justice to how much you’ve meant to me. When my mom and I first moved to New York, we didn’t have much. You let us rent that apartment above your deli, and for that, I’ll be forever grateful. It wasn’t just the rent you helped with—it was the kindness, the way you checked in on us, and the warmth you always offered with your sandwiches. You were like family to us, Leo.

I remember the way you’d smile when I’d sneak into the deli just to say hello, how you’d ask about my day as if you had all the time in the world. I’ll never forget those moments. You became a part of our life in ways you may not even realize.

I’m writing this because, with everything happening, it’s time for me to say goodbye. I’ve made the decision to return to Monaco to deal with the past. It’s hard to leave New York, especially with all the memories of my mom, but I know it’s time to face what’s waiting for me.

I want to thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for everything you did for us. Your generosity and the way you opened your door to us—it meant more than words can express. I’ll always cherish those memories.

Wishing you all the best,

Y/N

⋆

Dear my fashion connections,

First off, I just want to say how incredibly thankful I am for all the opportunities you’ve given me. Working with you, learning the ins and outs of the fashion world, and seeing my designs take life has been a dream come true. From the custom pieces to the small fashion shows, you’ve helped me grow as a designer in ways I never expected.

I’m reaching out because, as difficult as this is, I’ve made the decision to return to Monaco. The decision has nothing to do with my passion for design—it’s about facing my past and moving forward with the pieces of me that I’ve left behind.

I want to reassure you that I’m not stepping away from design. Fashion is part of who I am, and that won’t change. I’ll still be working on my pieces, growing, and pushing my creativity.

I hope we can continue to stay connected, and who knows what collaborations the future might hold. I’ve learned so much from you, and I’m excited to see where our paths may cross again.

With gratitude,

Y/N

⋆

Dear Gracie,

I don’t even know where to start. You’ve been my best friend for so long, and the thought of writing this letter makes it all feel so final. But here we are. I’ve made the decision to return to Monaco. I know it’s hard for you to hear, and it’s probably hard for me to say, but it feels like the right thing to do.

It’s been over a week since I opened the letter from my mom, and I’ve been battling this inner war—do I stay in the place I’ve built for myself here, or do I go back to the place I left so long ago? It’s not that I want to leave New York. God, New York has become my home. But Monaco has always been there, lurking in the back of my mind, and after my mom’s passing, I realize I have to face it. There are things there, pieces of myself, that I’ve left behind. I need to reconnect with them, and with the life I thought I’d never return to.

I’ve spent so many years here, with you by my side, making memories that I’ll carry with me forever. From all the late nights working on sketches to those impromptu trips to get ice cream, it’s all been a part of my journey. And now, as hard as it is, I have to say goodbye for now.

You’ve been my rock, Gracie. You’ve been my person when I needed someone to laugh with, someone to cry with, and someone to remind me that life keeps moving forward even when it feels like it’s falling apart. I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve been to me. You’ve made New York feel like home, and you’ve made my life better just by being in it.

I can’t imagine what life is going to look like without you by my side, but I promise you that this isn’t the end of our friendship. It’s just a chapter closing. I’ll miss you more than words can express, but I know that we’ll find a way to stay in touch, even if we’re miles apart. Maybe one day, I’ll bring you to Monaco, and we’ll share the life I left behind with you.

Thank you for being the best friend I could’ve asked for.

With all my love,

Y/N

Y/N had sealed the last envelope and taken a moment to breathe. The letters were sent—her goodbyes were final, and soon, the people she loved would know that she had made her choice. The cab ride to the airport felt almost surreal, like it was happening to someone else. She couldn’t quite believe she was leaving New York. Her home. Her memories. Gracie and Leo, even her fashion connections... everyone would soon understand that she was gone, but they wouldn’t get the chance to say goodbye to her in person.

She had made her peace, but the reality of it all hadn't fully settled in. The taxi sped through the streets of New York, her favorite spots flickering past the windows. Would she miss this? The city felt like it had become a part of her, yet she knew deep down that she had to leave.

At the airport, everything moved in a blur. Checking in, passing through security—it all felt so automatic. She wasn’t ready to face it, but she had no choice. Her bags were already packed, her mind made up. As she walked toward her gate, the weight of the goodbyes started to feel heavier, especially as she glanced at her phone, now filled with messages she wasn’t ready to read.

As the plane began to taxi down the runway, the thoughts of leaving New York began to catch up to her. She hadn’t told Gracie, not fully. The letter would speak for her. She had said everything she needed to in it, but the truth of her leaving felt too raw to say out loud.

It wasn’t just the city she was leaving behind. It was the memories of the life she built with her mom. The deli. The quiet mornings with Leo. The late-night baking sessions that had become so familiar. Those pieces of her life, the ones she had woven so carefully, felt like they were slipping away, but there was no going back. She had made her decision.

Her phone buzzed again, and she glanced at it for just a moment before turning it face-down in her lap. It was too late. She wasn’t turning back.

By the time the plane reached cruising altitude, the weight of the decision hit her in full force. The moment to reflect had come and gone, and now there was only moving forward. No more doubts. No more goodbyes.

Gracie would get the letter soon enough. The others too. She knew they’d be shocked, maybe even upset. But it was the right thing to do.

The next chapter had already begun, and Monaco awaited her.

Back in New York:

Gracie, completely unaware of what Y/N had been planning, sat at her desk in the quiet of her apartment. The envelope was plain, just like any other. When she opened it, she smiled, thinking it would be one of those notes from Y/N she always got—something lighthearted and full of her usual sass.

But when she read the words, her stomach dropped.

"Dear gracie," the letter started. "I don’t even know where to start. You’ve been my best friend for so long, and the thought of writing this letter makes it all feel so final. But here we are. I’ve made the decision to return to Monaco. I know it’s hard for you to hear, and it’s probably hard for me to say, but it feels like the right thing to do."

Gracie blinked at the letter, her heart racing. She stared at the words, trying to make sense of them. Back to Monaco? What did that even mean? Gracie couldn’t believe it. Y/N was just... gone? No warning? No final hug?

She read it again. And then again. But the words still didn’t change.

Y/N was leaving. For real.

Elsewhere in New York:

Leo stood behind the counter, wiping down the marble as he always did when the last of the customers had left for the evening. His gaze flicked to the envelope that had just been slid under the door.

It wasn’t unusual to get letters, but this one was different. He recognized Y/N’s handwriting immediately.

When he opened it, the familiar warmth of her words filled him with a strange ache. She was leaving. She didn’t say goodbye in person. Just... a letter.

“Dear leo,” she had written. “I’m writing this because, with everything happening, it’s time for me to say goodbye. I’ve made the decision to return to Monaco to deal with the past. It’s hard to leave New York, especially with all the memories of my mom, but I know it’s time to face what’s waiting for me. I want to thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for everything you did for us. Your generosity and the way you opened your door to us—it meant more than words can express. I’ll always cherish those memories.”

Leo set the letter down slowly, the quiet of the deli suddenly feeling heavier than it ever had before. He knew it had been coming, in a way—Y/N was always so restless. But this was still a shock. A final goodbye he hadn’t been ready for.

Y/N stepped off the plane, the familiar scent of the Mediterranean air hitting her senses immediately. She hadn’t been back in Monaco since she was a child, and everything seemed both the same and completely different. As she walked through the airport, her mind buzzed with a thousand thoughts—some exciting, others overwhelming. She had chosen not to rent the house her family used to live in; it felt too much like stepping back into a past she couldn’t fully reclaim. No, she needed a fresh start. A new place. A clean slate.

She made her way to the car rental desk, the keys for a small, sleek car handed to her without a second glance. The driver in her could appreciate the smooth engine and the way the car hugged the curves of the roads leading up to her new apartment.

Her new apartment was on the quieter side of Monaco, away from the busy tourist spots, but still within easy reach of everything she might need. The building itself had an old charm, the kind of elegance that came with age. But inside, it was a modern mix of comfort and style. A space to breathe. A space to start over.

Her things were already waiting in boxes, ready to be unpacked. But before she dove into the routine of arranging her life, she stood by the window, gazing out at the panoramic view of the harbor below. The water shimmered under the midday sun, the yachts gliding past like fleeting memories.

It didn’t feel real yet. She had made her decision to return, but everything felt like it was in the air, just waiting to fall into place. With one last sigh, she headed toward the boxes, determined to start making this new chapter her own.

Y/N spent the next few days getting settled in. The apartment felt like a blank canvas, and she knew it would take time before it felt like home. The first thing she did was get the essentials—groceries, toiletries, some clothes to unpack—but there were no rush to make the space feel permanent. It was strange, but there was a certain comfort in taking her time.

She spent a lot of time staring out the window, lost in thought. She couldn’t help but wonder about all the things she had left behind in Monaco—the memories of her childhood, the friends she’d lost contact with, and the family she’d once known. It wasn’t easy to push aside those feelings of nostalgia, but she wasn’t here to relive the past. She was here to move forward.

She got to work organizing the apartment, focusing on small tasks to keep her mind busy. Her walls would eventually be filled with art, her shelves with books, and the space would come to life in a way that felt uniquely hers. But for now, it was quiet. Too quiet.

She hadn’t made many plans yet—apart from figuring out how to balance her life in Monaco with the projects she’d started in New York. A little bit of the old Y/N mixed with the new. She still wasn’t sure about everything, about what exactly she was supposed to do next, but she’d figure it out. Like she always did.

Y/N was sitting on her new bed, the unpacked boxes scattered around her, when her phone buzzed. It was Gracie. Her stomach dropped a little—she had hoped the goodbye letter would be enough of an explanation, but now Gracie was calling, and that only meant one thing.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N answered. “Hey, G.”

Gracie’s voice came through quieter than usual. “Y/N... what’s going on? I got your letter, but... I don’t know. I don’t understand. Why didn’t you say goodbye? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Y/N’s throat tightened. She had known this call would come. “I’m sorry, Gracie. I thought it’d be easier this way. I didn’t know how to say it out loud... that I was leaving.”

“Leaving?” Gracie repeated, her voice small. “But... why? You—everything was so good, Y/N. You were... you were happy, I thought. You always told me New York was your home, and now you’re... gone? Just like that?”

Y/N closed her eyes, feeling the weight of the distance, both physical and emotional, that was growing between them. “I wasn’t happy, G. Not the way I should’ve been. I had to leave. I needed a change. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, but I wasn’t sure I could. Not yet.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Gracie finally spoke, her voice a little shakier than before. “I don’t get it. Why Monaco? After everything? After everything you built here, Y/N...”

Y/N leaned back against the wall, trying to find the right words. “Because... because it’s where I started, G. It’s where I was happy when I was little. It’s where I’ve always felt a connection to, even if I left. It’s... complicated, okay? But it’s where I need to be right now.”

Gracie let out a small sigh. “I just—why didn’t you let me in? Why didn’t you tell me you were struggling? I would’ve been there for you. I could’ve been there for you.”

Y/N swallowed hard, guilt weighing on her chest. “I didn’t want to burden you. I didn’t want to drag you into my mess. You’re doing so well, G. You have everything going for you.”

Gracie’s voice cracked. “But you were my best friend, Y/N. I would’ve done anything for you.”

Y/N blinked back tears, her hand tightening around the phone. “I know. I know, and I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Gracie said softly. “I just... I don’t know. I don’t understand. I don’t know how to feel.”

“I know,” Y/N whispered. “I’m not asking you to understand. I just—this is something I had to do. I can’t change it. I wish I could’ve been more honest with you, but I didn’t know how. I still don’t.”

Gracie was silent for a few moments before she spoke again, the sadness still lingering in her voice. “I just... I don’t know what to say to you. I feel like I’ve lost you.”

Y/N’s heart ached. “You haven’t lost me, G. I’m still here. I might be in Monaco, but I’m still the same person. I’ll always be your best friend. I promise you that.”

Gracie took a deep breath, her voice steady but soft. “I want to believe you. I just... I didn’t expect this, Y/N.”

Y/N nodded, even though she knew Gracie couldn’t see her. “I didn’t expect it either. I wish I could explain it better. But I promise you, I haven’t forgotten about you. I’m still here, even if it’s from a distance. I’ll write, or even better, i'll spam you with emojis everyday. I won’t disappear.”

Gracie was quiet for a moment before she responded, her voice calmer. “Okay. I get it. You had to do what’s best for you, right? I understand that. I’m sad, but I get it.”

“I’m sorry it had to be like this. I didn’t want to leave without telling you everything,” Y/N admitted.

Gracie gave a small, soft chuckle. “You’re y/n. You don’t have to explain everything. If you need to go, you need to go. Just... make sure you take care of yourself, okay?”

Y/N felt a sense of relief wash over her. “I will. And thank you, for understanding. You’re the best, Gracie. I’m so lucky to have you.”

“I know,” Gracie replied, her tone light but sincere. “I love you, and I want the best for you. Just don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t,” Y/N said, her heart warm. “Love you too. I’ll be in touch soon, okay?”

“Okay,” Gracie agreed softly. “Take care, Y/N. I’m here whenever you need me.”

It had been a few days since Y/N had arrived back in Monaco. The shock of the decision had started to wear off, leaving a quiet sense of resolution in its place. Her boxes were unpacked, her clothes neatly hanging in the closet, and the apartment—though still unfamiliar—had started to feel more like hers with every passing hour.

The mornings here were different—brighter, lighter. It wasn’t just the sun, but something else in the air. There was a strange peace in being back, despite the swirl of emotions that still threatened to overwhelm her. It wasn’t like New York. It wasn’t the same life, the same chaos, the same pace. But there was a stillness to Monaco that made it feel like the right place to slow down for a while, to figure out what she truly needed.

Y/N stretched on the couch, the cool air from the open balcony window brushing against her skin. She had spent the morning walking around, reacquainting herself with the streets she hadn’t walked down since she was little. Nothing looked quite the same, but everything felt just as familiar. The places she remembered in bits and pieces—the ice cream shop with the blue awning, the park with the old stone fountain—had all changed. But that was to be expected. Time did that to places.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. She picked it up, seeing a message from Leo, the deli owner downstairs.

“Hope you’re settling in okay! Let me know if you need anything or just want to chat.”

She smiled at the message, grateful for the familiar kindness. Leo had been like family to her and her mom during their time in New York, always there with a warm meal or a quiet word when they needed it most.

Y/N had planned on responding, but the sound of a knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. She set her phone down and made her way to the door, her heart picking up just a little. She wasn’t expecting anyone.

She opened it to find a small package on the doorstep, tied with a simple twine. There was no note, just the box. A gift, perhaps?

Curiosity piqued, Y/N brought it inside and sat on the couch, carefully untying the string. Inside was a small plant—an olive tree sapling, delicate but full of potential. A simple, yet meaningful gesture. She ran her fingers over the leaves, feeling a small sense of comfort.

The city had been welcoming her back in its own quiet way.

She glanced at her phone again, then typed a quick message to Leo: "Thank you for the plant. It's perfect."

With a deep breath, Y/N leaned back into the couch. She was still figuring out how this new chapter would look—how long she’d stay, what she’d do next, and whether she’d ever truly feel at home again in Monaco.

But for now, she was here. And that was enough.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

taglist: @heluvsjappie @awritingtree @steamy-smokey @alex-wotton @ssarqhxo @rainy-darling @mymilkshakefun @hs2016 @linnygirl09 @coral7161

[jzprncess]

the neighbor effect

pairing : oscar piastri x reader

oneshot

word count : 9,449

summary : Y/N moves to Monaco for a fresh start, thinking it’s just gonna be her, baking, and figuring things out. Then there’s her neighbor, Oscar—super chill, always around, but completely mysterious. They bond over cookies and muffins, and Y/N has no idea that he’s actually a Formula 1 driver. But when the Monaco Grand Prix weekend rolls around, everything goes haywire when Y/N realizes she’s been living next to someone way more famous than she ever imagined. Between all the confusion, a surprise kiss, and the chaos that follows, Y/N’s not sure if she’s in over her head—or if she’s exactly where she’s meant to be.

note : i had to rewrite parts of this over and over again. this is my longest fic so far, lets clap it up. i actually cooked with this one, please like it.

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Moving to Monaco in the middle of December sounded a lot more glamorous in theory. In reality, I spent my first night huddled under three mismatched blankets, seriously debating whether the heating in my shiny new apartment was broken or if this was just what Mediterranean winter felt like.

I’d moved here for a fresh start, something about leaving old baggage behind and stepping into the next chapter of my life. Except no one tells you that starting over often means spending a lot of time alone, wondering if you made the right decision.

That’s how I found myself in the hallway on my second day, struggling to carry a too-large box labeled Kitchen Stuff & Regret. I hadn’t realized how much I’d overpacked until I was halfway to my door, my arms trembling under the weight.

“Need a hand?”

The voice startled me, and I nearly dropped the box. I turned to see a guy standing a few feet away, wearing a black hoodie, gray joggers, and a curious expression.

“Uh, no, I’m good,” I lied, immediately regretting it as the box tilted precariously.

“Right,” he said, clearly unconvinced. Without waiting for permission, he stepped forward and took the box from me like it weighed nothing.

“Show-off,” I muttered, but I couldn’t help but smile.

He raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly. “Just being neighborly.”

“Thanks,” I said as he followed me to my door. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Oscar,” he replied, setting the box down inside my apartment.

Up close, I could see he was probably around my age—early twenties—with sharp features and an easy confidence about him. He glanced around my half-unpacked living room, taking in the mess of boxes and furniture.

“Just moved in?” he asked.

“Yeah. Trying to figure out where I want everything before I give up and let chaos take over.”

He smiled, nodding toward the box. “Well, good luck with that. I’m right across the hall if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” I said, leaning against the doorframe as he stepped back into the hallway.

“See you around,” he said with a nod before disappearing into his apartment.

And just like that, I had my first real interaction with the mysterious neighbor across the hall.

After he left, I stood in the doorway for a moment, staring at the closed door across from mine like it might open again. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. With a shrug, I kicked the box into the living room, officially declaring it a problem for Future Me.

The next few days were a blur of unpacking, assembling furniture, and discovering that Monaco in December was a lot colder than I’d prepared for. Gone were my delusions of sipping coffee on the balcony in the morning sun. Instead, I huddled inside, bundled in my coziest hoodie, and watched the world outside through the frost-slicked windows.

Oscar, true to his enigmatic vibe, was nowhere to be seen. A part of me wondered if he was some kind of ghost who only materialized to save clumsy new neighbors and then vanished into the ether. But his sporadic comings and goings proved otherwise—sometimes I’d hear the ding of the elevator late at night or the faint shuffle of footsteps in the hallway. I never caught him, though.

Until one particularly cold Saturday morning.

I was juggling a steaming mug of coffee, my phone, and a box of garbage bags as I headed for the trash chute at the end of the hall. The scene was already precarious, but things got worse when my phone buzzed with a notification. I glanced down instinctively, and that was my fatal error.

One wrong step, and my foot caught on absolutely nothing because I’m just that talented. I stumbled forward, my coffee cup slipping from my grasp in a glorious slow-motion arc.

“Oh, sh—”

A hand shot out, catching the cup mid-air.

“Impressive,” came the familiar voice.

I turned, my face hot with embarrassment, to see Oscar standing there, coffee cup in one hand and an amused smirk on his face. He was in the same casual uniform as before—hoodie, joggers, and sneakers—but this time with a beanie pulled low over his head.

“I’m fine, thanks for asking,” I said, trying to play it cool despite the very uncool way I’d almost face planted.

“You’re welcome,” he said, handing me the cup.

“How do you keep showing up exactly when I’m about to embarrass myself?”

“Great timing, I guess,” he replied, leaning against the wall.

I could tell he was holding back a laugh, which only made me more flustered. “Do you just hang out in the hallway waiting for me to trip over thin air, or…?”

“Caught me,” he said, deadpan. “It’s my new hobby.”

I rolled my eyes but couldn’t help smiling. “Well, thanks for the save… again.”

“No problem.” He glanced down at the garbage bags I’d dropped in the chaos. “You planning to carry all that to the chute by yourself, or should I brace for round two of Disaster Neighbor?”

“Ha, ha,” I said, handing him a bag. “Since you’re offering, you might as well help.”

third pov

By the time they made it to the trash chute, Y/N had successfully recovered from her near wipeout—mostly. Oscar, on the other hand, seemed far too amused by the whole thing.

“So,” she said, trying to fill the silence as they walked back to their apartments. “Do you just live in the gym, or are you naturally good at catching falling objects and lifting heavy things?”

He shrugged. “Bit of both.”

“Not much of a talker, huh?”

He glanced at her, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. “I talk when there’s something to say.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Mysterious and vague. Classic.”

They stopped outside her door, and for a moment, there was an awkward silence. She fiddled with the sleeve of her hoodie, suddenly hyper-aware of how close they were standing.

“Well, thanks for the help. Again.”

“Anytime,” he said, his tone casual but warm.

She opened her door, stepping inside. As she turned to close it, she caught him glancing down the hallway, like he was debating something.

“See you around?” she offered.

“Yeah,” he said, meeting her gaze. “See you around.”

The door clicked shut, and Y/N let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. She leaned against the door for a moment, her mind replaying the interaction like a movie montage.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

And for now, that was enough.

y/n’s pov

It all started with a craving and a little too much confidence.

Baking had always been my go-to for stress relief, but I tended to overestimate how much one person could realistically eat before things got weird. Case in point: the mountain of oatmeal walnut cookies currently cooling on every flat surface of my kitchen.

“Great job, Y/N,” I muttered, surveying the sugary battlefield. “Really nailed the whole moderation thing.”

The smell of warm cinnamon and toasted walnuts was amazing, but even I had limits. Unless I planned on eating cookies for every meal for the next week—which, tempting as it sounded, probably wasn’t the move—I needed a plan.

That’s when my eyes flicked toward the door across the hall.

My neighbor hadn’t been home much, but when he was, he seemed nice enough. And if anyone looked like they could put away an entire batch of cookies without breaking a sweat, it was the guy who casually caught flying coffee cups and lifted trash bags like they were empty.

Grabbing a plate, I stacked a neat pile of cookies on it, covering them with foil. I debated for a second, wondering if this was too random, but then I thought, What’s the worst that could happen? Worst case: no one’s home, and I keep the cookies. Best case: I earn brownie points—or, well, cookie points—with the mysterious dude across the hall.

Balancing the plate in one hand, I opened my door and stepped into the hallway.

third pov

Y/N hesitated in front of Oscar’s door, suddenly hyper-aware of how quiet the hallway was. For all she knew, he could’ve been halfway across the world. But before she could talk herself out of it, she raised her free hand and knocked lightly.

There was a pause, long enough for her to start retreating, but then she heard the lock turn.

The door opened to reveal Oscar, looking a little rumpled but still effortlessly put-together in a hoodie and sweats. His hair stuck up slightly, like he’d just rolled out of bed.

“Uh, hey,” Y/N started, holding up the plate like an offering. “I, um, baked too many cookies and thought… maybe you’d want some?”

For a second, Oscar just blinked at her. Then a small smile tugged at his lips, softening his usual stoic expression. “Cookies?”

“Oatmeal walnut,” she said, suddenly feeling a little ridiculous. “Unless you’re allergic to walnuts. In which case, I’m so sorry, and I’ll just—”

“I’m not allergic,” he cut in, stepping aside. “Come in.”

y/n’s pov

I followed him into his apartment, still holding onto the slightly awkward feeling of standing at someone’s door with a plate of cookies. His space was immaculate—like a showroom. Sleek black counters, stainless steel appliances, and not a single thing out of place. My own apartment, with its half-unpacked boxes and cluttered surfaces, suddenly felt like a war zone by comparison.

“Wow,” I said, glancing around. “Your place is… ridiculously clean. Do you live here or just visit?”

He smirked as he placed the plate of cookies on the counter. “I’m not here much. It’s easier to keep clean when you’re gone half the time.”

“Fair,” I said, leaning against the counter as he peeled the foil off the plate. “Meanwhile, my place looks like I’m hoarding cardboard boxes and random piles of clothes. Maybe I’ll just hire you to organize for me.”

He glanced up, an amused glint in his eye. “I’ll pass. But thanks for the offer.”

I laughed. “That was fast. I didn’t even get to bribe you with more cookies.”

“Speaking of,” he said, picking one up and turning it over in his hand like he was inspecting it for quality control, “what made you bake… this many?”

“Stress,” I admitted, crossing my arms. “Unpacking is the worst. Plus, I’m a chronic over-baker. I think I made about sixty.”

He raised an eyebrow, taking a bite. “Sixty?”

“Give or take.”

“You know there’s only one of you, right?”

“That’s why I’m here,” I said with a grin. “I figured I’d share the wealth.”

He nodded, chewing thoughtfully. After a moment, he swallowed and said, “These are good.”

“You’re not just saying that, are you? Be honest.”

“I’m serious,” he said, reaching for another. “If I didn’t like them, you’d know.”

“Good to know you don’t sugarcoat things,” I said. “No pun intended.”

“Sure it wasn’t,” he said with a small smirk.

I rolled my eyes but smiled. “You’re lucky I like honesty. Anyway, I hope you’re hungry because I’ve got a whole army’s worth of these across the hall.”

“I can tell,” he said, grabbing a second cookie. “You ever thought about selling these?”

“Selling cookies? No, not really,” I said, a little flustered by the compliment. “I mean, it’s just a hobby.”

He leaned against the counter, taking another bite. “Could be a profitable hobby.”

“Oh yeah? Think I could make it big with oatmeal walnut cookies? Maybe I’ll start a cookie empire.”

“Could be worth a shot,” he said, his tone completely serious, though I could see the hint of humor in his expression.

“Alright, well, if I go global, I’ll make sure to mention you in my TED Talk about chasing my dreams,” I said with a laugh.

“Appreciate it,” he said, deadpan.

I shook my head, still smiling. “Alright, I should get going. Don’t want to interrupt your… whatever you were doing before I showed up.”

He glanced toward his living room, where a laptop sat open on the coffee table. “Wasn’t doing much. Just catching up on some things.”

“Well, now you’ve got cookies to keep you company,” I said, pushing off the counter.

“Thanks for these,” he said, walking with me toward the door. “They’re seriously good.”

“Anytime,” I replied. “And if you ever need more… or, you know, want to start organizing my apartment, just let me know.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, opening the door for me.

I stepped into the hallway and turned back to face him. “Enjoy the cookies, Oscar.”

“Thanks, Y/N. See you around.”

As the door clicked shut behind me, I couldn’t help but smile to myself. It was such a simple interaction, but it left me feeling lighter somehow—like I was finally settling into this new life, one cookie and awkward conversation at a time.

third pov

The morning light streaming through the kitchen window felt different today, like a fresh start. Y/N stood at the counter, stirring a bowl of banana bread batter with a slight smile on her face. She had a steady rhythm, something she had found comfort in since moving to Monaco. Today, however, was different. She wasn't just baking for herself or because she had nothing else to do.

After dropping off the cookies to Oscar yesterday, she’d felt an odd rush of excitement. Oscar hadn’t said much—just thanked her and ate them right there—but there was something in the way he seemed genuinely happy that had sparked an idea in her head.

Maybe I should actually consider this...

She’d been thinking about it all night, the thought gnawing at her in the quiet moments before sleep. A job. Something more than just living off her savings while she figured out what to do with herself. The idea of working in a bakery, helping people start their day with something sweet, didn’t sound half bad. Maybe she’d make some friends along the way, too.

She paused mid-stir to glance around her kitchen. It was quiet—too quiet. Her move to Monaco had been a whirlwind, and while the city was beautiful, the loneliness had crept in unexpectedly. She had only met Oscar three times, and those encounters hadn't been enough to spark a friendship, though he had been kind enough to compliment the cookies she’d given him. But she still didn't have his number. She had no way of reaching out to him for anything beyond another casual greeting if their paths crossed again.

With a sigh, she refocused on her muffin batter. The oven was preheated and ready for the batch of banana muffins she had planned. She didn’t even need the muffins for herself—she simply needed something to do.

She scrolled through a few ads on her phone for bakeries and cafes around Monaco, her fingers flying across the screen as she filled out application after application. Maybe, just maybe, this would be the start of something new.

The smell of ripe bananas filled the room, and Y/N smiled. There was something simple and grounding about baking. She didn’t need anyone else to validate her, but a small part of her wished she had someone to share the muffins with. Maybe she would take a batch to one of the cafes she’d applied to, just to show that she could bake more than just cookies.

The timer went off, signaling that the muffins were done. She pulled them from the oven, their golden tops warm and inviting. As she arranged them on a cooling rack, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was a step in the right direction.

Oscar’s casual suggestion about working at a bakery had lingered with her since yesterday. She hadn’t really considered it before, but now, with a fresh batch of muffins in hand, it felt like the right time to take action. She’d send some applications today, maybe stop by a few places, and see where it led.

Even if it was just a way to get out of the apartment, maybe it would help her feel a little less alone.

After a few hours of cleaning up and putting away the last batch of muffins, Y/N sat on her couch, scrolling through her phone. She had sent a few applications and gotten a couple of quick responses asking her to come in for interviews. The thought made her feel lighter, like she was moving in the right direction. But, as she scrolled through her messages, she found herself wondering about the cookies she'd given Oscar yesterday.

What if he didn’t even like them? she thought for a second, gnawing at her lower lip. She had never done something like that for a neighbor before. It was a little… weird. But then again, they had barely talked, and she'd barely known anyone here. He probably just thought it was some random act of kindness, nothing more.

Still, she couldn't help the little spark of excitement that lingered in her chest.

With the muffins cooling on the kitchen counter, Y/N decided to go for a walk to clear her head. She tossed on her coat, scarf, and gloves—layers that were necessary with the December chill in the air—and left her apartment. The streets of Monaco were quieter now, the city settled into the crisp stillness of a cold winter evening.

As she made her way down the narrow streets, her breath puffed out in little clouds in front of her. The air was freezing, her fingers cold against her gloves, but the walk felt necessary. It was good to get out, especially with how cooped up she had been lately. The familiar feeling of solitude wrapped around her as she passed by boutique storefronts with their windows adorned for the holidays, the twinkling lights reflecting off the damp cobblestones.

She stopped at one of the cafes, the warm, inviting aroma of freshly brewed coffee and pastries pulling her inside. The door closed behind her with a satisfying jingle, and the warmth hit her face immediately. She smiled, relieved to be out of the cold.

“Coffee?” the barista asked as she walked up to the counter.

Y/N nodded, pulling off her scarf. "Please. A hot cappuccino, if you’ve got it."

The barista gave her a warm smile as she prepared the drink, and soon enough, Y/N had a steaming cup in her hands. She found a small corner table by the window and sank into the chair, basking in the warmth of the café. It was a cozy little spot, the kind where time seemed to slow down.

She stared out the window as the temperature outside dropped even further, the last few people hurrying by in layers of coats and scarves. The city felt almost otherworldly, peaceful and cold, a strange mix of quiet stillness. Y/N took a sip of her cappuccino and leaned back, letting the warmth seep into her bones.

It was then that she heard the door open again, a jingle sounding through the cafe. She glanced up, her eyes scanning the new arrivals. Her gaze landed on the familiar figure—Oscar, her neighbor, walking in with his coat zipped up tight against the cold.

He spotted her right away and waved with a grin. "Hey, Y/N!" he greeted her.

Y/N smiled back, a little surprised to see him here but pleased. “Hey, Oscar. Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Yeah, I just needed a quick coffee break,” he said, walking up to the counter. He ordered something quickly, then turned back toward her. “How’s your day been?”

She shrugged, feeling a little shy now that they were actually talking. “Good. Just baking and applying for some jobs,” she said, gesturing to her cup. “Needed to get out for a bit. It's freezing out there.”

Oscar nodded, his expression sympathetic. “I know what you mean. It’s cold enough to freeze your breath. I was just out getting some stuff for my place.”

The small talk felt comfortable, and Y/N found herself a little more relaxed with him standing there. He seemed like a genuinely nice guy—just a neighbor.

“Well, it’s nice to see a friendly face,” she said, smiling. “Monaco's a little lonely for me right now, to be honest.”

Oscar smiled back. “I get that. I moved here for work, and it's not always easy to adjust. You’re not alone, though. Everyone here’s pretty friendly.”

Y/N appreciated the sentiment and nodded, taking another sip of her drink. “Thanks, Oscar. It’s good to know.”

As he grabbed his coffee, Oscar gave her a wave before heading to a table by the window. Y/N returned to her thoughts, a warm feeling lingering in her chest. They hadn’t exchanged more than pleasantries, but something about the simple, easy conversation made her feel a little less isolated.

Y/N took another sip of her cappuccino, her eyes still lingering on Oscar as he settled at a table by the window. She couldn’t shake the feeling that it was a weirdly comfortable interaction, like one of those moments where you just feel like you clicked with someone—even if it was just casual banter about the cold.

And then, as she sat there thinking about how chill the whole thing had been, something inside her clicked.

A rush of confidence hit her like a wave. She wasn’t gonna sit here thinking about it for another second. She stood up, grabbed her cup, and made her way over to Oscar’s table like she owned the place. No hesitation. She slid into the seat in front of him without asking, crossing her arms with a mischievous grin.

“Well, well, you’re sitting so far from me. I was just telling you how lonely I was, and here you are, acting like you’re too cool to sit with me,” she said, eyebrow raised, voice teasing.

Oscar blinked in surprise for a second, clearly not expecting her to come over. But then he chuckled, clearly amused. “Wasn’t trying to be rude. Just thought I’d give you some space.”

“Oh, no space needed,” Y/N shot back, pretending to think for a second. “But if you want, I did make some banana muffins. 25 of them, actually. So, uh, you can have some later, I guess… if you’re lucky.” She leaned back, her tone playful.

Oscar’s grin spread wider, and Y/N could swear she saw his eyes light up a little at the mention of food. “Banana muffins, huh?” he said, leaning forward in his seat, the playful energy between them clear. “You’re really trying to tempt me, huh?”

Y/N smirked. “Maybe. Maybe not. I guess you’ll have to find out later.” She took another sip of her cappuccino, looking around the cozy café for a moment before her eyes landed back on him. “So, what’s your story, anyway? Besides buying coffee and sitting by windows, I mean.”

Oscar leaned back in his chair, clearly comfortable now. “Not much to tell,” he said casually. “Just trying to survive this cold. What about you, Y/N? What’s your deal?”

Y/N just shrugged, feeling more at ease with each passing second. “Oh, you know, baking muffins, trying to find a job, avoiding getting too lost in the city…” She shot him a quick look. “Honestly, though, Monaco’s a little weird, but I’m getting used to it. It’s quiet, but not the fun kind of quiet.”

Oscar nodded, his smile softening. “I get that. I felt the same when I first moved here.”

They both sat there for a few seconds, enjoying the unexpected company in a way that felt surprisingly easy for a random Tuesday afternoon.

Y/N leaned back in her chair, letting the conversation with Oscar flow naturally as they both sipped their drinks. The winter air outside had only gotten colder, but the warmth from the café made it all feel like the perfect backdrop for the two of them to talk.

“So,” Y/N began, her eyes catching his, a sudden boldness hitting her again. “Since you’re clearly not going to accept my muffin offer until later, how about we do something else next time? You know, before I leave Monaco to escape all the cold?”

Oscar raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Escape the cold, huh? Where would you even go?”

Y/N shrugged, tapping her cup with a playful grin. “Maybe I’ll find a place that has better heating. Monaco’s nice and all, but a little more sunshine wouldn’t hurt.”

“Fair point,” Oscar chuckled. He paused for a moment, then looked at her with that signature, easygoing smile. “I could show you around sometime, if you wanted. Monaco’s got some hidden gems.”

Her heart gave a little skip at his suggestion, but she played it cool. “I’d like that. But I’m not one for getting lost in tourist traps, so it better be good.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not taking you to the usual spots,” he said, leaning back slightly, amused. “I promise. You’ll actually see some of the cool stuff here.”

She smiled, feeling the conversation shifting toward something a little more personal. And then, almost as if it was the next step, Y/N caught herself hesitating, but quickly brushed it off. “Well, if we’re going to plan that, we should probably exchange numbers. You know, in case I want to text you to stop you from taking me to any tourist traps.”

Oscar reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. He handed it to her without a second thought.

“Good call,” he said with a teasing grin. “Here you go.”

Y/N took the phone and entered her number, her fingers flying across the screen. She handed it back to him with a smirk. “There. Now you can’t ghost me when I ask for your ‘hidden gem’ suggestions.”

Oscar laughed, saving her number with a nod. “Not planning on ghosting. I’ll make sure you get to see all the cool spots in Monaco.”

Y/N took a sip of her drink, the buzz of the conversation still lingering between them. It felt weirdly easy, and she liked that. “Alright then. It’s a date,” she said with a wink.

“Not sure if it’s a date,” he teased, “but I’ll take it.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh, the connection between them feeling a little more real. “Fine, not a date,” she replied, “but when it happens, I’ll hold you to that promise.”

few months timeskip

Over the next few months, Y/N and Oscar settled into an unspoken rhythm. They didn’t see each other often, but when they did, it felt easy. Whether it was quick coffee breaks at the café or a casual text exchange about the best banana bread recipe, they managed to keep in touch.

Oscar, as expected, was always on the move. Y/N had asked him once what he did for work that kept him jet-setting around the world, but his response had been vague. Something about traveling for events and having a packed schedule. She didn’t push for more details, assuming it was some high-level corporate gig or freelance work that required constant relocation. Either way, she didn’t mind. They had their moments, and that was enough for now.

As for Y/N, she had settled into Monaco in a way that felt almost surreal. After a few weeks of relentless job hunting, she’d landed a position at one of the coziest bakeries in the city. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was exactly what she needed—a place to bake, to create, and to lose herself in the comforting scent of fresh bread and pastries.

Her days were now filled with kneading dough, piping frosting, and experimenting with new recipes. The bakery had its quirks, from the slightly eccentric owner who insisted on playing 80s pop music all day to her coworkers who ranged from quiet and reserved to downright chaotic. Somehow, it all worked. Y/N found herself laughing more, learning more, and slowly but surely, calling Monaco home.

Outside of work, Y/N was finally starting to build a life for herself. Some of her coworkers had become fast friends, dragging her out of the kitchen and into the buzzing nightlife Monaco had to offer. From late-night drinks at chic rooftop bars to dancing under neon lights at clubs tucked away in narrow streets, Y/N found herself embracing a side of life she hadn’t tapped into before.

It was one of those rare free days where Y/N could relax and enjoy the slowly warming Monaco weather. The gentle breeze carried in through the slightly cracked window, and the temperature hovered at a perfect 65 degrees—just cool enough to make the indoors cozy but warm enough to remind her that summer was around the corner.

Her kitchen counter was a controlled chaos of melted chocolate, parchment paper, and a vibrant pile of freshly washed strawberries. She’d decided on a whim to make chocolate-covered strawberries—a light, summery treat that felt perfect for the day. At first, it had been fun, methodically dipping each strawberry into the glossy chocolate and adding a drizzle of white chocolate for flair. But somewhere along the way, she’d gotten carried away.

When she stepped back and looked at her work, she let out a soft laugh. “This is... way too many strawberries,” she muttered to herself, shaking her head. She grabbed one and took a bite, the sweetness of the strawberry perfectly balancing the richness of the chocolate.

As she finished the last one, her gaze fell on a smaller bowl she’d unconsciously filled. Without thinking, she began packing it up to bring to Oscar. It had become second nature by now—whenever she baked, she always set some aside for him. But as she made her way to the door, bowl in hand, she paused.

Her mind caught up to her actions, and she froze, staring at the door. “Wait... he’s not even home,” she muttered, groaning softly. Of course, she knew Oscar was traveling. He always was. So why had she automatically prepared something for him like he’d just be next door?

She stared at the bowl, her cheeks burning as the realization hit her. “Oh my god, I miss him,” she whispered to herself, the words making her cringe as they left her lips. She set the bowl down on the counter and groaned louder, pressing her hands against her flushed cheeks.

The thought swirled in her head, undeniable now that it had surfaced. She liked him—more than as just her friendly, quiet neighbor. She liked him in a way that made her heart race and her brain short-circuit.

She groaned again and began pacing the room. “No, no, nope. I am not catching feelings for a guy I barely know,” she muttered. But even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true. They’d been building something—small moments of connection over the past few months that had left her looking forward to every knock on the door or text message.

With a huff, she grabbed her phone and typed out a quick text:

y/n : when are you coming home??

She hit send before she could overthink it, tossing the phone onto her couch and flopping down beside it. The May breeze drifted in, carrying the scent of spring flowers, but Y/N couldn’t shake the storm of emotions swirling inside her. “This is going to be... complicated,” she muttered to herself, covering her face with her hands.

Y/N’s phone dinged, cutting through her spiraling thoughts. She sat up quickly, snatching the device from where it had landed on the couch. Her heart did a little flip as she saw Oscar’s name pop up on the screen. She unlocked it to read his response:

oscar : I’ll be back in like 2 weeks but only for a bit—what’s up? 👀

She stared at the message, a small smile tugging at her lips. Of course, he’d throw in the eyeball emoji—it was such an Oscar thing to do, always mixing casual with a bit of humor.

For a moment, she debated how to respond. She couldn’t just say, Oh, nothing, I just made too many chocolate-covered strawberries and realized I might like you—that would be mortifying. Instead, she opted for something neutral, a safe middle ground:

y/n : Oh, no reason. Just wondering! Hope it’s not too hectic for you.

As soon as she hit send, she groaned softly, leaning back against the couch. That was a lie, but what else could she say? She put her phone down and rubbed her temples, trying to ignore the sudden burst of warmth in her chest. Two weeks wasn’t that long, right?

Still, the thought lingered in her mind: she’d never been this excited for someone to come home before.

two week timeskip

Two weeks had passed in a blur, the days slipping by faster than Y/N anticipated. The Italian Grand Prix had wrapped up over the weekend, and Monaco was buzzing with excitement for the upcoming race. The city had been transforming in preparation—barricades going up, streets morphing into a circuit, and the harbor becoming a sea of luxury yachts.

Y/N hadn’t seen or heard much from Oscar since his text, but she’d been counting down the days. He’d said he’d be home this week, and while she wasn’t exactly waiting by her door, she had taken it upon herself to have some baked goodies ready. Just in case.

A tray of brownies sat cooling on her counter alongside a tin of lemon cookies, and she was busy wiping down her kitchen counters when a knock echoed through her apartment.

Her first instinct was casual curiosity—probably her neighbor asking to borrow something or the package delivery guy. Without overthinking, she grabbed a towel to dry her hands and headed to the door, opening it mid-yawn.

And there he was.

Oscar stood on the other side, casual as ever in a hoodie and jeans, his hair slightly messy, and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder. His expression was warm, a soft smile playing on his lips as he raised a hand in greeting.

“Hey,” he said, his voice calm, like it hadn’t been two weeks since they last spoke.

Y/N blinked, gripping the door frame for a second. She’d spent days prepping treats for his arrival, imagining this exact moment, and now her brain decided to freeze. “You’re here?” she blurted, as though he wasn’t standing directly in front of her.

His smile widened, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly. “Yeah, I figured I’d drop in unannounced. Hope that’s cool.”

She shook off her surprise, stepping aside to let him in. “Uh, yeah, obviously. Come in!”

Oscar stepped inside, glancing around her apartment like he always did, his eyes eventually landing on the counter full of baked goods. He raised an eyebrow and gestured toward it. “You bake for me, or is this just, like, an everyday thing?”

Y/N felt her cheeks heat up as she quickly shut the door. “I mean... maybe a little of both?” she admitted, rubbing the back of her neck. “I wasn’t sure when you’d show up, so I figured better safe than sorry.”

He laughed, dropping his bag by the couch. “You’re unbelievable. You know that, right?”

“Is that a thank-you?” she teased, crossing her arms with a smirk.

Oscar plucked a cookie off the tray, taking a bite and humming dramatically. “That’s me saying you’re way too nice to me. This is amazing, by the way.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips anyway. Seeing him standing there, relaxed and happy, filled her with a warmth she didn’t quite know what to do with.

Oscar finished the cookie and grabbed another without asking, leaning casually against her counter like he belonged there. “So, what’ve you been up to? Still baking up a storm every day?”

Y/N smirked, grabbing the tray of brownies and cutting them into perfect squares. “Pretty much. Got to keep the bakery stocked and the bills paid somehow. Plus, it’s Monaco—people are weirdly obsessed with pastries here. Speaking of, how was Italy? Or wherever you were this time?”

Oscar hesitated, his chewing slowing down. “Uh, yeah. Italy was... busy. Lots of... work.”

She raised an eyebrow, catching the slight awkwardness in his tone. “Work? You’re always traveling for this mystery job of yours. You must be a spy or something.”

His laugh came a little too quickly, and he avoided her gaze by grabbing a brownie. “Yeah, something like that. I’d tell you, but then I’d have to... you know.” He made a mock gun gesture with his fingers, winking playfully.

Y/N snorted. “Very convincing. Totally not suspicious at all.”

Changing the subject, Oscar gestured toward the goodies she’d prepared. “You’re going to spoil me, you know that? Showing up with treats, stocking your place with more of them... You’re setting a dangerous precedent.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Y/N teased, nudging him gently as she carried the brownies to a tin for storage. “I only bake extra when I’m bored.”

“Or when you miss me,” he added, grinning mischievously.

Her hands froze for a split second, her cheeks heating up as she quickly turned back to the brownies. “In your dreams,” she muttered, but the way her voice wavered slightly made him chuckle.

Oscar didn’t press further, instead grabbing a glass of water and perching on the armrest of her couch. “So, the monaco grand prix coming up,” he said casually.

“Yeah, the whole city’s already turning into one big construction zone,” Y/N replied, plopping down onto the couch next to him. “Feels like everyone’s losing their minds over it. What’s the big deal? Is it, like, a festival or something?”

Oscar blinked, his lips parting slightly in surprise before quickly recovering. “Uh, yeah, kind of. It’s... a big event. Happens every year.”

She nodded, leaning back into the cushions. “Well, hopefully, it’s not too crazy. Are you staying for it?”

“Yeah, I’ll be around,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “At least for a bit. But it gets hectic, so I might disappear again.”

“Classic Oscar,” Y/N said with a playful roll of her eyes.

“Hey, I’m here now, aren’t I?” he countered, nudging her with his elbow.

“You are,” she admitted, glancing over at him. Their eyes met briefly, and for a second, the air between them felt heavier, like something unspoken lingered just beneath the surface.

Before she could dwell on it, she cleared her throat and stood up. “Anyway, brownies are cooling, cookies are packed, and now you have snacks for however long you’re staying.”

Oscar smirked, leaning back and stretching his arms behind his head. “And here I thought you just liked having me around.”

Y/N grabbed a pillow from the couch and lightly tossed it at him. “Don’t push your luck.”

He caught the pillow effortlessly, laughing. “Fine, fine. But seriously, thanks. It’s nice being back. Even if it’s just for a bit.”

Her smile softened, and she nodded. “Yeah. yeah.”

The evening carried on in easy conversation, the kind of flow Y/N had come to enjoy when Oscar was around. He had a way of making the hours slip by without her even realizing it.

At some point, she found herself sitting cross-legged on the floor while Oscar took up most of the couch, recounting a chaotic story about a “work trip” that involved a delayed flight, a misplaced bag, and someone accidentally ordering 40 sandwiches. He was animated as he spoke, using hand gestures and exaggerated expressions to emphasize every twist and turn.

“So, there I was,” Oscar said, his voice growing serious, “stuck with 40 ham and cheese sandwiches at 3 a.m., wondering if this was some kind of cosmic punishment.”

Y/N burst into laughter, clutching her stomach as tears formed in her eyes. “You’re kidding. Please tell me you ate at least one.”

“Of course, I did,” he replied, grinning. “I ate five. And then I passed out on a bench because there was nowhere else to sit. Absolute rock bottom.”

Y/N shook her head, still laughing. “You live such a weird life. Sandwich catastrophes at 3 a.m. while traveling the world for your super-secret job? Must be exhausting.”

He chuckled, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, it’s a lot sometimes. But I guess I wouldn’t trade it for anything.”

There was something in his tone, a fleeting moment of vulnerability that made her pause. She wanted to ask more, to dig deeper, but she hesitated. She didn’t want to ruin the lighthearted mood.

Instead, she grinned and teased, “Well, if you ever need someone to help you through another sandwich crisis, you know where to find me.”

Oscar laughed, tossing a couch cushion at her. “Noted. You’re officially on my emergency sandwich team.”

The sound of their laughter filled the room, and for a while, everything felt easy and uncomplicated.

A little later, after the plates were cleared and the leftovers tucked away, Oscar stood by the door, his duffel bag back in hand.

“Thanks for letting me crash your evening,” he said, leaning casually against the doorframe.

“Crash? Please, I basically invited you the second I opened the door,” Y/N replied, smirking.

He smiled, lingering for a moment. “I’ll see you around, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said softly, leaning against the doorframe opposite him. “Don’t forget to grab some of the cookies on your way out. And the brownies.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to fatten me up or something?”

“Maybe,” she teased. “It’s part of my evil plan.”

He chuckled, reaching out to ruffle her hair before stepping into the hallway. “See you soon, Y/N.”

As the door clicked shut behind him, Y/N stood there for a moment, her heart fluttering in a way she wasn’t quite ready to admit.

The week passed quickly, the anticipation of the Monaco Grand Prix hanging in the air. The city was buzzing with energy, but Y/N kept herself busy at work, focusing on perfecting her recipes and keeping her mind off the person who had quickly become a constant presence in her thoughts.

But no matter how busy she kept, she couldn’t help but wonder when she’d see him again—and if things between them would ever shift into something more.

As the Monaco Grand Prix loomed closer, Y/N found herself noticing the increased buzz around the city. Banners and posters for the event were plastered on every available surface, and crowds started trickling in. Y/N had no idea what all the fuss was about, aside from the fact that everyone seemed excited.

Oscar had been texting her throughout the week, and she’d been looking forward to catching up with him again. She was in the middle of prepping a new batch of pastries when she heard a familiar knock on her door.

“Hey,” she greeted, opening the door to find Oscar standing there, looking casual in a tee and shorts, clearly just back from a training session.

“Hey yourself,” he replied, stepping inside. “How’s it going?”

“Busy as always,” Y/N said, wiping her hands on a towel. “But I’m managing. The bakery’s been crazy with all the tourists. You’d think I was selling gold instead of cookies.”

Oscar chuckled. “Yeah, Monaco gets a little nuts this time of year.” He glanced around, then looked back at her with a grin. “You know, with the Grand Prix coming up, I was thinking—you should totally come with me this weekend. I’ll be around, and I could use some company. I’m pretty sure you’ve never seen anything like it.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, intrigued but not sure what he meant. “The Grand Prix? What is that, like, a huge concert or something?”

Oscar blinked, surprised by her response but quickly recovering. “Uh, no, not really. It’s... um, a big race.”

“A race?” Y/N echoed. “Like cars?”

“Yeah, like super-fast cars,” Oscar explained, trying not to laugh. “Formula 1 cars. It’s kind of a big deal around here.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly. “Wait, so this race is happening in the city?”

“Yep,” he said, nodding. “And it’s one of the biggest races of the season. You should come check it out. It’s a whole experience.”

She hesitated for a moment, trying to process the idea. “I mean, sure, why not? I could use a little break from the bakery chaos. But I’m warning you, I’ll probably get lost in the crowd or something.”

Oscar grinned, clearly pleased. “I’ve got you covered. You won’t get lost, I promise. Plus, I’ll introduce you to a few people, show you the ropes. It’ll be fun.”

Y/N smiled, feeling a little bit nervous but mostly excited. “Okay, okay. I’m in. This better be worth it though. I still don’t quite get why people are so obsessed with fast cars but... I’m trusting you on this one.”

Oscar laughed. “Don’t worry, you’ll get it once you see it. It’s kind of... a big deal.”

Y/N chuckled along with him. “Alright, Mr. Big Deal. I’ll be there. Just try not to get too race car driver on me while I’m there, okay?”

Oscar flashed her a teasing grin. “No promises.”

grand prix weekend

As Y/N walked toward the spot where she and Oscar had agreed to meet, her eyes wandered over the bustling atmosphere of the Monaco Grand Prix. The crowds, the cameras, the fancy cars, and the buzz of excitement around every corner... it was a lot to take in. But then her gaze landed on something that made her stop in her tracks.

A massive banner stretched across the track, featuring none other than Oscar Piastri. His face was larger than life, his cool expression and trademark cap making him look effortlessly slick.

Y/N blinked twice, then rubbed her eyes to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. But there it was, Oscar in full glory, with the words "Oscar Piastri: Formula 1 Driver" plastered across the banner in bold letters. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks, and she felt her stomach drop.

She stared at it, mouth slightly open, her brain short-circuiting as the pieces finally clicked together. “Wait… Oscar? Formula 1? That Oscar?” She repeated the words in her head like a mantra, trying to wrap her brain around it.

Her eyes darted from the banner to the people around her, and suddenly everything clicked in a dizzying rush:

Oscar Piastri... was a famous Formula 1 driver.

That meant—wait, no—that meant she had been casually baking cookies, banana muffins, and chocolate-covered strawberries for someone who was literally famous?! She had been living next door to a real-life celebrity and hadn’t even known it?? And… she was actually crushing on him?

Her mind was doing a full-on loop-de-loop. How had she missed this? How did she not realize that this guy who always wore cool clothes, who was constantly traveling, who had fans… was the same person she’d been baking for like it was no big deal? Was this… was this a dream?

She started internally panicking. What do I do now? She had been baking for a guy who was in the public eye—what did that even mean for them? Did she just like someone who everyone else liked too? Is that even a thing? Was she seriously living next door to someone who raced for real in Formula 1?! She was losing it.

At that moment, she felt like she might spontaneously combust from the sheer ridiculousness of it all. Her stomach flipped, and she had to press a hand to her forehead, trying to keep it together. “Oh my god, Y/N. Get it together,” she whispered under her breath.

Just as she was trying to regain her composure, she spotted Oscar coming into view, looking effortlessly cool as usual, his sunglasses perched atop his head as he walked toward her. His face broke into a grin when he saw her.

“Hey, you okay?” Oscar asked, noticing the slightly shell-shocked look on her face. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Y/N blinked a few times, forcing herself to smile, but her mind was still reeling. She barely managed to get out a normal response. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she said, her voice a little too high-pitched for her own liking. “Just… uh, just saw something… interesting.”

Oscar raised an eyebrow, looking at her with mild curiosity. “Interesting? What did you see?”

Y/N panicked for a second. She couldn’t tell him she just discovered he was basically famous and was now spiraling over it, right? She gave herself a quick mental shake. “Uh, yeah, just, uh, a banner,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the giant image of him from earlier. “And, um… I just realized that… I, uh, live next to someone famous. Which is, like… wild.”

Oscar blinked, clearly not expecting that response. “Ohhh, yeah, that’s a thing. I mean, you’ve been living next to a race car driver. That’s gotta be weird, huh?”

Weird didn’t even begin to cover it, but Y/N just laughed, even though it sounded a little forced. “I guess? It’s just... a lot to process. You really are famous, huh?”

Oscar chuckled at her expression, clearly amused. “You could’ve asked, you know. But yeah, I guess I am,” he said casually, as if being on giant banners was just part of his daily routine.

Y/N groaned, feeling a rush of heat on her cheeks. “I feel like such an idiot,” she muttered, half to herself.

Oscar laughed, clearly oblivious to the full extent of her internal freakout. “Nah, you’re good. I’m just glad you’re here. Let’s enjoy this whole thing together.”

But Y/N could barely focus on anything except the fact that she had been baking for someone famous. This was too much.

As they continued toward the track, Y/N’s thoughts swirled in a thousand directions. She liked him, but now she had to figure out how to deal with the fact that she liked someone who was literally in the spotlight. Was it even okay to have a crush on someone who had so many eyes on him? She didn’t even know what to do with that knowledge yet.

And as they entered the paddock, Y/N had a feeling this weekend was going to be a lot more intense than she ever expected.

Y/N had barely been able to wrap her head around the fact that she was actually sitting in the heart of the action—inside Oscar’s team’s box in the garage, watching the practice and qualifying sessions unfold in front of her eyes.

Oscar had been in and out, prepping for his runs, chatting with the team, and making sure everything was in top condition. He had that natural, focused energy about him, and it was hard to look at him without being amazed by how effortlessly cool he was under pressure.

Y/N, on the other hand, was absolutely blown away by everything. The speed of the cars, the noise, the sheer intensity of it all—it was like nothing she had ever experienced. The walls of the garage were lined with equipment, the hum of activity filled the air, and people were buzzing about with headsets and clipboards, all focused on their roles. But even with all the chaos, Y/N's attention kept drifting back to Oscar.

“Don’t worry, I won’t crash,” he joked, noticing the look on her face as he grabbed his helmet and prepared to head out.

Y/N managed a nervous laugh, trying to calm the fluttering feeling in her chest. “You better not,” she teased, though she was pretty sure it was more for her own peace of mind than anything else.

Oscar shot her a grin before heading out to the car, and Y/N couldn’t help but watch with wide eyes as he slipped into the cockpit. The cars revved to life, the unmistakable sound of the engines vibrating through the garage. Oscar’s car was a blur as he took off down the track for his first practice lap.

She couldn’t help but feel a weird mix of awe and pride. That’s Oscar, she thought, barely able to keep her jaw from dropping. He was out there on the track, racing like it was second nature. The guy who had been chilling in her kitchen, eating cookies, was now doing something so epic, it didn’t even seem real.

As Oscar tore through the circuit, Y/N’s eyes stayed glued to the monitors in the box. His lap times popped up in front of her, and she felt a nervous, excited energy pulse through her. She didn’t know much about Formula 1, but she could feel the intensity of it all.

“Look at him go,” she muttered to herself, completely captivated by the raw speed and precision. It was like watching someone glide on air—only way faster, and way more intense.

The minutes flew by, and soon enough, Oscar’s car zipped back into the pits, and he jumped out, helmet off, a grin on his face. Y/N couldn’t help but smile back, her heart racing in sync with the adrenaline of the day.

“You’re amazing,” she said as he walked over, still catching his breath from the run.

Oscar gave a modest shrug, though the grin never left his face. “It’s all in the details,” he said with a wink. “But, yeah, it feels pretty good.”

Y/N shook her head, still processing how cool the whole thing was. “You’re insane,” she laughed, feeling a mix of admiration and a bit of disbelief at the whole experience.

Oscar leaned against the garage wall, looking at her. “You’ve got the best seat in the house, you know?”

She smiled, feeling her chest tighten at the compliment. “Yeah, I can’t believe I’m actually here. It’s… it’s all a bit much, honestly.”

Oscar chuckled. “Well, get used to it. You’ll be seeing a lot more of this.”

Y/N just nodded, still wide-eyed. There was so much she was still processing—how she’d gone from living next to a normal guy to sitting in a garage at the Monaco Grand Prix watching him race. It was wild. And somehow, incredibly thrilling.

Then, without any warning, Oscar took a small step closer to her. The next thing Y/N knew, his hand was on her cheek, pulling her into a kiss that was both unexpected and electric.

She froze for a split second, her eyes wide in shock. Her heart pounded in her ears. It was quick, but it was enough to send a wave of dizziness through her. The kiss was soft, lingering just a moment longer than she could’ve imagined, before Oscar pulled back with a mischievous smile.

Y/N stood there, stunned. Her heart was racing, and her mind was reeling. The cameras around the garage had caught the whole thing, and within seconds, a replay flashed across the monitors, broadcasting the moment live for all to see.

Oscar’s grin widened, clearly aware of the reaction. “Guess I’m full of surprises,” he teased, his voice low, his eyes never leaving hers.

Y/N blinked, still processing what just happened. Her cheeks were burning. “What the—”

But before Y/N could say anything else, Oscar's grin grew wider as he looked up at the screen. "Well, that's gonna be on TV now, huh?"

Y/N's eyes snapped to the monitors, and her stomach dropped. The kiss, clear as day, was playing across the screens for everyone to see. Her face turned beet red.

"Seriously?" Y/N muttered, still trying to process it. "That just... happened. On TV. Wow."

Oscar chuckled, his eyes glinting with mischief. “Well, that’s out there now. You good with that?”

Before Y/N could answer, she leaned in, surprising him with a kiss. It was quick but full of impulse, a way to make things feel less chaotic and more... real. When she pulled away, she didn’t flinch or apologize—she just gave him a small grin.

Oscar blinked in surprise for a moment, his lips curling into a grin. “Guess you weren’t planning on waiting, huh?”

Y/N shrugged casually, unfazed. “Guess not.”

Oscar let out a low laugh, his eyes never leaving hers. “No going back now.”

Y/N shook her head, a smirk tugging at her lips. "Guess not."

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taglist : @heluvsjappie @awritingtree @steamy-smokey @alex-wotton @ssarqhxo @rainy-darling @mymilkshakefun @hs2016 @linnygirl09 @akulici

[jzprncess]

in the shadows of war ⌖

pairing : charles leclerc x reader

historical au oneshot

word count : 7,522

summary : Amidst the relentless chaos of war, Y/N, a skilled and unyielding battlefield medic, saves the life of Charles Leclerc, a soldier teetering on the brink of death. Thrust together by fate in the heart of destruction, their lives intertwine in unexpected ways. As they navigate the horrors of the battlefield, an unspoken bond forms—fragile yet undeniable. But in a world consumed by violence and loss, can their connection survive the trials of war, or will the shadow of conflict claim everything, including their chance at love?

note : haha i really did start and finish this before the poll was over (if you know you know) my brain is surprisingly still working. i just wrote 2 one shots and a part one in less than 24 hours. that's really good for me. now i know the request said a long one-shot but once you get to the ending it may seem like it'll need a part 2 (ill make a poll on like tuesday to see if you guys are down for a part 2)

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

The air was thick with smoke, the distant rumble of cannonfire echoing through the hazy sky. The ground trembled beneath the weight of the conflict, and Y/N barely noticed the mud seeping into her boots as she moved from one soldier to the next. The screams of the wounded were drowned out by the pounding of her heart, but that wasn’t new. It had been like this for weeks—an endless cycle of battle, bloodshed, and moments of cruel silence.

Her hands were steady, her mind sharper than ever, as she worked without pause, stitching up gashes, applying bandages, doing what she could to hold the fabric of life together in this hellscape. The wounded kept coming in, their faces a mixture of exhaustion and fear. But she had seen it all before, so it didn’t rattle her anymore.

“Medic!” A soldier’s voice cut through the haze. She looked up, squinting through the smoke, and her heart skipped. Another body, another life at risk.

Y/N darted towards the injured man, her eyes scanning his blood-soaked uniform. His face was pale, lips almost ashen from the blood loss. She knelt beside him, her hands quick as she assessed his injuries, noting the deep gash across his abdomen. A bad one. He wouldn’t make it if she didn’t act fast.

“Stay with me,” she muttered, more to herself than him, as she applied pressure to the wound, doing her best to stop the bleeding. The soldier groaned, his eyes barely open. She cursed under her breath—time wasn’t on their side.

A nearby explosion shook the ground, but Y/N didn’t flinch. She had long ago learned to block out the chaos. She didn’t have the luxury of fear. Not now. Not when lives hung in the balance.

“Help him!” someone shouted, pulling her back to reality.

Y/N nodded sharply, signaling to one of the nearby medics to assist. But before she could focus on the next task, her gaze caught a figure being carried in from the battlefield. His dark hair was matted with blood, his body limp in the arms of two soldiers who looked nearly as desperate as he was.

Her breath caught in her throat.

He looked worse off than most of the others—his face was barely recognizable under the blood and dirt, and his shallow breaths hinted at how close to death he truly was. She took a steadying breath, pushing aside the racing thoughts in her head. She was a medic. She didn’t have time to hesitate.

“Get him on the table,” she barked, already moving toward him, her fingers working quickly to assess his injuries. He had to survive. He would survive.

This was just another life to save. But something in the back of her mind whispered that this one might change everything.

The makeshift medical tent was chaos, but Y/N’s world narrowed to the man in front of her. Blood pooled beneath him, soaking through the thin mattress as she worked. Her hands moved with practiced precision, stitching flesh, wrapping gauze, doing everything she could to keep him tethered to life.

“Don’t give up on me,” she whispered under her breath, though she wasn’t sure if the words were meant for him or herself.

Finally, after what felt like hours but was likely minutes, the bleeding stopped. His pulse was weak, but it was there. Y/N sank back for a moment, her fingers trembling slightly as the adrenaline began to fade.

“Move him to recovery,” she instructed the nearby medic. She didn’t wait to see him carried off—there were still others who needed her. The war didn’t stop for anyone, no matter how much she wished it would.

The night crept in slowly, casting long shadows across the medical tent. Outside, the distant sound of artillery had finally ceased, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Y/N leaned back against the makeshift table, her legs aching from hours of standing. Her fingers, still stained with blood despite countless washes, trembled as she held a tin cup of lukewarm water. She sipped it absentmindedly, her mind replaying the events of the day.

The screams. The pleading eyes of the soldiers she couldn’t save. The ones she could.

Her gaze drifted across the tent, where rows of cots lined the walls, each one occupied by a broken body. Some of the wounded muttered in their sleep, their dreams no doubt haunted by the horrors of the battlefield. Others lay frighteningly still, their breathing faint but steady. It was an uneasy peace, one she had come to accept as the norm.

In the farthest corner of the tent, he lay. Charles.

Y/N hadn’t known his name until she’d read it from his chart earlier. Charles Leclerc. She repeated it in her mind as she watched his chest rise and fall beneath the thin blanket. He was stable now, but barely. The deep gash across his abdomen had taken hours to clean and stitch, and there was no guarantee he’d avoid infection. But for now, he was alive.

Alive, but a mystery.

She approached his cot quietly, her boots barely making a sound against the dirt floor. His face, though pale and smeared with remnants of dirt and blood, was peaceful in sleep. His features were sharper than most of the soldiers she’d treated, with high cheekbones and dark brows that furrowed slightly even in unconsciousness. There was something striking about him—something that made her pause.

“You’re just a soldier,” she murmured under her breath, though the words didn’t feel true.

She crouched by the edge of his bed and reached for the clipboard hanging at the foot of the cot. His details were sparse: Charles Leclerc, infantry. Age: 24. No next of kin listed. She frowned at the thought. Most soldiers at least had a name written down for emergencies, someone who’d be notified if the worst happened. But for him, there was no one.

“No family,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Guess that makes two of us.”

Her hand hovered over his blanket as if to straighten it but stopped short. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe she didn’t want to disturb him. Maybe it was something else.

The tent flaps rustled as another medic entered, carrying a bucket of fresh water. Y/N glanced up, startled from her thoughts.

“How’s he doing?” the other medic asked, nodding toward Charles.

“Stable,” she replied, her voice flat. “For now. If the wound doesn’t fester, he’ll live.”

The medic let out a low whistle. “That one’s lucky, then. Saw him when they brought him in—thought for sure he wouldn’t make it.”

Y/N didn’t respond, her eyes drifting back to Charles. Lucky. She didn’t know if she believed in luck anymore.

Later that night, as the tent quieted even further, Y/N found herself unable to sleep. She sat at her small workstation, flipping through charts, updating notes, and organizing supplies. But her focus kept straying back to the far corner where Charles lay.

Against her better judgment, she found herself by his side again, this time sitting on the wooden stool placed next to his cot. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees as she studied him. There was something different about this soldier, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

“You better pull through,” she said softly, almost as if speaking to herself. “After everything, I don’t want you proving me wrong.”

Her voice broke the stillness of the tent, but there was no response. Just the steady rhythm of his breathing, a faint reassurance that for now, he was still fighting.

Y/N sat there for a while longer, letting the exhaustion wash over her. The war wasn’t over, and neither was her part in it. But for tonight, this corner of the world was quiet.

Y/N stayed by Charles’s side longer than she intended. The soft sound of his breathing was oddly grounding, a rare constant in her chaotic world. She told herself it was because she didn’t trust his condition to hold. He was still at risk of fever, infection, or worse, and it was her job to keep him alive.

That was the only reason.

But as she finally stood and stretched her aching limbs, a small, hoarse sound escaped from his lips.

“Water…”

Her breath caught. He wasn’t fully conscious, his words barely audible, but they sent a shock through her system. He was waking up.

Y/N grabbed a tin cup and moved swiftly back to his side, her heart inexplicably pounding. She crouched beside him, tilting the cup carefully against his cracked lips. “Easy,” she murmured, her voice softer than she expected. “Not too fast.”

His eyelids fluttered, and for the briefest moment, Y/N caught a glimpse of deep brown eyes, dazed and unfocused. He didn’t say anything else before slipping back into unconsciousness.

Y/N sat back on her heels, the tin cup still in her hands. She stared at his face, her mind turning over questions she didn’t have the answers to.

It was going to be a long night.

The first rays of dawn spilled weakly through the tent’s canvas walls, casting a pale, gray light over the rows of cots. The morning chill seeped through Y/N’s uniform as she moved from bed to bed, checking on the soldiers she’d worked tirelessly to save.

Her body ached, her muscles heavy with exhaustion, but she pushed through. She always did. There was no room for weakness here—not when so many others relied on her strength to survive.

She paused at Charles’s cot, the clipboard in her hand feeling heavier than it should. His vitals had stabilized overnight, though his pulse remained weaker than she’d like. His fever hadn’t returned, but infection was still a risk.

Y/N set the clipboard down and sat on the wooden stool beside his bed, leaning forward to get a closer look. His face was still pale, his skin slightly sunken from the blood loss. The dark lashes that brushed his cheeks stood out starkly against his complexion. He looked peaceful, though she knew better than to believe it. Peace didn’t exist here.

As if to prove her point, he stirred faintly, a soft groan escaping his lips. Y/N straightened, her pulse quickening.

“Charles?” she said softly, leaning closer. She hesitated, unsure if she should even use his name. It felt strange on her tongue, too familiar for someone she didn’t know. But it was the only name he had.

His eyelids fluttered, and for a moment, Y/N thought he might drift back into unconsciousness. But then his eyes opened—a crack at first, then wider as he blinked blearily up at the ceiling.

“You’re awake,” she said, relief threading through her voice. She hadn’t realized how much she’d been waiting for this moment.

Charles’s gaze moved slowly, his eyes landing on her face. They were a deep, rich brown, but glassy with confusion. His lips parted, but no sound came out at first. He swallowed, his throat working hard to produce words.

“Where…?” His voice was hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

“You’re in the medical tent,” Y/N said gently. “You were injured on the battlefield, but you’re safe now.”

He frowned, the effort to think visible in the lines that creased his brow. His hand twitched weakly at his side, as if trying to move but failing.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice rasping with dryness.

“You were hit—shrapnel, I think. It was bad, but we managed to stop the bleeding. You’ve been unconscious since yesterday,” Y/N explained, keeping her tone steady and professional.

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze unfocused as he processed her words. Then he blinked slowly, his eyes shifting back to her face.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice so quiet she almost missed it.

Y/N froze, caught off guard by the simple phrase. She wasn’t used to hearing it, especially not so soon after saving someone’s life. Usually, the gratitude came much later—if it came at all.

She cleared her throat, brushing off the warmth that crept into her chest. “You should save your strength,” she said briskly. “Talking won’t help you heal.”

Charles’s lips twitched, the faintest hint of a smile. “You sound… stern,” he murmured, his words slurred with exhaustion.

“Good. Maybe you’ll listen to me,” she replied, arching a brow.

His eyelids drooped, and she could tell he was on the verge of slipping back into unconsciousness. She stood, adjusting the blanket around his shoulders. “Rest,” she said softly. “You’re not out of danger yet.”

Hours later, Y/N found herself back at his bedside, though she couldn’t quite explain why. The tent was quieter now, the other medics handling rounds while she took a brief break. She sat on the stool again, her eyes scanning his face for any sign of change.

He looked more peaceful now, the tension in his features eased. She noticed things she hadn’t before—the faint freckles across his nose, the small scar near his temple. They made him seem younger than he was, a reminder that so many of the soldiers here were barely more than boys.

“Who are you?” she murmured aloud, though she didn’t expect an answer. She picked up his chart again, reading over the sparse details. No next of kin. No personal belongings except for a small pendant they’d found in his pocket.

Her gaze flicked to the bedside table, where the pendant now sat. She reached for it, running her fingers over the worn metal. It was a simple piece, the kind of thing someone might carry for luck. There was no inscription, no clue as to its significance.

“You don’t give much away, do you?” she muttered, setting the pendant back down.

She glanced at him again, and for a moment, she allowed herself to wonder. Who was this man? What had brought him here, to this war, to this tent? And why did she feel so drawn to him?

The sound of footsteps approaching snapped her out of her thoughts. Another medic appeared, holding a clipboard. “Y/N, we need you. There’s been an incident near the eastern trench.”

Y/N nodded, standing quickly. She glanced at Charles one last time before leaving, her heart heavy with an unease she couldn’t name.

Y/N moved swiftly through the tent’s exit, leaving Charles behind in the dim light. Outside, the air was sharp and cold, the distant rumble of artillery echoing through the valley.

As she hurried toward the eastern trenches, the scent of blood and gunpowder grew stronger, mingling with the cries of the wounded. The chaos was overwhelming, but she didn’t falter.

Still, her thoughts lingered on the man she’d left behind. She’d done everything she could for him, yet a nagging feeling tugged at her chest. Would he still be there when she returned?

She didn’t have time to dwell on the question. The battlefield was calling, and there was no room for hesitation.

Meanwhile, back in the tent, Charles stirred faintly, his body tense with feverish dreams. The sound of distant explosions filtered into his subconscious, mingling with fragmented memories of the battle. His fingers twitched against the blanket as his mind wrestled with shadows.

His lips moved, forming words no one could hear.

“Don’t leave me…”

The sky above the battlefield was a muted gray, streaked with smoke from the distant barrage of artillery. Y/N jogged behind a small group of medics, her satchel jostling against her hip as the ground trembled beneath her feet. Shouts and gunfire echoed in the distance, growing louder the closer they approached the eastern trench.

When they reached the line, the scene before her was a familiar nightmare. Soldiers crouched behind makeshift barriers, their faces pale and drawn as they fired blindly into the chaos. The injured lay scattered, some groaning in pain, others eerily still. Y/N swallowed the knot in her throat and dropped to her knees beside the nearest soldier, her hands already moving to assess the damage.

“Bullet wound, left thigh,” she muttered to herself. The soldier winced but didn’t cry out as she cut through the fabric of his uniform and pressed a bandage against the wound. “You’ll live,” she told him, though she wasn’t sure if it was a reassurance or a command.

A medic beside her handed her a roll of bandages, and she worked quickly to stop the bleeding. As she finished, another shout rang out—this one closer. Y/N’s head snapped up in time to see an explosion tear through a nearby trench wall, sending debris and bodies flying.

“Damn it,” she muttered, scrambling to her feet. “We need to move them back—this area isn’t safe!”

The medics around her nodded, and together they began the grim task of carrying the injured to relative safety. Y/N’s arms burned from the weight of the stretcher, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.

charles’s pov at the same time

Charles’s breathing was shallow, his chest rising and falling unevenly as the fever began to creep back. The medical staff working in the tent passed by his cot, too busy with the influx of new injuries to notice the subtle change in his condition.

He wasn’t fully conscious, but his mind was restless, caught between waking and dreaming. Fragments of memory surfaced—faces he didn’t recognize, voices he couldn’t place. And then her voice, soft but firm, cutting through the haze:

“You’re safe now.”

He didn’t know her name, but he remembered her face—the sharp intensity of her eyes, the way her voice carried both authority and care.

“Where…” he tried to say, but his throat was too dry. His fingers twitched against the blanket, searching for something—someone—but finding only emptiness.

The distant sound of artillery rumbled through the tent, and his chest tightened. His fevered mind blurred the present with the past, the memory of battle surging forward. His breath quickened, and for a moment, he was back on the field, the weight of the rifle in his hands, the deafening roar of explosions around him.

“Don’t leave me…” he whispered hoarsely, though no one was there to hear.

y/n’s pov on the battlefield

Y/N crouched low as another explosion shook the ground, sending a spray of dirt and debris over the trench. Her heart pounded, her breaths coming in short bursts as she worked to stabilize a soldier with a head wound.

The man’s eyes fluttered open, blood trickling down his temple. “Am I dying?” he rasped, his voice barely audible.

“No,” Y/N said firmly, her hands steady even as her pulse raced. “Not today. You’re going to make it, but you need to hold on for me.”

She tied off the bandage with a sharp tug and signaled for another medic to take him back to the tent. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment before turning back to the carnage around her. The smell of blood and smoke filled her lungs, but she forced herself to push through the sensory overload.

She tied off the bandage with a sharp tug and signaled for another medic to take him back to the tent. Her gaze lingered on him for a moment before turning back to the carnage around her. The smell of blood and smoke filled her lungs, but she forced herself to push through the sensory overload.

As she moved to the next patient, a sharp pain lanced through her leg. She stumbled, her vision blurring for a moment before she realized she’d been hit—not by a bullet, but by a shard of shrapnel. It had grazed her thigh, tearing through her uniform and leaving a shallow, bloody gash.

Y/N gritted her teeth, tearing a strip of fabric from her shirt and tying it tightly around the wound. There was no time to stop, no time to dwell on the pain. She glanced toward the horizon, where the faint glow of the medical tent was just visible through the haze.

“I’ll make it back,” she murmured, though she wasn’t sure if the words were meant for herself or someone else.

The medical tent was a flurry of activity by the time Y/N returned, her clothes streaked with mud and blood. She staggered inside, her hands trembling as she dropped her satchel onto the nearest table.

Her eyes scanned the room automatically, her gaze landing on Charles’s cot. Something about the way he lay—too still, his face damp with sweat—made her heart skip a beat.

She crossed the room quickly, her own pain forgotten as she knelt beside him. His skin was hot to the touch, his fever spiking dangerously high. His lips moved faintly, forming words she couldn’t hear.

“Charles,” she said sharply, her hands cupping his face. “Stay with me.”

His eyes flickered open, just barely, and for the first time, they locked onto hers. There was fear in his gaze, but also something else—recognition.

“You came back,” he murmured, his voice weak but filled with relief.

Y/N’s throat tightened, but she forced herself to speak. “Of course I did,” she said quietly. “Now stop being dramatic and let me help you.”

The faintest hint of a smile crossed his lips before he slipped back into unconsciousness.

Y/N sat back, her hands trembling. She didn’t know why she felt so shaken—this was just another patient, another life saved.

But deep down, she knew it wasn’t that simple.

The tent grew quieter as the night deepened, the sounds of chaos outside fading into the background. Y/N sat on a wooden stool beside Charles’s cot, exhaustion pulling at her limbs but refusing to let her rest.

Her gaze lingered on him, studying the faint lines of his face, the way his chest rose and fell unevenly with each breath. For reasons she couldn’t quite explain, she felt an almost desperate need to see him wake up.

Her fingers brushed against the edge of his blanket, a hesitant, fleeting gesture she didn’t even realize she’d made.

“Get better,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “That’s an order.”

Charles stirred faintly, his lips parting as though to respond, but no words came.

Y/N leaned back, letting out a slow breath. She didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but for now, all she could do was wait.

As the first light of dawn crept into the tent, the war outside continued to rage on, its shadow stretching further across their lives.

Charles’s eyelids felt heavy, as though weighed down by the lingering remnants of sleep and fever. The faint hum of voices and clatter of activity in the tent pulled him toward wakefulness, but the ache in his body begged him to stay still.

He shifted slightly, the rough texture of the blanket brushing against his skin. A dull pain throbbed in his side, and he sucked in a shallow breath. As his eyes cracked open, blurry shapes came into focus—the canvas roof of the tent, the dim light of a lantern flickering nearby, and a figure slumped in a chair beside him.

It took him a moment to register who it was.

Her head was tilted to one side, her chin resting on her hand as she dozed. Her uniform was stained with mud and blood, and a bandage peeked out from beneath the torn fabric of her pant leg. Even in sleep, her brow was furrowed, as though she were still bracing for the next crisis.

Charles’s throat was dry, but he managed a hoarse whisper. “You stayed.”

Y/N stirred at the sound, her eyes fluttering open. For a moment, she looked disoriented, her gaze darting around the tent before landing on him. Relief softened her expression, though it was quickly replaced by her usual no-nonsense demeanor.

“You’re awake,” she said, leaning forward to check his forehead with the back of her hand. “Fever’s down. That’s good.”

Charles’s lips twitched into the faintest hint of a smile. “You look worse than I do.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though a small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. “That’s what happens when you’re busy saving stubborn idiots like you.”

He chuckled weakly, though it turned into a wince as the movement jostled his injured side. Y/N’s smirk faded, replaced by a look of concern.

“Don’t push yourself,” she said, her tone firm. “You’re not out of the woods yet.”

Charles nodded faintly, his gaze lingering on her as she stood and began gathering supplies from a nearby table. Despite her composed exterior, he could see the exhaustion etched into her features, the way her hands trembled slightly as she worked.

“Do you ever rest?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

She paused, glancing at him over her shoulder. “Not really,” she admitted. “Not when there’s still work to do.”

Before he could respond, a commotion outside the tent drew their attention. Y/N’s head snapped toward the entrance as a young soldier burst in, his face pale and frantic.

“We need medics at the southern line!” he shouted. “There’s been another attack—casualties are piling up!”

Y/N was already moving, grabbing her satchel and slinging it over her shoulder. She winced as her injured leg protested, but she didn’t slow down.

“Stay here,” she said sharply to Charles, her gaze locking with his for a brief moment. “You’re not well enough to play hero yet.”

Before he could argue, she was gone, disappearing into the chaos outside.

charles’s pov

The tent felt emptier without her, the faint echo of her voice lingering in the air. Charles lay back against the cot, his mind swirling with thoughts he couldn’t quite untangle.

He remembered the battlefield, the pain, the fear—and then her. The way she’d spoken to him, her words cutting through the haze and grounding him in a way nothing else could.

He didn’t even know her name.

His fingers curled against the blanket, frustration bubbling up inside him. He hated feeling helpless, hated the thought of her out there risking her life while he lay here, useless.

The distant sound of gunfire reached his ears, and his chest tightened.

“Come back,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

y/n’s pov

The southern line was chaos. Smoke hung thick in the air, and the ground was littered with debris and wounded soldiers. Y/N moved quickly, her hands steady even as her heart raced.

She crouched beside a young man clutching his stomach, his uniform soaked with blood. “Stay with me,” she said firmly, pressing a bandage against the wound. “You’re going to be fine.”

The soldier’s eyes flickered open, glassy with pain. “Am I?” he rasped.

“Yes,” she said, her voice leaving no room for doubt.

As she worked, her thoughts strayed briefly to the man she’d left in the tent. She didn’t know why he lingered in her mind—why his face had stuck with her when so many others had faded into the background.

She shook the thought away, focusing on the task at hand. There was no room for distractions here, no room for anything but survival.

But as the day wore on and the chaos only grew, a small, persistent part of her couldn’t help but wonder if he was thinking of her, too.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows over the battlefield. Y/N wiped the sweat from her brow, her uniform stained and torn. The cries of the injured still filled the air, but her thoughts kept pulling her back to the quiet moments in the tent, to the man with the piercing eyes and the faint smile.

She didn’t have time to dwell on it. The war wouldn’t wait, and neither could she.

As she turned back toward the trenches, the distant rumble of artillery echoed through the valley, a reminder that the worst was far from over.

The tent was stifling, the air heavy with the smell of antiseptic and sweat. Charles shifted on the cot, his muscles stiff and his bandaged side throbbing dully with every breath. The distant rumble of artillery served as a constant reminder of how close the front lines were.

He stared at the empty chair beside his bed, the memory of Y/N’s presence still vivid. Her sharp commands, her steady hands, the way her voice carried authority even when she was visibly exhausted—it all stuck with him.

She hadn’t been back since she’d rushed out hours ago. Or had it been longer? Time blurred together in this place, measured only by the cries of the injured and the flicker of lamplight.

A nurse bustled past, arms full of gauze and supplies. Charles cleared his throat, his voice raspier than he intended. “The medic who was here earlier,” he said, catching her attention. “Do you know if she’s... is she okay?”

The nurse glanced at him briefly, her expression guarded. “She’s still out on the field,” she said curtly, before hurrying on.

Charles frowned, his fingers curling against the rough blanket. He hated this—this helplessness, this waiting. He wasn’t used to sitting still while others fought, while others risked their lives.

His frustration boiled over, and before he could stop himself, he began to push himself up.

“You shouldn’t be moving.”

The voice was sharp, cutting through the haze of his thoughts. He froze, turning his head to see Y/N standing in the tent’s entrance. Her uniform was dirtier than before, her hair slightly askew beneath her cap. There was a faint smear of dried blood on her cheek, and her eyes looked more tired than ever, but she was there.

“You’ll rip your stitches,” she added, stepping closer.

He sank back onto the cot, relief and frustration warring within him. “I didn’t think you were coming back,” he admitted quietly.

Y/N blinked at him, her expression softening for just a moment. “I always come back,” she said, setting her satchel down and pulling up the chair beside him.

She began checking his bandages, her movements efficient but careful. Charles watched her, noting the way her hands shook slightly when she thought he wasn’t looking.

“You’re overdoing it,” he said suddenly.

She paused, her brow furrowing. “What?”

“You’re exhausted,” he said, his tone firm despite his weakened state. “You can’t keep going like this.”

Her jaw tightened, and she resumed her work. “That’s not your concern.”

“It is if you collapse in the middle of the battlefield,” he shot back.

She looked up then, her eyes locking with his. “If I don’t do my job, people die,” she said flatly. “So no, I don’t have the luxury of stopping.”

The weight of her words settled between them, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

“I just...” Charles hesitated, unsure how to voice what he was feeling. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Y/N let out a soft laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Too late for that,” she said, gesturing to the faint scars visible on her hands and arms. “Getting hurt is part of the job.”

Charles reached out, his hand brushing hers lightly. “Doesn’t mean you should face it alone.”

Her gaze flicked to their hands, and for a moment, something unspoken passed between them. But before either of them could say more, a soldier burst into the tent, his face pale and frantic.

“Medic!” he shouted. “We need help in the eastern sector—badly.”

Y/N was already on her feet, grabbing her satchel. She hesitated for just a second, glancing back at Charles. “Stay put,” she said firmly.

He opened his mouth to argue, but she was gone before he could say a word, the flap of the tent falling closed behind her.

The tent felt colder without her.

Charles stared at the empty space she’d left behind, his mind racing with questions he couldn’t shake. How long could someone carry that kind of burden before it broke them? How long before the war demanded more from her than she could give?

The distant sound of artillery rumbled through the camp, and he clenched his fists. He hated this—being confined, powerless to do anything but wait.

But then, over the din of the battlefield, a sudden, sharp crack echoed through the air. It was closer than before.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as the unmistakable chaos of shouting and hurried footsteps erupted outside. Something was wrong.

Charles swung his legs over the side of the cot, the dull pain in his side a distant second to the knot of dread tightening in his chest. He couldn’t just sit here. Not anymore.

Forcing himself to his feet, he steadied his balance against the cot and took a shaky step forward. Whatever was happening out there, he needed to know.

And he needed to make sure she was okay.

The camp was alive with activity as soldiers scrambled in every direction, the chaos escalating by the minute. Charles could feel the adrenaline coursing through his veins as he stumbled through the maze of tents, his body protesting with every step. He ignored the pain; it was nothing compared to the gnawing worry that had taken root in his chest the moment the gunfire had erupted.

“Y/N!” he shouted, his voice hoarse and panicked. His footsteps were unsteady, but he pushed himself faster, desperate to find her.

The cries of the wounded mixed with the sounds of distant artillery. The war was a constant hum, but today it felt like it was closing in on him. His thoughts were a blur—only one thing mattered now: finding her.

As he rounded a corner, a medic appeared, breathless, her face streaked with dirt and sweat. She didn’t need to say a word before Charles was asking, “Where is she? Is she okay?”

The medic looked grim. “She’s in the eastern sector. It’s bad, Charles... it’s a full-on assault. We need everyone we can get.”

His heart skipped a beat, but before he could respond, another burst of gunfire rang out, much closer this time. Without thinking, Charles began moving toward the front lines, the pain in his side flaring up, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except getting to her.

y/n’s pov

The eastern sector was a nightmare.

Bodies littered the ground, both friend and foe, and the air was thick with smoke and the scent of blood. Y/N was knee-deep in the chaos, moving between the injured with a practiced, mechanical calm. But even her experienced hands trembled as she worked, exhaustion pulling at her mind, her body, her will.

“Stay with me, soldier!” she shouted, trying to apply pressure to a gaping wound in a soldier’s chest. He was young—too young—and his grip on her hand was weak, slipping.

She could hear the thunder of gunfire, the screams, the explosions in the distance. But what unsettled her the most was the gnawing feeling that she wasn’t going to make it back this time. That she wasn’t going to be able to save everyone, and that maybe—just maybe—she wouldn’t make it herself.

But she had no choice. This was her duty. This was her life now.

Another wave of pain lanced through her leg, and she faltered for just a moment, biting back a gasp. Her vision blurred from the strain, and her hands shook as she tried to reapply bandages, but the field was overwhelming. There were too many, too much to do.

And then, through the haze, she heard it.

“Y/N!”

She froze, her breath catching. The sound of her name—so familiar, so steady. She turned and saw him—Charles—his face pale and covered in dust, but there was no mistaking the determination in his eyes.

He was here.

“Charles!” she called, relief flooding her chest, but it was quickly replaced by fear as she saw him falter. He was injured—he shouldn’t be here.

“What are you doing?” she shouted, trying to move toward him, but the medic in her screamed for her to stay with the injured soldiers. “You need to leave! It’s not safe!”

Charles pushed through the chaos, ignoring her orders. His eyes locked on hers, and for a moment, everything else faded. His voice was strained, but resolute. “I’m not leaving you.”

Before she could respond, a nearby explosion sent both of them sprawling, the shockwave sending debris flying in all directions. The world spun as Charles reached for her, pulling her close, his hand instinctively covering her body to shield her from the worst of the blast.

When the ringing in her ears finally subsided, Y/N’s chest heaved with labored breaths. Charles’s grip on her was tight, protective. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she let herself relax—just a little.

“I told you to stay back,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Not when you’re out here,” he replied, his face inches from hers. He wasn’t smiling, but there was a softness in his eyes.

The sounds of the battlefield raged around them, but in that moment, with Charles’s arms around her, the world seemed quieter.

They stood there in the wreckage, the smoke swirling around them like a suffocating fog. They had no idea what would happen next, but for the first time in a long while, they weren’t alone in this war. They had each other.

The war had finally ended.

It hadn’t come with the thunderous sound of victory that everyone expected. There were no grand parades or wild celebrations, no trumpet fanfare as the guns fell silent. Instead, it had ended quietly, with a whisper of surrender and the slow march of peace into the chaos that had reigned for so long.

After years of fighting, of endless bloodshed, the last push had been made. The enemy forces had finally crumbled, their defenses unable to withstand the pressure anymore. The final battle had been brutal—too many lives lost in a desperate struggle for dominance. But in the end, it was their side that emerged victorious.

The final blow had been struck at dawn, a series of coordinated strikes that overwhelmed the enemy’s last stronghold. There had been no time for celebration in the aftermath. No time for joy. Instead, there had been the quiet aftermath of exhaustion and mourning. For every soldier that had survived, there were dozens more who hadn’t.

Charles had felt it in the pit of his stomach when the announcement came through the radio—the war was over. There was no real relief, not yet. Not when so many had been lost. He had been back at the camp, wounded and recovering, when the news spread like wildfire. It didn’t matter that they had won. What mattered was that they had survived. And that survival came with a price.

And now, standing at the train station with Y/N beside him, Charles couldn’t help but feel the weight of that price. She had stayed at the frontlines, continuing to fight even after the ceasefire had been declared, tending to the wounded, the survivors, and those who wouldn’t make it. Her hands had healed more bodies than anyone could count, but there had been a toll on her too. She was still standing, still strong—but he could see the strain in her eyes, the tiredness beneath her fierce determination.

The war might have been over, but their personal battles were far from finished.

Y/N stood at the edge of the platform, her stance firm, but her eyes distant. Her uniform was neat, the edges of her sleeves rolled up just the way she always did when she was preparing for something difficult. Her bag hung over her shoulder, ready for whatever came next.

Charles wanted to say something—anything—that would make her stay. But he knew better. She had made her decision long before now. Just as he had made his.

His voice was hoarse when he spoke, a mixture of exhaustion and sorrow in his tone. “So, it’s really over, isn’t it?”

Y/N nodded, her jaw set. “The war is over. But there’s still work to be done.”

Charles looked at her, eyes searching her face for any sign of hesitation, for anything that might hint at the decision she was about to make. But there was none. She was determined. And while it broke his heart, he couldn’t help but admire her even more for it. She was a force to be reckoned with. A soldier, yes—but more than that. She was someone who could heal, who could fix what had been broken in this world. She was built for this.

“You’re really staying in the military?” he asked, his voice soft, the question hanging between them.

Y/N took a deep breath, her fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. “I’m going to be a doctor,” she said simply. “The work here... it’s not done. I need to stay.”

Charles nodded, a lump rising in his throat. He had known, of course, that she would stay. She had always been like this—fierce, unwavering, with a purpose that couldn’t be shaken. He just hadn’t wanted to face it. Not yet.

“I understand,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “But I wish it were different.”

She met his gaze, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fall away. The noise of the bustling train station, the echo of soldiers boarding, all of it disappeared as they stood there, connected by their shared past and the future they were about to walk into—separately.

As the train’s arrival drew closer, Charles took a deep breath, steadying himself for what he knew would come next. But before he could say another word, Y/N took a step forward and wrapped her arms around him in a quiet embrace. It was short, but it felt like it stretched on forever.

He held her tightly, his chin resting on her head. He didn’t want to let go. He didn’t want this moment to end.

When they finally pulled away, there was a look in her eyes—something soft, something full of unspoken promises.

Before either of them could speak, Charles leaned in, his lips pressing gently against hers. It was a soft, lingering kiss, as if they both wanted to hold onto the moment forever. The kiss was full of emotion—goodbye, love, and a hope that their paths would cross again someday.

Y/N pulled back first, her breath shaky as she looked into his eyes. “I’m not going to forget you, Charles,” she said, her voice steady despite the tears welling up in her eyes. “I’ll be back. I promise you that.”

Charles nodded, his own eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I’ll be waiting for you, Y/N. Always.”

They shared one last, lingering look—something between a promise and a farewell—and then, with a final deep breath, Y/N turned to walk toward the train. She moved quickly, like she was trying to steady herself, and as she reached the door, she looked back at him one last time.

Charles’s chest tightened as the train’s whistle blew, signaling it was time for her to leave. Y/N’s figure slowly disappeared inside, and though he could still see her silhouette through the glass, she was slipping further and further from him.

The train doors closed with a hiss, and he felt his heart shatter a little more with every passing second.

Y/N sat down by the window, her gaze immediately locking with his. For a fleeting second, he thought he saw a flicker of doubt in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by something else—something resolute.

As the train began to slowly pull away, Y/N opened the window. She leaned out just enough to make sure Charles could hear her, her voice clear despite the distance between them.

“I’ll come back for you, so don’t you forget about me. That’s an order, soldier,” she called out, a small but determined smile on her face.

Her words hit Charles like a punch to the gut, but he smiled through the tears, raising his hand in a final wave. “I’ll never forget you,” he whispered, barely audible as the train continued to gain speed.

The whistle blew one last time, and the train started to pull away from the station, the distance between them widening with every passing moment.

Charles stood there, watching until the train was nothing more than a speck on the horizon. His heart ached, but there was a quiet strength that settled in his chest. He knew she would be back. He didn’t know when, or how—but he knew that this wasn’t the end for them.

The war had ended. And now, their separate futures awaited them.

But for now, he had to let go.

And so, as the last trace of the train disappeared, Charles whispered one final promise into the air.

“I’ll be waiting for you, Y/N. Always.”

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

taglist: @heluvsjappie @awritingtree @steamy-smokey @alex-wotton @ssarqhxo @rainy-darling @mymilkshakefun @hs2016 @linnygirl09 @akulici

[jzprncess]

threads of the past ౨ৎ

pairing : charles leclerc x reader

faceclaim : various people

main summary : Y/N and Charles grew up together in Monaco, sharing a close bond until her mother took her away after a family conflict. Many years later, after a loss she had to endure, Y/N returns to Monaco to fulfill a promise. There, she unexpectedly reunites with Charles, now a successful Formula 1 driver.

part 1

word count : 3,989

warnings : some designers do not exist in this au since i might take their fashion pieces!

note: this series will start off as a regular story and than gradually become a smau i think. i dont know tbh.

────୨ৎ────

The early afternoon sun bathed the narrow streets of Monaco in a golden glow, the faint hum of the Mediterranean breeze carrying the scent of jasmine and saltwater. In a quiet corner of the city, two children raced barefoot along the cobblestone path, their laughter echoing off the pastel walls of the buildings.

“Faster, Charles! You’re going to lose!” Y/N called over her shoulder, her grin wide as she darted ahead, her sundress billowing behind her.

“I don’t lose!” Charles shouted back, his face red from effort, his untamed brown hair sticking to his forehead. His determination was as fiery as the midday heat, and it wasn’t long before he closed the gap between them.

With one final burst of energy, Charles lunged forward, tagging Y/N’s shoulder just as she reached the large oak tree at the end of their street. They both collapsed in a heap beneath the tree, panting and giggling.

“You cheated,” Y/N accused, pointing a chalky finger at him.

Charles sat up straight, his chest puffed out proudly. “Did not. I’m just faster than you.”

She scoffed, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. “Only because I let you win.”

“Sure, you did,” he replied with a smirk, grabbing a fallen leaf and sticking it in her hair.

“Charles!” Y/N squealed, swatting at him as he burst out laughing. She shoved him lightly, but her smile betrayed her lack of seriousness.

Their days were often like this—filled with playful arguments, endless games, and the kind of joy that could only come from being young and carefree.

The bond between Y/N and Charles had formed long before either of them could remember. Their mothers often joked that they were inseparable from the moment they learned to walk. Born just two months apart, they’d spent nearly every day of their childhood together, whether it was exploring the rocky beaches or building forts in the small park near their street.

In the summer, they would race handmade sailboats in the fountain at the Place d’Armes. Y/N’s boats were always more colorful, with bright scraps of fabric for sails, while Charles’ were sturdy and precise, made with the help of his father.

“Yours is going to sink,” Charles teased one afternoon, nudging her shoulder as they crouched by the fountain’s edge.

“Is not! Look, it’s already ahead of yours,” Y/N shot back, pointing to where her pink-sailed boat bobbed confidently on the water.

“That’s because I let you go first,” Charles argued, though his grin gave him away.

When her boat finally won, Y/N jumped to her feet, hands in the air. “I win! Told you mine was better!”

Charles groaned dramatically, flopping onto the grass beside the fountain. “Fine, you win. But only because mine hit a leaf.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Y/N said, lying down next to him.

They stared up at the clear blue sky, the sound of birds chirping and distant waves lapping at the shore filling the silence.

“Do you think we’ll always stay here?” Y/N asked, her voice soft.

“Of course,” Charles replied without hesitation. “Where else would we go?”

Y/N didn’t answer. She didn’t want to think about what life would be like if things ever changed.

Their friendship was the kind that felt unshakable. They knew everything about each other—what foods they hated, which hiding spots were the best during hide-and-seek, and even their secret fears.

One evening, as the sun dipped low over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, they sat cross-legged on the floor of Y/N’s bedroom. The soft hum of cicadas drifted through the open window.

“What are you scared of, Charles?” Y/N asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Nothing,” he said quickly, puffing out his chest.

“Liar,” Y/N teased, poking his arm. “Everyone’s scared of something.”

Charles hesitated, his cheeks turning slightly pink. “Fine. I don’t like the dark.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. “Really? But you always act so brave!”

He shrugged, avoiding her gaze. “It’s just... sometimes it feels like there’s something there, even when I know there isn’t.”

Y/N reached over and squeezed his hand. “If you’re ever scared, you can call me. Even if it’s the middle of the night.”

Charles looked at her, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Thanks. What about you? What are you scared of?”

She hesitated, glancing down at her lap. “That someday... we won’t be friends anymore.”

Charles’s brow furrowed. “Why would you think that?”

Y/N shrugged. “I don’t know. Sometimes my parents fight a lot, and my mom says things about leaving Monaco.”

Charles’s grip on her hand tightened. “You’re not going anywhere. I won’t let you.”

The conviction in his voice made her smile, even as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. “Promise?”

“Promise,” he said firmly.

But life had other plans.

A few weeks later, Charles started karting. At first, Y/N thought it was just another one of his hobbies, like soccer or building model airplanes. But it quickly became clear that this was different. Charles was obsessed, spending every spare moment practicing or talking about races.

Y/N tried to be supportive, but she couldn’t help feeling a little left out. Their afternoons of racing bikes and playing by the fountain were replaced with stories about karting championships and lap times.

One Saturday, she stood by the edge of the track, watching as Charles zipped around in his tiny kart, his face set in fierce concentration. Pascale stood beside her, cheering loudly every time Charles passed by.

“He’s really good,” Y/N admitted, though her voice was tinged with sadness.

“He is,” Pascale agreed, glancing down at her. “But he misses you, you know.”

Y/N looked up at her in surprise. “Really?”

Pascale nodded. “You’re his best friend. That doesn’t change just because he’s racing now.”

Her words comforted Y/N, but only for a little while.

A few weeks later, everything changed.

The fights between Y/N’s parents, once muffled whispers behind closed doors, had escalated into full-blown shouting matches. The walls of their home, which once echoed with laughter, now felt cold and thin, trembling under the weight of angry words. Plates clattered. Doors slammed. Y/N learned to tread lightly, her small frame slipping quietly through the spaces of their house as if trying to become invisible.

Late one night, she was jolted awake by the familiar sound of raised voices. The clock on her bedside table read 12:47 a.m. in glowing red numbers, but it could have been any time—this had become routine. Still clutching her stuffed rabbit, she hesitated before slipping out of bed, her bare feet making no sound on the floorboards.

At the top of the stairs, she crouched low, gripping the wooden railing as though it might steady her trembling hands. Below, the living room light flickered, casting long, restless shadows across the walls. Her father stood by the door, his face drawn and tired, while her mother paced back and forth, her voice sharp and brittle.

“I can’t do this anymore, David,” her mother said, her words breaking like glass.

“So, you’re running away? That’s your solution?” her father countered, his voice quieter but no less strained.

“I’m protecting her!” Y/N’s mother shouted, her hands shaking as she gestured toward the staircase. “She deserves stability, not this—this endless cycle of fighting.”

Y/N froze, her heart pounding in her chest. They were talking about her.

Her mother turned away from her father, her shoulders sagging as she began yanking open drawers and rummaging through cabinets. Moments later, a suitcase appeared on the couch, and Y/N watched as her mother began throwing clothes into it—shirts, dresses, anything within reach. Her movements were frantic, as if staying still might shatter her resolve.

Tears pricked at the corners of Y/N’s eyes as she tightened her grip on the stuffed rabbit, pressing it to her chest. Her father said something else—something quieter that she couldn’t hear—but her mother ignored him, zipping the suitcase with a finality that made Y/N’s stomach churn.

She wanted to run downstairs, to demand an explanation, but her feet felt glued to the spot.

The next morning, the house was eerily quiet. Y/N sat at the kitchen table, poking at a bowl of cereal that had long since gone soggy. The air felt heavy, thick with unspoken words.

Her mother entered the room, her expression tired but determined. She sat down across from Y/N, reaching for her hand.

“Sweetheart, we need to talk,” her mother began, her voice gentler now.

Y/N looked up, her heart sinking as she saw the suitcase by the door. “What’s going on?”

Her mother sighed, brushing a stray hair from Y/N’s face. “We’re leaving. It’s... it’s for the best.”

“Leaving?” Y/N’s voice cracked, her hands gripping the edge of the table. “Where are we going?”

“To America,” her mother replied, her tone clipped but firm.

“America?” Y/N repeated, the word foreign and strange on her tongue. “Why? What about Dad? What about—” Her voice caught in her throat. “What about Charles?”

Her mother hesitated, the faintest flicker of guilt crossing her face. “This isn’t about them, Y/N. Sometimes we have to make hard choices to protect the people we love. You’ll understand one day.”

Y/N shook her head, her chest tightening. “I don’t want to go. I don’t want to leave—”

“Honey.” Her mother’s voice softened, her hand reaching out to cup Y/N’s cheek. “I know this is hard. But we’ll be better off there. I promise.”

The promise felt hollow, but Y/N didn’t have the words to fight back.

The following day came too quickly, the hours slipping through Y/N’s fingers like grains of sand. The taxi idled outside their home, its engine humming softly as her mother double-checked the bags.

Y/N stood by the door, her small suitcase clutched in one hand, her other hand gripping the stuffed rabbit that had been her silent companion through all of this. Her father wasn’t there—he had left for work early, unable or unwilling to say goodbye.

As she climbed into the back seat of the taxi, Y/N pressed her face to the window, her breath fogging up the glass. Her heart ached with a heaviness she didn’t yet have the words to describe.

As the taxi pulled away, she caught sight of Charles standing outside his house, his arms crossed over his chest, his brow furrowed in confusion. He wore his favorite red T-shirt, the one he always wore on race days, and his hair was messy, as if he had just woken up.

“Charles,” Y/N whispered, her voice too quiet to reach him.

His expression shifted from confusion to something else—heartbreak. He took a step forward as if to chase after the taxi but stopped, his hands curling into fists at his sides.

Y/N wanted to wave, to shout out the window and tell him she’d come back. But the lump in her throat was too heavy, and her hands refused to move. She could only watch as the familiar streets of Monaco blurred into the distance, Charles’s figure growing smaller and smaller until he disappeared entirely.

The weight of the moment pressed down on her chest, and for the first time, she truly understood what it meant to lose something precious.

And just like that, Y/N’s life in Monaco—and her friendship with Charles—was gone.

The streets of New York City were a symphony of noise and movement—taxis honked their horns in frustration, pedestrians hurried across streets, and the occasional siren blared in the distance. For twelve-year-old Y/N, the city's frantic energy was completely foreign. She had spent her entire life in the quiet beauty of Monaco, where everything moved a little slower, and the streets smelled of saltwater and sunshine. Here, the air was thick with the scent of exhaust fumes and hot dogs. The constant rush of people and cars felt like a constant reminder of how different her life had become.

Her mother had tried her best to make the transition as smooth as possible. They had found a modest apartment above a deli in the Upper West Side. The apartment was cramped, with peeling paint on the walls and creaky floors, but Y/N’s mother always tried to make it feel like home. She hung up brightly colored paintings, filled the shelves with books, and made sure the small kitchen was always stocked with ingredients to make Y/N’s favorite meals. Yet, no matter how many times Y/N tried to settle into her new life, there was a constant ache in her chest—the kind that came from a home she’d left behind.

At first, the culture shock was overwhelming. The city was alive with people from all over the world, but Y/N felt like a stranger in her own skin. School was different too. The other kids were loud and confident, their lives full of stories of places Y/N had never been. They spoke with an ease she envied, while she struggled to find the right words. The accent she had brought from Monaco stood out, and for the first time, she felt different, isolated.

But time, as it always does, began to heal the raw edges of her heart. The first time Y/N walked down the streets of Manhattan without feeling lost in the crowd, she realized she was slowly learning how to belong. She found solace in the quiet of the city's parks and in the rhythm of sketching designs in her notebook. Fashion had always been an escape for her. Whether she was creating something new from scraps or drawing intricate gowns on blank pages, it gave her a sense of purpose. And when the sewing machine hummed late into the night, it made the world outside her window fade away.

By the time she was sixteen, Y/N had started to make a name for herself. She took the subway to school every morning, sketchbook always in hand, where she studied the diverse styles around her—city folk in their sharp suits, the tourists who wore bold colors, and the older women who seemed to have perfected the art of elegant, understated chic. Each person was a new inspiration, a living canvas for her ideas.

It was then that Y/N’s designs started to catch the eye of local boutiques and independent designers. She worked part-time at a small fashion studio, sewing for local designers and creating custom pieces for clients. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was a start. The more she worked, the more connections she made. She began hosting small fashion shows, her pieces catching the attention of semi-famous figures who loved her work. It wasn’t the kind of fame she had always dreamed of—being a designer whose name appeared in glossy magazines alongside Vera Wang or Marc Jacobs—but it was something.

Still, something was missing.

As much as she tried to bury the past, it kept resurfacing. Monaco lingered in the corners of her mind, a quiet presence that never truly left. On quieter evenings, when the city outside felt still and distant, Y/N would sit by the window, her thoughts drifting to Charles. She would trace the lines of the buildings with her eyes, remembering the way the sun would shine on the harbor in Monaco, casting golden reflections on the water. She could still see Charles’s smile, hear his laughter as they raced down the streets on their bikes. Sometimes, she would pull out the old pictures of the two of them, taken on the beach in Monaco, their faces covered with sand as they giggled at their own silliness.

She had written to him once, the year after they left, but the letter was returned. Her mother had torn it up without saying a word. “Some things are better left in the past,” she had said with a sadness Y/N didn’t understand at the time.

Her father had been another ghost in her life. He had passed away when Y/N was just twelve. Her mother kept the news from her for as long as she could, protecting Y/N from the heartbreak that followed. It wasn’t until a year later, when Y/N found the letter tucked into the back of a drawer, that the truth came to light. The letter had been from her father, a note he had written before he died. He had left Y/N some money and a few possessions, things he had meant to pass down to her. But it was more than just material things—it was a piece of the past Y/N hadn’t been ready to face.

For years, Y/N pushed the letter away. She had no desire to open it, no desire to look back at a life she had left behind. But when she turned twenty-two, everything began to change.

Her mother had grown ill—first it was a cough, then it was difficult breathing. The diagnosis came swiftly, and the doctors were blunt: cancer. Fatal. The world around Y/N seemed to collapse, her foundation shaken to its core. She watched as the woman who had once been full of life became frail and weak.

The last few months with her mother were a blur of hospital visits and whispered goodbyes. The woman who had been her protector, the one who had shielded her from the pain of their broken family, was now the one who needed saving. And Y/N couldn’t fix it.

A week before her mother’s death, in a quiet hospital room with the smell of antiseptic heavy in the air, her mother had handed her an envelope. “This letter is for you,” she said weakly, her hands trembling. “When I’m gone... open it. And make the promise you made to me.”

Y/N didn’t understand at the time. But she took the envelope, her fingers brushing against the paper as she wondered why it felt so heavy.

When her mother passed, Y/N felt as though the world had stopped turning. The days bled together, a monotonous blur of work, sadness, and restless nights. She poured herself into her designs, hoping to find some semblance of peace. But peace didn’t come. She wandered through her apartment, the quiet weighing on her, the memories of Monaco creeping into every corner of her mind.

It was a rainy afternoon in the fall, the kind of weather that made everything feel like it was shrouded in a veil of sadness, when she finally opened the letter.

the letter

My Dearest Y/N,

I don’t know how to begin this letter. There are so many things I should have said to you over the years, and I wonder if I ever really had the words to explain them. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that life has a way of moving so quickly that you often miss the most important moments. This is one of those moments. So, I’ll say the things I’ve been meaning to say for so long, even if it’s too late now.

When we left Monaco, it wasn’t just because of the fighting, though that was certainly part of it. But I made a choice that day, a choice I thought was best for us both. I wanted to protect you from the pain, from the complexities of the life we had, from the things I couldn’t explain. I thought that if I took you away, if I removed you from the pressures of that world, you’d have a chance to grow up without the baggage of the past weighing you down. I was wrong.

You always did have a light in you, Y/N. A light that shone so brightly, I knew it would carry you far. When we arrived in New York, I thought you’d grow into someone different, someone independent and strong, someone who could build a life on her own. And you did. You are everything I ever hoped for you to be. But I realize now that there’s something missing. Something I didn’t give you, something I didn’t allow you to have because I was too afraid to face the truth.

Your father… he loved you, Y/N. So much more than I ever let you know. I know I kept you from him, from the life we built together in Monaco, and for that, I am truly sorry. But the truth is, I wasn’t protecting you. I was protecting myself. From the things that I couldn’t fix, from the dreams that slipped through my fingers, and from a relationship I knew was falling apart. I thought that by taking you away, I could spare you from the heartache that I was too afraid to face.

But, my love, I was wrong. And the one thing I regret most is that I never let you fully understand who you were—who you could be. You are so much more than what I let you see. Your father’s legacy, your heritage, they are a part of you that I denied, and I can’t take that back. I see now that you need to return to where it all began.

There are things in Monaco, things in your father’s world, that you need to find for yourself. Pieces of you that will make you whole again. I made a promise to him before we left, and it’s a promise I failed to keep. But now, it’s your turn to fulfill it.

Go back to Monaco, Y/N. Go back to your roots, to the home you left behind. I know it won’t be easy, and I know you’ve built a life here, but there is something waiting for you there, something that will make all of this make sense. I don’t know how to explain it, but you’ll understand when you’re there. The city, the harbor, the streets where you and Charles used to ride your bikes together—they all hold a piece of the puzzle.

Charles... I’m sorry, my darling. I know that you must think I kept him from you out of spite, but that wasn’t it. I just didn’t want you to get hurt. He was never a part of our plan, and I didn’t want you to feel torn between two worlds. But the truth is, he’s always been a part of you, Y/N. He always will be. You were both so young, so full of dreams, and I could see the bond between you two even back then. It was something beautiful, something pure. I know it’s been years, and I don’t know what the future holds for the two of you, but I know that you need to find your way back to him.

I don’t know if that means rekindling the friendship you once had or something else, but don’t let fear keep you from it. Don’t let fear keep you from facing what you’ve always known deep down. That part of you, that light, has always been tied to Monaco and to Charles.

I won’t be there to see you take this step, Y/N. But I’m asking you to do it for me, for both of us. I want you to finally understand what I couldn’t give you, to understand the reasons behind the choices I made. I want you to see that you are not just the girl who left Monaco— you are part of something bigger than what we’ve built here.

Please, take this step, Y/N. Go back to Monaco. Find what’s waiting for you. And if nothing else, find peace.

I love you more than words can express, and I always will.

With all my heart, Mom

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

taglist : @heluvsjappie @awritingtree @steamy-smokey @alex-wotton

[jzprncess]

i made a posting schedule

each friday i will post a poll on what story you guys want me to post. each saturday i will post the story. and on and on. at whatever time.

i know timezones are different so you may see the poll on saturday when its friday for me. im in central standard time. its the same time as ontario canada (in the west of it) and costa rica, just for reference. or to make it easier im in texas!

[jzprncess]

max’s hair, max’s way

pairing: max verstappen x reader

oneshot

word count: 2,489

summary : Y/N discovers an AI image of Max Verstappen with long hair and can’t stop imagining how amazing he’d look with it. After dropping subtle hints, Max finally catches on and humorously entertains the idea. What follows is a hilarious, over-the-top obsession with starting a fan club—Max’s hair revolution is coming, whether he’s ready or not.

note : this one was actually quite easy to write but then again im just in a mood to write so i finished it in a few hours. this was a request that was submitted on my google forms!

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Y/N’s day had been nothing short of a mess. She'd woken up late for a Zoom call, spilled coffee on her favorite sweatshirt (the one she swore was invincible to stains), and had yet another online shopping cart full of things she definitely didn’t need, but had to have. It wasn’t even noon, and she was already on her third attempt at taking a nap that didn’t feel like an awkward lie-down.

But there was one thing that had the potential to make it all better: mindless scrolling.

Her thumb lazily flicked through TikTok, her mind barely engaged as she watched videos that made zero sense, but for some reason, her brain processed them like essential information. It was supposed to be a five-minute break—a little escape before diving back into her ocean of responsibilities. She figured she'd scroll, mindlessly and aimlessly, just to silence the chaos in her head.

But then... she saw it.

It wasn’t some cute puppy video or a cooking hack that would forever change her life. No, no. It was something far more dangerous, far more potent, and absolutely life-changing.

Max Verstappen.

But not just any Max. No, this was an alternate universe Max—a Max created by the magical, terrifying powers of AI. The Max on her screen had hair that cascaded in long, perfect waves, the kind you could only dream about, or maybe see on a runway model. His sharp jawline was even more defined than usual (which shouldn’t be possible, but here we are), and his eyes—those piercing blue eyes—looked even more mysterious, as though he were a brooding poet in an indie movie. He was staring at her, but also not staring at her, if you know what she meant.

And then she saw it.

The hair.

Max’s new look was a cascade of locks that would make any shampoo ad jealous. It was silky, voluminous, perfectly tousled like he’d just walked out of a windstorm of pure glamor. It was glorious. It was breathtaking.

Y/N stopped dead in her tracks. Her thumb froze mid-scroll. Her heart rate ticked up a few notches. Holy shit. She didn’t even care that she was in a coffee-stained hoodie and still hadn’t brushed her hair. Nothing mattered anymore, because here was Max Verstappen, looking like an absolute dreamboat in a way she never thought possible. This wasn’t the Max she’d seen on the racetrack—no, this was a Max that belonged in the front pages of a high fashion magazine, throwing a rebellious look over his shoulder like a 90s pop star.

She blinked, trying to process what she was seeing. Her fingers twitched, ready to swipe, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away. Max with long hair. Her mind couldn’t let go of the image. It was perfect. He was perfect.

She leaned closer to the screen, squinting to examine every glorious detail, every strand of hair that seemed to defy physics. Could he actually pull this off in real life? Her fingers hovered over the screenshot button for a moment before she snapped it without hesitation.

And then, she did what any sane person would do: she set the image as her phone wallpaper.

There was no going back now. She wasn’t just going to stare at this picture once and forget about it. No, Max Verstappen with long hair was going to become her new obsession. She’d stare at it every time she unlocked her phone, letting the image haunt her dreams. Maybe she’d make it her lock screen too, just to really solidify the insanity.

The idea of Max with long hair, that Max, consumed her. Every time she glanced at the picture, it felt like an out-of-body experience. Was this how people got obsessed with celebrity transformations? Because this was absolutely it. She wasn’t even mad about it. She was already thinking of all the ways she could drop this bombshell on Max—subtle, of course. It had to be subtle. But she had to let him know somehow.

“Maybe I could just send it to him,” she muttered aloud to no one. “No, no... way too obvious.”

A sly grin spread across her face. She wasn’t going to just send the picture. No, she had a better idea. Max wouldn’t even see it coming.

She looked at the time—still early afternoon. Plenty of time to start planning. Oh, this was going to be fun.

After setting the AI picture as her wallpaper for the seventh time that day, Y/N leaned back in her chair, the wheels in her mind turning at lightning speed.

She had the plan now. She wasn’t just going to sit back and hope Max would see the error of his short-haired ways. No, Y/N was going to subtly—so subtly—nudge him into realizing that long hair was, in fact, the future. She’d been around the block enough to know how to manipulate situations for her own personal benefit.

Okay, maybe "manipulate" was too harsh of a word, but it sounded cool.

“Step one,” she muttered to herself, “Casual comments.”

She scrolled through her texts, thinking about what would be the perfect, casual way to throw out the idea of hair transformation.

Max had no idea what was about to hit him.

Y/N had spent the better part of the evening staring at her phone, just waiting for Max to reply to her text. She had done it—sent the casual, completely not obvious message about how “some people” just looked so good with long hair. She leaned back in her chair, a deep sense of satisfaction settling in. There was no way Max could miss the hint. She had done it perfectly. It was subtle, yet not so subtle that it was too subtle. The emoji sealed the deal. 😏

Still, she couldn’t help herself. She had to check her phone again, just to make sure the message had landed.

The screen lit up with a notification from Max. Y/N’s heart did a little dance. Here we go. She clicked it open, already anticipating his response.

Max: "Haha, are you talking about me? I’m not sure I could pull off long hair..."

Y/N froze. The message was a lot more casual than she’d hoped for. She reread it, her eyes scanning for the tiniest hint of curiosity or intrigue, but all she found was... confusion?

What? She thought she’d laid it out perfectly. The whole mysterious vibe thing had been an obvious clue!

Still, she wasn’t going to give up. Not yet. The game had only just begun.

She sat there for a moment, staring at the screen like she was trying to solve an impossible puzzle. A plan. She needed a plan, and it needed to be more than just a text.

Her eyes darted around the room. The walls, the plants, the weirdly shaped lamp on her desk—all were silent witnesses to her genius, or lack thereof, depending on how things went. But then—a light bulb moment.

It was obvious. She wasn’t going to be able to hint at this through mere text alone. No, no. She needed to get creative. She needed to make him see it—to envision the hair that could change his life. This was the moment where her vision and Max’s reality collided.

A slow grin spread across Y/N’s face. She knew just what to do.

Step one: The Subtle Instagram Story.

It was genius. Max would never suspect it. After all, people posted memes, weird videos, and obscure thoughts all the time. But Y/N had something more—something that could convince him without even saying a word.

She snapped a picture of herself—looking effortlessly glamorous, of course—and started typing her story caption.

“Do you ever think about how long hair changes a whole vibe? Like, imagine you had long hair... just think about it... 🧐”

She paused, reading it over. Was this too much? Too obvious? Too ridiculous?

Nah. It was perfect.

She hit post and waited, staring at her phone screen as if it would reveal some deep, philosophical answer to the universe’s mysteries.

The next few minutes felt like an eternity. She could practically feel the electricity buzzing in the air. She didn’t even know if Max was online, but her brain couldn’t shut down. The message was out there now. The seed had been planted. She was too far gone to back out now.

And then, a notification buzzed. It was from Max. She checked it eagerly.

Max: “Is this about me too? Because now I’m starting to wonder if I’m missing out on some kind of hair revolution."

Y/N’s eyes went wide. Was he actually considering it? No, no. He had to be messing with her. She stared at the message for a second longer than she should have, trying to decide if this was a real response or if she had somehow misinterpreted the whole thing.

No. He had to be getting it. She wasn’t backing down now. She had created a monster out of her own wild, absurd imagination, and it was all going exactly as planned.

She quickly typed back, a little too eagerly, but who could blame her?

Y/N: “Imagine the vibe, Max. Imagine the wind in your hair as you race, that confidence flowing through you. Like a whole new level of fabulous.”

There. That was perfect. She leaned back in her chair and waited for a response.

But of course, Max—being Max—didn’t make things easy.

Minutes passed. No reply.

Was he thinking about it? Was he in deep contemplation about whether he’d look good with long hair? Y/N felt like she might explode. Come on, Max. You’ve got this. Just admit it.

She stared at her screen until the words blurred together.

And then, finally, a message came in.

Max: "Alright, alright, I’ll admit it. I’m curious now. But do you really think I’d look good with long hair? I mean, I can’t picture it."

Y/N stared at her phone in disbelief.

This was it. This was her moment. He was actually questioning it. She could already hear the victory music playing in her head.

She took a deep breath, trying not to sound too smug.

Y/N: “Max, I’m telling you, it’s a whole vibe. You might just become the most iconic man in Formula 1 with long hair. People would talk about you for centuries.”

She added a winking emoji for good measure.

Max: “Centuries? Okay, now you’re definitely messing with me.”

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Oh, she was so close now.

After Max’s message came through, Y/N could barely contain herself. She wanted to scream, to do a victory dance, but instead, she opted for something slightly more composed: a dramatic flailing of her arms in the air and a loud, victorious "YES!" that echoed through her apartment like an over-the-top, one-woman celebration.

Max was actually considering it. He was at least open to the idea of long hair in the future.

This was the moment. She had won.

But the funniest part? Max wasn’t even aware of the scale of Y/N’s obsession. He was just playing along with her ridiculous game, unaware that she was about to go into full, borderline obsessive mode.

She stared at the text again, eyes wide, her heart racing. He was going to do it. One day—maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow—but Max Verstappen would, in fact, grow out his hair. He was practically promising it.

Y/N’s mind whirled with a thousand thoughts, each one more absurd than the last. She could already picture it: Max, standing on the racetrack, hair flying dramatically behind him as he sped past everyone. She could already hear the cheers. It was happening.

She grabbed her phone with shaking hands, barely able to type a coherent message. It was one thing for her to joke about it. But the fact that Max had actually said he’d grow his hair out one day? She couldn’t be the only one who was excited about this.

Y/N: “Max... no joke, I’m going to lose it the day you show up with long hair. I’ll probably start a fan club or something. A whole movement. ‘Max’s Hair, Max’s Way.’ How does that sound?”

She hit send and then immediately regretted it. It sounded insane. What was wrong with her?

She stared at the message for a long moment, debating whether she should delete it or just let it be. But before she could decide, Max’s reply came in like a gift from the hair gods themselves.

Max: “I don’t know about a whole movement, but hey, if I ever grow it out, you can be the president of the fan club. Just... don’t make it too weird, alright?”

Y/N almost dropped her phone. President? He was serious about this. She had an actual title in the most bizarre, ridiculous movement of her life.

Wait. Make it too weird? Oh, Max. She had already made it weird.

She texted back, too quickly, as if he could see her grinning like a maniac.

Y/N: “Deal. I’ll make sure to have the first fan club meeting at your next race. You better be ready for it.”

Max: “I’ll be sure to bring my best hair flip to the race. It’s going to be legendary.”

Y/N clutched her phone to her chest like she had just received the greatest treasure in the world. This was happening. It was happening in the future. She couldn’t wait. The anticipation was going to drive her insane.

But right now? She was going to enjoy the chaos of it all. She leaned back in her chair, hands trembling as she stared at the screen, imagining all the memes, the fan art, the movement. And who knew? Maybe one day, Max Verstappen would really grow out his hair.

Until then, Y/N was going to spend the next few weeks plotting the perfect fan club logo.

And so, Y/N’s obsession grew, her fantasies becoming wilder by the day. Every time she heard a hair-related joke or saw a picture of someone with long hair, she’d start giggling to herself like a schoolgirl with a crush. It wasn’t about Max’s hair anymore; it was about the ridiculous movement she had created, a movement that only she truly understood.

As for Max? He was still blissfully unaware of the full extent of Y/N’s hair dreams, but every now and then, he’d shoot her a quick text.

Max: “So... I’ve been thinking about it. Maybe I’ll start growing it out... one day. You ready to lead the fan club?”

And Y/N would reply with a heart full of excitement and a mind full of absurd possibilities.

Max’s Hair, Max’s Way. It was only a matter of time before the world caught on to the movement.

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taglist : @heluvsjappie @awritingtree @steamy-smokey @alex-wotton

[jzprncess]

I quite understand your frustration with all of the Max Verstappen requests. Though it's quite a surprise because Lando seems to be the most popular. Every time I come across a poll asking which fic to be posted/who it should be about, it's always Lando.

Which doesn't help readers like me. He's the same age as my brother just a week older. And I'm 34. 🙃 Yes I know I can just scroll past. But I will admit, some of the texting aus are funny AF. He really is a Muppet. Adorkable really.

haha! i don’t really have a problem with the max requests it’s just that i’m new to writing on here and i’ve only done max, franco and lando and soon charles so i’d like more drivers and not just the same driver on and on.

i never thought of the age factor, that’s true older women won’t want to read about people way younger than them. i’m 20 so i don’t really have a problem with age gaps but i can understand where you are coming from.

[jzprncess]

important update so read!

i have 2 smaus that i will be putting all my focus on so id like to write some one-shots to have just incase because i've taken long breaks before and sometimes writing smaus takes awhile bc of all the socials and texts.

the link will be to a google form where you can summit a request, you get to make every decision. there will be ideas already on there that you can pick out if you don't have a request and all you have to do is choose a driver and everything else.

this may be a permanent thing instead of you guys messaging me with request, makes it wayyyyyy easier for all of us.

like this post so i know you’re seeing it!

[jzprncess]

radio check, babe

Pairing: Lando Norris x Y/N reader

oneshot

Word count: 2,853

Summary : Y/N L/N, a decorated Air Force pilot and certified badass, has been juggling fighter jets and a long-distance relationship with McLaren’s golden boy, Lando Norris. After months away on deployment—and being totally MIA from the F1 paddock—she’s finally back just in time for the season finale in Abu Dhabi. But Y/N isn’t about to make a quiet comeback. With Lando chasing victory and McLaren on the verge of clinching the Constructors' Championship, she plans the ultimate surprise. During the final lap, her voice cuts through the team radio, reminding Lando she’s always been in his corner. Cue the waterworks, the feels, and an epic reunion that’s part racing history, part love story.

Note: i kinda had inspiration for this one and its also good that i at least dropped something with lando after saying i was going to and then scrap the whole thing lol. this was a request!

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The jet engines were still buzzing in her ears as Y/N stepped off the plane, her duffel bag casually thrown over her shoulder. After months of being deployed, the hot desert air in Abu Dhabi hit her like a wave of nostalgia. She’d flown all over the world in her Air Force career, but this time felt different. She wasn’t just another pilot on a mission—she was back, or at least as close as she could get without being wrapped up in Lando’s arms.

Her fingers gripped the strap of her bag a little tighter as she walked through the airport, shades on to hide from the curious stares around her. The last time she was in Abu Dhabi, it was to cheer Lando on, to laugh at pit stop fails and celebrate team wins with him. But now? She wasn’t a WAG on the sidelines anymore. She was someone who’d spent way too many nights staring at the stars, hoping Lando was looking up at the same sky.

McLaren had kept her surprise on the down low, helping her set up the ultimate "gotcha" moment. The plan was simple but meaningful: wait for the right time on Sunday to make her presence known. It’d be just one voice on the radio, but she hoped it’d be enough to remind Lando of how much she believed in him, loved him, and was so proud of him.

The world saw him as F1’s next big thing, but to her, he was still the guy who let her braid his hair for fun, the one who sent her sunset pics when they were apart, and the dude who always told her he loved her, even when things were tough.

As she pulled up to the hotel, the reality of actually seeing him hit hard. She wasn’t just about to surprise her boyfriend—she was walking back into a world that had missed her as much as she’d missed it. But for now? She needed to stay focused. Lando had no idea she was even in Abu Dhabi, and she was gonna keep it that way until race day.

Y/N checked into her hotel room and tossed her duffel bag on the bed, her heart racing as she unpacked the essentials. There was still time before the race weekend, but every moment felt like it was slipping through her fingers. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled it out, half-expecting a message from Lando. But instead, it was a text from McLaren’s PR team, confirming all the last-minute details of her plan.

She couldn’t help but smile, knowing she was about to pull off something that would be talked about for years.

Her fingers hovered over the screen as she typed a quick reply, making sure everything was set for race day. There was no going back now—she was in Abu Dhabi, and she was going to make sure Lando never forgot this moment.

The next few days blurred into a whirlwind of meetings, press events, and quiet moments spent reflecting on what she was about to do. She was used to the adrenaline of fighter jets, the precise timing of military operations, but nothing compared to the quiet anxiety that settled in her chest every time she thought about race day.

When Sunday finally arrived, Y/N was up before dawn, dressed in a black hoodie and jeans, trying to stay as low-key as possible. The McLaren team had kept her out of sight—no one could know she was here until the moment was right. She walked into the paddock with purpose, her sunglasses hiding her face as she weaved through the busy atmosphere. It felt strange to be back. This world, so familiar, yet so different now.

By the time the race started, her nerves were a distant memory. Lando had been doing what he did best all weekend—smashing lap times, staying focused, and keeping his eye on the prize. McLaren was on the verge of clinching the Constructors' Championship, and Lando’s drive was relentless. She couldn’t help but watch him on the track, her heart swelling with pride. He was so close.

And then came the final lap.

Y/N stood behind the curtain, the crowd’s roar fading as her heart pounded in her chest. She could hear the comms chatter, the calm voices of the team, but it was the moment she’d been waiting for.

"Alright, Lando, last lap, mate," the engineer’s voice crackled over the radio.

And then, just as Lando approached the final sector, Y/N’s voice—quiet but unmistakable—cut through the static.

“Hey, Lando… just wanted to remind you—I’ve always got your six.”

A beat of silence, then a stunned pause from the team. Y/N held her breath, praying he would hear her. And then, she heard it.

"Lando? Did you—? Wait, is that Y/N?"

It was his voice, full of disbelief, followed by a soft, emotional chuckle that made her knees weak.

She smiled to herself, knowing the surprise had landed.

"Focus, mate!" the engineer quickly snapped, but it was clear that the moment had shifted. The tension on the radio had softened, and for a moment, it felt like time had stopped.

Lando was racing for victory, the team was on the edge of a championship, but in that one instant, it was just the two of them, connected by words, by love, by everything they had been through together.

With the finish line in sight, Y/N knew the moment was almost here. She turned to the screen, As the checkered flag waved, Lando crossed the finish line, securing McLaren’s first Constructors' Championship in years. The crowd erupted in applause, the sound of a distant hum in Y/N's ears as she stood frozen for a split second. Her eyes never left the screen, watching Lando’s car coast to a stop, his victory becoming real in that very moment.

Her heart raced, adrenaline coursing through her veins. It wasn’t just a win for McLaren—it was a win for him. For them.

She could hear the team celebrating on the radio, but it wasn’t until the team principal’s voice came through that she snapped back into reality.

"Congratulations, Lando," he said, his tone warm but professional. "And... Y/N, welcome home."

Y/N’s breath caught in her throat. The team had kept her arrival a secret, but now that Lando knew she was there, she felt the weight of that moment. Lando’s voice crackled through the comms once more, but it was different now—full of emotion, disbelief, and something else she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

"Y/N, wait, you—are you really here?" Lando asked, his voice cracking slightly, a mix of shock and relief.

She could hear the sound of his heartbeat in his words, the rush of everything he was feeling in the moment. The realization that they had both made it through the distance, the loneliness, and the uncertainties. That they were finally here, together again.

Y/N took a deep breath, feeling the world shift around her as she stepped forward, her voice steady but filled with love.

"Yeah, I’m here. I’ve got your six, always. I’m so proud of you, Babe."

There was a long pause before she heard him again, softer this time, as if trying to process everything at once. "You’re killing me, you know that? You—always—know how to make this moment so much better."

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she quickly wiped them away, her focus on what was coming next. The sound of the celebration in the background started to feel distant as she pushed forward, walking through the corridors of the paddock, heading toward the podium where Lando was waiting.

This wasn’t just about a race win. It was about them. It was about every sleepless night, every text and call, every moment of longing and hope. It was about finding each other again in the chaos of their separate worlds, and now, here they were. Standing on the precipice of a future that was just beginning to unfold.

And as she finally walked out into the paddock, the sight of Lando waiting for her, a grin plastered across his face, was all she needed. The noise of the crowd, the chaos of the celebrations, all of it faded into the background as she locked eyes with him. In that moment, nothing else existed but him, standing there, looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered.

Lando’s grin softened into something more intimate as he closed the distance between them. His eyes were filled with emotion—surprise, relief, joy—and there was a rawness in his expression that made her heart ache.

Without saying a word, he pulled her into a tight hug, lifting her off her feet as if he couldn’t believe she was really there. Y/N laughed softly, wrapping her arms around him, the warmth of his embrace feeling like the home she’d been craving for months. His scent, the familiarity of his touch, it all felt like the missing piece she hadn’t even realized she was searching for.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Lando muttered against her hair, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve been thinking about you every damn day, and now... this? This is unreal.”

Y/N pulled back slightly, her hands gently cupping his face as she looked up at him, her heart in her throat. “I’ve always been here, Lando. Always. Even when we were apart, I was right there with you. You know that, right?”

His hands came to rest on her waist, and he nodded, his forehead resting against hers for a moment as they shared the quiet intimacy of the moment. The rest of the world could wait. Right now, it was just the two of them.

“I know,” he whispered, his voice hoarse. “And I felt it. Every second. It’s been the hardest thing, being away from you... but this”—he gestured around to the celebrations, the team, the whole paddock—“this doesn’t even compare to how much I needed you here with me.”

Y/N smiled softly, her thumb tracing the outline of his lips, the weight of his words sinking in. She could feel the emotions bubbling up again, tears threatening to spill, but she held them back. This wasn’t the time for tears—it was a time for celebration, for love, for them.

“You’re my champion, Lan,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant sounds of victory. “And I’m so damn proud of you.”

His eyes shone with a mixture of gratitude and something deeper—something that made her chest tighten. Lando reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch gentle, reverent, like he was afraid she might disappear if he wasn’t careful.

“You have no idea how much that means,” he said, his voice steady but filled with so much love that it nearly took her breath away. “I wouldn’t be here without you. You’ve always had my back, and now... we get to share this.”

Y/N laughed softly, her heart swelling with a love so intense it almost felt like a dream. “We’ve got a lot more to share, Lovebug.”

He leaned in then, closing the small gap between them, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was soft at first, a moment of quiet connection. But then, the kiss deepened, filled with everything they had missed—the longing, the passion, the promise of a future finally shared. The sound of cheers in the background faded into nothingness as they stood there, wrapped up in each other, the world outside their little bubble irrelevant.

When they finally pulled away, breathless and smiling, Lando gave her a playful look. “So, uh... you want to join me for the podium celebration? I think there’s a spot for you next to me.”

Y/N laughed, shaking her head. “I think the podium got enough glory for one person today, don’t you think?”

Lando grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Guess we’ll have to share it, then.”

They made their way through the paddock, hand in hand, a quiet smile shared between them as they entered the chaos of the victory celebration. The team was already gathered around, clapping and cheering, and as they stepped onto the podium together, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride for everything Lando had achieved. This wasn’t just his moment—it was theirs.

Lando leaned in, his lips brushing her ear as he whispered, “You’ve got me through the toughest parts, Y/N. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Her heart swelled at his words, but she only smiled, squeezing his hand in response. “You’ll never have to find out.”

As the national anthem played and the champagne sprayed, Y/N stood beside him, feeling like the luckiest person in the world. She had come into this paddock as an outsider, but now, she was part of something bigger—a team, a family, and a love that had been tested but never broken.

When it was time for photos, Lando pulled her close, his arm wrapping around her waist as they posed together, his grin infectious as they both reveled in the moment. The photographers snapped away, capturing their smiles, their joy, and the unspoken connection between them. In that snapshot of time, nothing else mattered—just the two of them, standing side by side at the top of the world.

Afterward, the celebrations continued, but Y/N found herself lost in the quiet of the moment, content just to be there with him. As they made their way back to the garage, the weight of everything they had shared, everything they had overcome, settled around them like a comforting blanket.

Lando stopped, turning to her with a soft, sincere look. “You’ve made this the best day of my life, Y/N. I love you. Always.”

Y/N smiled, feeling her heart race once more. “I love you too, Lan. And I’ll always be here, cheering you on. No matter what.”

And as they stood there, surrounded by the noise of the team, the flashing lights of cameras, and the cheers of fans, everything felt surreal. The adrenaline from the race, the excitement of the win, the love between them—it all blended together in a whirlwind of emotion.

Y/N glanced at Lando, her heart full as she watched him interact with his team, his joy infectious. But through it all, he kept finding his way back to her, his eyes always coming to rest on hers, a silent promise between them.

The crowd around them grew more animated as the party shifted into full celebration mode, but Y/N and Lando took a step back, out of the limelight for a moment. Just the two of them, standing together in a quiet corner, sharing a peaceful moment amidst the chaos.

“I’m so proud of you,” Y/N said, her voice soft but full of meaning. "You’ve worked so hard for this, Lando. And I couldn’t be happier for you."

Lando smiled, his expression tender as he brushed a strand of hair from her face. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You’re the reason I keep going. You’re the reason I’m here.”

She shook her head, the words feeling too big for her to fully grasp. “No, Hun. You’ve always been incredible. I just... I just made sure you knew you weren’t alone.”

Lando’s gaze softened, and he took her hand, squeezing it gently. “We’re never alone. Not anymore.”

The sounds of the celebration grew distant as Y/N leaned into Lando, resting her head against his shoulder. They stood there for a while, lost in the comfort of each other’s presence, knowing this moment would be something they’d look back on forever.

As the night wore on and the team moved on to the next phase of the celebration, Lando turned to her with a playful grin. “So... what do you say we make our own little victory lap?”

Y/N laughed, her heart lifting as she looked up at him. “I’m all in for that.”

They left the party behind, walking hand in hand under the desert sky. The air was cool now, a stark contrast to the heat of the day, and the stars above twinkled like they were shining just for them.

For the first time in what felt like forever, everything was right. The distance, the time apart—it all felt like it had been leading up to this moment. A new chapter, one where they didn’t just survive the distance but thrived in it. And as they walked into the night together, Y/N knew that the road ahead wouldn’t always be easy, but as long as they were side by side, it would always be worth it.

“Here’s to us,” Lando said, his voice full of promise.

“Here’s to us,” Y/N echoed, squeezing his hand, and in that simple gesture, she knew they had both found exactly what they needed all along.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

taglist : @heluvsjappie @awritingtree @steamy-smokey

[jzprncess]

another update

I wanted to let you know that I’ve started uploading my stories to AO3 (Archive of Our Own) under the same username. My Max Verstappen story is already up. I’m still deciding whether to upload the SMAUs, so I’ll keep you posted on that. For now, I don’t plan on using Wattpad, but that might change in the future.

i like my bio the way it is so i wont have the link there but instead here

[jzprncess]

the missing melody ♪

part 2 previous

pairing : franco colapinto x singer!reader

faceclaim : various people!

summary: With the Grand Prix results in, Y/N returns home inspired, diving back into her music. Meanwhile, Franco, curious about the singer he met, follows her on social media. What begins as casual online exchanges soon hints at a deeper connection.

warnings : some singers do not exist in this au since i might take their songs!

note : MERRY CHRISTMAS!! here is your surprise, i know some have been waiting but ive been in a writing block. dont kill me bc its short! i suck at writing UGHHHHHH

     ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

 williamsracing just posted 

liked by yourusername, username2, and 535,290 others 

williamsracing TEAM 💙  10 POINTS IN BAKU 🔥🔥🔥

An incredible drive by both drivers and we secure P7 and P8. GET IN THERE! 👏  This is only the beginning.

view all comments 

username2 VAMOS VAMOS VAMOS 🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷

username4 this progress of williams is what’s giving me hopes for carlos next year 🥲

username6 🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷

username8 WOWWWW BRAVO 👏🏼👏🏼

username3 COLAPINTO2025 

username5 STANDING OVATION!!! 🔥🔥

username5 y/n was the good luck charm! i’m telling you! 🫵🏼

username7 simply lovely

yourusername grateful to be here and watch the team score some points. it’s amazing to watch, might just have to join for another race soon. thanks again for letting me join in the paddock! 🇦🇷🔥💙

↳williamsracing we’re glad to have you y/n, can’t wait to see you trackside again! wishing you luck on your future endeavors! 💙

↳alex_albon appreciate it! we hope to see you soon!

↳francolapinto glad you could be here! i would love for you to come to another race, let’s make it happen. 💙

↳username5 now i need her to go to another race this season

third pov

As the Grand Prix weekend drew to a close, Y/N felt a bittersweet mix of relief and melancholy. The weekend had been a whirlwind, filled with the excitement of the race and the unexpected attention she had garnered from her appearance. The crowded paddock and constant buzz of conversations had left her mentally drained, but as she walked toward the car that would take her back home, there was a certain peace settling over her.

The world outside the track seemed quieter, more serene. She could hear the faint hum of the engines in the distance as the final laps were being completed, but for her, it was time to leave the chaos behind. The press, the cameras, the questions—all of it faded away as she slid into the front seat, the doors closing softly behind her, sealing her off from the world she had momentarily rejoined.

She pulled out of the paddock, and stared out the window, watching the lights of the city blur past as she made her way back home. The city was still alive, but she felt removed from it, as though she were floating in a different space. Her mind wandered back to the people she had met during the weekend—the 2 william's drivers, the fans, the connections she made. She longed for the solitude of her room, a place where she could decompress and regain the clarity she so desperately sought. 

As the car rounded a corner, she caught a glimpse of the track once more, her heart stirring with a mix of admiration and uncertainty. She wasn’t sure what the future held, but for now, she was content to retreat into her own world and reflect on the moments that had left an imprint on her soul.

franco’s pov 

I stood on the podium, the aftertaste of victory still fresh as my team erupted in celebration. My first points of the season—it wasn’t much, but it felt like a significant step forward. The atmosphere was electric, and for a brief moment, it felt like everything was falling into place. But even with all the cheering and the congratulations, my thoughts kept drifting to something—or rather, someone—that had caught my attention this weekend. Y/N. I didn’t know much about her, but I couldn’t ignore the way she moved through the paddock with such quiet grace. It wasn’t just her fame, though that was undeniable; it was something about her presence. She wasn’t demanding attention, yet everyone seemed to be aware of her, drawn to her in a way that made me curious.

There was something magnetic about her. It wasn’t just the way she looked—it was the way she carried herself. She didn’t seem to be seeking validation from anyone. She wasn’t flashy, but there was an air of confidence, a mystery to her that intrigued me. 

I’d seen her throughout the weekend, but it was when I finally met her that everything clicked. We had a brief conversation with Alex, nothing too elaborate, just a few exchanged words, but it felt different somehow. The way she spoke, the way she listened—it was all so natural, so unassuming. She wasn’t trying to impress anyone, and yet there was something about her that made me want to know more. Her smile, the subtle warmth in her eyes—it was like she was letting me see just a glimpse of who she was, without revealing too much. It wasn’t anything dramatic, just a casual interaction, but it left me wanting to understand what lay beneath that composed, almost guarded exterior. There was more to her, I was sure of it, and that curiosity lingered long after our conversation ended.

The more I thought about her, the more I found myself wondering what had brought her to this point in her life. Here she was, standing on the fringes of our world—famous, yes, but still somewhat distant, as if she didn’t quite belong to this chaotic universe we all lived in.

I read her Instagram post after the race, since I was already in the car on the grid, when she posted it. She had opened up about the struggles she had been facing, about stepping away from the spotlight and the personal battles she was fighting. It was raw and vulnerable, nothing like the polished image the world saw. It made me realize that the person I had met wasn’t the confident star I had expected, but someone much more complex. She wasn’t just another celebrity navigating the chaos of fame—there was a quiet strength to her, a kind of raw honesty that made me want to understand her even more.

Back in my hotel room later that evening, after everything had quieted down, I found myself scrolling through my phone. I couldn’t stop thinking about her, about that brief moment when our eyes had met. I opened Instagram without really thinking about it, my fingers moving almost on autopilot as I searched for her name. Something inside me told me to take this small step. I followed her. There was no reason why I should expect anything from it, but I felt the impulse to reach out in some way, even if it was just this simple action.

I sat back on the bed as I hit “follow,” my heart beating a little faster as I did. I wasn’t expecting her to notice, but something about it felt right. I scrolled through her feed, each post revealing just a little more about who she was. There was an intimacy to her posts, the way she shared pieces of herself without fully letting anyone in. It wasn’t the usual curated perfection I saw from other influencers. Each photo seemed to tell a story, but only if you were paying close attention. I couldn’t help but be intrigued. Maybe it was the beginning of something, or maybe it was just a small, fleeting curiosity that would fade away. But as I followed her, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the start of something that could pull me into her world in ways I hadn’t anticipated.

y/n’s pov 

As I stirred the sauce, my phone dinged from across the kitchen. I wiped my hands on a towel and walked over to check it. When I unlocked the screen, I saw Franco had followed me on Instagram. I paused, staring at the notification for a moment, a little caught off guard. My mind raced as I thought about our brief encounter, and I felt a sudden urge to message him. Taking a deep breath, I opened the app, ready to start typing.

messages

third pov

Y/N stood in her kitchen, wiping down the last of the plates from dinner, the sounds of the quiet house filling the space around her. She had eaten alone tonight, a habit she’d fallen into over the past few months. The familiar hum of the dishwasher was the only noise, but her mind was elsewhere. Franco’s face kept drifting into her thoughts—his easy smile, the way his eyes lit up when they spoke. They’d only met today, briefly, but something about him had stuck with her.

It had been a long day at the Grand Prix, full of excitement and noise, but when their conversation had veered into something personal, something quiet, it had been like the world had narrowed down to just the two of them. She had felt a spark, undeniable and electric, even though she knew he’d be leaving soon. He was on his way to Mexico for the next race, already on the plane when she had sat down to dinner by herself, yet the connection lingered in the back of her mind.

Y/N sighed, reaching for her notebook that rested on the counter. As she flipped through the pages, her fingers brushed over old lyrics, half-finished songs, and abandoned ideas. She hadn’t written anything in weeks—no inspiration, no motivation. But tonight felt different. She had this restless energy swirling inside her, something she couldn’t ignore. She sat down and began to write.

The pen moved quickly, almost without thought. The words felt raw, like they were pouring out of her all at once. She wasn’t sure if it was the memories of the day or the faint pull of something more, but she couldn’t stop herself. The chorus took shape, the melody forming like a whispered secret.

“It’s all in my head / I’ll keep it to myself / I know that you’ll never see it / I’m just looking for a reason..” (the bottom by gracie abrams)

Her mind wandered back to Franco, and she found herself replaying their brief encounter over and over. There was something about him—something real and different from anyone she’d met in a long time. But he was leaving for Mexico, and soon enough, he’d be consumed by the fast-moving world of Formula 1. She wasn’t sure if she’d ever see him again, and the uncertainty gnawed at her.

But still, there was this quiet tug inside her, a feeling she couldn’t shake. Maybe—just maybe—this moment held more than she’d first realized. It was all in her head, she thought, but she couldn’t help but hope for something more.

As she continued to write, her hand moved almost instinctively, the words flowing faster than she could process. It was like the music was the only place that made sense, the only thing that could capture what she couldn’t quite say out loud. She smiled softly as the song began to take shape, feeling that spark of something inside her. It wasn’t finished yet, but there was a sense that this was just the beginning.

The quiet of the house was only interrupted by the soft scratch of Y/N's pen as she wrote, her thoughts wandering to the conversation she’d had earlier with Franco. Her phone suddenly buzzed, and she jumped slightly. Seeing Franco's name on the screen made her hesitate, but she quickly answered, trying to sound calm.

*start of phone call*

“Hello?” she said, her shyness making the greeting almost tentative.

“Hey, it’s Franco,” came his familiar voice, sounding warm and easy. ���I just landed in Mexico. How’s your night going?”

Y/N felt a small smile tug at her lips, a slight relief washing over her. “Hi, Franco. It’s going okay... just writing. How about you? How was the flight?”

“It was fine, a bit long, but nothing I can’t handle,” Franco replied, his tone light. “It feels good to be here, though. Getting ready for the weekend.”

Y/N shifted in her seat, her fingers tapping nervously on her notebook. “Yeah, I’m sure it must be a bit overwhelming. But, uh, you’ve done this kind of travel before, right?”

Franco laughed softly, clearly amused. “You could say that. But every new race feels a little different. There’s always something new to learn. What about you? I know you’ve only been to one race, right?”

“Yeah, just today.” Y/N said, a little shy about admitting she was still new to the whole experience. “It was... a lot. But really exciting too. I didn’t expect to enjoy it as much as I did.”

“That’s awesome. What did you think of the atmosphere?” Franco asked, genuinely curious.

Y/N smiled, remembering the energy from the day. “It was wild, in a good way. I didn’t really know what to expect, but the crowd was so into it. It’s different from anything I’ve ever experienced.”

“I can imagine. There’s just something about a race day, huh?” Franco said. “It gets under your skin.”

“Yeah, I think I get that now,” Y/N replied, feeling a little more relaxed as the conversation moved away from the work side of things. “It’s... thrilling. I can see why people love it.”

“So, what did you do after the race? Did you go back hotel?” Franco asked, genuinely interested in how she was spending her time.

Y/N shifted slightly, a little self-conscious. “No, I just came home. I haven't been, um... great with big crowds recently, so I thought I’d unwind for the night. I guess it’s a good thing I like being alone sometimes.”

“I totally get that,” Franco said, his voice softer now, almost like he understood exactly what she meant. “I’m kind of the same way. Traveling and being around people can be... draining.”

Y/N smiled faintly, feeling a little more at ease. “Yeah, exactly. It’s nice to just have a quiet night to yourself.”

There was a pause, and then Franco continued, “What do you usually do when you’re alone? Like, when you’re not writing?”

Y/N hesitated before answering, her fingers gently brushing over the edges of her notebook. “I, uh, watch movies sometimes. Old ones. And I read a lot too. Mostly books that... help me forget everything for a little while.”

Franco’s voice was warm, and she could tell he was trying to keep the conversation light. “I think I’d like some movie recommendations. I’ve been wanting to watch something different, but I don’t know where to start.”

Y/N smiled softly, appreciating how easy the conversation was flowing now. “I could definitely do that. If you like old films, I’d recommend some classic noirs. They’re... atmospheric, but in a cool way.”

“Sounds perfect,” Franco said, clearly interested. “I’ll have to try that when I’m not in race mode.”

“I’ll make a list for you, then,” Y/N replied, her voice lightening a little. “Maybe next time we talk, I can recommend a few more.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” Franco said with a gentle laugh. “It’s nice just to talk about something that’s not... the race or the schedule.”

“Yeah, it is,” Y/N said quietly, feeling a strange sense of connection. “I didn’t expect it to be so easy to talk.”

“Me neither,” Franco agreed. “But I’m glad we’re talking.”

Y/N smiled, feeling a little more comfortable with the whole situation. “Me too. It’s... nice. I’m glad you called.”

“Glad I did too. Well, I’ll let you get back to your writing,” Franco said, though his voice didn’t sound ready to hang up. “But we’ll talk soon, okay?”

“Yeah,” Y/N replied softly. “Take care, Franco.”

“You too, Y/N. Talk soon,” he said before hanging up.

Y/N set the phone down, a quiet smile on her face. She didn’t know why she felt so calm after talking to him, but somehow, it felt like the beginning of something she hadn’t expected. A spark had been lit inside her, something she hadn’t felt in a while. Her mind was buzzing, and for the first time in days, she felt truly alive.

She glanced at the clock—still early, though not for long—and something inside her stirred. Without thinking, she grabbed her notebook and walked out of the room, heading down the hall toward her studio. The house was quiet, still, but her mind was racing. As she flipped the lights on in the small room filled with instruments, sound equipment, and all the tools of her trade, it was as if everything clicked into place

The walls, once silent and stifling, now seemed to hum with possibility. She set her notebook down, reached for her laptop, and immediately pulled up her music software. Her fingers hovered over the keys, and within minutes, she was in the zone, the melody flowing almost effortlessly. Ideas she hadn’t known were waiting to be discovered spilled out of her, notes and lyrics coming together like pieces of a puzzle she hadn’t known needed solving.

For hours, she lost herself in the music. The hours seemed to melt away, her focus unwavering as she crafted something new, something personal, something that felt like it was coming from the depths of her soul. She tweaked, arranged, and layered tracks, her mind guided only by the spark Franco had unknowingly ignited. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this inspired.

By the time the sun began to rise, Y/N was still in her studio, headphones on, eyes tired but exhilarated. She hadn’t noticed the time slipping by until she glanced at the clock again. The song wasn’t finished, but it was close. She smiled to herself, realizing that the night had passed without her even thinking about the exhaustion she usually felt. It was as though the music had become the one thing that could make her forget everything else.

She leaned back in her chair, taking a deep breath, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she was grateful for this new, unexpected source of inspiration. And in the back of her mind, she knew this song was only the beginning.

━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━◦○◦━

taglist: @heluvsjappie @awritingtree @steamy-smokey