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cutehoons02 · 2 months ago

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Truth or Dare is a dangerous game

Harry Potter series

*pairing: pervy popolar gryffindor Heeseung x shy ravenclaw Girl

*trope: grumpy girl x sunshine boy

*synopsis: In a hidden corner of Hogwarts, amidst laughter and tension, the shy and cynical Y/n, a brilliant Ravenclaw, finds herself trapped in a dangerous and seductive game. A chance encounter with Heeseung, the charismatic captain of Gryffindor’s Quiddich, would trigger a series of events that will involve her in a network of seduction and mystery. It all begins during an evening of "Magic Truth and Obligation", when Y/n, to avoid the humiliation of refusing an obligation, ends up being forced to spend ten minutes in a room with Heeseung, Despite her armor of cynicism and coldness, Y/n is irresistibly attracted to him, discovering new sides of herself that she never thought she would know and maybe those 10 minutes will last for hours…

*tags: A lot of tension, Hee is a bit of a clown and loves to tease you and make fun of you, you have had a crush on him for years, magic "truth and obligation" game, lots of kisses, pacifiers, dirty words, fake innocent girl, needy hee, needy girl, unprotected sex (don’t horny ppl) fingering, male masturbation, small discussion and statement +18

9.7k (🫂)

(English is not my native language)

The familiar scent of aged parchment, ink, and slightly burnt potions lingered in the library air. You were seated at your usual spot — second floor, third column on the left — hunched over a yellowed scroll, your brows furrowed as you tried to grasp the secondary reaction of burlap essence with Veritaserum.

In front of you sat Sunghoon, Ravenclaw's leader and your friend since day one, meticulously underlining formulas with almost obsessive precision.

Sunghoon was cold with the world, yes, but with you, he'd always had a warm heart — though buried deep beneath layers of sarcasm and sharp retorts. He'd softened around the edges ever since he started dating T/L, the temperamental Slytherin with the charm of a scalpel, but really, he’d just become less awkward. His affection for you remained untouched, loyal, quiet but constant — like a protective charm humming in the background.

More than three hours had passed. Your eyes burned, and the silence was almost comforting… until the walking disaster with a broom on his shoulder made his grand entrance.

A murmur among the shelves. A thud. An explosion of Quidditch bags, flying scrolls, and a voice far too familiar.

-For Morgana’s sake, Heeseung! Are you a Captain or a drunk Muggle?-

snapped Sunghoon, jolting upright, goose feathers scattered across the table.

“Hoonie, relax. That was all calculated,” laughed Lee Heeseung, emerging from behind the shelves like he’d just walked off a battlefield.

Heeseung was a sight in crimson, gold, and black robes, hair tousled by the wind, hands still dusty from the broom. His golden eyes locked onto Hoon with a mischievous gleam.

“Just wanted to make sure you still remembered how to feel once in a while.”

He winked.

-Yeah? I’m feeling the urge to strangle you right now,-

Hoon shot back, though the smirk tugging at the corners of his lips betrayed his fondness.

Their exchange was so natural it briefly swept you away… until Heeseung’s gaze landed on you.

And then it happened — like it always did.

His eyes curved into that signature golden crescent, and a grin unfurled across his face like a cursed charm.

“Well, well, if it isn’t my Queen of Rules.”

The nickname was his. Annoyingly affectionate. He always said it in that tone that made you want to hit him with a permanent Silencing Charm.

You rolled your eyes in response, feigning indifference.

But inside? Inside, you were a mess of misfired potions.

Lee Heeseung had been your crush for years. Since before he became Gryffindor Captain, before he learned to smile so recklessly, before you realized how impossible it was to be near him without wanting to touch him.

And now he was standing right there, in front of your table, with that damn smile and that spark in his eyes.

“Lost, or just here to learn how to live a little?”

he said, leaning on the table casually, way too close for your nerves.

And as always, you looked for the quickest way out. Too bad that, deep down, you always stayed.

You didn’t reply. Instead, you shot a pleading glance at Sunghoon, begging him silently to intervene.

But he… chuckled, utterly merciless, and returned to his parchment-like nothing had happened.

Traitor.

Heeseung, of course, took your hesitation as an unspoken invitation. He grabbed a spare chair, dragged it up next to yours with that “anywhere I stand is mine” attitude, and sat down so close your arm brushed his.

You slowly turned to face him, your eyes quietly scanning his face.

Red hair, though you could see the dark roots peeking through — as if the dye itself was losing patience. His eyes, deer-like and warm brown, always looked like they were about to laugh at something only he understood.

His nose, marked by a slight bump — a proud souvenir from a Quidditch clash — gave his rogue-ish face a bit of edge and his lips… Merlin, his lips were made to be kissed.

They’d kissed too many girls, in your opinion — not that you knew for sure, but you’d heard him laugh too many times with someone in the corridor outside the dorms.

Under his carelessly worn robes, his shoulders were broad and his chest solid. When he leaned on his knees to talk to you, the fabric of his shirt stretched tight over his arms with lazy confidence.

He was magical but looked more like he’d stepped out of a Muggle magazine: rolled-up jeans, a chain around his neck, sleeves pushed up.

And that damn confidence.

“Why are you so close?” you finally asked, your tone neutral but edged. “There’s plenty of empty seats.”

He leaned in even closer. His face was now just inches from yours.

He closed his eyes for a second, and inhaled slowly—dramatically.

“Vanilla… honey… cookie?”

You froze.

Not only was that your scent, but he knew about your obsession with Madam Cookies’ sweets. It was a weakness you tried to hide—one he had just used as a weapon.

“If you don’t like my perfume, you’re free to leave,” you shot back, not breaking eye contact.

Heeseung clutched his chest like you’d wounded him.

“Right in the heart. You can’t be this cruel to me, Your Highness.”

You rolled your eyes again. That nickname got on your nerves.

And yet… deep down, it made you smile. Though you’d never admit it—not to him.

“Hoon… how do you even tolerate him?” you asked, eyes still locked on that shameless grin.

-It was a childhood spell gone wrong. Like a blood bond, but worse,-

Sunghoon replied flatly, not even looking up as he kept writing.

“Love you too, buddy,” Hee murmured, resting his chin on your shoulder—for just a second too long.

You pulled away, heart pounding. And then, as if nothing had happened, came the real trap question.

“Hey… this Saturday. Are you free?” You eyed him suspiciously.

“Is that a trick question?” He laughed—that laugh. The deep one that made your insides hum, even when you didn’t want them to.

“Nope. I just wanna see you live a little without a wand stuck up your ass, that’s all.”

You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Wow. How romantic.”

“I’m serious. There’s the secret Prefects’ party. I convinced Hoon to come—though I’m probably gonna have to spike his pumpkin juice to get him to dance.”

Sunghoon rolled his eyes and grunted something like,

-I’ve never been drunk enough to find one of your plans appealing.-

“Come on, Y/n,” Heeseung pushed, that spark in his eyes lighting up again,

“You owe me at least one night of trying not to hate me.”

You looked at Sunghoon with a questioning expression, almost hoping for a last-minute escape route.

-I’m going with T/L,- he said calmly. -You can come with us. L/T, Heeseung’s sister, will probably be there too… You’ll get along.-

You nodded, trying to mask the quickening rhythm of your heart—and right then, Heeseung leaned in toward you.

Once again, he invaded your personal space. No permission. As always.

“So… is that a yes?”

His eyes sparkled, his voice low, amused, but sharply attentive.

You clenched your hands beneath your skirt to steady the trembling.

“I’ll be there.”

The grin that spread across his face promised absolutely nothing good.

That Ravenclaw’s too good at hiding. But I’ve seen her. The way she looks at me when she thinks I’m not watching. The way she bites her lip when I get close...

She’s not just shy. She’s sharp. A weapon wrapped in velvet. And I want to be the one who opens her.

Saturday. That party. She won’t run. And if she does... I’ll chase her. Heeseung thought.

Three days later, you were in your room—your bed a war zone of rejected outfits and runaway socks. You stared at your wardrobe like it was supposed to give you an answer.

Then, a sharp knock on the window. An owl. You immediately recognized the elegant handwriting: L/T Lee.

You opened the letter with a curious smile. Inside, along with the message, was a moving photo.

L/T striking a pose: a tiny black skirt (and it was literally freezing outside), no tights, a skin-tight top showing off every curve, and makeup that basically screamed look at me—or regret it forever.

"I knew you'd be coming too! Send me your outfit, I wanna see! Can't wait to spend the night with you."

Signed with a floating little heart.

You smiled, cheeks a little flushed, and snapped a mirror selfie.

Black skirt, but with sheer black tights—for dignity and survival. A soft, slightly fitted gray sweater embroidered with a tiny blue raven over the heart. Hair down, sleek, flawless. Makeup? Light. But anyone who looked closely would see the work behind it.

Seconds later, L/T replied:

"Babe, you look adorable. But trust me—after tonight, you won’t just be ‘adorable’ anymore. Get ready."

You’d been frozen in front of the mirror for ten minutes. Your lower lip suffering under your teeth, your mind full of scenes you didn’t want to imagine… but did anyway.

“It’s just a party… right? Just a party.”

Then—someone knocked.

You opened the door to find Sunghoon, dressed to perfection, letting out a soft whistle like you were a freshly brewed potion.

-Wow, Y/n. Gryffindor’s not ready for this.-

You gave a shy, embarrassed smile. But it was nothing compared to what happened next.

T/L appeared behind him. The Slytherin girl gave you a head-to-toe scan with those sharp, flawless eyes, then crossed her arms.

'And who exactly are you trying to impress, little Raven?'

You lowered your gaze. “No one.”

But Hoon chuckled.

“Mmmh… I’d say a certain redhead who plays Quidditch and calls you ‘Your Highness.’”

T/L turned to you with a wicked little smirk.

'Oh. Heeseung Lee, huh?'

You didn’t answer. What was the point?

'Come here,' T/L said firmly, pulling you gently by the arm. 'I’ve got you. Just a little more lipstick… a touch of mystery… and we’ll see if that Gryffindor can keep his distance. Just a dab on the lips, trust me…'

T/L was chasing you around with a bordeaux lip pencil in hand, and your expression screamed Golden Snitch on the run.

“I told you no. And if you put that red lipstick on me, I swear I’ll disapparate.”

The Slytherin rolled her eyes dramatically, but finally settled for the bordeaux—it brought out the color of your lips in a subtle, elegant way. Sensual, but not too loud. The result still made you feel… different. Bolder. More like a woman.

You all rushed down the stairs together, racing through corridors still glowing with floating torches. When Hoon raised a hand to shush you, your heart skipped a beat. There were professors just around the corner.

But with a snap of his fingers, Sunghoon’s invisibility spell wrapped around you like a cloak.

“Thanks, Hoon. I really didn’t feel like polishing Snape’s cauldrons tonight…”

After ten minutes of tunnels, hidden staircases, and whispering wall-passages, you finally made it to the catacombs under the school. There, the stone walls opened into an enchanted hall bathed in floating lights—amethyst and green. The music was loud, and the air pulsed with magic, sweat, and adrenaline.

Witches and wizards were everywhere: Drinking from enchanted goblets that changed flavor with every sip. Casting light and illusion spells that sparkled in midair. Dancing like tomorrow didn’t exist.

You stuck close to T/L, trying not to be swallowed by the chaos, but of course she nudged you with her elbow.

'You look so cute… but I’m waiting for the moment he sees you.'

“Who?” you asked, feigning innocence, scanning the room.

'Don’t play dumb… him. Your Quidditch boy.'

You stepped into a smaller lounge space, separated from the main room by a golden curtain. Inside were Jay, Jake, Sunoo, Jungwon, Niki—all sprawled across floating sofas, drifting incense, and bottles of magical liquor that changed color with every laugh.

And then, of course… Heeseung.

He was leaned back on a dark couch, talking to a Slytherin girl—sleek hair, feline eyes, legs that went on forever—and you immediately looked away. A sharp sting of jealousy twisted in your stomach.

Pathetic. He’s not yours.

Before you could even look for a wall to melt into, a familiar, high-pitched voice cut through the music:

<Y/N!!>

L/T Lee, Heeseung’s sister, came flying toward you and threw her arms around your neck.

<MERLIN, look at you! Did you come here to hex him or seduce him?!>

She gave your hips a playful smack, a mischievous grin on her face.

T/L giggled from where she was leaning on Hoon, and in that moment—right as his sister said your name—Heeseung looked up.

At first, it was just to follow the voice. But then… He saw you.

And he nearly choked on his drink.

Oh. My. Bloody. Merlin. Is that her? That’s Y/n? What the hell is she wearing?!

Black tights. Short skirt. That sweater clings to her chest like it was made to torture me. And the lipstick—bloody hell, her lips are tinted too.

I shouldn’t stare. But I can’t not stare. If she looks at me right now, I swear to—

The Slytherin girl next to him said something, but Heeseung didn’t even hear it. His eyes were locked on you, as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, cheeks flushed with embarrassment, legs crossed in that shy way of yours. Adorable enough to drive me mad. Hot enough to make me lose my damn mind, he thought, licking his lower lip.

With Heeseung’s sister at your side, you walked up to the floating bar—bottles drifting midair, pouring themselves into glasses, mixing magical drinks that shifted color and taste depending on the drinker’s mood.

<Listen, Queenie… you might wanna loosen up. It’s gonna be a long night.>

L/T handed you a clear glass with a pale pink liquid that shimmered ever so slightly. You muttered something like, “I don’t drink things that sparkle,” but took a small sip anyway.

It tasted like peach, spice… and impending trouble.

Then it happened—cheers, whistles, a loud roar from the crowd. You turned around sharply.

Jake, the most unhinged of the Gryffindors, was standing wobbly on a table with his arms spread wide, shouting:

“Everyone sit! Circle up! Magical Truth or Dare—no excuses!”

You looked around for Sunghoon, but he was already plopping down with a smirk that said he was thriving in the chaos. You shot him a death glare.

L/T grabbed your elbow excitedly and tugged you down next to her, plopping herself into the circle with a satisfied grin. Then she rested her head on your shoulder.

And you thought: The Lees. Always touching. Always in your space. Always... so much.

But for once, you didn’t push her away.

Jake made a golden bottle float to the center of the circle—it crackled softly with electric sparks—and he cleared his throat with dramatic flair before announcing:

�� 𝑹𝑼𝑳𝑬𝑺 𝑶𝑭 “𝑴𝑨𝑮𝑰𝑪𝑨𝑳 𝑻𝑹𝑼𝑻𝑯 𝑶𝑹 𝑫𝑨𝑹𝑬” ✨

Whoever spins the bottle can’t skip the next round. If you hesitate, the bottle will flick you on the forehead. (Yes, it hurts.)

If you choose Truth, a revelation charm will track your heartbeat and emotions. If you lie, you’ll be sprayed with a reeking potion in front of everyone.

If you choose Dare, the task will be magically bound. You have to do it. Or else, your wand will quack like a duck every time you cast a spell—for 24 hours.

Every three rounds, the bottle triggers a "Spicy Strike": an extra bold truth or dare, chosen by the previous player.

Touching the bottle with your hands is forbidden. Magic or your tongue only. (Yes, you read that right.)

A wave of gasps and scandalous laughter swept the room—especially at the last rule.

“Jake, you’re sick!” Sunoo laughed.

“Did you come up with this or was it Fred and George Weasley?” Niki asked, swirling his drink.

Jake just shrugged, grinning proudly. “I perfected it. With a sexy twist.”

Then he gave the bottle a flick of his wand.

It spun. And spun. And spun... Until it stopped.

Right in front of his cousin—a red-faced Gryffindor, stunning but pissed.

“Truth or Dare, cousin dearest?” Jake asked, wearing his usual devilish smirk.

“Go fuck yourself.”

“Not one of the options,” Jake laughed.

The whole circle erupted with laughter.

And as the night kicked off—filled with teasing, giggles, and glances hotter than firewhisky—you were already looking for an escape route.

You felt exposed. Out of your comfort zone. Too much. And yet, deep down, you knew it was only a matter of time before the bottle pointed at you.

And you knew exactly who was silently wishing for that to happen.

Lee Heeseung.

And his gaze was already on you—like a promise you didn’t want to keep... And Merlin, how badly you wanted to.

The bottle had already done its show. Five spins. Five laughs. Five tiny disasters.

The last Spicy Strike had landed on Jay, forcing him—by magical dare—to kiss Jake’s cousin on the cheek… and then bite her ear while whispering a line that only a charming bastard would dare say.

Too bad Jake’s cousin was a Gryffindor. And Jay? A Slytherin. Explosive combo.

And the line?

“You’re the perfect distraction from my next disaster.” Then he winked.

Screams. Whistles. A drink spilled. The scent of chaos in the air.

Now, it was Hoon’s girlfriend’s turn—Slytherin queen, eyeliner sharp as a blade, tongue even sharper. The bottle spun and stopped right in front of you.

The room exploded in cheers and giggles. Jungwon raised his hands and said:

“Hey, be gentle, yeah? Our little Ravenclaw’s delicate.” (He said it playfully, but his gaze was protective.)

Sunghoon whispered something to his girlfriend, likely shielding you, and she rolled her eyes before glancing your way. Then—she looked at Heeseung.

He was already toying with the rim of his glass, eyes peering over the edge, that damn smirk of his screaming “I know you're screwed… and I like it.”

'Little Raven,' she purred, voice smooth like velvet but laced with menace, 'It’s your turn. Spicy Strike! Dare... or extra spicy Truth?'

You stiffened. Everyone was staring. You dropped your gaze.

“...Extra spicy Truth,” you muttered—more to yourself than anyone else.

She smiled like a cat staring at a trapped mouse.

'Good. Then tell me…' She let the silence build, everyone leaning in. The lights were low. The candle flames flickered.

'Have you ever... fantasized about someone while touching yourself? And if so… whose name did you moan while your fingers were buried between your thighs, teasing your clit?'

Silence. Deafening.

Your cheeks erupted in heat. Your eyes widened. You could not answer that.

“I… no… I mean, I don’t want to answer…”

-Oh come on!- Jake laughed. -That’s a tame one! The punishment’s worse if you lie!-

Tame? Sure, maybe for him. But for you? It was nuclear.

And the punishment? You didn’t even want to know. Jake might have puppy energy, but deep down he was a demon dressed like Prince Charming.

'Come on, Raven girl,' Sunghoon’s girlfriend murmured, leaning in close, 'You don’t want to unleash the Quacking Wand…'

A chill ran down your spine. You clenched your lips—then, in the smallest voice, as if whispering could somehow make it less real, you breathed:

“...Heeseung.” One beat of silence. Then— Screams. Whistles. Applause. Someone spit out their drink.

Heeseung’s sister shrieked,

<I knew it!> Hoon’s girlfriend was laughing so hard she was folded over.

Jungwon gave you a look—half amused, half shook. Sunghoon covered his mouth, stunned that you’d not only said heeseung name... but that you even survived a magical truth round.

But you? You didn’t see any of them anymore.

Only him.

The game continued. The bottle spun. Laughter, awkward moments, some suggestive jokes, and then, once again, Jake made it spin—but this time, he muttered a spell under his breath. The bottle gleamed for a split second—just enough to be noticed—and stopped on Heeseung. 'Dare or Truth, big brother?' Jake asked, eyes gleaming with mischief. Heeseung smiled, relaxed, confident. “Truth? You already know them all. Dare.” Jake slowly turned towards you, then back at Heeseung with a wicked grin. 'Tell everyone… who’s the most beautiful girl at the party, and who would you spend ten minutes with in the Room of Dark Desires.' An explosion of noise. Whistles. Someone yelled “HOT!” and a bottle spilled. The atmosphere shifted instantly. You? You didn’t even look at him. You avoided him as if your gaze might summon him, but deep down… deep inside your heart, it rang out like a damn battle.

One part of you wanted to run away. The other screamed: Choose me. Choose me. But what if he said someone else’s name? Your heart would shatter. Jealousy. Anger. Humiliation. Heeseung looked up at Jake. “Are you kidding me?” Jake shrugged, satisfied. 'I’m serious. It’s the rule. No shortcuts, Captain.' Heeseung sighed, running a hand through his red hair, making it messier. He looked around. Everyone was staring, then his eyes locked onto yours, slow and deliberate.

“The most beautiful?” He turned fully towards you. He studied you, from the edge of your black skirt, to the stockings, to the raven embroidered on your sweater. Then his eyes—those eyes that couldn’t tear themselves away from yours. “Her.” His voice was clear. Firm. “The Ravenclaw with the iceberg look… and fire under her skin.” You... stopped breathing, and Jake whistled. The girls screamed. Heeseung’s sister turned towards you with wide eyes and a grin that said “I knew it!” But he wasn’t finished. He leaned back, relaxed, and with a grin that made your knees tremble, he added: “And who would I spend ten minutes with in the Room of Desires?” He paused, then licked his lips just enough to be noticed, never taking his eyes off you. “With her. Always her.”

Silence. Then chaos. But you… you were frozen. Hands gripping your knees. Heart pounding against your ribs. Eyes glued to his. Heeseung wasn’t joking. You could tell by the way he didn’t laugh anymore. He wasn’t teasing. He was looking at you like he’d already decided that tonight, you’d be his.

Heeseung slowly rose from the couch, his empty glass left abandoned on the table as if it no longer mattered. He approached you, his steps slow and sure, seeming to echo louder than the screams around you. When he was right in front of you, he extended his hand. Two silver rings, one on his index and one on his middle finger. His skin was warmer than yours, rougher. His hand was large. Definitely too large for yours.

You glanced at his sister, who winked at you. Sunghoon gave a thumbs-up. T/l blew you a kiss with a mischievous little witchy grin. You gripped Heeseung’s hand, and he chuckled softly. “Oh. So the cold Ravenclaw knows how to hold hands…”

You walked towards the door, and as you passed Jake, you shot him a death glare. “Ten minutes. Not one more.” Jake made the promise sign with his fingers, but as soon as you turned around, he shared a knowing glance with the others. 'What about... the whole night?' He said quietly, but not too quietly. Sunghoon: “No. No, Jake. Come on.” Jungwon: “Are you guys insane?” Heeseung’s sister: “Do it, they need it. Trust me.” T/l: “It’s the only way to stop being shy and, you know, get to know each other.”

Voices overlapped, laughter, shouts. Jake raised his wand, murmured an ancient spell, and a magical timer appeared on the door: "10 HOURS" The door clicked shut, and neither of you heard a thing.

Inside the room, the atmosphere was different. Dim, almost red light, floating candles, and a faint Muggle jazz tune playing in the background. In the center… an enormous bed, with black and gold sheets. Heeseung was already sitting on the edge, legs spread apart, one hand propping him up. His eyes were on you, and he wasn’t sparing you a single thing. You stood frozen in front of the door, back rigid, hands clenched into fists inside your skirt, eyes cast down. You muttered something between your teeth, more to yourself than to him: “Why the hell did I agree... idiot, idiot…”

Heeseung chuckled, tilting his head to the side. “Did you just call yourself an idiot or me?” His tone was playful, but beneath it, there was that low note, the kind of voice that seeps into your bones.

You looked up to scorch him with a glare. He was staring at you. His gaze was like a caress you hadn’t asked for... but you desperately wanted. “Look, if you’re regretting it, we can just talk…” He smiled. Slowly. Bastard. Beautiful. “Or… we can make these ten minutes interesting. You know… not to waste time, or…” He stood up and after a couple of steps, his hand brushed lightly against the fabric of your sweater. “You were just waiting for this.”

You raised your eyes, meeting his with an expression somewhere between anger and frustration. You responded, sharply: “I only agreed because I didn’t want to look like an idiot in front of everyone. Not that you’d be capable of understanding…”

Heeseung leaned in slightly towards you, his warm breath grazing your skin as he whispered, with a smile that promised nothing good: “You’re lying badly, Ravenclaw. For someone who’s one of the most talented witches of the new generation, you sure seem… inexperienced.”

A shiver ran down your spine, but you had no intention of showing him how deeply his words affected you. But he didn’t stop. He sniffed the air around you, his gaze becoming more penetrating. “You know…” he said, his tone almost affectionate, but laced with a certain cruelty, “I bought the same perfume as you, the one you wore the day I saw you at the Prefects' pool. I’ll never forget that moment.”

Your eyes widened, but you couldn’t say anything, only a quiet murmur barely escaping your lips. “Don’t say anything, Ravenclaw. I know what you’re thinking. But you’re wrong…” He smiled a triumphant smile.

“Even though I wear the same perfume, it’s never the same when it comes from your skin…” Before you could react, Heeseung caught you off guard. He moved slowly towards your neck, and with a small kiss, a gesture as sweet as it was dangerous, his tongue slid along your skin in a subtly erotic movement. A muffled moan escaped you when you felt his warm skin enveloping you. You felt fragile, and your mind was beginning to falter. You clenched your hands beneath your skirt, but it wasn’t enough. Every part of you was in turmoil.

“You can’t run from me, Ravenclaw…” he said, his voice holding no room for escape, as his hands moved closer to you. He took your small hands and placed them against his chest. His heartbeat was racing, and you could feel it through the fabric. He made you feel how alive he was, how his presence was overwhelming you. Every inch of him was invading your space. Another kiss, deeper, more insistent, and then, while his breath brushed against you, his mouth lowered to your neck, leaving small hickeys that made you tremble. You could feel his heat against you, every movement, every gesture, as if he was playing with you. Every word he whispered, every touch, felt like a challenge.

“Say my name,” he told you, his voice lower, darker, as his hands began to slide down your body. When you finally moaned, in a whisper, his name escaped your lips: “Hee…” A triumphant smile spread across his face as he degraded you sweetly: “You’re so easy to confuse, Ravenclaw. It’s almost… fun.”

His words were like a whip strike, but also like a warm embrace, putting you in a dilemma. You didn’t know what to do anymore.

Your hands were still resting on his chest, warm beneath the light fabric of his shirt. His heartbeat was strong, urgent, almost unsettling in its sincerity. Heeseung’s gaze was low, fixed on your lips, then slowly traveled up to your eyes, his pupils slightly dilated. “Do you have any idea what you do to me, Ravenclaw?” he whispered, his voice hoarse, his lips barely brushing your skin. “You always act so composed, so superior to everything. But underneath those tight sweaters and those sharp responses… you’re just a girl who needs to be seen, touched… kissed.” You felt your heart pounding in your chest. You’d never been good at handling moments like this. Strong emotions made you uncomfortable, and with him… with him, it was even worse. “You have a terrible imagination, Lee Heeseung,” you muttered, trying to hide the tremor in your voice. But your hand was still on his chest. Still there. He chuckled low, amused. “If only you knew how many wrong thoughts I have about you when I see you walking down the hallways in those knee-high boots with that ‘don’t touch me’ look. You’re so prim and proper… but under that armor, baby, you’re almost trembling.” He took you by the waist with disarming gentleness, and slowly his fingers slid under the edge of your sweater. His hands were warm against your cold skin, and you jumped slightly at the touch. “Cold,” he whispered, smiling. “Let me take care of you… I’ll warm you up tonight.” “Merlin, you’re awful.” You shot him a mock annoyed glance, but the warmth in your cheeks betrayed you. “Aweful? No, Ravenclaw. I’m exactly what you’ve been wanting for months. And you know it.” His voice lowered, almost a sweet growl, and he brushed his lips against your neck. A kiss. Then another. A hickey. A slow lick. “You always smell like vanilla, honey, and cookies…” he murmured against your skin. “And I still remember the first time I saw you in the Prefects’ pool.” Your breathing became more irregular. You felt your heart galloping. His hands were large, confident, warm. His presence was overwhelming, almost consuming. Then, without another word, he kissed you.

It was a slow, carnal kiss, almost reverent at first. His lips moved on yours as if savoring a sweet he’d long desired. But then it grew more intense. Deeper. He took your bottom lip between his teeth and gently bit down, and you moaned his name. A whisper. A plea. “Hee…”

He smiled against your lips. “I knew you called me that when you thought about me. It’s so cute… so damn sexy coming from your shy little mouth.”

One of his hands slipped between your back and your clothes, holding you gently. The other slid up your side, as if trying to memorize every inch of your skin. “You know,” he murmured in your ear, “I can’t even look at you anymore without imagining how you’d react if I pinned you against a wall and whispered all the things I want to do to you… and only you.”

“Heeseung…” you faltered. Your voice was weak, your mind in chaos.

“Just tell me one thing,” he cut in. “Do you want me to stop?”

A tense silence. Your breath was uneven. Your hands still rested on his chest. Then, in a soft voice, your gaze low but firm, you whispered: “No… but only if you promise to be gentle.”

Heeseung smiled—one of those smiles that was both victorious and tender. “With you? Always. But don’t expect me to resist you for long, my little Ravenclaw.”

The only sound was your shared breathing—heavy, tangled with your quickened heartbeats. Your fingers were still laced behind Heeseung’s neck, his eyes low, lips flushed and slightly swollen. He looked down at you, legs spread, his gaze clouded with raw desire, but there was something deeper too—like he was studying every reaction you made.

“I saw you tremble when I kissed you there,” he whispered, brushing your neck with his nose, then his lips. “Don’t pretend you don’t want this, little Ravenclaw… your body speaks a lot louder than that sharp tongue of yours.”

You swallowed hard, your voice barely audible. “Heeseung… it was only supposed to be ten minutes…”

He chuckled, his voice scraping low and rough. “And who cares about ten minutes?” he said, voice husky. “I want you all night.”

He lifted you effortlessly and settled you on his muscular thighs. Instinctively, you tried to slide off, embarrassed—but his hand, the one with the rings, firmly stopped you at your waist. “Don’t even think about running,” he murmured, pushing you forward just slightly, letting you feel all the tension beneath you. “Stay right here, Ravenclaw… you’re too cute when you’re flustered.”

His fingers slid under the hem of your skirt, grazing the fabric of your stockings. You shivered, eyes wide, hands trembling on his shoulders.

“H-Hee… I…”

“Shhh,” he hushed you with a soft kiss on your cheek—a gesture far more chaste than the fire in his hands. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted you since that day in the Prefects’ pool? You were wearing that damn midnight blue swimsuit… and I could only think of you. You, and how much I wanted you to be mine. No excuses. No fake teasing. Just you and me.”

Your body started moving on its own, pulled by the tangled mess of curiosity and desire that Heeseung had always made you feel.

“I don’t know what I’m doing…” you murmured against his shoulder.

He took your face gently between his hands, thumbs brushing your flushed cheekbones. “I know,” he whispered. “But don’t worry. Let me take care of it.”

Heeseung took the sweater in his hands, touching the texture with his fingers. He pulled him slowly upwards, without taking his eyes off you. You lowered your eyes to his hands. They were big, warm, slightly calloused. Hands that knew exactly what they wanted you nodded. Silent, but full of consent. He smiled. “You're a good girl.” “I am...” you whispered, in a low voice, as you raised your arms to let your sweater slip off. When the cloth fell to the floor, Heeseung stood motionless for a moment. Underneath, you were wearing a dark blue bra, with white lace details. Elegant, simple. But on you ... it was pure curse.

” Christ, " he said quietly, almost with adoration. He stroked your bare side, climbing slowly. " You really are a stylish little corvette, huh?” Then he added in a softer tone. " Perfect. So perfect.” Your breasts moved slightly with each breath. A little uncovered, pushed forward, the white lace highlighted the softness of the skin. Heeseung leaned over. He kissed you one bend, then the other. And then she gently sucked you a breast flap, leaving a wet kiss on the hot skin. Her red hair tickled her skin and you laughed quietly, surprised, touching the back of his head with your fingers. “You tickle me yourself, " you whispered, blushing. He looked up, his dark eyes shining. “Don't look away. Watch me adore you.”

A slow kiss, then another, the lips closing around the softness of your breasts, moist, firm, you bite off a lip so as not to moan too loudly. I looked away, instinctively. Heeseung immediately noticed her.

“Hey.” He took your face with one hand, gently forcing her to go back and look at it. “Don't be ashamed. You are very beautiful and mine” he kissed your exposed skin, then pulled back slightly, lowering his gaze to the center of his chest. "But now” Hands already on the bra hook. “Now I want to see you all. With nothing. Just you. Just me. And the way you tremble under my hands.” The click of the bra opening seemed to ring out in the room like a forbidden spell. Heeseung slid it slowly down from your shoulders, and when the tissue fell to the ground, your breasts bounced slightly, free, swollen, tense under the repressed desire.

He bit his lip and giggled quietly, with that bloody arrogant Gryffindor smile. "Shit ... look at that beauty. Do you have any idea how much I imagined you like that?” you were red to the ears, you lured him, hands in his messy red hair, and he immediately sank his mouth to one of his nipples, sucking slow, deep.

His tongue played with the outstretched bud while his other hand slipped under the skirt, barely touching the elastic of the black stockings you were wearing, invisible to everyone ... except her attentive eyes. "These stockings ..." he whispered against the skin, — “they are another fucking provocation, you know?” The fingers began to move lower, touching the thin fabric of your underwear, passing over the clitoris with firm but slow movements, as if he knew exactly where to hit you to drive you crazy. “So wet for me... and I thought you were all books and sarcasm. You're the dirtiest Ravenclaw I've ever touched.”

"H-Heeseung..." you groaned, the body shaking under his hands. Your mind still struggled between lucidity and abandonment, between cynical rationality and that desire that you could no longer deny but when you felt the nipple pulled between your teeth, slowly but forcefully enough to make your back vibrate, you screamed its name.

"Seungie!” He laughed, satisfied, letting go of the bud with a thread of burr that still connected it to his tongue. He licked the drop off, then looked at you with an expression so focused that it seemed hypnotic. “You drive me crazy. These boobs are a drug. I swear one day I'll fuck them with my cock, and you'll pray you don't come right away.”

You looked at him with big eyes, half-open lips. “You're sick ... " you said, trying to sound stern, but your voice trembled. “And you are my secret little prefect, the one who admonishes me while she gets her tits sucked with her legs spread out, " he chuckled, lifting you up with ease, laying you on the bed, her hair strewn on the pillow, her bra thrown to the floor, her breasts still scarred by her bites, and her skirt pulled up almost to her waist.

He leaned over you, his dark eyes devouring you. “Now ... I want to hear how good you are with your mouth, Ravenclaw.” Heeseung's black shirt slid down from his broad shoulders with almost theatrical slowness. Underneath he had nothing, just warm, smooth skin, dotted with a few moles and barely marked by the well-defined muscles and in the middle of his chest, a thin silver chain. The pendant was simple, black and matte, but perfect on him; you brushed it with your fingers. “It's beautiful... " you muttered He smiled, barely tilting his head towards his touch. “The necklace or the boy underneath?” The voice was velvety, but playful, full of understatement. You looked up, feigning a mock Ravenclaw professor grimace. “Shut up. Don't spoil the moment.” Heeseung burst out laughing, running a hand through his matted red hair. “Can I ... kiss you?” you asked, in a low voice, hinting at my chest. He dropped on the mattress with his arms behind his head, his smile still on his lips.

You stooped slowly, and you began to leave little kisses on his bare chest. Light, almost shy at first. Then more determined. One bite under the collarbone, another further down, on the left side of the chest. His lips drew slow paths on his hot skin, his breath short and hungry. "Do you like...?” you asked him slowly, after a bolder bite. Heeseung moaned low, and stammered something incomprehensible, laughed softly. “What did you say, Seungie?” You looked at him with an innocent air, but your fingers slid down his hips. "I ... christ, Baby" His voice was more hoarse, less confident. A nice change, you made you even closer, slowly kissing him all over the chest, then descending towards the abs, with the tongue leaving an invisible trail and the teeth barely scratching. Heeseung leaned his forearms on the bed to hold himself up, looking at you with increasingly dark eyes. “You know you're beautiful when you fly to Quidditch, don't you?” He raised an eyebrow, giggling. “So you admit that you come to the matches for me?”

you pretended to think, then bowed your head and slowly kissed the skin under his navel. The tongue made a small circle. “…perhaps.” Heeseung moaned again, a choked, pleasure-filled sound, and let slip another babble, this time more disjointed. You looked up and saw that his cheeks were red, flushed to his ears. "Aww,” you whispered, licking a sensitive spot next to his hip bone," is my Gryffindor melting?” He bit his lip, but his smile trembled. "Keep it up... and I don't answer for myself.” you looked at him, with that air still timid but more and more confident. "Maybe that's just what I want...”

You pulled him down slowly. And when they were down enough, Heeseung's erection snapped free, with warm, taut skin and a small shiny mark on the tip. Your eyes opened slightly, not so much because of the size, but because of the instinct with which your body reacted to that sight. "Oh, Io “What's his name?” Heeseung looked at you confused, still a little lost from contact, his chest rising slowly. "Eh ... what? ”

“Your friend here” you replied, barely touching him with your fingers. "All boys give him a name, don't they? You're not going to say that you, the Quidditch champion, didn't baptize him.” He laughed, hoarse, his eyes shining with pleasure. “You're out...” Then he added, tilting his head with a half-grin: “You should choose it. You're the first Ravenclaw who can make him cry with joy." You bit your lip, looked at it from above and whispered: “Then get ready, Seungie ... that I'm about to become your favorite subject.”

"Never done, right?"he asked, touching your cheek with the back of your fingers. you nodded, your voice closed in your throat. "Don't worry. I'll drive you. And you'll be great, little Ravenclaw." Slowly, he took your hand and guided it towards his already swollen, hot erection; you touched him, hesitantly, fingers closing around him with fear. Hee barely winced, then laughed softly. "Don't get too tight... you don't want to kill me. Use your tongue, not your teeth. And remember: breathe with your nose."

You bent down slowly, your lips opened and your eyes turned on him as if you were about to face a forbidden spell. You licked slowly, shy, but hungry to hear him cum inside you and you slowly sucked his cock that slowly pushed more and more inside your beautiful mouth and Hee moaned. "Very good. Well. Turn your tongue around the tip ... mmm yeah, fuck, just like that."you wanted to make him feel good and every time you turned your tongue you sucked him he would squeeze your hair while you took it in your mouth.

"Watch me do it. I want to see those Ravenclaw eyes sucking me." Meanwhile, his other hand slipped under your skirt, finding you wet, hot. "Christ, you're already soaked... It turns you on to suck it, doesn't it? So shy and already dirty to me." His fingers stroked you through your panties, then underneath. Two fingers went in without warning you, slow, deep, curving towards that point that made you tremble and you moaned with your mouth full, tears in your eyes, but it did not stop you.

Heeseung pumped his long fingers inside your vaginal walls and felt how slimy and excited you were about all the overstimulations you were feeling at once, pushing a little more inside your mouth, whispering in your ear: "Look how good you are. My smart little slut. You like it, huh? Let me use you like that. I'll make you feel good while you take everything down my throat." You nodded, panting, as he pumped slowly into his mouth and your fingers moved inside you faster, wet and precise. "Suck it well ... yes... just squeeze a little with your lips now. God, this is what you were born for."

His breathing became heavier. His body trembled. "I'm coming..." he said in a low but rough voice, gently pulling her hair to look at her face. "Do you want me to take him out?" You said no, eyes bright but determined. He moaned slowly, then pushed with the last lick, and came deep into her mouth; you swallowed everything, while his fingers still fucked her slowly, to prolong his pleasure and you screamed from pleasure mind you screamed that you were going to cum and you combined a nice mess between his fingers and his cock while you quartered your excitement between his fingers

You were still shaking, your legs stretched, your throat burned. Its taste was still dripping on your tongue, hot, salty, dirty. And he looked at you from above, lying under you, with a bastard and satisfied smile on his lips. His hands did not stop touching you, stroking your hips, squeezing your breasts, running your thumbs over your still tense nipples. "Christ, baby ..." he whispered in a hoarse voice, "I can't believe you made yourself come only with my tongue in your throat and my seed in your mouth." Blushing, breathing still irregular.

He laughed, one of those bastard captain smiles of his who thought he always had everything under control. And maybe, at that moment, he really had it. "Look how you tremble..." he took you by the side, still making you feel the hard tip of his cock pressing against your wet folds. "You're so wet that I could slip in even if I breathed harder." You groaned slowly, looking down. But he took your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes. "No no, no eyes down. Watch me tell you how fucking you are when you're so... open. Vulnerable. Mine." Your skin was on fire, your heart went crazy. "Hee..." you muttered, almost pleading.

He kissed you again, with that sweet, perverse heat of his, stirring his tongue to yours as he swayed you flat on his cock, still waiting to come in. He was torturing you. Slowly. Deliberately. "You want me to come in, don't you?» You nodded, breathless. He raised an eyebrow. "Uh uh. With that mouth you did wonders a few minutes ago. Don't think you can get away with a nod. Tell me you want it." The redness rose to your ears. Your heart was beating in your throat. But the voice came out, uncertain but hungry. "I want it... I want your cock inside me. Now.» He smiled, perverse. "So I like you. Very good. But now tell me ... do you want to ride me like a good girl who takes the initiative, or do you want me to fuck you as you deserve, while you are lying and helpless under me?»

"I want you to take me," you answered without hesitation, "I want it to be yours. The first time... I want you to ruin me." His eyes lit up. He lifted you effortlessly, rolled you over on your back, and positioned himself between your wide-open legs.

"My pussy, you're so swollen I could get lost in here." He ran the tip along your intimate lips, barely touching you, making you jerk every time. "Next time though... "you said to him amid the groans, " I want to ride you. I want to drive you as crazy as you are with me.» He stopped, looked at you. "Next time?" He smiled, then sank into you with one blow, deep and red-hot, making you scream his name. "Who the fuck said there will be a next time?"

he whispered with a grin, starting to move inside you with slow but intense blows, as if he wanted to make you feel every single inch. You clasped him with your legs, moaning with each lunge. Tell me again," he ordered, as he took you more forcefully. "Tell me you want me. Tell me you're mine."

"I'm fucking yours, I'm all yours," you yelled, sinking your nails into his back.

Hee's cock began to hammer you with a force that left you breathless. His thrusts were wild, fierce, like he was using you — like you were just a rag doll to fuck until you fell unconscious. And you let him do it. In fact, you wanted it. You were looking for him. Your cunt sucked him with greed, almost hungry, tight around him as if he never wanted to let him go. "Look how you hold me... Christ, you seem made only to make me come..." he growled through his teeth, as he continued to push, deeper and deeper. "A slut for the captain... that's who you are, isn't it?» You gasped, your gaze lost in pleasure, your hands clinging to his sides to guide him, to keep him still inside, stronger, deeper. "Do you like that? Huh? "he continued, with that nickname he only used when he wanted to provoke you. "All dignified in class... and now look how you scream under me.»

His silver necklace dangled between your breasts, frosty, making you shudder every time she touched your sweaty skin. It was the only cold touch in the midst of all that heat, and it drove you crazy. Hee grabbed one of your legs and lifted it firmly, resting it on his shoulder. It penetrated you deeper, into a new, burning angle. When he hit you right there-that very secret spot-you screamed.

"Oh God—! Hee!" He smiled, satisfied, looking at you from above. "I found it, huh? Your sweet spot... your fucking forbidden zone... " he pushed again, accurate, sinking on your G-spot mercilessly. "You are nothing more than a sweet, horny little corvette.» He teased you, but his tone was lustful, low, dirty — and exciting as hell. "You're coming, aren't you?"he whispered to you, as the rhythm increased, the more violent blows, the hand caressing your face as if he wanted to cradle you and torture you together. "Look how you cry for me ... You are so beautiful, with tears in your eyes and pussy begging me."

"S-I'm ... I'm coming..." you stammered, unable to control the trembling body, overwhelmed by the constant stimulation, his touch, his voice, the way he took you. He kissed you hard, then barely broke off to whisper on your lip: "good girl. Come for me. You're mine, all mine. Look how perfect you are when you break under my cock."

And you broke. In a thousand shivers, waves, sobs. The legs shaking, the fingers scratching him as he continued to fuck you even during orgasm, making you feel every drop of pleasure. "My sweet, shameless girl..." he muttered, stroking your hair, his breath heavy, " ... I didn't think you'd be so good. But fuck, I can't stop anymore."

Hee was fucking you with a hunger held for too long. Each blow was a bite on your will, a promise kept halfway between desire and addiction. He clutched your hips with force as he sank into you, long, deep blows, which made you lose your breath. "Where do you want it, little girl"he whispered against your cheek, as he increased the pace, making you jerk under him. "Tell me where you want my cock when I come. On the belly? In the mouth? Or…" You trembled, unable to formulate a sensible answer. Stutter: "D-inside ... I take the pill... I haven't done it in... long."

Hee paused for a moment, looked at you, serious, excited. "Neither do I. Regular tests. Training. I'm clean, baby. And if you tell me you trust..."

"I trust you." He came out with a voice. Sincere. Your. Like it's always been that way. His gaze became warmer, more tender, yet full of the same lust. "Good girl..." he whispered with lascivious sweetness, as his thrusts became more erratic, more hungry. "My little witch ... you know you cast a spell on me, don't you? Why the fuck can't I think of anyone else?" The rhythm became frantic, his breath broken against your skin. "Fuck ..."

One last shot-deep, red-hot-and you felt it. His hot cum filled you in a slow, powerful wave. His hands clasped around you as he moaned your name, panting against your neck. You screamed for the feeling, for the warmth, for the viscous flow that flowed between your thighs while he stayed inside, one more second, one more beat.

"My ... fucking mine..." he whispered, pushing slowly as the last splashes mingled with your pleasure. When you pulled out slowly, you felt an immediate emptiness. A physical void... but also something more. You looked at him, breath still broken, and fear climbed into your throat. You always loved that guy. Even before he became the perfect captain, the idol of Slytherins and Gryffindors, the Quidditch player the newspapers were also talking about. You saw who he really was before everyone else. And now... you had it.

The room was silent, except for your ragged breathing and the soft rustle of sheets against sweaty skin. Hee was getting dressed absentmindedly, his hair a mess and his lips still flushed from your kisses. He had made you put on his shirt — oversized, still soaked in his scent, wrapping around you like a cloak that was too big, too intimate. Too much like him.

You couldn’t even look at him. Every move he made, every sound as he fastened his pants, felt like another blow to your already cracking armor. You bit your lip, then sighed quietly, tears blurring your vision. Turning onto your side, you gave him your back, trying to hold down everything that was rising inside you.

Unaware at first, Hee let out a soft, carefree laugh — that lighthearted, careless chuckle of his. “Merlin, Y/n… I never would've guessed you’d be this good at everything. Lessons, swimming, and… well. In bed too.”

You pulled the covers tighter around you as the tears finally slid down your cheeks, slow and quiet. When he turned and saw you like that, he froze. For a long moment, he didn’t say a word. Then slowly, he sat down beside you and brushed his fingers lightly against your waist.

“Y/n?” His voice was lower now, more real. “Hey… what’s wrong?”

You shook your head. A sob slipped past your lips and you buried your face in the pillow. Hee tensed, then gently tried to turn you over.

“Did I hurt you? Was I… too much?” He sounded genuinely worried, like the thought of having hurt you unsettled him more than anything else.

“No…” you whispered, voice trembling. “It’s not that…”

He looked at you with those big eyes, now filled with confusion and something that looked like fear. He gently cupped your face, warm fingers on your cheek. You met his gaze with tear-filled eyes and trembling lips.

“I want to leave…” you said softly, feeling instantly foolish at how fragile your voice sounded.

“Why?” he asked, tilting his head, softer than you expected.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and spoke barely above a breath: “Because I know that soon you’ll go back to being the same clown. The golden boy. The one who makes everyone laugh, who flirts with every Gryffindor that breathes… and somehow, every time you hook up with a Ravenclaw, it’s always near my room.”

Silence. Then his laugh — low, affectionate, almost amused. It made your fists clench.

“Shit… you’re so fucking beautiful when you’re mad… and jealous, Corvetta.”

You threw a pillow at his face, red with anger and embarrassment.

“Screw you, Hee.”

He laughed again, louder this time, and tossed the pillow back at you. “No, seriously… Are you jealous of them? After what just happened? You really think I could even look at someone else after seeing you like that?”

His voice dropped, more serious now, more intense, as he leaned in closer.

You lowered your gaze, curling deeper under the covers like they could protect you from everything you were feeling. You shook your head slightly, silently.

Hee didn’t say anything. Instead, he lay down behind you, his warm chest pressed gently against your back, his strong arms wrapping around you—not to hold you down, not to claim you, but just to be there. Just to hold you. He could feel you were still crying, your sobs small and quiet, so he started kissing your tears, one by one.

“Shhh… my little raven… it’s okay. Don’t cry like that…” he whispered, pulling you closer. “You’re not alone. Not when I’m here.”

He gently stroked your hair, kissed your forehead, your nose, your damp cheek. Every touch was a silent promise: I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.

Your eyes drifted to the silver necklace hanging from his bare chest, still warm from the love you’d just shared. You reached out and brushed your fingers over it, then held it in your hand, curious. On the back of the small pendant, you saw an inscription: 27/10/97.

“What is it?” you asked softly, your voice hoarse.

Hee smiled, a little shy now. “Don’t laugh at me…” he murmured.

“I won’t. I swear.” You lifted your pinky finger.

He chuckled, linking his with yours. “It’s… my parents’ wedding date. I grew up watching them so in love. I wanted to keep that with me. Like a reminder, y’know?”

You stayed quiet for a moment, touched. “I didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

He gave you that look—half smug, half sweet. “I’ve got plenty of surprises, little raven. Trust me.”

You let out a soft laugh, almost without meaning to. His eyes went wide.

“Wait… did you laugh?” he said, pretending to be shocked. “Did you really just laugh?”

You nodded. “Yeah, dumbass.”

“Well, then I guess I can tell you now…” He paused, looking up like he was thinking hard, then turned serious again. “I wanted to engrave another date, someday.”

You turned toward him. “What date?”

He bit his lip, his tone softer, more sincere. “My wedding date. If… and when that happens.”

Something inside you clenched. Suddenly the tears came back, but this time they were different. Full. Full of emotion, of love, of everything you’d been holding back for too long.

He looked at you, his eyes filled with a rare tenderness. “And do you know who I want to engrave it with? You. Because fuck, Y/n… I love you. I love teasing you, I love how you always talk back to me, I love the way you try to act cold but start trembling the second I touch you. I knew you had a crush on me… but I didn’t realize just how much I had one on you.”

You looked at him, lips trembling, and softly, your voice breaking just a little, you whispered: “I love you too, Hee.”

He smiled like he’d been waiting for it. Like he already knew.

“I know.” Then he let out a quiet laugh. “And now that date I want to engrave… I’m really dreaming of it.”

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itsnesss · 2 months ago

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐞𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐬 | max verstappen × fem!reader

summary | max has been leaving signs for you all along—hidden flowers, colors, and initials

warnings | fluff, romance, intimate moments, emotional intensity, subtle symbolism

word count | 1.2 k

🖇️ more mv1 🖇️ f1 masterlist

You don’t know exactly when it started.

Maybe it was after that race in Monaco, when you stayed late in the paddock helping him organize a few things and ended up talking for hours. Or maybe it was before, when you lent him your jacket under the rain in Spa, and he returned it with a smile that lingered with you longer than you were willing to admit.

The truth is, one day, without warning, you started noticing the little things.

The flower came first.

It was tiny. Just a brushstroke along the bottom edge of Max’s helmet, almost imperceptible. A lavender. No one else would’ve noticed it—except you. Because no one else in that paddock knew that was your favorite flower. Because you were the only one who wore lavender perfume. The only one who left dried sprigs on your desk, like a charm.

You recognized it instantly.

You didn’t say anything. You just watched him from the edge of the garage, pretending to study the tires or check data that wasn’t even your responsibility. It was easier to act like you didn’t know. Like your heart hadn’t started racing over a single gesture.

Because… how do you explain it?

How do you explain that a flower on a Formula 1 driver’s helmet can make you feel so much? How do you justify that, in the middle of roaring engines and the chaos of the paddock, something so small could cut so deep?

The first time, you thought it was a coincidence. Max had thousands of fans, and his helmet design changed from race to race. You couldn’t jump to conclusions over a tiny flower.

But then came the blue.

Not just any blue. Yours. That shade somewhere between sky and mist you wore on your nails, your favorite sweater, in the notes you left Max when he forgot things. A blue that began to show up in the details of his gloves, in a stripe on his suit collar, in the curve of a signature. Subtle. Intimate.

And that’s when you started to suspect.

Then you saw the initials.

Three letters painted inside the helmet, right beside the protective foam. Where no one would see them. Where only he could look before stepping into the car.

They were yours. Your initials.

Small, precise, etched with care and intent.

And that’s when you knew. You knew it wasn’t a coincidence. You knew he was speaking to you in another language—one without words, one of symbols and details the world ignored but you understood.

And something in you melted.

You spent weeks saying nothing.

You didn’t know how. How do you tell someone you found out they carry your essence beneath a layer of carbon fiber? How do you face a silent, hidden confession with trembling hands of "me too"?

Because you knew. You’d known for a while. That Max looked at you differently. That his tone changed when he talked to you. That his smile was softer around you. That when your eyes met amid the press chaos, there was something between you that couldn’t be explained or denied.

But he never said anything. And neither did you.

Until now.

That morning, you woke up with your heart racing. There was no race, just testing and simulations, but you knew Max would be there. Like always. Like you.

You grabbed your backpack, got ready with more care than usual, and left before you could talk yourself out of it. You couldn’t keep pretending you didn’t see what he put on his helmets. You couldn’t keep acting like you didn’t feel what you felt every time you saw him laugh, or quiet, or just being so genuinely him.

You had to face it.

And not just for him. For you.

The paddock was nearly empty when you arrived. The mechanics were focused, the air smelled of hot tires and coffee. You walked quickly, ignoring curious glances, until you reached the Red Bull box.

And there he was.

Sitting on a stool, helmet on his lap, cleaning it with those calm movements he used when he was nervous. His fingers ran a microfiber cloth over the design again and again, like he was trying to polish more than just paint.

“Max,” you called his name, firm but soft.

He looked up.

And for a second, everything stopped.

His expression shifted. From surprise to recognition, from recognition to nervousness, and from nervousness to something else. Something dangerously close to hope.

“Hey,” he said, lowering the helmet slowly. “I didn’t know you’d be here today.”

“Neither did I,” you confessed, walking toward him. “But I needed to talk to you.”

He nodded, swallowed hard. Waited.

You stopped in front of him and looked at the helmet. A new flower decorated the edge. A gentian. Your second favorite after lavender. The one you mentioned once, in Austria, while walking through the Alps.

It wasn’t a coincidence anymore.

“How many more are there?” you asked, gently touching the edge.

Max fell silent. Then he sighed.

“All of them,” he replied. “Since that time in Silverstone. When you stayed with me after the crash. Since then I started to… I don’t know. Keep you there. Carry you with me.”

Your breath caught.

“Why?”

Max looked up. His eyes were intense, but there was a tenderness that broke you inside.

“Because you make me feel stronger.

Because when I drive, when I’m going 300 kilometers an hour, you’re the only thing that calms me. And… because I want you close. Even if it’s like this. Even if you don’t notice.”

“I noticed, Max.”

He went still.

“For weeks now,” you added, with a trembling smile. “I just… didn’t know how to tell you I feel the same.”

And that’s when his eyes widened.

Like you’d activated something in him.

Like finally, the truth could come out without fear.

“Really?”

You nodded. Stepped closer. Took the helmet from his hands and set it aside. Then cupped his face with your palms, soft and slow, afraid of breaking something sacred.

“Really.”

And you kissed him.

It was slow. It was warm. It was everything he’d been waiting for, everything you’d secretly wanted for months. His hands found your waist like they’d been searching for it all along. Your fingers tangled in his hair, and for a moment, the world stopped spinning.

No cheers. No flashes. No ovations.

Just two people, and a tiny universe of silent love.

When you pulled apart, Max rested his forehead against yours, wearing a goofy smile you’d never seen on him before.

“I knew you’d see it one day,” he whispered.

“I didn’t just see it,” you said softly. “I felt it. In every race. In every hidden message. In every detail.”

He laughed, quietly.

“I guess now I’ll have to redesign the helmet. Add something bigger.”

“Like what?”

Max raised an eyebrow, that mischievous little-boy look on his face.

“I always wanted you to find out like this. Not in a press conference. Not with some big announcement. Just you and me. Here.”

“And a helmet full of secrets,” you joked gently.

He smiled, laughter shaky.

“You know me too well.”

“I watch you with my heart. What did you expect?”

He closed his eyes for a second, breathing deeply.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“I want you to come with me to the pit wall.

Be there next time I go out.

I want to race knowing you’re watching. That you know.”

You held his hand tightly.

“I always knew, Max. I just needed the courage to come say it.”

#🖇️ max verstappen #max vertsappen fic #max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen one shot #max verstappen #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #f1 x you

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angelfrommontgomery · 2 years ago

Text

I think I need to learn some German. This is devastating

#I know some Spanish and I took three semesters of asl in undergrad #and yet it’s the language I shunned that I need to read papers on #how hard can it be tho… I’m in chemistry technically and the chemicals are the same formulas

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amirasainz · 20 days ago

Note

hi! i rlly LOVE your works 🥹 you're my favorite author rn!!!! 💕can we get a team principal reader x f1 drivers where she got mad because fia is being unfair to mclaren boys, then she gets protective of the boys during interviews smth like that. then, other drivers were impressed and jealous of mcl boys because they want the same treatment from y/n too hehe. thank u so much & i hope you're having a great dayyy (sorry if there are mistakes. english is not my first language 😅)

Using her voice

The post-qualifying buzz always had its own kind of electric atmosphere. The pit lane was still humming, the smell of burnt rubber clung to the air, and team radios crackled in every direction. Reporters with lanyards were already circling like bees around honey.

And standing at the heart of it all, just outside the McLaren garage, was Yn.

She stood tall — well, tall enough in her stylish orange heels — wearing a fitted, double-breasted blazer dress in McLaren papaya, gold hoop earrings, hair in a sleek ponytail, eyes hidden behind designer sunglasses. She looked like a woman who ran the world.

And, in a way, she did.

At just 22 years old, she was the youngest Team Principal Formula 1 had ever seen. Some laughed when McLaren announced her appointment. But no one was laughing now. Not when she had transformed the garage into a tight-knit family, not when her boys—Lando and Oscar—were pushing the front-runners more than ever.

Not when every driver on the grid would sell their left tire to have her in their garage.

But today?

Today she was pissed.

“Where’s Yn?” Oscar asked, leaning against the wall near the garage, still in his race suit.

Lando was standing next to him, arms crossed. “In a meeting with the stewards. Again.”

Oscar scoffed. “Let me guess. Another bogus penalty?”

“Yup,” Lando replied. “Three-place grid drop for 'blocking' Stroll in Q2. But there’s no footage of it. And no one was even close to him.”

Oscar frowned. “They gave me a track limits warning for going wide in the pit lane. The pit lane, Lando.”

“I swear they just spin a wheel back there with our names on it.”

The garage door opened, and every head turned.

Yn stepped out, and her expression said it all.

Danger.

She took off her sunglasses slowly, dramatically, like she was in a spy movie, and tucked them into the inside pocket of her blazer.

“Boys,” she said, her voice cool but razor-sharp. “We're doing the interview. Now.”

Oscar blinked. “Are you sure? You seem—uh—”

“Furious?” she offered sweetly.

Lando raised an eyebrow. “Just checking you don’t want to cool down first?”

“Oh no,” Yn replied, glancing around as reporters started to gather. “I’m perfectly warm. Let’s give them a show.”

And that’s when every driver in the paddock started paying attention.

Charles was mid-sip of his water when he noticed the gathering. “What’s going on at McLaren?”

“Fireworks,” George murmured, adjusting his Mercedes jacket as he leaned on the railing.

Pierre grinned. “God, she looks like she’s about to go full CEO on the FIA.”

Carlos joined, arms crossed. “I’d kill to be defended like that.”

Even Max, who usually didn’t care much about anything that didn’t directly involve him, raised an intrigued eyebrow from the Red Bull garage.

The crowd of reporters was already surrounding the McLaren garage. Cameras rolled. Microphones were raised. Fans crowded on the opposite side of the barrier, all eyes locked on Yn — who stood between her drivers like a queen with her knights.

Oscar and Lando flanked her like twin towers, both wearing their best don’t mess with us faces. If anyone got too close, they looked ready to bodycheck a reporter into the next century.

The first question was innocent enough.

“Yn, can you explain the FIA’s penalty decision for Lando?”

Yn smiled politely, but her tone was ice with a hint of flame.

“Sure. I’d love to explain. Actually, I’d love for them to explain. Because last I checked, you need evidence to hand out penalties. And unless someone’s hiding a secret camera in the sky, I’d say the footage they reviewed exists purely in someone’s imagination.”

The reporter chuckled nervously. “So… you disagree with the stewards’ call?”

“Oh no, I don’t disagree,” Yn said, tilting her head. “I think it’s adorable they think people won’t notice how utterly irrational their decisions are. Like—what’s the point of rules if they’re going to be applied like we’re playing roulette?”

Oscar coughed to hide a grin. Lando muttered, “Get 'em, boss,” under his breath.

Another reporter tried to cut in. “Do you think McLaren is being targeted?”

Yn’s eyes flashed.

“I think someone is upset that we’re doing well,” she said coolly. “And instead of raising the bar, they’re trying to drag us back down to mediocrity with penalties that don’t make sense, don’t follow precedent, and honestly—look lazy.”

There were several gasps.

Even the Aston Martin garage had gone quiet.

Kimi, who’d wandered by for a snack from the hospitality truck, blinked. “Is it normal to find a Team Principal hot when she’s angry?”

Ollie beside him mumbled, “If it’s wrong, I don’t want to be right.”

A Ferrari mechanic whispered, “I want her to yell at me like that.”

Yn wasn’t done.

“I’m not going to stand by while my drivers are punished for being good. Oscar drove clean. Lando did nothing wrong. So if the FIA wants to penalize us, I suggest they also penalize everyone else who’s ever driven slightly wide, slightly slow, or slightly too perfect.”

Silence.

Then a reporter dared to ask, “And what do your drivers think?”

Lando stepped forward.

“I think Yn’s the best Team Principal I’ve ever worked with.”

Oscar nodded. “She protects us. She believes in us. And we believe in her.”

Yn smiled, proud and fierce, as both boys stood at her side like bodyguards. Their body language screamed: This is our leader. Hurt her, and we’ll fight back.

A few more questions were thrown in, but Yn wrapped it up neatly.

“That’ll be all. I have cars to prepare, engineers to brief, and a team to defend. And trust me—McLaren isn’t backing down.”

She turned, heels clicking sharply on the concrete, both boys following closely behind like an entourage.

Back in the garage, Oscar collapsed onto the nearest chair. “You just ended their whole careers.”

Lando grinned. “Seriously. That was savage. Legendary. Iconic.”

Yn shrugged, tossing her sunglasses back on. “I’m just tired of pretending like I don’t notice the double standards. If they’re going to play games, so can I. Only I play to win.”

The boys looked at her like she’d just walked out of a Marvel movie.

George peeked his head into the garage. “Hey. Just came to say... That was impressive. Very... commanding.”

Charles followed, pretending to check his phone. “Yeah. Um. So… if you’re ever bored of orange, you know, red’s a good color too.”

Pierre winked. “Or blue. Alpine blue is very flattering.”

Max walked in without a word, looked Yn up and down, nodded once, and left.

Oscar raised his eyebrows. “Are we going to have to start putting up a 'No Flirting With Our TP' sign?”

Lando crossed his arms. “I’m getting one printed tonight.”

Yn just smirked, clearly enjoying herself. “Let them look,” she said. “They can admire the view from afar. Because this view? Is McLaren only.”

That night on Twitter:

@F1HotGossip:

MCLAREN TEAM PRINCIPAL YN JUST COOKED THE FIA ALIVE DURING A POST-QUALY INTERVIEW. DRIVERS FROM THREE OTHER TEAMS HAVE ALREADY "CHECKED IN" TO MCLAREN’S HOSPITALITY. 🧡🔥 #QueenYn #PapayaProtectionSquad

@OscarFan81:

She’s 22, dresses like a Vogue cover, defends her boys like a lioness, and terrifies the FIA. This woman is living my dream.

@TheRealLando:

our boss > your boss. stay mad.

Have a good time, everyone! Requests are open for TP reader

#formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #lando norris x reader #oscar piastri x reader #charles leclerc x reader #lewis hamilton x reader #max verstappen x reader #george russell x reader #carlos sainz x reader #pierre gasly x reader #xoxo babygirl 💋#oliver bearman x reader #kimi antonelli x reader #tp!reader #team principal!reader #mclaren #mclaren f1 #mclaren team principal!reader

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chiasaaa · 5 months ago

Text

— anything for you

itoshi sae x f! reader

summary: sae finds himself doing things he wouldn’t normally do. all for you.

warning: english is not my first language. apologies for any grammatical or spelling errors.

— itoshi sae knew he was beyond saving the moment he set his phone against his pillow and clicked the record button, holding up three boxes of what seemed to be pr boxes for the brands he’s sponsoring.

no, said brands did not require him to film the pr boxes. they only wished for him to use and test it out in an attempt to gain his brutally honest feedback. so why is it that he has his camera open to do a little review?

it’s because he’s deeply and undeniably in love with a so-called idiot named you. you have him wrapped around your finger, and sae was the one to curl your fingers around him for you. a little while ago—right after emerging from the shower of his hotel room—he sent a photo of the three pr boxes that laid on his bed. his manager did tell him he’ll drop it off around the night.

itoshi sae: they’re here.

itoshi sae: [sent an attachment]

you: ohhh! unboxing vid, pls!

itoshi sae: not my thing

you: aww :PP

you: anyhoo, don’t forget to eat dinner!

you: i’m just pinning my sketches in the new mood board, then i’ll head back home.

he knew there was nothing else to your response. sure, you were a bit dampened by how he flat out rejected your request, but you’re not one to dwell in such silly things either. sae knew that you would be the last person on earth forcing him to do something he doesn’t want to do, and video reviews might as well be nonexistent in his vocabulary.

even so, he decided to give it to you. reviews of the products he’s sponsoring.

oh, may god save his soul.

“we’ll start with this one.” he holds up a pastel yellow box displaying the name of his favorite skincare brand. “i heard they’re releasing a new formula for my moisturizer that’s less sticky. if it works well, then i’ll be using that for my games.”

he takes out a tube from the box and showed it to the camera, plucking the lid open. “the bottle’s bigger than the previous one too, and the design’s more minimal. i like it.”

for the next hour, itoshi sae filmed each and every reaction he had for every product he tested, telling you his brutally honest reviews and picking out which ones he considered purchasing upon launch.

sae didn’t even bother screening the videos before sending them to you, well-aware that you prefer his rawest form than anything else. it is a factor as to why he feels so lucky being with you. though, he’d never admit it right at your face, he simply hopes he shows it enough.

imagine the look on your face when you just finished locking up your office, fishing your phone out to let him know you’re about to head home. instead, you were met with three 15-minute long videos of each promotional box sent to him.

itoshi sae: [sent 3 attachments]

itoshi sae: i have to admit, i like the new sunscreen the most. i’ll contact the company and have another delivered to you.

itoshi sae: you should also try the lip glaze. i remember you’ve been complaining about how your lips dry up in the winter. i’ll give it to you next week when you fly over.

your heart swelled at the sight of him actually filming his reactions, nearly slamming into a lamp post if it wasn’t for your driver tugging you back lightly to prevent you from doing so.

you: you really filmed!

you: i’ll watch it on the way home!

you: i love you, querido <3

and your appreciative messages were enough for sae to know that leaving his heart to rest upon your care is the best thing he’s ever done. you have always been the most positive influence in his life, and you never shame him for anything he does out of his character.

itoshi sae: i love you. head home safe.

#itoshi sae #blue lock #bllk #sae itoshi x reader #x reader

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ijustwannabecool · 29 days ago

Text

Property of M.V.

Max Verstappen x wife!reader

----------

Summary... Everyone sees Max as ice-cold and unshakable, but you’re the only one who knows how anxious he gets before the first race of the season. You’ve always been the one to calm him down. And after the win? He makes sure you know just how much he needs you.

TW: Contains explicit sexual content, strong language, and adult themes. Minors DNI.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Everybody thinks Max Verstappen is this unshakable, hyper-focused, stone-cold competitor. The ice king of the grid. Stoic. Calm. Untouchable.

But that couldn’t be further from the truth, not right now.

Not when he’s slumped in the corner of the Red Bull motorhome, his long legs folded awkwardly, and his body curled into the lap of the one person who always knows how to calm him down.

His wife.

Her arms are looped tightly around his waist, fingers dragging slow lines up the inside of his fireproofs, just beneath the hem of his team tee. Her cheek is pressed to the center of his back where she can feel the rapid rise and fall of his chest.

“It’s just the first race,” he mutters, voice raspy with anxiety. “What if we messed something up in setup? What if the tires fall off early again? What if I get overtaken at turn one?”

“Max,” she says softly, rubbing just beneath his ribs, “you’ve won three world titles. You could run this circuit blindfolded and still make podium.”

“But what if—”

“Hey,” she cuts him off, one hand moving to cup his jaw as he twists to look at her. “You’ve been doing this since you were what, five years old? I’ve been with you since Formula 3. You’ve always figured it out. And you always will.”

He closes his eyes and leans into her, lips brushing the edge of her collarbone. “Can’t believe I still get this nervous.”

“Means you still care,” she shrugs with a smile, nose brushing his temple. “Besides, once you’re in the car, you’re not nervous. You’re unstoppable.”

There’s a knock at the door, followed by a call.

“Max, ten minutes till pitlane. Let’s go, mate.”

He stands up slowly, shakes out his hands, and grabs his balaclava. But before he steps out, he turns to her.

“Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re my lucky charm. You know that, right?”

“Always,” she says, rising to her feet to meet his lips. It’s soft but lingering, full of meaning and a silent promise.

“See you after the win,” he smirks, that signature Verstappen confidence returning as he slips on his helmet and disappears.

—

Of course, he wins.

Because that’s what Max Verstappen does.

After the champagne, the podium interviews, the media storm, he barrels down the paddock halls in search of her. Everyone wants a piece of him: reporters, engineers, even Christian with a proud grin. But he only has eyes for one.

She’s chatting with Kelly and some of the mechanics near the back of the garage, still in her Red Bull jacket and skinny jeans. When she spots him, she knows exactly what that look means.

“Max, I’m talking—”

“Nope,” he says simply, looping an arm around her waist and tugging her flush against him. “Need you. Now.”

“Max! There are photographers—!”

“Let them look,” he growls, already walking her backwards toward the private room behind the garage. “They should know what belongs to me.”

The door slams shut and she’s immediately backed up against it, laughing breathlessly.

“Jesus, Verstappen. You win one race and turn into a caveman.”

He palms her ass roughly, pulling her hips into his. “Wife wore something special for me today?”

“Maybe,” she teases, pulling off her jacket to reveal a tiny Red Bull crop top and low-rise jeans. But it’s what’s underneath that does him in.

When he peels the waistband down just enough, there it is.

A lace thong, deep navy, with the words “Property of M.V.” embroidered in white.

He goes feral.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters, sinking to his knees in front of her, tongue already licking a stripe up the fabric before she can protest.

“Max,” she whimpers, gripping his shoulders for balance, “they’re gonna be looking for you—”

“They’ll find a locked door and an empty garage,” he shrugs, pulling the lace aside and licking into her with all the desperation of a man who just survived a 57-lap war and still had energy to burn.

She’s already trembling when he slips two fingers inside her, crooking them just right. “Fuck ... baby ... oh my god.”

He groans against her clit, eyes dark and wild. “You’re mine. You hear me?”

“Yes, Max...fuck—yes.”

When she comes, it’s with a breathy moan that he swallows against her mouth, rising to kiss her properly.

He undoes his suit belt with one hand, guiding himself into her without hesitation. She’s already so wet it’s effortless.

It’s fast. Frantic. His thrusts have that signature Verstappen aggression; all gas, no brakes, and her leg is wrapped around his hip as her back thuds rhythmically against the door.

“You’re so loud,” she gasps.

“Good. Let them hear,” he pants. “Let them know who’s fucking you.”

Her fingers dig into the base of his neck, moaning his name as she comes again.

He follows a moment later with a groan of her name, biting at her jaw and shuddering as he finishes deep inside her.

They stay there for a beat, catching their breath, foreheads pressed together.

“Welcome back to the season,” she whispers.

He chuckles, kissing her gently this time. “Best start I could ask for.”

—

The first race-day photo upload on Instagram?

MaxVerstappen1: Bahrain GP ✅ 📸 A picture of Max, shirtless in his race suit tied around his waist, sitting on his wife’s lap, head tucked into her neck, her nails dragging along the Red Bull logo on his back.

Caption: Property of M.V. 🔒❤️

----------

A/N:

Listen. Max Verstappen has feral post-win energy and you can’t convince me otherwise. I wanted to give us the image of a Red Bull motorhome, locked door, him all flushed and possessive, and her in that “Property of M.V.” thong. It just felt right. Hope you enjoyed this spicy little scene! 💋💙 If you liked it, reblogs and comments make my whole week. 🫶

☕️ Support me on Ko-fi: ko-fi.com/ijustwannabecool Every little bit helps me keep writing and dreaming of publishing one day. Thank you

#max verstappen x reader #max verstappen smut #f1 imagines #f1 fanfiction #red bull racing #f1 one shot #wife reader #post race smut #max verstappen fic #possessive max #max x you #property of mv #tumblrfic #dirty max verstappen hours #motorhome smut

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anonf1writer · 1 day ago

Note

Lando gives you his 4 tally mark necklace so everyone knows you're his 😍

──────────────────

written. 3,1k words. warning: suggestive language. +18. note: this took me almost two months to get done. I'm so, so sorry! I hope you're still around to read it, and I hope I didn't disappoint. Thanks for the request, it means a lot to me!

──────────────────

The context of your relationship with Lando was easy to describe: you two had met through mutual friends less than a year ago, started casually hooking up right away, and had been officially dating for over six months now.

Giving the nature of Lando’s occupation, and the attention his every move got, things were still pretty private between you, meaning that the general public new nothing about your existence yet. Or of what was happening behind closed doors. Like the fact that you had met each other’s families, that you were comfortable around each other’s friends, and that at this point your visits to his apartment had been frequent enough for you to consider his place a little bit yours, too.

For the most part, when he was traveling and busy being a Formula 1 driver, you spent your time at your own place, doing your own thing. But on those weekends when he was back, or during those rare two or three days off in between races, you joined him in a blink of an eye. No invitation needed—not anymore. Both always on the same page when it came to making the most of it, as in everything, together.

On that particular Monday night, the one that set this storyline into motion, it wasn’t any different. You and Lando were at home, his home that was slowly becoming your home, and one of your closest friends was over for some wine and food. The two of you enjoying each other’s company in the living room, laughing and gossiping on the couch, while Lando distracted himself and livestreamed with his own friends behind closed doors. Nothing big, nothing new.

Sometimes, as you two blabbered and laughed, he would pop out of the room to get a snack, to go to the restroom, or just to check up on you. Just to say hello. To make a silly joke and move on. Never a big deal. Never anything that interrupted the conversation that was going on between you and your friend. Not even when the topic shifted to your new co-worker, a guy who had joined the company you worked at less than three weeks ago, and had quickly developed a not-so-subtle crush on you.

“What about that guy from work?” your friend asked, synced with the opening of Lando’s game room door. “Is he still texting you at random hours?”

Busy chewing the last remains of your pizza, you just grimaced and shook your head. Then watched Lando cross the living room and disappear into the kitchen.

“I think…” you said, then stopped to swallow the food, “I think he finally got the message.”

“Good...” Your friend nodded, and took a sip of her wine. “What was his name again?”

“Vincent.”

Mimicking her earlier movements, you leaned in and grabbed your half-finished glass from the coffee table. And then, as you were sitting back and bringing the wine to your lips, a tiny snort left your nose, and you shook your head. All to yourself.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing... He just followed me on insta the other day.”

“Shut up...”

“Mhm…”

You sipped more of your wine, watching your friend frown as you did so.

“How did he even find you?”

“I don’t know…” You shrugged. “But he did, and then he liked a bunch of my older pictures.”

“Noooo!”

“Yeah…”

“Oh my God! Can a guy ever read the room?”

A soft chuckle left your mouth.

“I didn’t follow him back tho, so again, I think he got the message.”

“He knows you’ve got a boyfriend, right?”

You shrugged again, then shuffled on the couch, pulling your legs up and making yourself comfortable.

“Everyone at the office knows, so maybe someone told him? I don’t know.”

“Wait, so you didn’t tell him?”

“I didn’t even tell him my name, let alone the fact that I’m dating someone I can’t really talk about.”

Your friend rolled her eyes, and then sighed. “Look, I think it’s lovely how consistent you two are on keeping each other a secret, but just this once I think you should tell him you’re dating and therefore not available.”

At that, it was your time to roll your eyes. “Or... He could realize I’ve done nothing to suggest I’m interest and back off because I don’t want him.”

“Right,” she laughed. “You’re talking about a guy that’s been acting like a creep.”

“Exactly. So if he bothers me again, I’ll raise a complaint to HR for harassing.”

You changed the topic after that, and a few minutes later Lando stepped out of the kitchen, the salad he had ordered in hands. He paused to chat a bit with you two, then kissed your temple and made his way back to the game room.

Eventually, your friend said goodbye and left Lando’s apartment, and you took a moment to clean up the mess left behind. Lando was still busy in his own world, his loud laughter vibrating through the walls and making you laugh along from time to time.

It was on your way to the bedroom that you decided to stop by. Just to let him know.

You knocked on the door once, and then another two times—the code you had unintentionally created to avoid interrupting his livestream and getting caught on camera.

“Yeah?” he shouted, but you knew better than shout back at him. Instead, you cracked the door open slightly. Barely. Only enough for you to peek inside and glance at him.

Lando’s eyes were already waiting for you, his head turned to the side while he fully leaned back into his chair.

“Heyyy…” he breathed out, lips curling up into the cutest, softest smile while he stretched his arms up in the air.

“Hey...” you whispered back, lips curling up as well.

“What’s up?”

“Nothing,” you said quietly. “Just saying hi before I get to bed.”

Lando dropped his arms and placed his hands on his lap, then tilted his chin towards the computer.

“It’s muted,” he said. “No need to be quiet.”

You raised your eyebrows, not changing the volume of your voice as you answered, “That’s what you said last time.”

Lando’s smile got bigger, and his eyes wrinkled at the sides. Mischief and playfulness taking all over his expression at the mention of that chaotic memory—when a female voice laughed loudly in the background of an allegedly muted livestream and caused a very serious online meltdown.

“I checked twice,” Lando said, turning back to the camera and giving a thumbs up. “Right, chat? You can’t hear me right now, can ya?”

He leaned in, then, squeezing his eyes to the screen.

“See? They are all lecturing me. Lando, we can’t hear you. Mic’s off, Lando. Lando turn your mic on. Lan—”

“Okay, okay.” You rolled your eyes and pressed your temple against the frame, but a soft chuckle still left your chest at his silliness. “Got it, yeah.”

He leaned back and turned his head to you, smugness written all over him. “Told ya. I learn from my mistakes.”

He winked. And, once again, you raised your eyebrows.

“They can still see tho, can’t they? So don’t get cocky.”

“You’ve barely opened the door,” he laughed. “Not even I can see you, I doubt they’ll be able to.”

“Yeah? Just watch them read your lips or start analysing who you’re talking to so late at night.”

“C’mon…” he laughed again. Head tilting back as he faced the ceiling. “Don’t be si—”

“Ooookay…” you snorted and stepped back from the door, a little too tired to get into one of his playful arguments. “I’ll save you from finishing that sentence.”

“What? C’mon… I’m just teasing.”

“I know. You’re having fun while I’m worried trying to protect your wishes. Then tomorrow you’ll be snapping at me because someone found out you’re not alone and I’ll have to watch you overthink while trying to find ways to prove I don’t exist.”

The world paused around you.

Time paused inside the room.

You watched the moment his face fell. How his expression changed along with the drop of his shoulders. As if some unknown truth had been thrown at him.

And just like that, regret dawned on you, a tight knot twisting low in your gut as you tried to make sense of your words. Of your abrupt change of mood.

You looked down to your feet and sighed, your voice coming out like a whisper when you spoke again. “Sorry… I don’t know why I said that.”

Lando nodded.

You noticed his movements, the way he turned back to his computer and leaned forward to reach his keyboard. How he typed, then clicked a few things, and then how everything went off. Heavy silence easily filling the room.

“C’mere,” he said, once again leaning back into his chair, then fully turning it towards you. You looked up, meeting his eyes, and Lando tilted his head slightly to the side. “Please?” He stretched his arm to you. “I’m not streaming anymore, I promise.”

You checked the screen, just to be sure, then dropped your arms to your sides and sighed. Embarrassment taking over your chest—and flushing across your neck and cheeks—as you walked towards him.

Lando didn’t wait for you to stand in front of him before reaching out for your waist, hands grabbing your sides and pulling you down to his lap with the easiness of someone who had pulled that move hundreds of times before.

You gasped, even squealed a little, a smile curving your mouth as you adjusted yourself to sit on his thighs. Body to the side and legs hanging in the air. Arms circling around his neck. Eyes settling inside his gaze.

Silent.

Comfortable.

Easy.

“Sorry,” you said. Again. “Didn’t mean to snap.”

“I know,” Lando smiled, placing your hair behind your ear, then cradling your cheek. “I never tried to prove you don’t exist. You know that, right?”

“Of course, yeah.”

“Is it how I make you feel, tho? Like I’m trying to hide you or something?”

“No... C’mon... I understand why you’re so... Protective. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Ok…” He nodded, arms settling around your waist, pulling you a bit closer to him. “Just making sure.”

“Sorry for making you end the stream.”

Lando smiled. “Thank you for making me end the stream.”

A smile grew on your face, too.

There was a pause, in which he held your stare in silence as he moved one hand to the back of your neck.

“C’mere,” he said, then pulled you in, his lips brushing over yours once, then twice. Slowly. Softly. As if it was the first time he was getting a taste of them. As if he wasn’t really sure he was allowed to do that.

Your chest fluttered, and you leaned into him. Melted into him. Eyes falling shut and hands moving to curl tightly around his jumper. To hold onto its neckline like you were afraid he would suddenly stop and leave. Like he could vanish.

A low, contented hum escaped him, almost like he didn’t mean it. Like he couldn’t help it. Like he was melting into you, too. Hand pressing on the nape of your neck and arm anchoring around your waist, guiding the pace while he tilted his head and deepened the kiss.

You exhaled through your nose and followed his lead. Stomach flipping and thoughts blurring. Getting lost into the tenderness and casually of it. Into how personal, intimate, and affectionate it felt. How soft, how steady, how electric it was. The way he moved, the way he sounded, the way he tasted. How he treated you with respect and carefulness, like you were the most delicate and precious thing in the world, and yet made you feel breathless and powerless, like you could die if you didn’t get more of it. Of him. Or this.

And then, Lando pulled away. Panting. Hand still holding the back of your head and lips still brushing yours when he asked, “Who’s Victor?”

Your lips searched for him, unwillingly. Automatically. Your body craving for more before his words clicked inside your mind.

He didn’t stop you, kissing you back and allowing your mouths to ghost over each other as you spoke between kisses. Never quite gone.

“Victor?” you asked.

“Mhmm…” His nose bumped against yours, and he slipped his hand between your hair, making sure you wouldn’t lose the pace.

“I don’t… Hmm… I don’t know… Shit… Who’s Victor?”

“I don’t know…” he repeated. “Someone that’s been hitting on my girlfriend… Or so I’ve heard…”

You blinked your eyes open and flinched back. Just an inch. As far as he allowed you to. Only enough to meet his eyes.

“What?”

Lando shrugged, and you licked your lips. Trying to gather your thoughts. Trying to make sense of what the heck was going on.

“You mean Vincent?”

He rolled his eyes and pulled you back in, his lips barely touching yours before he was tilting your head back and moving them down your jaw.

“Potato, patahto,” he murmured, his warm breath hitting your neck while he kept smothering your skin. Your throat. “Still hitting on my girlfriend.”

A smirk grew on your lips, and you closed your eyes, feeling his lips kissing your sensitive spots. Feeling his tongue getting its own taste, his teeth grazing right behind.

“Didn’t know you were listening to us...”

“Was I supposed not to?”

He sucked onto your sweet spot, and you gasped. Thighs clenching and fingers twisting even tighter around his jumper.

“Fuck…” you breathed out.

“I know…” Lando murmured, brushing the tip of his nose up and down the same spot. “I wonder how many until I leave a mark…”

“You never leave any…”

“Maybe I should start…”

He kissed you again, softly, moving his mouth and making sure no inch would go unattended.

Heat built low in your belly, slow and relentless, and you shuffled on his lap—even though the position you were in didn’t allow you to feel much of him.

“Jealous?” you managed to ask.

Lando snorted and pulled away, guiding your head so you would look at him.

“Just annoyed… Pissed, actually… Why is some random guy texting you and going through your photos? Who the fuck does he think he is?”

You smiled, hands loosening up around his clothing and moving up through the back of his neck. Fingers tangling with his curls as you said, “Someone who stopped texting after I left him on read, and who never got a follow back from me…”

“Hm…” He leaned into your touch, eyes fluttering shut while you ran your nails up and down his scalp. “Can’t say I’m not happy to hear that.”

You chuckled. “Did you think I’d react differently?”

“No…” he said, eyes meeting yours again. “But as confident in our relationship as I am, can’t ever get too comfortable, can I?”

You tilted your head, not really knowing what to say at that.

Thankfully, Lando didn’t give you too much time to think about it before he added, “Don’t want him to think you’re single, tho.”

“We don’t know if he thinks that.”

“Then I want to make sure he knows you’re taken.”

You smiled. “I’m taken, huh?”

Lando rolled his eyes, hands sliding down your spine while he stretched his back and got taller underneath you.

“You’re mine,” he said, voice an octave lower and fingers reaching to the hem of your sweater. “Just like I’m yours. Yeah?”

You nodded, curling your body to place your forehead against his. Feeling his bare touch pressing on your lower back, warm and needy.

“Yeah... You know I am… Yours.”

“I know… I want him to know, tho. Not just him, everyone.”

“Lan…” you sighed. “If this is because of what I said, you don’t have to—”

“Not saying this because of what happened,” he said. “I’m saying it because I love you and because you’re beautiful and I don’t want stupid wankers hitting on you when I’m not around.”

“Well… That’s not really fair, is it? I can’t stop girls from hitting on you while you’re not around.”

“Babe, not one single girl has flirted or—”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. Loudly enough that you had to bring one hand to cover your mouth.

Lando smiled. And you noticed how something softened inside him. How he dropped his shoulders. How his touch went from greedy to affectionate. Still pulling you closer, still holding you in place, but with a different intention behind it.

“I mean it, tho,” he said. “I don’t want to keep hiding it anymore. I heard when you said I’m someone you can’t really talk about, and I don’t want you to feel that. I want you to say ‘I’ve got a boyfriend’ and throw my name into a conversation if you feel like it. Just… Y’know… Want it to be natural.”

You pressed your lips together and sighed, pushing the playfulness aside to understand the seriousness of what he was suggesting with that.

“Okay… But just so you know, this feels natural to me. I don’t have to say ‘my boyfriend Lando Norris’ for me to talk about you. People who know me know I’m not single, the only reason why I haven’t told Vincent it’s because I haven’t really sat to chat with him. He saw me twice and decided it would be a good idea to get my number without even asking me about it.”

“Fucking idiot.”

“Right?”

“Can’t really blame him, though… Kinda hard to look at you and not to fall in love.”

“Oh my God…” You rolled your eyes, but also smiled, shoving his shoulder playfully before hugging his neck. “Shut up.”

He did as you told, busying himself by kissing you instead of talking again.

From then on, the kissing melted into something more. The chair becoming uncomfortable to hold so much want and so much need from both of you, and your touches and steps guiding you blindly to his bedroom. To your bedroom. To your bed. Clothes getting lost along the way.

“I love you,” he said, over and over again.

Stealing your breath away.

Making you forget your name.

How you got there in the first place.

Until you were shaking and falling on top of him, his hips digging and pushing until he got the last bit of pleasure out of you. Of him. Of both.

Erratic. Intense. Everything.

The next morning, Lando left earlier than you. You didn’t even hear him, didn’t even feel him. Tangled and sprawled in the sheets. Blissfully happy. Satisfied.

You saw it when your alarm went off, though. His tally mark necklace, his number four shining in the sunlight. Right on top of his pillow. And a post it right in between the two.

For you. So everyone knows you’re mine ;) Love you. LN.

And that’s how it happened.

That’s how you ended up clasping his necklace around your neck.

And that’s how now, every time you think of him, you bring your hand to your chest and hold onto him. How you know he’s always there, like a part of you. Loving you. Whether everyone knows it...

Or not.

──────────────────

#lando norris x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #f1 fic #lando norris fic #lando x reader #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x you #lando norris imagine #lando norris fluff #f1 social media au #f1 fanfic #lando x you #lando norris fanfiction #i said i wanted to know your thoughts on this but actually im scared to know so i deleted that lol #I'll just move on to the next one!

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lnracer · 30 days ago

Note

oscar meets a new girl at hotel, and the reason why she got his attention was because she didn't watch F1 so she didn't knew him, which made him feel interested since she definitely knows 0 about him (sorry for any typo😭 English isn't my first language and it's like 4am here but I hope you understood what I said)

➵ Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Female Reader.

➵ Warnings: None.

➵ Word Count: 1.555k.

➵ a/n: Ahh, tysm for your request! Also, don't worry, I was able to understand your vision (and loved it btw!) I hope you like it and that I was able to write what you imagined! ☺️🧡

Oscar stepped through the revolving glass doors of the grand hotel in Barcelona, the energy that only a Grand-Prix weekend could provide already in the air. Cameras flashed from a distance, teams hurried by, and somewhere nearby, the pulse of the city mixed with the hum of engines and anticipation.

As he adjusted his backpack, moving through the lobby, a sudden soft collision made him stumble slightly.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” a sweet voice said, warm and apologetic.

Oscar looked down to see a girl, probably early twenties, with effortless elegance — polished but approachable. She smiled politely, cheeks faintly flushed.

“It’s alright.” Oscar said smoothly, steadying himself. He glanced at her again and noticed something strange — she didn’t have that spark of recognition in her eyes, no hint that she knew who he was.

Curious, but not wanting to seem rude, he said nothing about it. Instead, he offered a small smile and moved on, the question quietly lingering behind his gaze.

“I’m really sorry,” she said again, brushing a few strands of hair behind her ear with a sheepish smile. “It’s just— this weekend is insane. Formula One’s in the building, so everyone’s walking around like they’ve had three espressos and a panic attack.”

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh, shifting his weight. “Yeah, I’ve heard it tends to have that effect.”

She smiled at him again, kind and genuine, then glanced around as if remembering she was supposed to be somewhere else. But something made her stay a beat longer.

“You don’t look like you’re here for it either,” Oscar said, tone casual as he slung the strap of his backpack higher on his shoulder.

Her brows lifted slightly. “F1? No, I mean— I do know it’s the reason most people are here, but I wouldn’t recognize anyone if I tripped over them.” She gave a tiny laugh.

Oscar quirked an eyebrow, amused — Oh, the irony. “So what brings you here then? Just visiting?”

She blinked once, then tilted her head. “Oh. No, I actually live here.” She said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

He blinked. “In the hotel?”

“Top floor,” she said with a proud little grin. “My dad owns the place. So… yeah, I’m kind of the live-in plant whisperer-slash-chaos manager.”

Oscar let out a soft, surprised laugh. “Right. That’s… not what I was expecting.”

“Most people think I’m lost,” she said, eyes twinkling as she rocked slightly on her heels. “But I’m usually just hiding from someone asking about towels or logistics.”

Oscar found himself lingering, even as staff passed by with walkie-talkies and guests bustled in behind him.

She didn’t recognize him. Not even a flicker of familiarity. And somehow, that made her stand out more than anyone else had all week.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃

The next morning, the buffet hall buzzed with quiet luxury — clinking cutlery, the soft hum of conversation, and the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee and buttery pastries. Oscar had managed to get up early enough to beat the rush, but not early enough to avoid it completely.

He was pouring himself orange juice when a familiar voice drifted in from behind.

“Hey, it's you! The guy I nearly tripped over yesterday.”

Oscar turned, a half-smile tugging at his lips as he found her standing beside him, this time in a soft cream cardigan and satin lounge pants that somehow still looked expensive. Her hair was loosely tied, and there was a barely-there sleepiness in her eyes that made her look even sweeter.

“Guilty,” he said. “You back at it again, terrorizing hotel guests?”

She let out a chuckle. “Only the ones who don’t watch where they’re going.”

They both reached for the same slice of chocolate cake, and she let him take it, lifting her hands in mock surrender. “Please, go ahead. Guests first.”

He arched a brow, amused. “That sounds oddly official.”

“Well,” she teased, “I do live here.”

Oscar laughed under his breath and offered his hand, finally. “I’m Oscar.”

“Y/N,” she said, slipping her hand into his. Warm. Light. “Nice to meet you, officially.”

They walked together toward the fruit section, plates in hand.

“So,” she said, glancing sideways, “have you had a chance to explore the city, or are you here for...?”

Oscar hesitated, eyes flicking down for a split second. “Kind of here for work.”

“Oh?” she asked, genuinely interested. “What do you do?”

He scratched the back of his neck, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. “I, uh… drive. Professionally.”

Her brows furrowed for a second, then softened again. “Oh! Like a chauffeur?”

He chuckled. “Not exactly.”

She tilted her head, eyes curious but still gentle. “Then what kind of driving?”

Oscar paused, then gave a shrug. “It’s complicated.”

Her laugh bubbled up again, not pressing him any further. “Alright, mystery man. Keep your secrets.”

He glanced at her, slightly stunned by her lack of insistence. No asking for selfies, no sudden realization. Just... her.

And for some reason, that made breakfast taste better.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃

Oscar had barely made it through the revolving door before he tugged at the collar of his McLaren team shirt, exhaustion clinging to his limbs like humidity. Free Practice had been long, the media duties even longer, and all he wanted was a shower and something that didn’t involve the word “sector.”

The hotel’s lobby was quieter now — low golden lighting, soft piano music in the background, staff moving at half-speed as the day began to wind down.

And yet, just as he rounded the corner toward the guest elevators—

Thud. A soft bump into a familiar shoulder.

Again.

She gasped softly, stumbling back a step. “Oh my god— you again?”

Oscar let out a tired chuckle. “At this point, I think the universe is doing it on purpose.”

Y/N stood there in a silky slip dress layered with a cardigan, barefoot in fluffy slippers. She looked like midnight comfort and candlelight — like warmth.

Her eyes fell to his shirt, and her gaze lingered.

McLaren.

The logo. The colors. The sponsors.

Something clicked.

Her lips curved into the most knowing, gentle smile. “So... you are part of the buzz this weekend.”

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, lips twitching upward. “Busted.”

“I knew that ‘I drive professionally’ line was suspiciously vague,” she teased, a soft giggle slipping out. “Let me guess… you’re not the guy who parks the Aston Martins out front?”

“Not unless I really mess up my race on Sunday,” he said dryly, and she laughed, full and free.

“Well, Mr. Mystery Driver,” she said, looking up at him with sparkling eyes, “I hope Barcelona’s treating you well.”

He tilted his head, something softer passing over his expression. “It is now.”

There was a beat of silence between them, light and open. Then she gave him a small, playful nudge with her elbow.

“Good. Just try not to run me over next time, yeah?”

He smiled, stepping into the elevator as the doors opened behind him. “No promises.”

As they closed, she gave a little wave with the tips of her fingers — and he found himself already wondering when they’d bump into each other again.

𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃 ˖ 𓇬 ˖ 𓂃 𓈒𓈒 𓂃

The elevator doors had just started to close when Oscar’s hand darted out, stopping them with a soft ding. Y/N had already turned to head back towards the lobby when she heard it.

“Wait— Y/N.”

She paused, glancing over her shoulder.

He looked suddenly less composed than usual — one hand on the edge of the door, hair slightly messy from the long day, voice just a little rougher from hours of talking. But his eyes? Still warm. Still soft.

“If you’re ever curious about the whole Formula One thing,” he said, scratching the back of his neck, “I wouldn’t mind showing you a bit of it. Y’know. Explaining the chaos. Only if you’re interested, of course.”

Y/N blinked, the offer catching her off-guard for half a second before a smile broke across her lips, wide and genuine. “I think I could be convinced.”

Oscar’s shoulders relaxed, his own smile curling quietly at the corners.

She took a small step closer, tilting her head thoughtfully. “And I’m pretty sure I could sneak us a plate of leftover pastries from the kitchen. Just in case the lesson needs snacks.”

He laughed under his breath, something easy and unguarded. “Now that sounds like a good deal.”

“Then it’s a date,” she said breezily, but her eyes lingered with a softness that suggested something more than casual.

Oscar watched as she walked off through the hallway, her slippers making no sound on the polished marble. He stayed there for a second, the elevator forgotten behind him, a quiet smile tugging at his lips.

Funny, he thought. He came to Barcelona for speed, engines, and lap times.

And yet, the best part of his weekend so far had just offered him stolen pastries and her time.

And he couldn’t wait for both.

#oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x y/n #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x fem!reader #oscar piastri imagine #oscar piastri fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 x female reader #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #formula one imagine #formula one fanfic #formula one fanfiction #f1blr

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pitlanepeach · 2 months ago

Text

Radio Silence | Chapter Seven

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

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

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, strong language, more angst (IM SORRY IT'LL GET BETTER SOON I PROMISE).

Notes — Welcome to Oracle Red Bull Racing, Amelia Brown.

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

2020

The office was quiet in the way only offices designed for genius could be; not sterile, but reverent. Drafting boards and CAD monitors hummed quietly in the background, interrupted only by the soft tick of a mechanical clock that someone had insisted on keeping analogue.

Amelia sat stiffly in the chair opposite Adrian Newey.

He was perched on a stool beside a massive whiteboard, sleeves rolled up, fingers stained faintly with pen ink, as though he’d been sketching ideas directly into the fabric of his shirt. His presence was oddly... nerve-racking.

Neither of them spoke for the first few minutes.

Amelia rolled her golf ball between her hands in her lap, trying not to bounce her knee. Adrian made a few marks on a fresh sheet of paper, muttering under his breath. It sounded like a stream of formulaic gibberish to anyone else. To her, it was almost a lullaby.

He paused. Looked at her. “Do you have any thoughts?”

She shrugged. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to hear them.”

Adrian hummed, and then there was a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I will always listen. I will also always tell you when you are wrong.”

She swallowed, then nodded. Then she gestured to his paper pad. “You’re already sketching the '21 nosecone?”

“Yes. The frontal vortex targets under the new regs are… absolutely maddening. They’ll make cooling a nightmare.” He muttered.

She shifted forward, almost involuntarily. “Mm. Not if you separate the low-pressure bleed early and feed it into the underside of the side-pod. It could trick the wake into thinking it’s interacting with a full-body airflow.”

He went very still.

“Interesting,” he said slowly, standing and crossing to the nearest drafting board. He didn’t ask her to explain it again. He just started drawing. She stood too, walking around the conference table in order to stand at his side. Without looking at her, he handed her a pen.

She made a face at it. “I like red.”

He didn’t say anything. Just took the black pen back and found her a red one.

By the time lunchtime rolled around, they had filled three boards, made seven sketches, and the early formation of a concept that wouldn’t just survive under the 2021 regs; it would thrive.

They hadn’t spoken much, not conversationally. Just fragments.

“This doesn’t breathe well at speed.”

“What if we taper the upper control arm here instead?”

“Why does this remind me of the '98 car?”

But somehow, it worked.

By mid-afternoon, Adrian glanced up at her from the schematic they were both hunched over.

“You think in shapes,” he said.

She blinked at him. “You think in sound.”

He smiled, and it was full of promise. “We will make a wonderful pair, Miss Brown.”

She let out a quiet breath. “Oh. Good. I was afraid that you would regret spending three million pounds on me.”

He stared at her for a long moment before laughing shortly. “No regret, Miss Brown. Not a single one.”

For the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel anxious. Or lonely. Or burning with the guilt of abandoning McLaren, the team that was synonymous with her family name.

She tucked the golf ball back into her pocket. “I’ll draw up a more formal aero flow map tonight.”

“Don’t bother,” he said, flipping to a new page. “We’ll build it first. Then reverse-engineer the explanation.”

She grinned, sharp and fast and excited. “We can do that?”

“We can do anything we want.” He told her.

—

Christian pushed open the door to the technical office with the kind of hesitant curiosity reserved for someone who was pretty sure they’d told everyone to go home six hours ago.

The light was still on.

At first, he thought maybe the cleaners had left it by mistake. But as he stepped inside, the faint scratch of pencil on paper, the rustle of blueprints, and the hum of two very intense brains in quiet dialogue stopped him dead in his tracks.

Adrian was barefoot now, barefoot, perched on a wheeled chair with one leg pulled up under him like some kind of engineering gremlin, holding a scale model in one hand and gesturing toward it with the other, mid-monologue.

Amelia was sitting cross-legged on the floor, a yellow golf ball tucked beneath her heel, grease-smudged notebook balanced on her knee, jotting notes at lightning speed while murmuring confirmations like, “Yeah, but the boundary layer separation’s going to collapse here—unless we change the outwash angle…”

Neither of them noticed Christian standing in the doorway.

The room was covered in paper. The whiteboards had no white left. Someone, probably Adrian, had scrawled equations on the glass wall. There was a half-eaten croissant on the radiator. Half of the work was done in black ink. The other half was done in red.

He took one silent step backward.

Paused.

Then slowly, quietly, pulled the door closed behind him.

From inside, he could just barely hear Adrian’s voice, “Did I ever tell you about the time I built a full wind tunnel model out of my wife’s hairdryer and a vacuum tube?”

Amelia sucked in a breath. “Did it work?”

“It blew the roof off my shed.”

She laughed, genuinely, full of lightness.

Christian exhaled and reached for his phone.

—

iMessage — 00:45am

Christian Horner

We are going to become world champions.

Helmut Marko

How can you know?

Christian Horner

Newey is barefoot. His intern is laughing.

Helmut Marko

Mein Gott.

—

The drive home from Milton Keynes had been quiet; just the low hiss of the car heater and the soft murmur of the radio.

It had been her first week working at Red Bull Racing. She’d stayed in Max’s flat, the one he kept in Milton Keynes but only used when he was in town for sim sessions.

The high of her first week was still humming under her skin; the buzz of purpose, of being understood, but underneath that, exhaustion tugged at her bones. She felt stretched thin. Too much stimulus, too many new faces.

But the moment she stepped through the front door, into the warm, lemon-honey air of the house she’d grown up in, none of that mattered.

Her mum was in the kitchen, back turned, humming softly to the radio.

Amelia didn’t say anything.

She dropped her bag quietly, kicked off her shoes, walked straight over and folded herself into her mother’s arms from behind, pressing her forehead between her shoulder blades, breathing her in.

Tracy stilled. Just for a moment. Then she reached back, tugging Amelia around until she could hold her properly; one hand at the back of her head, the other wrapped around her shoulders, thumb rubbing slow circles into her jumper.

“Hello, darling,” she whispered. “I missed you.”

Amelia pressed closer, her cheek against her mum’s collarbone. “I missed you too.”

They stood there like that for a long time, the hum of the radio filling the silence between them, a wooden spoon tapping gently against the edge of a pan.

“I saw the article,” Tracy said eventually, voice soft. “And the photos.”

Amelia tensed.

Another piece had gone live, following the Motorsport.com exclusive. Red Bull had shared her official announcement — complete with photographs of her in team gear, standing in the middle of Max and Alex.

Tracy didn’t let her pull away. “You looked very professional. And happy.”

“I am,” she said, too fast. Then again, slower. “I am. I just… I’m wishing that he wouldn’t make it so hard.”

Tracy sighed into her hair. “Your father’s not angry with you, love. Not really. He’s angry with himself. He had no idea that you were even receiving offers, let alone considering any.”

Amelia swallowed. Shrugged. “He didn’t want me at McLaren. He never offered. I gave him every chance to.”

“I know, sweetheart.” Tracy pulled back just far enough to look her in the eye. “And you were right not to wait forever. You did the brave thing. You put yourself first. I’m proud of you.”

Amelia blinked fast. “I’m not used to that,” she admitted. “Putting myself first. It feels… selfish.”

Tracy brushed a strand of damp hair from her face. “No. Not selfish. It’s how you grow. You’re building race cars with Adrian bloody Newey. That’s something to be incredibly proud of.”

Amelia smiled, weakly. “They call me Mini Newey. All of the engineers. Christian. Max thinks that it’s funny.”

Tracy chuckled, pulling her into a tight squeeze again. “They should call you Better Newey.”

That pulled a real laugh out of her, small and sore and soft.

“Now,” Tracy said, letting her go, “go change into your favourite pyjamas and let me feed you. I bet you haven’t eaten a real meal all week.”

“I’ve been living on machine coffee and stale pastries,” Amelia admitted, already peeling off her jumper.

Tracy shuddered. “Criminal behaviour. Go on, love. I’ll have dinner on the table in ten.”

As Amelia padded toward the stairs, warmth blooming in her chest, she heard her mum call gently after her. “He’ll come around. He loves you too much not to.”

She didn’t answer, but she nodded once, before disappearing up the stairs.

—

iMessage — 01:43am

Lando Norris did u leave bc of me like. mclaren it’s okay if u did i just. i just need to know feels like maybe u did and idk. i feel shit also this is prob a bad time. i had like 5 beers and a shot of smth blue was v blue. tasted like acid

Amelia Brown No. Not because of you. You don’t matter to me that much.

Lando Norris ouch ok but like partly bc of me?

Amelia Brown Not everything is about you, Lando.

Lando Norris but some things are

Amelia Brown You started ignoring me. For no reason. Then I got a job designing a future championship-winning car. Those two things are unrelated.

Lando Norris when did u become so meannnn :(

Amelia Brown I’m not being mean. You’re just used to me being quiet when people treat me badly.

Lando Norris i didn’t mean to treat u badly i just panicked everything was getting weird and real and i didn’t know what to say

Amelia Brown So you said nothing. That’s still a choice.

Lando Norris yeah. i know. i’m sorry i miss u sometimes just thought u should know that

Amelia Brown That doesn’t change anything.

Lando Norris yeah i figured ok

Amelia Brown Go home. You are going to feel terrible tomorrow morning.

Lando Norris already do thanks i guess goodnight mini newey

Amelia Brown Don’t call me that

—

Amelia sat cross-legged on the floor with her laptop open in front of her, the Red Bull Racing CAD interface glowing on the screen. Max was half-stretched out on the couch behind her, a bowl of strawberries balanced on his stomach and a bottle of Heineken in hand.

“Okay,” Amelia said, tapping the trackpad. “Front wing redesign is about eighty percent locked. We’re still playing with DRS and airflow under braking, but I think what we’ve got is going to make the car ridiculously sharp into corners.”

Max took a sip of his beer, watching her over the rim. “Ridiculously sharp sounds nice.” He noted.

“It’ll bite if you get lazy,” she warned him.

He shrugged. “So, just like you.”

Amelia didn’t even look up at him. Over the past few weeks of working with him, she’d learned how to decipher his tones — he was teasing her. “I’m not lazy. You’d die without me.”

He tossed a strawberry at her. She caught it and took a bite.

She turned back to her laptop, sighed, and opened up the email thread that she and Adrian had going.

Max cleared his throat. “Ah, have you talked to your dad yet?”

Amelia’s fingers froze over the trackpad. “No.”

Max nodded. “He’s still not talking to you?”

“Nope.” She popped the ‘p’.

“Your mom?” He questioned.

“She’s trying. He’s just… stubborn. You know what he’s like.” Amelia exhaled. “He thinks I betrayed him.”

“You didn’t.”

“I know that now.” She rubbed her temple, leaned her head back against the couch. “But I also think I became inconvenient. It was easier when I was just the kid who wanted to build toy cars in the corner. Now I’m—”

“Mini Newey,” Max offered, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

She groaned. “Max, stop.”

He rolled his eyes. “You are, though. And you’re building my car, so I’m not complaining.” A pause. “Have you talked to Norris?”

Amelia blinked slowly, then shut her laptop with a quiet snap. “He messaged me two weeks ago. Drunk. Asked if I left McLaren because of him.”

Max raised an eyebrow. “Did you?”

“Of course not.” She scoffed. What a ridiculous idea. “He just… doesn’t get it. He thinks that everything is about him.”

Max laughed. “He’s nineteen. His brain is still soft.”

“I’m also nineteen,” she muttered, tipping her head back against the couch to look up at him. “I think he’s just emotionally illiterate.”

Max blinked, then grinned. “Tell him that to his face. I’d pay to see it.”

“You’re not a world champion yet,” she shot back. “You don’t get to make demands like that.”

He leaned in, until their faces were almost level. “I will be. And when I am, I’ll buy you a stupidly expensive watch for every podium we get.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You say that now.”

“Mark my words,” he said, puffing his chest in mock pride.

They sat there for a while — not quite friends, not just colleagues. Something in-between. Teammates in the truest sense. Bound by a shared obsession: a championship. A car so fast it betrayed the law of physics.

“I miss him,” she said quietly.

Max exhaled through his nose, slow and even. “He’s a nice boy. Stupid, but nice.”

“I know.” Her voice was barely a breath.

—

iMessage — 18:15

Fernando Alonso How has your first month at RB been? Do I need to make any angry phone calls?

Amelia Brown It’s been great. Everything’s going better than I could’ve imagined. I’m already making progress. Adrian and I work really well together.

Fernando Alonso I told you so, did I not? You two are very alike!

Amelia Brown It’s a perfect fit, actually. I feel like I’m finally being heard.

Fernando Alonso Good, good. I knew it. You made the right choice. And now, you’re three million pounds richer. That helps too.

Amelia Brown Haha, yes. Very much. I would've probably taken £5, so, thank you for handling the negotiation for me.

Fernando Alonso Mi Nina, for your talents, they would have paid three billion.

Amelia Brown I miss you so much. When are you coming to visit?

Fernando Alonso Soon. I’ve got some meetings in London next month.

Amelia Brown Anything exciting?

Fernando Alonso You’ll be the first to know if there is.

Amelia Brown :)

—

Lando stood with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders hunched, posture defensive. Across the polished meeting table, Zak leaned back in his chair, arms folded tightly over his chest, eyes fixed on the floor like it might offer him an answer he hadn’t already lost.

The silence had stretched too long.

“She’s really gone, huh?” Lando finally muttered.

Zak didn’t look up. “Yes.”

Lando blinked hard. He wasn’t sure what he expected; some kind of denial, maybe. Some reassurance that there was still a version of this where she came back. That maybe Red Bull was just a phase. A test. Something to prove a point.

“She left a hole here,” Zak said eventually. “Not just in the team. In the culture. She was…” he paused, trying to find a word that wouldn’t sound too sentimental. “I didn’t realise how important she was to the team. How much she was involved in.”

Lando didn’t answer right away. His jaw was tight. “We all let her down.”

Zak looked at him then. Really looked at him. “You liked her.”

It wasn’t a question. Not judgment, either. Just a fact. Like pointing out a flat tire or a burning building.

Lando flinched. “Yeah. I really liked her.”

“You shouldn’t have listened to us,” Zak said quietly. “Any of us. You should’ve fought for her.”

“I couldn’t.” Lando’s voice was sharp, brittle. “I was scared. And stupid.”

Zak let out a rough, humourless laugh. “And I was selfish. I never gave her the recognition she deserved.” He paused. “She was the brain behind the Mercedes deal.”

Lando’s head jerked up, eyes wide.

Zak’s voice dropped, heavy with something close to guilt. “She pulled it all together, handed it to me in a file with start-to-finish instruction. Never asked for credit. I knew she wanted more, deserved more, but I didn’t give it to her. Not because she wasn’t ready. Because I wasn’t brave enough.”

He leaned forward, elbows on the table.

“I didn’t want to be the one who gave her a shot, because I knew what people would say. Nepotism. Favouritism. They’d talk about her name before they ever looked at her work. And I thought I was protecting her from that.” He shook his head. “But I wasn’t. I was just holding her back.”

Lando stared at him. Silent.

There it was.

The ugly truth of it all.

Lando swallowed thickly. “She was never going to stay.”

“No,” Zak said. “No. I don’t think so.”

Lando ran a hand over his face.

She had belonged here once. She had. And they’d both let her feel like she didn’t.

Now she was designing the future with the enemy.

And they just had to sit back and watch it happen.

—

The paddock buzzed with the usual pre-season chaos; the rhythmic whirr of engines, the sharp sound of tires scraping against the asphalt, and the chatter of team members huddled in tight circles.

Amelia stood near the Red Bull garage, her posture stiff but her eyes alert, scanning the familiar sea of cars and faces.

It was the start of the 2020 season, and everything felt both familiar and brand new. The sharp smell of fuel lingered in the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of freshly waxed cars. But this time, she wasn’t in McLaren orange or one of her father’s old team shirts; this time, she was in Red Bull team gear. Black and dark blue with that iconic bull on her chest, the Red Bull Racing logo proud on her back.

And tucked around her neck, a pair of navy blue Red Bull ear defenders.

She glanced to her left. Max was chatting animatedly with Christian, the two of them gesturing towards the car as the crew worked around it. Adrian was nearby, bent over a laptop, his face creased in concentration. Amelia would soon be next to him, diving into the data and throwing out her ideas. But for a moment, she lingered at the edge of the paddock, trying to ease herself into this new, new, new.

Amelia’s gaze drifted toward the McLaren garage, even though she knew she shouldn’t be looking. There was Lando, standing with her dad, his usual smile present but different. Amelia tried not to flinch.

Her fingers tightened around the edge of her ear defenders, the cool plastic grounding her, just a little. She had left her golf ball in her office, determined not to need it.

Her eyes flicked back to the Red Bull car, sleek and aggressive in its design. It was more than just metal and carbon fiber. It was partly her work, her heart and soul poured into something tangible.

And then, from the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a camera crew approaching her.

Her stomach dropped.

The journalist’s voice reached her first, though she barely registered the words. “Amelia, first season with Red Bull Racing. You’ve been working behind the scenes for a while, but now you're here, in the paddock, in full Red Bull gear. How does it feel to be wearing navy blue now, after spending so much time with your father’s team, McLaren?”

Before she could formulate any kind of response, a familiar presence appeared beside her. Max.

He stepped in without hesitation, his body language calm and protective as he leaned slightly into her space. His gaze shifted to the interviewer, who looked briefly excited at the new addition.

"Need an out?" Max asked her, his voice low enough only for her to hear. His stance was relaxed, but there was something in the way he held himself; a quiet assurance that, if she needed him to, he would get her away.

The camera crew hovered expectantly, but Max didn’t flinch. He didn’t let the pressure reach her. He stayed right there, like a grounding force beside her.

"Amelia?" The interviewer prompted, waiting for her response.

Max’s eyes softened as he glanced at her. “Say whatever feels right,” he murmured, offering her a smile that was small but understanding. “You don’t owe them anything.”

For a moment, Amelia felt the tension drain from her. This wasn’t a performance. She didn’t have to give them the perfect soundbite. She could speak her truth, on her own terms.

She took a deep breath and, feeling Max still there, solid and supportive beside her, looked directly at the interviewer.

“It feels powerful,” she said simply, her voice steady but soft. It was the truth. For the first time, it felt like she was owning her decisions, not just navigating them. Powerful because this was her journey now. Because, despite everything, she was in total control.

The interviewer didn’t push for more, probably sensing the finality in her words. But the moment lingered for a second longer, like they were all collectively taking a breath.

Max gave her a subtle nod of approval, his lips twitching into a smirk.

And, just as quickly, the two of them turned and started walking away, the cameras still rolling behind them, but it didn’t matter. Amelia’s shoulders relaxed, a weight lifting, and her feet carried her toward the garage.

—

iMessage — 19:51

Lando Norris I’m sorry. I know that’s not good enough but I am I’m really sorry. And I want you to know that I’m happy for you. I’m not being sarcastic. You looked beautiful on camera. I’m glad Max was there with you. I wish it had been me.

Amelia Brown Congratulations on the podium finish, Lando.

—

The morning sun was bright over the circuit as Max and Amelia walked into the F3 paddock. Amelia was wearing a denim dress. Max, in his typical laid-back skinny jeans and plain shirt, had his hands in his pockets and a baseball cap perched low over his eyes. He was always eager to watch the younger drivers, always curious about who might be the next big thing in motorsport.

She was more used to the engineering side of things, but she’d been a fan of motorsport in general since she was a child. The thrill of being here just to watch was amazing.

They settled into the VIP viewing platform. The race kicked off with an energy that seemed to buzz in the air. Engines roared and the young drivers raced past, navigating the tight turns and high-speed straights with a determination that made Amelia feel the thrill of the sport she’d always loved.

As the race unfolded, Amelia’s eyes were drawn to car 81; Oscar Piastri. The young Australian was carving through the field with an almost eerie calm, moving up with a precision that belied his years. He raced like someone who had been here for ages, his every move instinctive yet calculated, as though he had been born for this.

Amelia felt that familiar pull. It was the same feeling she had gotten watching Lando in Formula Renault all those years ago — a sense that she was witnessing something special. Piastri surged ahead, eventually crossing the line first, claiming the win in the season opener.

“Damn,” Max muttered, impressed. “Kid’s fast.”

Amelia leaned in closer to the barrier, watching as Piastri celebrated with his team, their joy radiating from every hug and high-five. She turned to Max, who was watching her closely, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“Don’t get too attached,” he teased. “He’s not yours to claim yet.”

“I’m not trying to claim him,” she replied, her tone steady, though there was an undeniable certainty in her voice. “But I will. When the time comes. And I think...” She trailed off, watching Piastri for a moment longer. “It will come for him very soon.”

Max grinned, shaking his head fondly. “Always thinking ahead, kleine zus.”

Amelia’s eyes remained on the Australian driver, a quiet feeling settling deep in her chest. She couldn’t quite place it.

“His manager?” she asked, her gaze still on Oscar as he laughed with his team, the world around him seeming to pause for a moment.

“Mark Webber,” Max replied, his voice neutral, but his expression unreadable.

“Ah.” Amelia’s lips tipped upward into an amused smile. Mark Webber, who had been central to Red Bull's rise in the sport. She glanced sideways at Max, then back at Oscar. “Mark Webber,” she repeated, her voice soft. “It’s strange, isn't it? Fernando and Mark; rivals. And now, I’m working at Red Bull thanks to Fernando, and Oscar is under Mark’s wing.” She looked at Max, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. “Formula One is a funny place.”

Max grinned, clearly entertained by the thought. “You can make connections out of anything, can’t you?”

Amelia let out a soft laugh, her gaze returning to the young driver in the distance. “I guess I do,” she said, her voice quieter now, a subtle sense of realisation setting in. “And somehow, they always seem to circle back to Red Bull.”

It was funny how Formula 1 worked that way: legacies, rivalries, and new beginnings always intertwined.

—

iMessage — 00:42am

Amelia Brown

Are you in Woking?

Lando Norris

Yes…?

Amelia Brown

I’m home alone. Come over. I am still angry at you, but I’m ready to talk to you now.

Lando Norris

Ok im omw like right now

NEXT CHAPTER

826 notes · View notes

lancestrollsgf · 11 months ago

Text

# THE BETTER NORRIS ! F1 GRID X ADOPTED NORRIS! READER, SMAU

introduction master list request list

part one, part two, part three.

# WARNINGS : cussing, i know nothing about the parents of lando so everything is fictional. lowercase intended, spelling errors (english isn’t my first language). lando's actual siblings are not really mentioned in this since I don't know anything about them. reader hitchhikes. an excessive usage of emojis such as “🙄, 🤫, 😝, 😭,😊,😉”. reader is 17 in the story btw (the age isn’t really mentioned so i guess you can imagine it however you want)

# SUMMARY: the adventures of the formula one driver lando norris adopted sibling, y/n norris.

# AUTHORS NOTE : this is my first smau (that i’m posting). there’s no meaning behind this story i really just wanted to make it for fun. backstory for how reader (you) were adopted is not explained. reader is kinda of portrayed as bisexual, sorry only like three times. pretend lando is a soccer/football fan (and likes messi). some of these scenarios/comments actually happened to face claim.

# FACE CLAIM : marian guevara/theatomicbabe on instagram (i love her so much)

VOTE FOR FUTURE LOVE INTEREST (now closed)

— instagram !

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc and 529,289 others

thebetternorris visited jamaica once again, spent every moment with the children and made memorial memories that i will remember forever, thank you @junglenonprofit for making this event happen🤍🇯🇲

landonorris: very cool hair style in the last photo is that your new look?

-> thebetternorris: maybe it is. you should also try finding a new look instead of looking like a washed up mop you have on your head that you call curls

-> carlossainz55: ay no, she got you with that one 🤣

-> landonorris: I WAS LITERALLY BEING NICE. WHY DID YOU COME AFTER ME??

landonorris: since when did you go to jamaica???

-> thebetternorris: since two days ago, man keep up with the times 🙄🙄

maxverstappen1: y/n does your mom know you’re in jamaica??

-> thebetternorris: no.. don’t tell her, she doesn’t have instagram 🤫

-> ciscawauman: y/n norris.. you said you were with friends for this week?

-> thebetternorris: hi mama 😊😊 im with bsf/n. but im on my way home! (max emilian verstappen this is all your fault, im coming after you)

-> maxverstappen1: sorry y/n.. hi mrs.wauman!

-> ciscawauman: hello max 👋 y/n please don’t threaten someone through comments

username1: y/n’s interactions with the drivers will never fail to make me laugh

username2: i love you y/n!!!

username3: will forever appreciate how y/n is not pr trained. her posts and comments heal me

-> mclaren: that will change very soon, sadly.

-> thebetternorris: @.mclaren YOU WILL NEVER CATCH ME ALIVE

lewishamilton: good work, little norris, very proud of you, keep doing good in the world 🥰

-> thebetternorris: I LOVE U SIR LEWIS

-> lewishamilton: love you too

-> landonorris: lewis please ignore her

username4: y/n’s reply to lewis’ comment is so real

username5: the third picture is so cute 🥹

view all 5201 comments

april 21, 2024 (dates are for the post above ^^)

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 661,201 others

thebetternorris 🍸🪩🌃🍾

landonorris: who is that guy in the last photo?

-> thebetternorris: i have no clue, i js chose it because i looked good. i think he was trynna lure me into a cult?

-> landonorris: WHAT?? CALL ME RIGHT NOW

username4: you can always rely on y/n to never disappoints with her outfits 😫😫

oscarpiastri: how come you never invite me to party out with you?

-> thebetternorris: because you steal all the girls and guys too 😕😕 also you’re too old

-> oscarpiastri: i’m barely 23??? and thank you or sorry idk man, you confuse me

username6: y/n’s life is so entertaining

username7: i wanna be like y/n when i grow up

username8: my goal in life is to party like y/n does

view all 6229 comments

april 25, 2024

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, girl3, and 786,929 others

thebetternorris no caption 🌞 👤: @.girl1 @.girl2 @.girl3 @.guy1

girl3: i had so much fun y/n see you soonnn

-> thebetternorris: me too! see you soon 😊😊

-> landonorris: y/n what is this???? what do you mean see you soon???? ANSWER MY CALLS Y/N

landonorris: who are those girls and guy on the last two photos???

-> charles_leclerc: leave your sister alone, as if you weren’t doing crazy stuff this week either 🤣

-> thebetternorris: @.landonorris they have names you know, you shouldn’t just call them “those girls”. i thought mama taught you better. 🤨🤨

-> landonorris: @thebetternorris sorry..?? but you didn’t answer the question.. also please @charles_leclerc don’t expose my doings of this week onto the internet

username9: you’re the loml in a another universe 😔

-> thebetternorris: why not this universe 😉

-> danielriccardo: damn little norris has more rizz than her brother 😭 @.landonorris

-> landonorris: why do i keep getting attacked 💔

username10: having the caption as “no caption” is having a caption

-> thebetternorris: 🤓🤓

username11: does y/n like girls cause that third photo is a bit suspicious LMAOO

-> username12: i think so, especially because of her response to oscar's comment on her previous post

view all 3620 comments

april 27, 2024

liked by landonorris, newyorkcityfc, and 887,292 others

thebetternorris thank you @.newyorkcityfc for inviting me to document the New York City fc vs charlotte game. visiting the new york city fc game made me want to try out soccer, turns out it might be time that i change career path 😝

landonorris: you’re in new york??? since when. and @.newyorkcityfc just invited you???

-> thebetternorris: since two days ago and is that an insult?

-> landonorris: who are you staying with?

-> thebetternorris: man stop asking so many questions 😕

charles_leclerc: weren’t you in jamaica like less than a week ago?

-> thebetternorris: weren’t you in china less than a week ago? why you judging where im traveling, i don’t judge you. you literally fly somewhere each week for your go karting 🙄

username13: y/n’s post are so unpredictable each time 😭 she was just helping children in jamaica and is now at a soccer game in nyc

-> thebetternorris: gotta keep y’all on your toes 🤫

-> username13: toes 🤤

-> thebetternorris: NAH GTFO LMAOOO

username14: y/n becoming a soccer player when??

username15: all of the norris siblings are so talented

view all 2928 comments

april 29, 2024

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1, and 997,929 others

thebetternorris miami grand prix day 2 & day 3 🤙. found out some guy with the same last name as me won? idk but congrats @.landonorris

username16: dang her brother just won his first race and she doesn’t even make a post about him?

-> username17: for real, like everyone congratulated him right after but not even his own sister

-> username18: @.username17 well she is adopted 🤣

username19: it was so fun meeting you y/n!!!

-> thebetternorris: thank you pretty

username20: thank you for the water y/n 😊😊

-> thebetternorris: of courseee, had to give you that rich voss water 😉😉

-> landonorris: you gave a stranger water?? when?? you were with me the whole time???

-> thebetternorris: hey man you gotta start appreciating the people that support you, he was a worker ✊🏼

username21: hey i was the guy you were signing “way 2 sexy” with lolll

-> thebetternorris: AYY MY MANNN, i posted u on tiktok look at it 😉

jamescharles: omg i met you!! you’re gorgeous 🥰

-> thebetternorris: JAMESS HEYYY, i put you in my tiktok 🤙🤙

username22: omg you hugged me, remember i picked you up 😭

-> thebetternorris: I REMEMBER YOUU, that hug was great thanks man i needed that 🫵🏼 posted a full tiktok abt you

username23: your first outfit is so art teacher-coded

-> thebetternorris: is this a compliment or?? thank you though 😭

-> landonorris: @.username23 THATS WHAT I TOLD HER

landonorris: the number of people commenting that they met you is insane. @thebetternorris

-> thebetternorris: what can i say i'm js that guy 😼

view all 6282 comments

may 5, 2024

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1, and 1,000,010 others

thebetternorris congrats to @.landonorris for winning your first grand prix, in america 🦅🇺🇸, i’m so so proud! turns out having an adopted sister isn't so bad for your racing career after all 😜. btw to everyone in the comments section getting their gears all tangled because I didn't congratulate him sooner, chill out. I was busy practicing my own racing skills. yk, just in case he needs some real competition 😴 sorry @.maxverstappen1. i’m so proud of you, i'm forever grateful that i got picked from the “bin” i was found according to you 18 years ago, and it resulted in me being your sister :) 👤: @.landonorris @.oscarpiastri

landonorris: thank you for the congratulations, but did you really have to use those photos of me?

-> thebetternorris: damn you got your congrats just be grateful man 🙄

oscarpiastri: so this is why lando was crying, btw thank you for using a good photo of me

-> thebetternorris: OSCAR ARE YOU SERIOUS. @.landonorris YOU CRIED?? LMFAOOO

-> landonorris: @.oscarpiastri YOU SNITCH.

maxverstappen1: thank goodness you’re not a f1 driver, you’d be some real competition. we need to try go karting together soon 👍🏼

-> thebetternorris: i know this is a joke but thank u max 😔 we should go karting soon so i can beat you at it 😈

-> username24: i would pay to see y/n kart against max

username25: i don't even know anything about f1 but this made me tear up

username26: y/n getting hate for not congratulating her brother is insane

username27: people getting mad about y/n not congratulating lando as if they know anything about them

username28: y/n was one of the first people to congratulate lando, yall are hating a literal kid for smth so little 💀

view all 4593 comments

may 7, 2024

liked by landonorris, leomessi, 1,102,920 others

thebetternorris pov that one unemployed friend on a tuesday (saturday). thank you @.mles for the invite and for letting me meet the goat @.leomessi 🩷🩷

joyboy: finally found someone that is everywhere like me

-> thebetternorris: paris fashion week next 😉?

-> landonorris: NO???

username29: IS THAT LIONEL MESSI??

-> thebetternorris: that’s literally oomf what are you talking abt 🙄

ueername30: y/n is literally everywhere but home

username31: y/n's smile 🥰🥰

carlossainz55: Real Madrid CF>>>

-> thebetternorris: carlos get outta here 😕😕

username32: te encantaría ser un hombre nunca lo vas a ser y eso es lo que te jode (you’d love to be a man and you’ll never be a man and that fucks with you)

-> thebetternorris: @.username32 me encanta ser mujerrr (i love being a womann)

-> username32: @thebetternorris pues lo disimulas fatal (well you hide it well)

-> thebetternorris: @.username32 que es ser mujer para ti? (what is being a woman to you?)

-> username33: SHE GOT YOU THERE 💀@.username32

landonorris: you meeting messi before me insane 😔

leomessi: gracias por tu apoyo 🩷 que chistoso la caption 🤣 (thank you for your support 🩷 how funny the caption is)

-> landonorris: oh you’re joking.

-> thebetternorris: @.leomessi 🩷🩷 (i’m so normal abt this..)

username33: i wanna be y/n's camera man

username34: who is taking these pictures of y/n

-> thebetternorris: for this game, some guy named jarvis took these photos idk but we're homies now

-> landonorris: WHO IS JARVIS???

view all 12920 comments

june 5, 2024

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1, and 1,293,021 others

thebetternorris i look sunburnt, swear it's just the lights 👤: bustarhymes

bustarhymes: it was nice meeting you little norris

-> thebetternorris: it was great meeting you man, your music is great

danielriccardo: mate i think you need a new cameraman because most of these are blurry...

-> thebetternorris: my pictures look better than yours, you're letting your jealousy show

landonorris: nah bro how did you meet busta rhymes before me.

-> thebetternorris: because i'm better than you

username35: you dead ass look like han jisung omg

-> thebetternorris: thank you, idk who that is but i get that a lot 😭

username34: y/n looks so much like young miko it’s insane

charles_leclerc: you look scary in the first picture

-> thebetternorris: i saw your paparazzi picture from the beach, your shoulders look scarier, learn how to put on sunscreen 😬

username36: y/n’s style is so 🥰

view all 5934 comments

june 30, 2024

liked by landonorris, charles_leclerc, and 1,304,393 others

thebetternorris back at the big apple 🍎🏙️

itsyoungmiko: hi twinn

-> thebetternorris: hey twin, we should meet up soon

lancestroll: how do you travel everywhere?

-> thebetternorris: walking and hitchhiking

-> lancestroll: hitchhiking? be safe norris

-> thebetternorris: yea hitchhiking. not all of us have private planes that our daddy pays for🙄(just joking, love u @lawerence_stroll pls give me money)

-> lancestroll: your brother literally flies private. please don't ask my dad for money 😭

lawerence_stroll: hello y/n, how much money do you need?

-> thebetternorris: HI MR.STROLL, thank you for the offer I was just joking, you're so nice. see you at the next gp 😊

username37: who is that on the last photo?

-> thebetternorris: THATS ME. LMFAOOO

username38: ain't no way you're in new york city rn, you were in florida a day ago.

-> thebetternorris: that's what hitchhiking is for, duh

-> username38: you dead ass hitchhiked a ride from florida to new york city. that's like 20 hours...

-> thebetternorris: “that’s like 20 hours…” ☝🏼🤓

username39: are you gonna go to the british gp?

-> thebetternorris: yes sadly 💔 lando is forcing me against my will 😕

oscarpiastri: don’t forget my keychain pls

-> thebetternorris: ofc man ill give it to you soon 🤙

zhouguanyu24: very cool pictures y/n and cool outfit

-> thebetternorris: HI ZHOUUU, i got you something for you and sweet corn 🥰 thank u for the compliment 😙

username40: future mom lore is gonna go insane

-> thebetternorris: 😈

landonorris: y/n are you ever not in the US. come back home..

-> thebetternorris: USA 🇺🇸🦅🦅

-> logansargeant: USA USA 🇺🇸🦅🦅

-> landonorris: @.logansargeant logan please don’t lure my sister into your cult that you americans have

-> logansargeant: @.landonorris we don’t have a cult in america 😭 well… don’t quote me on that 😔