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frogstappen · 6 days

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𝐳𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐯𝐨𝐨𝐫𝐭, 𝐧𝐥

best friend!max verstappen x reader / 3k

you watch max's home race from the red bull garage.

⚠️: description of major crash, some mentions of injury. sickly sweet friendship with a hint of something more. jealous!max, soft!max, cheeky!max.

“Headset?”

“Yep.”

“I got some snacks for you. Where are the –?”

The bag rustles as you lift it. “Pretzels. Got them.”

“And you know where the bathroom is? Out that door, down the corridor –”

“Max,” you push his arm down, “You know who we sound like right now?”

His eyebrows lift. “Who?”

You giggle. “You and GP. Radio, check. Headset, check. Bathroom, check.”

Max sighs, propping a hand on his hip. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Just – listen to me, please, okay?”

“I’m going to be fine,” you assure him. “I’ve watched you from the garage a thousand times before.”

“Yeah, well, you haven’t been down here in a while. I’m just making sure.”

The track is already deafening. The roar of tens of thousands of bloodthirsty Formula One fans isn’t quite as earthshaking as that of twenty racecars – but Jesus, there’s not much in it.

The attendance in Zandvoort this weekend has reached well over three hundred thousand. Earlier, you stood out front to watch the drivers’ parade with some of the team.

Max lifted his head as the bus turned the last corner and trundled down the main straight. The crowd thundered all around. He caught your eye and, with a smirk, lifted a waggling hand – and you felt your bones vibrating with the cheering.

An orange sea parted by a strip of black asphalt; they twirl flags between thick clouds of tangerine smoke. They paint their faces and wave their banners, topple their drinks with the thrill that just a half-second glimpse at their Dutch Lion ignites.

Formula One fans go hard. Max Verstappen fans go harder.

An assistant taps Max’s shoulder. She flicks up the mic on her headset as he turns. “Three minutes to anthem.”

He nods, and she totters off.

“Promise me,” he takes hold of your elbows, “that you’ll stay right here. I’ll find you after, okay? One of the guys will bring you to the podium.”

“Confident,” you snort, though his expression tightens.

Your phone buzzes on the desk. You flip it over and the screen lights a name adorned with a heart emoji. Beneath, a picture of the classic overhead of the grid, stretched across a flatscreen TV.

Bet your view is better than mine! Miss you. X

Max grumbles, grabbing his balaclava. “I should go.”

“Hey, wait.” You tug on the sleeve of his suit, dangling from his waist.

He sways back into your side, the weight of him familiar and gentle. “Mhm?”

“Have a good one, okay? Be safe.”

“Safe?” He smirks, toying with the cord of your headset. “That’s no fun.”

“I’m serious, Max. Don’t be a dick.”

Okay, he mouths, patting your head. “Speaking of dicks,” he taps your phone, “Better reply.”

His head tilts back in laughter when you shove him off, and he swaggers out of the garage. An assistant hoists a parasol in the air and scurries down the pit lane at his side.

He’s so calm, you think, that he may as well be out for a Sunday drive. It comes naturally enough to him.

He’s on pole today. The car has been good, Max’s form even better. The sky is clear (save for the fans’ fluorescent flares), and there’s no chance of rain – though, sometimes, you find yourself praying for it.

He’s Dutch, okay? The rain is always on his side.

It’s been a decent weekend, for once. No hiccups, no setbacks. He’s soared his way around the track, producing lap after perfect lap. The way he always does, when he knows you’re somewhere nearby.

His lucky charm, since his first go around a karting track. So Max says, anyway.

He’ll say it with humor; that wit of his that you’ve learned like a second language. Still – sometimes, after his hardest races, his toughest battles, he wraps his arms around you tight enough to convince you that he might just be telling the truth.

Just for a moment.

You’ve been best friends for as long as you can remember. Never one without the other; always whispering into each other’s ears or otherwise communicating through flashes of eye contact, kicks under the table.

Wherever he goes, you go. You bicker like a married couple, and trust each other much the same. From the school playground to the Circuit de Monaco – and everywhere in between.

The orchestra swings to life, sending the sound of Wilhelmus skyward. Onscreen in the garage, the camera focuses in on Max: calm, composed, staring off down to the first corner like it’s his next meal.

Nothing has ever happened between you. Not really. No secret rendezvous nor dear diary crushes. Once, and only once, a chaste kiss during a high school game of spin the bottle.

It was about as awkward as it should’ve been. This quick, electric shock of a kiss. Over all too soon and not soon enough. He tasted like the lager he’d been drinking. He steadied himself with a hand on your thigh.

You sat back on your heels, wiped your lips with the sleeve of your sweater, and aped Max’s look of disgust. You snickered with your girlfriends as the circle moved on – but anytime you snuck a glance at him, he was already looking straight back.

He never brought it up again, though – and so neither did you. As far as either of you were concerned, it never happened. You’re just friends.

Best, best friends.

This new guy you’ve been seeing – you met him in a bar in London. He said he liked your dress, said he liked your smile, then offered to buy you a drink. It’s been no more than six weeks, but Max had already quietly decided his thoughts over summer break.

He’s a nice guy, he said, deliberately bumping his rubber ring into yours.

You pushed away from him, floating across the pool. Nice? That’s all you got?

What do you want me to say? I’m not the one dating him.

I just don’t believe that nice is all you have to say. You’re not that good at pretending. I know you too well, Verstappen.

Okay, fine. Too much styling of the hair.

Too much…What?

Yeah. And he wears weird shoes.

Well, he likes F1. Said he’s a fan of yours.

Ha, Max clicked his fingers, That’s the biggest red flag of them all.

Your phone buzzes again. You turn it facedown without looking, and pull your headset on.

The circuit shudders as the anthem comes to an end. The drivers split up, pulling off ice vests and zipping up their suits. The mechanics prop chairs in front of the screen, thumping their helmets over their heads.

Almost ten years in, the anxiety still hangs heavy in your stomach. The rumble of the engines, the babble from the loudspeakers. The rapid-fire orders shot over your head in the garage.

It comes naturally to Max, sure – that doesn’t mean it’s easy for you.

You watch him as he lowers into his car. Eyes narrow and focused, blurring everything but that first bend from his vision. All good humor shaken off, replaced by a vicious hunger to hit the end of the straight first, to be a speck on the horizon before the first lap is through.

Your thumb picks at the 33 sticker on the side of your headset. You burst open the bag of pretzels.

Max checks the radio and GP replies: “Loud and clear.”

“Beautiful day,” the driver says, weaving through the formation lap. “Simply lovely.”

You smile, suckling on the salty snack. As nervous as you may feel, at least he’s having fun.

He brings the car to a soft stop on his line and waits as the others follow suit. The lights flick on one by one, a painful pause between each. One sharp breath, held at the bottom of your throat, – and the red dissolves.

The Red Bull fires down the track.

Your lungs fill with a gulp of fuel-fumed air. Veins flood with warmth – the ice-cold grip around each nerve thawed as soon as Max begins to lead the flock.

He fights off contenders for first all the way to turn four – snuffing the flame of a Ferrari here, squeezing the papaya of a McLaren there. He catapults ahead just past Hunserug, and the garage springs to cheerful life.

In your headset, the pit wall is serious, fixed on the race. They murmur over wavelengths, static fizzling between words. Voices flat and emotionless; statistics on top of statistics, strategies on top of strategies.

You crush more pretzels between your molars, watching, unblinking. You twist the cord around your index finger, draining the tip of blood, then loosen again as Max puts more than a second between his car and the next.

He’s doing good. He always does good, as far as you’re concerned.

He’s doing what he always says he was made to do. He was raised this way, weathered into shape by each storm he powered his way through. Not born, not destined – Max doesn’t believe in any of that shit.

God doesn’t drive F1 cars, he’ll say. I do.

A couple tense laps pass. The Red Bull is still up front, though he’s tussling with the Ferrari now hot on his tail. Each chance his pursuer takes, each split-second jab at his lead, Max has already squashed before it materializes.

He rips around turn fourteen, following the track through its widest bend down to fifteen, and hits the main straight to thunderous applause. The cars scream past the pits, a roar sliced in two as they barrel straight for Tarzan.

The gap is barely two tenths. The mechanics clutch their helmets. Max taunts the corner on the outside of the track, eyeing his target.

“Defend,” one of the mechanics growls. “Hold him, Max.”

The Ferrari tucks behind, its front wing edging closer and closer.

You blink.

The red car swings out, shuddering with the force of the maneuver. He steadies himself and floors it, each closing centimeter perilous.

Blink again.

They’re side by side. Almost wheel to wheel. There’s no way Max can’t see that scarlet smirk from the corner of his eye. The apex is right there, though, it’s right fucking there.

Another blink, and –

He’s gone.

He’s gone. He’s –

Hurtling off the track. At almost two hundred miles per hour. The gravel spits at him as he spins; smoke and dust billow from beneath. He slams straight into the barrier, and, finally, the moment ends.

Your chest shrinks; a weak wheeze passes your lips. “Oh, my God.”

The mechanics leap to their feet. They bark amongst themselves like a pack of angry dogs, though you can’t make out a word.

Your hearing is shot. Every sound bleeds into the next; one long, high-pitched scream. You move without thinking, without feeling; slip off the stool and tug your headset. It hits the desk with a distant clatter, though you’re already wandering away.

The sound of the crowd rattles against your skull. Numb, muted. An awful groaning sound as the cloud lifts, revealing the chewed-up car.

It’s bad. It’s the worst one in a long time. He must’ve hit that barrier at near-enough full speed. The dread fills your lungs like torrents of heavy, black water. Sickly salt, suffocating sea. Oh, God.

You scan the garage for any of his mechanics. Matt. Ole. Chris. Fucking – any of them. Who did he say would bring you to him when this was over? He said he’d meet you at the podium. He said he’d find you –

A rough hand grabs your elbow.

Max’s face flickers across your vision. Blue steel gaze, freckle above his lip. The dust pulls him away from your grasp. He hits the barrier again and again and again.

“Max –”

The voice is calm – too fucking calm, you think, when it tells you, “He’s talking. They’ve got him talking.”

“Talking,” you echo, begging it to solidify in your brain. “Can you put me on to him?”

The engineer pulls you over to the exit. He plucks at his mic, murmurs some response down the line to the team. He takes your wrist and leads you out, muttering, “C’mon.”

“Hey,” you tug on his arm, “Please let me speak to him.”

“You will,” he replies, snaking through the tight corridor. “Once he’s out, they’ll check him over. He’ll be taken in for evaluation, hitting the wall at that speed. Force must be bloody nuts.”

The thought sends another bitter stream of panic through your blood. “Can he move? Is he –? Can he get out of the car?”

He gives one quick nod. “Medics are there. They’re helping him out.”

Sunlight floods overhead, dazzling as you follow him out front and towards a sleek car. An attendant opens the door for you, and you slide into the backseat.

The engineer gives your shoulder a friendly shake. “He’ll be fine,” he says. “He’s done worse.”

The door falls closed and the car moves off, purring through the paddock towards the medical center.

You slump into your seat and press your fingers into your eyes; a headache already blooming between your temples.

He’s moving. He’s moving and he’s responding. They’re helping him up out of the car. He’s probably already being checked over.

He’s probably already asking for you.

“Jesus Christ,” you groan, fingers dragging down your cheeks.

The center is a polite little hut inside the circuit. By the time you pull up, the race has already resumed. The remaining cars whizz by as you jog over, slipping inside behind a couple guys from Max’s team.

He’s had his fair share of scraps on the track. You don’t make it to the top without a sincere sense of dare, and an even sincerer lack of fear. Some call it idiocy. You’re often one of them.

Sitting on the other side of the clinic door, though – knee jerking, nails picking at the skin on your fingers – you’d be thrilled to never see these four walls ever again. Idiot or not, you care about him.

More than anyone else in your life? Jesus. Probably.

The door clicks open, and your blood jumps.

A pale woman in a pale coat steps out. She peers over her glasses, eyes you from the sneakers on your feet to the worry on your face – and says your name.

You push yourself up, squeezing past her into the room.

Max is perched on the edge of the bed, still in his fireproofs. Hair disheveled, face flushed and exhausted. Translucent with shock or concussion or worse, he lifts his head and flashes a lopsided smile.

It’s weak, barely there – but it’s him.

You care about him more than anyone else in your life. Definitely.

He opens his arms, fingers beckoning you in. “C’mere.”

“Oh, my God,” you sweep over, already in tears by the time you meet his body, “Oh, my God – you fucking idiot.”

His shoulders shudder with a bottled laugh. He wraps his arms around your waist, turning his head against your chest. “How was I supposed to know he was going to turn into me, huh? I had the line, I was –”

“Max,” you pull back, staring into his bleary eyes, “I don’t care. Just – don’t do that ever again.”

“I didn’t do anything,” he whispers, corners of his mouth twitching.

You sigh, collapsing onto the bed at his side. You lean against him and he winces a little, before pressing his lips to the crown of your head.

“You really scared me,” you admit, turning in to his chest.

Max slings an arm around your shoulders, holding you tight. “I’m fine, no? I mean, everything’s blurry and I can’t really hear much, but – it could have been worse.”

He props the pillows against the wall and pushes himself back gingerly, reaching past you for a paper cup of water at his bedside.

You move slowly, carefully, waiting for him to get comfortable before settling back, too – leaving a safe gap between his battered body and yours. Your cheek rests on the curve of his shoulder; fingers trace the logos on his sleeves.

Max breathes in the scent of your hair. He turns his hand and watches as your fingers trail down his wrist, circling his palm. He sucks in a deep breath, sighing to the ceiling.

“Your heart’s beating really fast,” you whisper, and he hums.

“Nerves,” he mutters.

“From the race?” You lift your head. “You don’t get nervous.”

He takes another breath and turns to you. He’s blushing, and doing a shitty job at hiding it. “No,” he says. “Not from the race.”

You gulp. “Are you sore?”

“Yeah. My back, my ribs.”

“Do you want me to get up?”

“No. Stay.”

He wears the same expression he did all those years ago, sat too many people apart from one another in that drunken circle. The same expression you only allowed yourself fleeting glances at: bashful, a little awkward – all the more endearing for it.

Maybe he actually doesn’t remember that night. Maybe he was just too tipsy – alcohol gone straight to his teenage head. And maybe he won’t even remember this, what with the concussion and all.

It’d make things a hell of a lot easier, that’s for sure. You could go back to your old ways: arguing over the best flavor of chips, screaming while playing video games. No second-guessing, no jumping to conclusions. Hell, maybe you hope he doesn’t remember any of it at all.

Somewhere, though, deep down – you know that’s not true.

“How’s, uh…whatshisface?” Max asks, nudging you with his elbow. He takes a feeble sip of his water and offers you the cup.

“Oh,” you shrug, “No idea. I left my phone in the garage.”

He scoffs, staring at your lips as you take a drink. He takes the cup from your hands once you’re done. “I don’t mean to give him shit, you know. If you like him, I like him.”

“Well, there’s liking someone,” you pout, “and then there’s willingly watching them crash full-speed in a racecar.”

Max smiles, lifting his cup.

“Whoever that is, sounds pretty cool to me.”

#first time since literally 2016 writing rpf BE KIND #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen fic #mv33 x reader #f1 fanfic #mv33 #my writing #fic: zandvoort nl

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sportsallover · 2 years

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Aww Mathilde is so so sweet

#Mathilde Gros #cycling #track cycling #track cycling sprint #track cycling world championships #watching her win was so special #the audience reaction was just extraordinary #and the national anthem was so emotional #I mean the whole velodrome was screaming from the top of their lungs #it was far from beautifully sung #but hearing your national anthem sung by a huge crowd to celebrate the accomplishment of one of our owns is so so special #it’s always thrilling

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driverlando · 4 months

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✧.* A REWARD FOR THE CHAMP

synopsis- you give Charles the perfect end to an unforgettable night (Charles leclerc x f!reader)

before you read- 18+ only, contains smut (oral, f receiving and m receiving and p in v) If you enjoy, pls reblog and follow! I'm a new writer and appreciate your support. :)

The sun was setting over the picturesque streets of Monaco, casting a golden hue over the harbour and the cheering crowds. Charles Leclerc had just achieved a lifelong dream and had broke the curse: winning the Monaco Grand Prix. The roar of the crowd and the national anthem still echoed in his ears as he made his way through the paddock, a broad grin never leaving his face.

In the team’s hospitality suite, his friends and fellow drivers gathered around, the celebratory mood infectious. Carlos Sainz, his teammate, was the first to embrace him, a proud grin on his face.

“You did it, mate! you’re a legend,” Carlos said, slapping Charles on the back.

Charles laughed, shaking his head. “I know, I know. I feel like I’m dreaming.”

Max Verstappen, always competitive but genuinely happy for his friend, raised his glass in a toast. “To Charles, for making us all look slow on his home turf.”

Laughter rippled through the group, and Charles clinked glasses with his friends, basking in the moment. “Merci, les gars. Tonight, we celebrate!” (Thank you, guys)

As the evening wore on, the drivers slowly began to disperse, some heading back to their hotels, others to after-parties. Charles stayed a bit longer, enjoying the camaraderie, but his thoughts were already drifting to you. He knew you were waiting for him, and the thought of seeing you made his heart race faster than the last lap of the race.

“Heading home, champ?” Arthur asked, raising an eyebrow knowingly.

Charles nodded, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, I have someone special waiting for me.”

Arthur chuckled. “Well, definitely don’t keep her waiting. Enjoy your night, Charles.”

With a final wave to his friends, Charles made his way out of the suite, the thrill of victory still coursing through his veins. The drive home was a blur, the familiar streets of Monaco rushing past until he finally pulled into the driveway of your shared apartment.

He opened the door quietly, stepping inside to find you waiting in the living room, a smile lighting up your face as soon as you saw him. You stood, crossing the room to wrap your arms around him, pressing a kiss to his lips.

“Félicitations, mon amour,” you whispered, your eyes sparkling with pride.

Charles held you close, his hands resting on your hips. “Merci, chérie. I couldn’t wait to get home to you.”

You smiled, taking his hand and leading him towards the couch. “I have a special celebration planned for you.”

His eyebrows rose in curiosity, but he followed without question. You gently pushed him to sit on the couch, your fingers working deftly to unbutton his shirt. He watched you, his breath hitching as you slid the fabric off his shoulders, revealing the toned muscles beneath.

“You’ve worked so hard for this,” you murmured, pressing kisses to his chest. “Tonight, let me take care of you.”

Charles’ eyes darkened with desire as he leaned back, watching you. “Je suis tout à toi,” (I’m all yours) he whispered, his voice husky. “Always so good to me”

Your cheeks flushed at his words, the heat pooling between your legs as you knelt before him, your hands trailing down his chest to the waistband of his pants. He watched you, anticipation clear in his gaze.

“Let me show you how proud I am,” you whispered, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants. You freed him from the confines of his boxers, his erection springing free. He was already hard, his desire for you evident. His tip already leaking with pre cum.

Charles groaned as you wrapped your hand around him, giving a few slow, teasing strokes. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

You smiled, your tongue darting out to lick the tip, tasting the salty essence of him. “Good,” you murmured, before taking him into your mouth.

His hips jerked involuntarily as you sucked him in deeper, your tongue swirling around him. You set a slow, torturous pace, wanting to savour every moment, every sound he made. Charles’ hands found their way to your hair, his fingers tangling in the strands as he guided your movements. His chest was already flushed, sweat pooling around his muscles. He looked like a dream.

“Mon Dieu,” (my God) he breathed, his voice thick with pleasure. “You’re amazing.”

His praise spurred you on, and you took him deeper, your cheeks hollowing as you sucked harder. His hips bucked, and you moaned around him, the vibration making him curse softly in French.

“Do you like that, Charles? Do you like how I make you feel?” you asked, pulling back slightly to stroke him with your hand.

“Oui, je t’adore,” (yes, I love it) he murmured. “I love it, I love you.”

You took him back into your mouth, increasing the pace. Charles’ breathing grew heavier, his grip on your hair tightening as he guided your movements. You felt him start to tense, his muscles coiling in anticipation of release.

“Mon amour, I’m close,” he warned, his voice strained with need.

You didn’t slow down, wanting to bring him the same intense pleasure he’d given you. His hips began to move in time with your motions, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

“Just like that,” he groaned, his voice rough. “You’re perfect.”

With a final, deep thrust, he came undone, spilling into your mouth with a guttural moan. You swallowed every drop, savouring the taste of him as he shuddered beneath you.

When he finally caught his breath, he pulled you up into a searing kiss, tasting himself on your lips. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his hands caressing your back.

You smiled against his lips, your heart swelling with love. “Anything for you, Charles.”

He pulled you closer, his hands roaming over your body, as if memorising every curve, every inch of you. “Let me show you how much I appreciate you,” you whispered after a few minutes of kissing, once you knew he was undoubtedly getting hard for you again.

You wasted no time stripping off your clothes, the heat between you both too intense to ignore. You pushed him down onto the couch and straddled his hips, sinking down onto him with a gasp. The sensation of him filling you completely made your head spin, a soft moan escaping your lips.

Charles’ hands found your waist, steadying you as you began to move, rocking your hips against him. His eyes were locked on yours, his gaze filled with raw desire and adoration.

“C’est ça… tu te sens bien, n’est-ce pas?” (That's it... you feel good, don't you?) he murmured, his voice low and encouraging.

“Oui, Charles,” you gasped, your movements growing more frantic as you chased your release. “You’re so deep.”

“You’re being so good for me,” he praised, his grip tightening on your hips. “Is this your gift to me, yeah?”

“Oui, it’s all for you,” you whimpered, your hands resting on his flushed chest for support.

His hand slid from your hip to your thigh, encouraging you to move faster. “That’s right… use me… get yourself off.”

The intensity of his gaze, the feel of his hands on your skin, it all combined to drive you higher and higher until you were teetering on the edge. With a final, desperate moan, you came undone, your body shuddering around him as waves of pleasure washed over you.

Charles held you through it, his own release following closely as he watched you fall apart on top of him. His groan of satisfaction was music to your ears, and you collapsed against him, your body spent and trembling.

But he wasn’t done yet. With a gleam in his eye, Charles rolled you over gently, positioning you beneath him on the couch. He brushed a strand of hair from your face, his expression tender yet filled with desire.

“I want to see you fall apart for me again,” he whispered, his voice sending shivers down your spine. “Let me make you feel even better. Let me have a taste”

Your breath hitched as he moved down your body, his lips trailing hot kisses over your skin. He paused, his eyes meeting yours as he kissed a path between your breasts, down to your stomach. Every touch, every kiss was electric, setting your nerves on fire.

“Charles, please,” you breathed, your hands tangling in his hair as he kissed his way down to the apex of your thighs.

He grinned, his fingers parting your folds as his tongue flicked out, teasing your sensitive clit. The sensation was almost too much, your back arching off the couch as he lavished attention on you, his tongue and fingers working in perfect harmony to drive you to the brink once more.

Your moans filled the room, your hands clutching at the cushions as he pushed you higher and higher. He looked up, his eyes locking with yours as he murmured against your skin, “Come for me, mon amour. I want to feel you again.”

His words, combined with the relentless pleasure he was giving you, sent you over the edge. Your orgasm crashed over you, your body trembling as he continued to lick and suck, drawing out every last wave of pleasure.

When you finally came down, he crawled back up your body, kissing you deeply. You could taste yourself on his lips, a reminder of just how intimately he knew your body.

“I love watching you fall apart,” he whispered against your lips, his voice filled with awe and desire. “You’re so beautiful.”

You pulled him closer, your body still humming with the aftershocks of your release. “I love you, Charles.”

He smiled, brushing his lips against yours. “I love you too, more than anything.”He wrapped his arms around you, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Thank you, mon amour. The night was perfect.”

You smiled against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. “You deserve it, Charles. I’m so proud of you.”

He stroked your hair, his touch tender and loving. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You’re my good luck charm.”

You lifted your head to look at him, your fingers tracing the lines of his jaw. “And you’re my champion.”

Charles chuckled, pulling you into a deep, lingering kiss. “Here’s to many more victories, both on and off the track.”

You nodded, feeling content and loved in his arms. “To many more, Charles.”

Exhausted but blissfully content, you cuddled together on the couch, not bothering to go upstairs. The warmth of each other’s bodies, the rhythm of your breaths, and the unspoken bond of love and victory lulled you both into a peaceful sleep, a perfect end to an unforgettable day.

#f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #charles leclerc scenarios #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fanfic #formula one x reader #f1 scenario #formula one smut

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the-offside-rule · 5 months

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Max Verstappen (Red Bull Racing) - The Princess

Requested: yes

Prompt: 6) "I'm not religious, but I do think I've seen an angel

Warnings: none tbh, just more requests whilst I'm watching sprint quali

The sun was setting over the glamorous streets of Monaco, casting a golden glow over the iconic circuit as the Grand Prix came to a thrilling conclusion. Max Verstappen stood atop the podium, his heart pounding with the exhilaration of victory. As the crowd erupted in cheers, he couldn't shake the feeling of winning the prestigious race yet again. He waved down to the team before the glorious tune of the Dutch national anthem began playing.

Y/n, the Princess of Monaco, fiddled with the hem of her dress as she looked down to the huge crowd. Whilst she was royalty, crowds generally did seem to get to her. Her older brother took sick and had to cancel his plan to present the winner their trophy last minute. Hence, Miss Y/n was asked to. As the announcer declared the Princess to the crowd, Y/n stepped forward with grace, her regal presence commanding attention. She held the gleaming trophy in her hands, ready to present it to the triumphant driver. Max's gaze locked onto her, captivated by her beauty and poise. He felt a surge of something unfamiliar stirring within him as their eyes met.

Y/n smiled warmly as she handed Max the trophy, her eyes sparkling with admiration. "Congratulations, Max." She said, her voice soft and melodious. Max smirked, ignoring his heart skipping a beat at the sound of her voice. "Thank you, your Highness." He replied, unable to tear his gaze away from her. Max watched intently as the Princess walked away, applauding the dutchman before Max lifted the trophy and showcasing the newest clunk of metal he would add to his collection.

As the photographers clamored for their attention, Max and Y/n posed for the celebratory photos, their smiles bright and genuine. But as Lando Norris, another driver on the podium, playfully aimed his champagne bottle in their direction, Max instinctively shielded Y/n from the impending spray.

Y/n laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement as Max turned his back to protect her. "Thank you, Max. I dont think this dress would pair well with chanpagne stains." She said, touched by his chivalry. "When someone like you is wearing the dress, I dont think anyone would care." Max replied, his voice tinged with sincerity. "And plus, I couldn't let you get soaked." Y/n beamed at the subtle compliment from the race winner.

As the champagne-fueled celebrations continued, Max found himself walking by Y/n's side, unable to resist the magnetic pull she had on him. "Oh, here. Let me help you." He offered her his arm, guiding her down the steps of the podium with care as she navigated the stairs in her heels. "Well aren't you just so lovely." Y/n smiled as her arm linked with his, leaning onto him. "You looked stunning up there." Max remarked, his eyes lingering on Y/n's radiant smile. "I'm not religious, but I do believe I've seen an angel today." Y/n blushed at his words, her cheeks flushing with color. "You're bold, arent you?" She asked, a tinge of amusement lacing her voice. "I'm a racing driver, your Highness. You need to be bold." Y/n rolled her eyes. "Of course, but I don't see any other drivers making moves on me, Mr Verstappen."

"Well, I think they see we are having a conversation. It would be rude to interrupt, no?" Max smiled. The pair stood for a moment,him towering over her as she simply looked between his eyes. "I'd like if we continued our conversation." Y/n whispered. "So would I. How about we return to this conversation later?" Usually, Y/n wouldn't like how suggestively the driver was being, but her gut trusted the man. She sighed. "Where do you suggest we have our little rendezvous?" She smiled. "How about dinner?" The dutchman suggested. Y/n arched a brow. "You know, for a Monaco race winner, your idea of a celebration is very boring." Max didn't really know what to say. It wasnt until Y/n leaned towards his ear.

"I'll be meeting you ag some stage tonight." She pulled away and winked. For the first time in a while, Max felt butterflies in his stomach as the Princess walked away with her security surrounding her, while he stood there wondering when he would bump into her next.

#f1 imagine #f1 blurb #f1 oneshot #f1 x reader #max verstappen fic #max verstappen imagines #max verstappen imagine #max verstappen fanfic #max verstappen x oc #max verstappen x y/n #max verstappen x you #max verstappen blurb #max verstappen #f1 x female reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x oc #f1 x you

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transform4u · 27 days

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I’ve been wanting to get in shape so I’ve subscribed to this fitness podcast service called “Straight 2 Fit” to listen to while I’m at the gym - I’d never heard of it before but it’s got pretty great reviews so I’m hoping I’ll see a change fairly soon!

You hit play on the “Straight 2 Fit” podcast, the host’s booming voice instantly assaulting your ears. The intro jingle is a grating, over-the-top anthem of protein shakes and gym grunts, but you can’t deny the thrill of it. As you start your usual workout, you look down at your body, your pale twig arms straining under the ten-pound weights. You glance around, feeling like a flailing fish in a sea of bulging muscles and tight tank tops. The hunky men around you, in their fit tanks and booty shorts, seem like they're in a different league.

After a particularly grueling rep, you're about to give up when you hear the podcast host’s voice blare through your headphones: “Let’s get those gains, bro! No excuses, just results! Time to lift like a beast and roar like a lion!” His obnoxious enthusiasm cuts through your fatigue like a hot knife through butter. Suddenly, a surge of energy floods your body.

You glance at your bicep as it begins to pump with muscle, veins snaking their way under your skin. With each lift, that ten-pound weight morphs into an 80-pound behemoth, which you now lift with ease. You grunt and exhale heavily, your breath coming in ragged bursts. Your Adam's apple bobs prominently, your voice deepening into a gravelly roar.

“Crush it, bro! Feel the burn, embrace the pain, it’s the only way to real alpha gains!” the podcast hollers. His boozy voice reverberates through your mind like a relentless drumbeat.

You find yourself at the barbell rack, loading weight after weight, the clanking metal almost a symphony of strength. As you set yourself under the bar, your pecs begin to expand, each muscle fiber stretching and growing. The heat and pain are intense, but exhilarating. Sweat pours down your skin, soaking through your tank top and leaving dark stains.

You enter full beast mode, grabbing a protein shake from the bench that seemingly appeared out of nowhere. The label reads “Giga Bro Gains Shake - Now with Extra Testosterone!” You take a big gulp, the taste of artificial chocolate and raw masculinity hitting your taste buds. The podcast’s obnoxious ad blares, “Get that Giga Bro Gains protein powder, the only stuff that’ll make you smell like a real man—sweaty, strong, and unapologetically alpha!”

As you finish the shake, an obnoxious, wet protein fart erupts from you, PFFFFFFFfffffTTTT filling the gym with a pungent stench. Heads turn, and eyes widen, but you stare back with a brutish, unflinching gaze. Your face shifts, becoming more animalistic, more primal.

Your ass plumps up, growing more defined with each step. As you swagger over to the treadmills, your abs begin to chisel out, the baby fat melting away in the furnace of your newfound energy. You stride with confidence, each step echoing with the rhythm of your power. The gym has transformed into your domain, and you, a roaring titan, own every inch of it.

The energy coursing through your veins feels like a torrent of pure, fiery adrenaline, pushing your body beyond its limits. Your muscles swell with every heartbeat, growing larger and denser, each fiber straining and expanding under the pressure. The pain is a sharp, searing heat, radiating from deep within your core, spreading through your limbs and turning every movement into a test of endurance. Sweat pours off you in rivulets, your skin darkening to a deep, sun-soaked bronze under the relentless gym lights.

Your face begins to change, a slight chinstrap beard sprouting along your jawline, adding a rugged edge to your transformation. You start to holler and yell, the roar of your exertion echoing through the gym as you hit beast mode on the treadmill. Each pounding step feels like a declaration of dominance, your energy almost palpable, electrifying the air around you.

From behind, you hear a buff dude shout over the cacophony, “Bro, can’t wait for our training next week!” You glance over, appreciating his sculpted physique and confident demeanor. He’s undeniably hot. “Hell yeah, bro!” you shout back, extending your fist for a pump. As you make the gesture, a sharp throb pulses through your head.

The podcast host’s voice blares through your headphones, “Remember, bros, being a bro means embracing your inner dumbass! Brains are for nerds; we’re here to lift, chug, and crush it!” His voice is loud and obnoxious, a perfect anthem for your newfound mindset.

The energy flooding through you overwhelms any remnants of your old life. Math? Who needs it. Reading? That’s for losers. All you care about now is how to stack on more weights and count how many beers you can down. You let out a deep, dumb chuckle, the sound reverberating through the gym, filling the space with your brash, unfiltered confidence. In this moment, you’re not just a bro; you’re the hottest, thickest, and most unapologetically dumb bro in the gym, reveling in every ounce of your newfound identity.

As you look up at your bro----Brad how you forget your bro's name dummy, your eyes wander over his toned abs and bulging biceps. The way his muscles ripple underneath his skin is enough to make any straight guy jealous. You can't help but notice the way he moves - so confident and powerful. It's clear that he takes pride in his appearance and dedication to fitness. But quickly, you hear the podcast once more but it's not really a podcast anymore it's the voice in your head, the voice that guides you, makes every decision to ensure that you're the most brash and obnoxious bro in the gym. "Listen up, bros. It's time we set the record straight - pun intended. Men are superior in every way possible. We're stronger, faster, smarter... And let's not forget about our impressive physiques! Gays? They're weaklings who can't handle being real men. As for women? Well, they should know their place - in the kitchen or on their knees serving us like the goddesses they truly are."

You shake your head, trying to push away those gay thoughts that keep creeping into your mind. You're here for a reason - to train Brad into becoming the ultimate bro, just like you. As you start lifting weights together, it becomes increasingly difficult not to admire Brad's strength and determination as he grunts through each set with ease. His biceps bulge as he curls the weights, making it hard for you not to stare at them longingly from time-to-time…

But then something snaps inside of you - no more of this weakness! You need more testosterone coursing through your veins if there's any hope of turning these sissy boys into real men like yourself! With renewed vigor, you push yourself harder than ever before during their workout session together: bench presses until both arms feel like they might fall off; squats until every muscle in your legs screams out in agony; deadlifts that leave both of them breathless on the floor afterwards. And all throughout this intense training session all thoughts about hooking up with jocks or engaging in any sort of faggot activity vanish completely from both your mind– replaced instead by raw power & masculinity!

Memories flood into your mind like a relentless tide, each one more vivid and intoxicating than the last. You recall the countless nights kicking back with your bros, frat parties blur together in a haze of neon lights and thumping bass. The strobe effects and pulsating music create an atmosphere where you and your bros are the kings of the night. Beer pong tables, spilled drinks, and reckless abandon mark each gathering, a testament to your commitment to living large and living loud.

Bars after bars, you find yourself endlessly flashing your biceps to anyone who’ll look. You flex and pose, making your pecs dance under your tight shirts, the definition of your physique a constant display of your dedication to the gym. You’ve honed the art of being the most entitled, obnoxious bro, strutting through crowds with an air of arrogance that makes you impossible to ignore.

Flirting becomes a game, and you play it with zeal. Whatever chick you could find, you’d charm and tease, your confidence unshakeable. You’ve mastered the pickup lines, the winks, the smirks, and every move designed to catch a girl’s attention. Your charm is as effortless as it is obnoxious, your ego growing with each successful conquest.

Bar fights are a natural part of the landscape. The thrill of a brawl, the adrenaline rush of throwing punches and standing your ground, becomes an adrenaline-fueled sport. You thrive on the chaos, relishing the raw, primal energy that comes with it. Each fight is a testament to your toughness, a validation of your unyielding masculinity.

As you continue your workout, you notice Sabrina walking past the gym. She's dressed in a tight sports bra and shorts that hug her curves perfectly. You can't help but remember how much fun it was to tease her during their training sessions together.

You go up to her, smirking as she looks at you nervously. "Hey there, my little hellcat," you say with a wink. "Looking good today." She blushes deeply at your comment but doesn't say anything in response - she knows better than to argue with someone like yourself! You start to remember all those training sessions you had with her, getting her ass nice and fit. Showing her which sports bra in the gymshop would make her tits look great for you. Because that's what training with you was all about. Making sure women were the perfect fucktoys for you.

As you continue flirting with Sabrina, your hand finds its way to her perfect little ass. She giggles nervously but doesn't stop you from groping her. You lean in close and whisper into her ear, "Meet me in the staff lockers after closing hours tonight. I want to treat you like the fucktoy that you are."

Her eyes widen at your words, but she nods hesitantly before walking away. You watch as she disappears around a corner, feeling a mix of satisfaction and anticipation coursing through your veins.

Later that evening, after everyone has left the gym for the night, you log onto TikTok, "Yo, fam! It's your boy Trent here - the hottest fitness guru on the block. And let me tell you something... My muscles? They're so freaking awesome that people can't help but stare when I walk into a room. If you want guns like these, maybe they should tune into Straight 2 Fit podcast next week… Because guess who'll be on as their special guest host? Yep – none other than yours truly!" You turn towards the mirror and flex your muscles, admiring their definition in the reflection. A surge of testosterone courses through your veins as you think about what's about to happen with Sabrina later tonight, think about making her feel like the bitch she is, your dick hardens as you swagger off to the lockers.

As you walk towards the staff locker room, your mind is filled with thoughts of Sabrina - her moans echoing in your ears from last week's session. Your dick begins to swell inside your shorts, growing harder and thicker by the second as you imagine how tight she'll feel wrapped around it.

You lick your thick lips, tasting the salty sweat that has gathered there from all the training sessions today. "Fuck yeah," you mutter under your breath, "I'm a fucking beast." As soon as she sees you approaching with that cocky smirk on your face - well let's just say things are about to get real dirty real quick.

#gay to straight #male tf #transformation #douchebag tf #jock tf #dumber #ask #nerd to jock tf #homophobia

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nebuladreamerrr · 2 months

Note

What about those ideas? You won’t post them anymore? I want to read the dad fic so bad 😭🥰

https://www.tumblr.com/nebuladreamerrr/754189019746910208/hiiiii-i-have-several-ideas-in-mind-and-although

I hope you enjoy it a lot, I had a lot of fun writing this, and I tried to do it differently, adding many more details. I think it's the story I like the most out of the ones I've written so far 💗💗💗

Fine line| Kylian Mbappé x Fem Reader

Summary: After three long years of constant changes and persistent fears, Kylian feels ready to show his son to the world, but he will not hesitate to jump and defend his family if anyone attacks them.

Warnings: English is not my first language, and mentions of a kid suffering from blindness

You couldn't help but feel a wave of emotion as you dressed your son to attend his dad's match. The Real Madrid stadium was gearing up for an epic night, and the thrill of seeing Kylian on the field was always indescribable. However, this time it was even more special. Not only because Kylian was in his best form and ready to fight for the Champions League title, but because Jayce, your little one, would be there to witness it.

Ever since you told Jayce, just two weeks ago, that he could go to the place where his dad worked, he hadn't stopped talking about it every chance he got. He wore the Real Madrid jersey in every possible situation, even while sleeping, and practiced singing the anthem for when the match started. His enthusiasm was contagious, and every time he talked about his dad, his words reflected a mix of admiration and love.

It seemed incredible that the little Mbappé family hadn't set foot in the stadium to cheer on the footballer in almost three years. This had fueled numerous breakup rumors in the media, as you had always supported Kylian, not only by going to the club's stadium but also by traveling to different countries to be his "lucky charm." However, when little Jayce was born, everything changed.

Kylian adored his son, and it showed in every daily interaction he had with him. From teaching him to walk, to making video calls when he was away so Jayce could hear his voice while hugging the personalized stuffed toy shaped like his father. Gradually, Kylian was instilling all the values that would make Jayce a great man. But Kylian was terrified that someone might harm his little boy. He knew all too well how the journalists and the press operated, and they wouldn't hesitate to hurt his son just to get to Kylian.

Since the beginning of your relationship, Kylian had always been overprotective, fearing that the press might overwhelm you or that the crowds might drive you away from him. However, he slowly discovered your strong personality and understood that you could handle those problems on your own. But Jayce was still too young to face all those challenges, so, as his parents, you had to protect him.

From the moment Kylian found out you were pregnant, he had been dreaming about the day he would meet his son: how tall he would be, how much he would weigh, whether he would look more like you or him. Although doubts sometimes crossed his mind about what would happen if something went wrong, he always found comfort in the fact that you had a great team of professionals by your side and that you were a strong woman capable of achieving anything you set your mind to.

The delivery seemed to go smoothly, and everything appeared to have been a success until they began examining little Jayce. Initially, they noticed that he was barely opening his eyes. They thought it might be due to the strain of the birth or that the light might be bothering him, but as days passed, Jayce seemed to have problems with his eyes. It was then that they discovered the little one was blind.

You had never expected to have a child with a disability, but you knew you would love him with all your heart. However, it pained you to see how Kylian felt guilty about everything. He couldn't help but feel responsible for the criticisms his son might face for being his son, for being the center of attention even if he didn't want to be, and for always standing out. Through tears, Kylian confessed that he preferred to keep his son away from the public eye, and crying, he begged you to forgive him for complicating your lives.

During these past three years, you had learned not only how to be a mother—deciphering what your son needed when he cried, what stories Jayce preferred, and how to find the perfect balance between motherhood and your professional life—but also to be the emotional support and rock for Kylian during this time, especially in the most difficult moments.

At first, it seemed like Kylian was sinking deeper and deeper. His joy was fading, consumed by worry and sadness. However, the start of the new season was a breath of fresh air for him. The adrenaline and passion for football allowed him to release all those pent-up emotions, and Jayce's first year of life became the year Kylian was crowned the league's top scorer. This achievement was not only a milestone in his career but also a crucial step in his emotional recovery.

Gradually, Kylian learned to manage his emotions and realized that he couldn't let fear and external pressures dictate his decisions. He learned to be the best dad possible for Jayce, accepting that raising his son wouldn't be as he had imagined, but also discovering that he wouldn't change it for the world. He loved how Jayce would touch his face to get to know his features, and how he would get excited about doing chores like setting the table on his own. These small moments showed that Jayce was a strong child and that in the future, he would be as independent as any other kid.

Undoubtedly, one of Kylian's most cherished memories with his son was when he started teaching him how to play football. He bought special balls with sand inside, which allowed Jayce to locate them by sound and feel as they moved. With these balls, Jayce learned to kick and score goals that filled his father with pride. Each time the little one scored, Kylian's joy and pride grew, strengthening their bond and giving him another reason to keep going.

These years hadn't been easy, but they had strengthened your family in ways you never imagined. The challenges had been numerous, but love and determination had prevailed, showing that together you could face any adversity. Now, as you dressed Jayce for the match, you felt a mix of pride and excitement. You knew that no matter what, your family would always find a way to move forward, and today was a celebration of that indomitable spirit.

After making sure you had everything you needed for the match, like snacks for Jayce and various toys, you decided to drive to the stadium. Kylian had informed the club in advance about the importance of this day, asking for his family to feel comfortable and well taken care of. So, when the security staff noticed that you had arrived by car, they didn't hesitate to help and guide you through the stadium, giving Jayce a team scarf and small stickers. The little one, grateful, responded with a huge smile.

Upon reaching the designated box, you showed Jayce around. Kylian had commissioned a relief recreation of the stadium's silhouette so Jayce could always know where he was, the tunnels leading to the field, and the goals where his father would dedicate a goal to him that night. Additionally, some wives of Kylian's teammates came over to greet and meet mini Mbappé, who was delighted to chat and meet new people.

Shortly before the match started, Kylian came up to the box to give you a final kiss and to encourage Jayce, promising to make him very proud. His presence and words filled the air with emotion.

"I am so proud of how you’ve evolved and how we’ve grown as a family," you whispered before giving him a warm kiss of encouragement.

"I couldn't have done it without you, mon amour," Kylian replied with a smile.

As you watched Kylian return to the field, you felt a wave of pride and love. This match was not just a sporting event but a symbol of the journey you had traveled together as a family. Kylian, Jayce and you had faced challenges that had strengthened you, and now you were ready to enjoy this special moment together.

Jayce settled into his seat, stroking the team scarf with a smile as you explained the details of the stadium that he explored with his hands. Every goal, every play, every moment of the match held special meaning, and you knew this night would be etched into your family’s memory forever.

In the 37th minute, Mbappé scored a goal that not only made all the Madrid fans leap to their feet but also brought Real Madrid closer to lifting that long-awaited Champions League trophy, especially significant since it was being held at their home stadium. Right after scoring and celebrating with his ecstatic teammates, Kylian headed toward a camera, blowing a kiss and pointing to the box where you were sitting. What surprised you the most was hearing over the loudspeaker: "Kylian dedicates this goal to his family and especially to his son Jayce." Kylian had taken care of every detail to ensure his son felt loved and understood what was happening.

“Send lots of kisses to Daddy,” you whispered to your son as he enthusiastically blew kisses into the air. Although Jayce couldn't see, Kylian was on the field, returning those kisses.

As the match progressed, Madrid focused on defense. Both teams tried to create chances, but neither managed to score another goal. However, this didn't dampen Madrid's spirits as they became Champions League winners once again.

You couldn't help but take out your phone to record, filled with emotion, as Kylian looked for you with his eyes. Your little one was jumping with joy when you told him to say hello to Daddy, who was looking for him. Tears welled up as you watched Kylian and the team lift the trophy they had fought so hard to win. While you saw Kylian joke around, dance with his teammates, and even sing chants with the fans, you decided to give him his space to enjoy his moment, taking the opportunity to explain to Jayce everything that was about to happen.

“Now we’re going down to celebrate with Daddy, okay?” you said, giving him a little kiss on the cheek.

Jayce nodded enthusiastically, clutching your hand as you prepared to head down to the field. The security staff, aware of the situation, kindly guided you through the stadium, ensuring everything went smoothly.

When you reached the edge of the field, the roar of the crowd and the glow of the spotlights created a magical atmosphere. Kylian, seeing you approach with Jayce, ran towards you with a smile that reflected pure happiness. He bent down to hug Jayce, lifting him into the air as the little boy laughed and reached out to touch his dad’s face.

“We did it, mon petit champion!” Kylian exclaimed with an emotional voice, kissing Jayce’s forehead.

“Yes, Daddy, we did it,” Jayce responded, his voice filled with a mixture of pride and joy.

The night turned into an unforgettable celebration, with Kylian sharing his triumph not only with his teammates but with the people he loved the most. As you held Jayce, you watched Kylian lift the trophy once more, feeling that all the effort and sacrifice of the past years had been worth it.

No matter how many times you had imagined this moment, this day had exceeded your expectations by far. Beyond the incredible athletic performance and talent that Kylian had demonstrated once again, your little one had immensely enjoyed this day. There were memorable moments, like when you took a photo with the trophy where Jayce sat inside it, or when Kylian lifted him up so he could touch the goal where he had scored the goal dedicated to him. Jayce had also enjoyed the company of the children of his father's teammates, who had animatedly talked with him and held his hand the whole time.

After many celebrations, cheers, and chants, Florentino Pérez carefully approached Kylian to ask if he could give a few quick words to some television channels. Although Florentino promised that he could ask someone else, understanding that it was a very important day for him, Kylian knew it had to be him who spoke. Not only because he had scored the winning goal or because he was the star player, but because many people were surprised that he had decided to introduce his son today.

Kylian nodded, taking your hand for a moment before heading towards the group of eager journalists. "Take care of our little champion," he said with a smile, kissing Jayce on the forehead and giving you a peck before walking away.

You and Jayce watched from a safe distance as Kylian took the microphone. The journalists started shouting his name to get an exclusive, and the cameras focused on him. "This goal is for my family, especially for my son Jayce," Kylian began, his voice resonating with a mix of pride and emotion. "Today is a very special day, not only because of the victory but because I could share it with the people I love the most. Jayce is an incredible, strong, and brave child, and he inspires me every day to be better both on and off the field. And y/n shows me every day how lucky I am that someone as wonderful as she has decided to spend the rest of her life with me."

The crowd applauded enthusiastically, and many journalists congratulated Kylian, commenting on how Jayce seemed like an intelligent child and was the spitting image of his mother. However, suddenly, a question echoed above all: "Aren’t you ashamed to have a child like that?"

The ensuing silence was palpable, and the atmosphere tensed. Kylian stood still for a moment, processing the insensitivity of the question. However, his expression hardened with determination and calm.

"Did you really just ask that crap?" Kylian responded firmly. "I often criticize the work you do and try to put myself in your shoes, understanding that you are paid to get exclusive news and that often you do things you don't want to. But what you just asked shows your lack of tact and poor education. Jayce is my son, and I am incredibly proud of him. His bravery and spirit are a constant source of inspiration for me. There is nothing to be ashamed of, although if you are a father, I wouldn’t doubt that your children have reasons to be ashamed of you. In fact, having Jayce in my life has taught me more about love, strength, and resilience than anything else. He is an incredible child, and anyone who cannot see that is the one who should feel ashamed."

Kylian's words were met with even louder applause, and many journalists nodded in respect and admiration while booing the other journalist, who couldn’t help but leave embarrassed, trying to hide his face.

From your position, you felt full of pride and gratitude. The way Kylian had handled the situation with dignity and love was a testament to his character. Jayce, although unaware of the full significance of what had happened, seemed to pick up on the positive energy around him, and his face lit up with a smile.

When Kylian finished his brief statement and returned to you, the crowd was still applauding. "You did great, Daddy," Jayce said as he hugged him.

"Thanks, champ," Kylian responded, returning the hug with strength.

#kylian mbappe #kylian mbappe x reader #kylian x reader #mbappe imagine #mbappe psg #mbappe x reader

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23victoria · 4 months

Text

𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝙸𝚗 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚌𝚘

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚘𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛 𝚙𝚒𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚒 𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚖!𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 𝟷.𝟸𝚔

✾ 𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝚢/𝚗 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚊 𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚖𝚞𝚕𝚊 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚎 𝚒𝚗 𝙼𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚌𝚘 𝚝𝚊𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝚊 𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛!

❁ 𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚗𝚘𝚗𝚎! 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏!

✿ 𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚛'𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝𝚎: 𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚠𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚜𝚌𝚊𝚛! 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢! 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎, 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!! ꨄ

The sun glistens over the Mediterranean, casting a warm golden hue over the streets of Monaco. The narrow, winding roads are alive with excitement, the air thick with the hum of engines and the palpable thrill of anticipation. You are here for your first Formula 1 race, invited by your friend Layla. The energy of the crowd, the beauty of the yachts docked in the harbor, and the historic charm of the city-state enchant you.

As you make your way through the bustling paddock, you notice a tall, striking brown haired man in a McLaren suit. Oscar Piastri, his name tag reads. His eyes catch yours for a brief moment, and you see a flicker of something—curiosity, perhaps—before you continue on your way. Little do you know, he’s been completely captivated by you.

Oscar watches you disappear into the crowd, his heart racing faster than it does on the track. He’s smitten, enthralled by your beauty and the way you seem to light up the space around you. Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he refocuses on the race ahead. But throughout the preparations, your face lingers in his mind, a sweet distraction.

The race begins with the usual roar of engines and the eager cheers of the crowd. The winding streets of Monaco prove as challenging as ever, each corner and straight demanding the utmost precision. Oscar finds his rhythm, pushing his McLaren to its limits. Every now and then, thoughts of you slip in, urging him to perform at his best.

Lap after lap, the race unfolds with gripping intensity. Leclerc leads the race, closely followed by Verstappen, while Oscar holds his own in third. The streets blur into a high-speed ballet of color and sound. Oscar’s focus never wavers, and as the final laps approach, he knows he’s got a shot at the podium.

The checkered flag waves, signaling the end of a grueling but exhilarating race. Charles takes first place, Max in second, and Oscar crosses the line in third. The podium finish is a triumph, but as he climbs the steps and looks out over the crowd, all he can think about is finding you.

The podium ceremony is a whirlwind of the crowd cheering, trophies, and champagne. Oscar accepts his third-place trophy with a smile, but his eyes scan the crowd, searching for you. As the national anthems play and the crowd cheers, he wonders if you’re still here, somewhere among the thousands of fans.

Once the ceremony concludes, Oscar makes his way through the paddock, his heart set on finding you. Luck seems to be on his side, as he spots you near one of the hospitality suites, talking to a Mercedes engineer named Layla. Taking a deep breath, he approaches just as Layla leaves, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Hi there,” he says, his voice more confident than he feels. “I’m Oscar.”

You turn, surprised but pleased to see him. “Hello, Oscar. I’m Y/N.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” he says, a smile breaking across his face. “I noticed you before the race started earlier, but I didn’t have a chance to talk to you, now that it ended, I just wanted to say hi.”

You smile back, feeling a flutter of excitement. “It’s nice to meet you too, Oscar. This is my first race. Layla invited me, and it’s been quite an experience.”

Oscar’s eyes light up with genuine interest. “Your first race? What did you think about it? Did you have fun?”

“It was incredible,” you reply. “The atmosphere, the speed, the sound of the engines—it’s all so fascinating. Though, I have to admit, I don’t know much about Formula 1.”

He chuckles, his nervousness easing. “That’s okay. There’s a lot to learn, but it sounds like you’re enjoying it. And I have to say, you picked a great race to attend. Monaco is something special.”

You nod, glancing around at the glamorous surroundings. “It really is. I’m glad I got to experience it.”

Oscar hesitates for a moment, then gathers his courage. “Are you busy later? I’d love to show you more of Monaco, if you’re interested.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you can’t help but smile. “I’d love that.”

“Great,” he says, relief evident in his voice. “Can I get your number? I’ll text you the details of where we’re going.”

You exchange numbers, and Oscar promises to text you in a few. As he walks away, he feels a surge of happiness, the promise of the evening ahead leaving a warm feeling throughout his body.

Later, as the sun begins to set, you receive a message from Oscar: “Be ready by 6. I’ll pick you up from your hotel.”

Excitement buzzes through you as you get ready, choosing a casual yet stylish outfit. When 6 o’clock rolls around, you’re waiting in the lobby, a mix of nerves and anticipation coursing through you. Oscar arrives right on time, looking relaxed and happy to see you.

“Ready to go?” he asks, his smile infectious.

“Absolutely,” you reply, matching his grin.

He takes you to a charming seaside restaurant, the perfect spot for a relaxed dinner. The view is breathtaking, the sky painted in hues of orange and pink as the sun sets over the water. As you sit down, you can’t help but feel that this evening is going to be something special.

Over dinner, the conversation flows easily. Oscar asks about your hobbies, and you tell him about your love for baking, painting, and your other hobbies. He listens intently, genuinely interested in everything you have to say.

“I love to surf,” he shares when it’s his turn. “Growing up in Australia, it was something I did all the time. And, of course, racing is a huge part of my life.”

You smile apologetically. “I have to admit, I didn’t know much about you before today. I’m still learning about Formula 1.”

Oscar laughs, shaking his head. “That’s okay. It gave me a great excuse to talk to you.”

You laugh with him, the tension of the day melting away. The conversation continues, light and easy, as you both share stories and experiences. The food is delicious, but it’s the company that makes the evening truly memorable.

After dinner, Oscar suggests a walk along the beach. The air is cool, the sound of the waves soothing as you stroll along the shoreline. The sky has darkened, stars beginning to twinkle overhead.

“This place is beautiful,” you say, gazing out at the water.

“It really is,” Oscar agrees. “I’m glad we came here.”

As you walk, the conversation turns more personal. You talk about your families, your dreams, your fears. Oscar’s openness and warmth make you feel comfortable, and you find yourself sharing more than you usually would.

Eventually, you find a spot on the sand, sitting down with your feet in the water. The waves lap gently at your toes, the night sky stretching endlessly above.

“I really enjoyed tonight,” you say, looking over at Oscar. “It was...unexpected, but in the best way.”

“I feel the same,” he replies, his gaze meeting yours. “This was one of the best nights I’ve had in a long time.”

You sit in comfortable silence for a while, the sound of the ocean a soothing backdrop. There’s a sense of something beginning, a connection that feels both new and familiar.

“I’d love to do this again sometime,” Oscar says quietly, breaking the silence.

You smile, feeling a warmth spread through you. “I’d like that too.”

#ꨄ࿎victoria’s writings!࿎ꨄ #formula 1 #formula one #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x fem!reader #dividers by @cafekitsune #oscar piastri fluff #op81 #op81 x reader #op81 fic #op81 fluff #op81 x you

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runningfrom2am · 7 months

Text

cold nights // part twenty-six

summary: you were back in the capitol, and you would be damned if you didn't try your hardest to make it worthwhile.

pairing: coriolanus snow x fem!reader

wc: 7.3k (WOAH)

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: tribute!reader and mentor!coriolanus, r is very sweet (too kind for this world. literally.), sunshine x grumpy trope kinda, he falls first, violence typical for the source material, depictions of mental illness, also she's is very smart (as she should), district twelve!reader.

a/n: sorry i made you guys wait so long for this omg!! i have been booked and busy this week but we are so back :)

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // playlist

It's your first day of university, and you don't know if you're more excited or terrified.

It was the beginning of the rest of your life, which is thrilling considering just two months ago you thought you had days left to live. At the same time, though, you knew no one here besides Coryo and Sej, and you didn't share a single class with either of them.

But, staying positive was a must. It would only be a few hours away from them, and you had planned to meet up for lunch with Coryo between your classes, since he had found some for you that started and ended at the same time as his. While you drape your scarf over your shoulders and tuck both ends around the belt at your waist, you smile to yourself. You take a last look in the mirror, to double-confirm that you like the look of the scarf worn that way over your white dress and when you're satisfied you grab your bag and leave your room. Of course, Tybalt is right on your heels.

Walking down the hall, you can hear their grandmother singing the national anthem in the other room, as she always does. You've never loved the anthem or what it stood for, but starting your morning hearing singing is nice nonetheless. Even if the woman who started her mornings with song had decided just to completely pretend you didn't exist, ignoring you at every turn. "Good morning!" You smile as you enter the dining room, Tigris and Coryo already sitting to eat.

"Morning." They both smile at you at the same time as you drop your bag down, sitting next to Coryo. "Are you excited?" Tigris asks as you reach for some apple slices. There are more fancy pastries spread out on the tray as well, but you'd much rather stick to fruit in the morning.

"I am." You grin, biting the slice in half. "A little nervous, though. I must admit."

"You don't need to be nervous." Coryo tells you, and his smile does relax you. But you know he doesn't understand. "I'll walk you to your classes, and I'll see you during our break. It'll be easy and you'll adjust very quickly."

"Aren't you nervous?" You ask, picking up your cup of tea and taking a sip. "It's your first day too."

"Not really." He shrugs, reaching up to mess with his hair. It had only been a few weeks since he cut it, but it was growing back rather quickly. "More excited."

"Oh, well, I'm excited for you too." You hum, taking another bite of your apple and smiling as he pats your leg under the table.

Pulling up to the campus after Coryo insisted that their driver take the two of you, you notice immediately that there were tons more people. Most were people around your age, which you expected. You wonder how many of them are Coryo's other friends, it would be nice to make more friends here. Just like the games. You find yourself thinking. "Safety in numbers", is what Coryo had told you. You needed allies here.

"There's a lot of people." You comment as the car comes to a stop, and Coryo gently squeezes you with the arm he has over your shoulder in the backseat, still shielded by the tinted windows.

"Yes, just stay close to me." He tells you, kissing your cheek. You nod and push the door open, thanking the driver quickly as you climb out with Coryo on your heels.

It's obvious to him almost immediately that you don't fit in. While there isn't a uniform like there was in the academy, he was still wearing dress pants and a button-up shirt- which seemed to be on par with the level of dress all the other students were donning. Mentally, he curses himself for not thinking of that. It didn't even cross his mind- all that did was that you looked beautiful. More done up than he'd ever seen you, and you don't look insecure about it, at least not immediately. Outside of what he can discern of just average nervousness as you seem to shrink in on yourself while you look out over as much of the campus as you can see.

"So, your class starts in twenty-five minutes. Usually, it's a good idea to get there early, that's what I've heard anyway." He tells you as he starts walking down the path toward the doors, and you follow quickly after him.

"How long does it take to get there?" You ask as you catch up, holding onto your bag over your shoulder.

"You tell me." He smirks, jutting out his elbow to gently nudge you. "I have you the tour, where are we going?"

"Oh." You laugh, looking around. "It looks a lot different now. Probably... ten minutes to get to the arts building?"

"About that, yeah." He nods. "In no time you won't need me anymore."

As you approach the entrance to the main building, it doesn't go unnoticed by him that you're being stared at. No doubt every other student here recognizes you, it would be jarring to see a tribute walking among them at school. Let alone be in a class with them. He wonders if they'd feel unsafe with you- he knows he would have without knowing you.

Not necessarily unsafe, considering even watching the games anyone could tell you wouldn't hurt a fly, but... uneasy, is a more accurate descriptor. It even begins to pool in his own stomach, growing more as you link your arm with his. They weren't just staring at you. They were staring at him, too.

"I'll always need you, I'm sure." You giggle, squeezing his arm.

He can practically hear all of their whispers now.

'Is that Coriolanus Snow? That District girl is all over him.'

'She's probably going to give him rabies or some other gross District plague. I won't be surprised if he starts a Monkey Pox outbreak.'

'I heard him and Sejanus Plinth went to District Twelve just for her. They probably came back half animal- no wonder he sees nothing wrong with this.'

Suddenly, he does. Your hold on him, while friendly, feels so sickeningly isolating. He pulls his arm from yours with the excuse of rolling up the sleeves of his shirt while he speaks to you. "Well, we may not always have aligning classes."

"That's true, I suppose." You agree. "An awful shame though, I'll miss being able to have lunch together."

He just hums in agreement, picking up his pace as you move through the halls and out the back exit to be able to access the art building.

"This is you." Coryo says as he stops outside the door to a lecture hall, looking inside briefly before turning his attention to you. There were a few students already inside, reading or organizing their notebooks.

"Oh, thank you." You smile at him. He didn't have much to say on the walk to your class, but you sum that up to him being in a hurry to get to his own. The art building was certainly out of his way, if you remember where all his classes were supposed to be.

"You're welcome." He says, making an effort to match your smile. He could only really focus on the stares you were getting from people walking past, making wide circles around you. You don't seem to notice as you look up at him. "I'll come back to get you after class, so just wait for me, okay?"

"I'll wait right here." You nod, wrapping your arms around him and leaning your head against his chest. "I'll miss you, though."

You feel him tense up under you, and he awkwardly pats your back. You don't clue in until you hear gasps and whispering. You quickly take a step back, cheeks red.

Coryo chuckles nervously. "It's alright, uh..." He leans down to whisper to you. "They're just strict about that kind of stuff here. Don't worry about it."

"Oh, I'm sorry..." You reply, looking around and smiling apologetically at the few people still staring as they walk past.

"I should have told you, that's my fault." He admits, standing up straight before leaning down to talk to you again. "Good luck in your class. I love you, and I'll see you for lunch." He whispers and is satisfied when that brings your normal smile back.

"I love you too." You whisper back, and he grins, giving you a quick nod. "See you later."

You wave as he walks away, and you take a deep breath before walking into the lecture hall.

Now, you're presented with your second big problem of the day. Figuring out where to sit.

You scan the room quickly, deciding the easiest would be the front or second row. There were a few students already sitting down there, and one girl who was sitting alone. She had blonde hair, and red lipstick that you think would match Coryo's coat that he sometimes wears quite nicely. She looked nice.

You smile as you make your way over to the front row, sliding into the seat next to her. "Hi! My name is Y/N, what's-" You whisper, wanting to stay quiet in the already silent room and before you even finish your question she's shoving things in her bag and getting up. "Oh." You frown, looking around as she quickly moves to a different seat. The shuffle caused everyone who wasn't already looking to stare at you, so you just quickly turned to face the front.

You didn't mean to scare her off, you just thought she might want a friend if she was sitting alone, and you definitely wanted one. She didn't even look at you for more than a second.

You quietly pull the notebook Coryo had given you out of your bag, placing it on the table in front of you and looking up at the clock. There were still fifteen or so minutes until your class would start, so surely by then, someone would sit next to you.

Unfortunately, that didn't happen. By the time the man you assumed was your professor entered, every other seat was taken besides the ones next to you. And behind you. There was this glaringly uncomfortable circle of emptiness surrounding you right at the front of the room. It was mildly embarrassing, but at least you didn't have to see everyone staring at you since almost everyone was behind you. But you still had the afternoon class, and the rest of the year to let people warm up to you. It would be okay.

"Okay, I hope everyone is here." Your gaze follows your professor as he shuts and locks the door. "If you're late, that's too bad. I expect everyone to be on time. This door will be locked at nine on the dot. For anyone who doesn't know me, my name is Dr. Nero."

You sit up straighter in your seat. He looks young, probably only ten or so years your senior with well-trimmed but present facial hair and a semi-casual suit. He must be relatively new to the position, and clearly, he took it very seriously.

"Alright, the department wants us to do icebreakers, so we'll get it over quickly. When I call your name on the attendance, tell us something about yourself and what your career goal is."

Shoot. You definitely didn't have any solid plans yet.

As he goes through the list, you wrack your brain for an answer. What did you want to do? Nothing specific. Maybe you'd write a book, maybe open a daycare back home where parents could leave their young ones with you by donation while they went to work. Maybe you'd be back at the library, but you really wanted to do something good with your education. You make a mental note to ask Coryo during lunch what kind of career you can have with a literature degree.

You look around, trying to remember as many names as you can as the other students answer.

"Teacher", "Artist", "Museum Curator", "Gamemaker".

Your eyes are still locked on the student who said that, a boy with dark hair and brown eyes. His name was Cancor Crane, if you remember what the professor had just called out correctly, and he was staring back at you. He was staring at you with such a vile expression that it looked like he wanted to gut you. A chill goes down your spine.

Then your name is called. You turn quickly, smiling nervously. "Hi..." You say, clearing your throat of the dryness that overtook it. "So, my name is Y/N... something about myself is that I have a cat, his name is Tybalt. Um, because my favourite book is Romeo and Juliet." You look around, then quickly back to your desk. "And I am not sure about my career, in all honesty. Not knowing when the dawn will come I open every door." You shrug, smiling hopefully at him.

"Interesting." Your professor says, tilting his head at you and leaning back against his desk. "I expected your fact to be that you're a Victor."

"I- well, yes. I am." You reply nervously, twisting your pencil in between your fingers.

He hums. "Congratulations."

Congratulations on being the only one to walk away with your life.

"Thank you." You settle on, voice hardly more than a whisper.

"I've never taught a Victor before. This should be an interesting class for all of us."

You took as many notes as you could through the syllabus overview and first lecture. You were pretty pleased with yourself, everything looked organized and you felt prepared for the rest of the course- besides the textbooks that you needed to pick up. Another thing to ask Coryo about.

You don't see him at the door yet, after all, he had to walk all the way back from his class to yours and if he was let out at the same time he should be here in about ten minutes.

"Miss Y/L/N, do you mind staying for a moment?" Dr. Nero asks as the lecture hall steadily clears out. "I'd like to chat with you."

You quickly gather your things, making your way over to his desk at the front centre of the large room.

"Dr. Nero." You smile, bag tucked under your arm. "I really enjoyed today's class. I'm looking forward to the rest of the semester."

A grin tugs at the corner of his lips. "Thank you."

He doesn't say anything else, and you're left wondering what he wanted you to stay for. "I just need to get my textbooks, but I have the list that you gave us so I'll see if I can grab them this afternoon. I'll have them for Wednesday." You say, just wanting to fill the silence.

"Good." He nods, leaning back against his desk and tucking his hands into his pockets. "I watched your games. When they told me that you enrolled in my class, I was immediately intrigued."

"Oh." What are you supposed to say to that? He watched you at your literal worst, that doesn't make you feel very comfortable at all.

"In a good way, I assure you." He says, sensing your nerves. "I feel as though you know more about English literature than anyone in this city. Maybe even more than me."

"I wouldn't say that..." You chuckle nervously. "I just like reading."

"Yes. With an unprecedented level of comprehension for a District-born child."

You want to scowl and argue with him about how the opinions of the Capitol citizens are based on nothing but their own superiority complex fuelled by their win in one war that cost the lives of many, but instead, you just smile and nod. "Thank you, Sir."

"Although, tributes are not given much of a chance to prove that they are more than animals when they are treated as such from the moment they arrive until the moment they die, wouldn't you agree?"

You tilt your head at him. His motivations and opinions are suddenly unclear and confusing to you. "Yes... I-I would."

"Well, I hope to learn more about your experience while we get to know each other." He tells you. "Thank you for coming."

"Yes, thank you." You say quietly, looking toward the door. "I'll see you on Wednesday."

"Yes, good luck in the rest of your classes." He nods to you, and you take that as your dismissal and head to the door. You would just have to wait for Coryo in the hall.

You wouldn't have to wait long, considering he was already there, right where he had left you earlier.

"Hi!" You smile, waving at him but being mindful of keeping your distance.

"Hello." He grins, already starting down the hall as you join his side.

"How was your class?" You ask excitedly.

"Good." He shrugs. "What about yours? That's what I'm more concerned about."

"It was good!" You smile. "I mean, I tried to talk to people but everyone was pretty quiet. And the Professor was nice. I think. He seemed fascinated by the fact that I'm a 'Victor'." You accentuate your point with finger quotations, bouncing between looking up at him beside you and ahead of you to make sure you don't walk into anyone. They seem to be keeping their distance, though.

"Of course he is." Coryo scoffs, shaking his head. "But that's what we want. He may favour you, so go along with it."

"Oh, okay."

Tigris was nice enough to pack you both lunch for the day, yours consisting mainly of fruit. Something you have noticed over the last couple of weeks you've been here is that some of the food scares you- which is something you never thought of. If you can't somewhat accurately identify what it is just by looking at it, you're tempted to steer clear. Coryo insists you'll "get used to it", something he tells you daily about a wide variety of things, but Tigris doesn't mind packing you fruit for lunch or meals you don't help prepare yourself, which you appreciate.

Even for a September day, the sun is beaming down on the courtyard so you decided to eat outside. After all, Coryo says the weather won't be this nice all winter. You rarely got snow in Twelve, so you were excited for the holidays. Secretly, you hoped you could go home for Christmas.

"It's a beautiful day today." You comment, taking a bite of the fresh strawberry you pulled from your lunch container. The strawberries here were something that shocked you as well- they were bigger than the homegrown ones back home. Not nearly as sweet, though.

"It is." Coryo nods, leaning back on his palms in the grass. "Do you like it here so far?" He asks, squinting from the sun as he looks over at you.

"I mean, I've only had one class as you know, but so far it's great." You grin. "I'm excited to actually dive into the readings and such."

"I mean, like, in general." He chuckles. "Also, I have never heard anyone ever say they were excited about homework."

"A precious, mouldering pleasure it is, to meet an antique book, In just the dress his century wore; A privilege I think." You shrug, smiling at him as you place the rest of the strawberry on your tongue.

Coryo scrunches up his nose in disgust while you chew. "You eat the leaves?"

Quickly, you're covering your mouth with your hand to speak. "You don't?" You ask, voice slightly muffled with the slightly sour fruit on your tongue.

"No!" He laughs, shaking his head.

You swallow what remains of the strawberry in your mouth, preparing to defend yourself when you hear someone call his name. You both turn, and your eyes land on a girl with long, dark hair as she walks toward you. With the shoes she's wearing, she only slightly struggles on the grass.

"Clemmie." He smiles, quickly standing up. You follow suit, brushing the stray blades of grass off of your legs and dress while he gives her a hug. A hug? That must be allowed outdoors. "I didn't expect to see you today."

"Yeah, well, they let me out of my cage for the occasion." She replies sarcastically. She must be hot, wearing a white turtle neck in this heat. Then she looks at you, lifting up her dark sunglasses and resting them in her hair.

She has the eyes of a snake.

You're in shock for a moment, but you quickly recover. "Hello, my name is Y/N. Are you a friend of Coryo's?" You ask, extending your hand to shake. You were just happy to possibly be making friends.

She doesn't take it, something you're used to by now. "Yes, we've known each other our whole lives." She answers, looking down at your hand as you slowly lower it back to your side.

"Y/N, this is Clemensia Dovecote." Coryo says, deciding to introduce you properly, since his classmate didn't want to oblige. "She was a mentor as well."

"Oh, congratulations." You grin, biting back the sickness you felt suddenly bubbling in your stomach. "From what I have heard, even being selected for the opportunity is a large accomplishment. You must be proud."

"Yeah, well, I'd certainly be happier if my tribute won." She shrugs.

"Clemmie-" Coryo hisses at her, and she looks momentarily horrified at her own statement.

You look down, nodding slightly with a nervous smile. "It's okay." You insist, laughing slightly and pretending to readjust your scarf and tighten it around the belt.

"I didn't... Not like that. I'm sorry." She apologizes quickly after Coryo had jumped to your defense.

"No, it's alright. I understand." You tell her again, attempting a reassuring smile. "Would... would you like to eat lunch with us?"

"I have to get going, actually." Clemensia replies, looking between the two of you. "I was just on my way to my next class and thought I'd stop to say hi. It was nice to meet you, Y/N."

"You too." You grin, and she nods at you before walking away.

Your eyes stay trained on her as she crosses the courtyard, and Coryo is once again close enough to speak to you quietly so no one else would hear. "I'm so sorry, she didn't mean it like that."

"No, I know." You insist again, already sitting back down. "It's okay." You smile up at him, patting the patch of grass next to you so he would join you.

"She was supposed to be Reaper's mentor." He tells you as he rejoins you on the ground. "But... something happened before the games. She couldn't participate."

"Oh."

He moves closer. "Do you remember that day we went to tour the arena?" He asks and you nod. "And I was late, and you asked me what was wrong, and I told you nothing?"

You do remember that, and you never got answers, but you remember being worried it was your fault. You almost kissed him the night before, and you had made things weird when he just came to do something nice for you; bringing you a book and some birthday cake. You felt horrible. "Yes, I thought I had done something."

"You? No." He quickly shakes his head. "We had to write a proposal for Dr. Gaul, the head gamemaker, about things that could be done to "improve" the games. Like the bets, donations, sending food, and when we were speaking with her Clemmie got bit by one of the snakes."

You gasp, covering your mouth. He looks around, making sure no one is paying attention. Yes, people were staring, but no one would get close enough to be able to overhear.

"I thought she was dead, but they sent me straight to the arena to meet you." He explains. "And like she said, we've been friends forever so I was... quite upset."

"That's horrible." You frown, resisting the urge to reach for his hand as it sits on his lap next to you.

"Yeah." He agrees quietly. "But I saw her in the hospital after the bombing, she was alive but... different. Crazy."

"Her eyes?" You ask and he nods.

"And she was hallucinating, they wouldn't let anyone see her except me because I was there. She was angry with me because I didn't visit her enough."

"Survivors guilt." You smile sympathetically. It was a feeling you knew all too well.

"That's why she's wearing that shirt." He whispers, nodding to her just as she enters the building ahead of you. "She's got scales."

You cringe at the mere idea of it.

"I know." He laughs slightly. He doesn't look away from his hands in his lap, and while you can see he's smiling and laughing, it's doing little to convince you that he isn't upset. "It was kind of my fault, though."

There it is.

"No, most certainly not." You frown. You just want to hold his hand, surely you won't be caught if you do. You were outside, just for a moment isn't likely to get you in trouble. Especially if he was just hugging Clemensia. "Why do you say that?" You ask, settling instead for resting a hand on his arm.

"I... It's difficult to explain." He tells you, and you say nothing, willing him to continue. "So, our proposal was in the tank. Dr. Gaul told us if the snakes knew your scent, they wouldn't bite. But I wrote the paper, not her, and she made Clemmie reach into their tank and pull it out."

"That's not your fault." You tell him, gently squeezing his forearm.

"I should have stopped her. She would have hated me for telling them she didn't help write it, but none of that would have happened."

"Well, she's okay, isn't she?" You smile hopefully.

"Yes, but she just as easily could have died." He insists. "The only thing that makes me feel slightly better about it is that in a way, she saved you."

You cock your head at him, mouth falling open in astonishment. "I... what?"

He looks up from his lap to check your surroundings again.

"I put the letter you wrote to me into the tank." He whispers, and you have to lean in to hear it. "Because I knew if they knew your scent they wouldn't hurt you."

"You... never told me that." You state the obvious, retreating your hand back into your own lap. Part of you wishes he hadn't done that. They didn't quite catch you getting up into the rafters, his warning had been enough, but you should have walked to your death the following morning when you climbed down and found the note in the first place.

"I just... I don't know, I thought it would be worth more if it stayed a secret. I didn't want you to feel... indebted to me, or something." He admits. "But I'm still trying that thing where I tell you everything I'm thinking. Especially about this stuff."

You nod, putting your focus on picking pieces of grass at your side. "Thank you."

"Please don't thank me." He frowns. "I told you. I had to. I knew I loved you even then, Y/N/N."

You give your head a quick shake, already sensing the spiral it was about to fall down. "Let's not speak about this here." You mumble. "Please."

Immediately, Coryo understands. "Of course." He watches you run your fingers through the grass slowly, and realizes quickly that you are counting them. Now was not the time or place for another attack, and he felt foolish for even bringing the topic of the games up. "What books do you need?" He asks, hoping to get you in better spirits. "Anything that looks good? You said you were excited for the readings."

Your lunch doesn't feel like it lasts long enough, even though you had an hour and a half between your classes. Once you got to talking about your books, the time seemed to fly by and Coryo agreed to take you to the bookstore on campus the following afternoon so you could get all your books at once. He had a few to get as well.

He walked you to your next class, a few floors up in the same building and this time you were mindful to not hug him goodbye. He told you he loved you, very quietly, and you said you loved him too before entering the room. Another lecture hall, slightly smaller than the last one.

You mentally prepare yourself to play this game again. Where to sit, and preferably, finding someone willing to sit next to you. Looking around, you see a couple of girls in the middle of the room chatting away. They looked nice enough.

Preparing your smile as you walk up, you slide into the seat next to them. "Hi there, my name is Y/N." You grin, keeping your voice low. You really didn't want to scare them off. "Can I sit here?"

They look at each other with an expression unreadable to you, before one of them nods. "Yeah, we can't see why not."

"Oh, thank you!" You say excitedly, pulling your bag up onto the desk to grab your other notebook out of it.

"You're the Victor." The other girl comments, and you realize they're both staring at you still.

You suck in a sharp breath through your teeth, nodding. "Mhm."

"So... why are you here?" The girl closest to you with a brunette ponytail asks.

"Oh, well, Coriolanus, he was my mentor, he came to visit me back home and convinced me to come study here." You explain. "I want to have a career. Help my family."

"Oh, we know him." She says, and they look at each other again, chests shaking with laughter they're attempting to conceal.

"You do?" You smile. You knew starting with his friends was a good idea, this is just a happy coincidence that you had decided to sit next to two of them already.

"Yeah, we went to the academy with him." The girl's friend explains. You notice then that they have a very similar hair colour, but hers is cut short and curled just above her shoulders. "He always had such a stick up his ass. Took everything way too seriously."

"That's what my brother said, too." You giggle. You weren't sure if they were being genuinely mean or not, but you decided to air on the side of caution. You wanted friends. "But he is truly lovely. Do you know him well?"

"You could say that." One of them answers vaguely and you just smile, tucking your bag back under the table. "Your bag is... interesting. Where did you get it?"

"Oh!" You say excitedly, lifting it back onto the table. "My Ma made it for me. Isn't it pretty?"

They laugh, and your smile fades. You thought it was very nice, made from pieces of scrapped linens that she had used in other projects, stitched together into a pattern that made up your shoulder bag. It was perfect for carrying your notebooks and pencils, you had brought it to school back home all your life.

"It's... something else." The girl with the short hair nods.

"Does your Ma hate you? That's so sad." The other girl pouts, resting her chin on her hand.

You quickly hide the bag away again at your feet. "No, of course she doesn't." You weren't sure what to say. Why were they being mean? They had been nice to you a moment ago.

"Did she make your dress, too?"

You just nod, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

"Wow, yeah, I could tell." You look down at the words, unsure as to what she could see that could be wrong with it. This was one of your favourites.

Admittedly, it was a little short on you, similar in style and colour to the one you had worn to the Capitol the first time you came. But now, looking at what she was wearing and her friend, both with button-up shirts similar to Coryo's and different coloured blazers with a matching skirt, you realize that your attire is very different. Different vastly from everyone in the room as well, as more students are trickling in.

You didn't think it mattered until now.

You don't get the chance to come up with anything in defense of your dress before she reaches out and grabs at the material of your scarf, rubbing it between her fingers. "This is the scarf you had with you in the games. It doesn't look like your mother made it, though. This is mulberry silk."

You jump a little at the unexpected contact, and they laugh. "Uhm, no, she didn't." You clear your throat. "It's a family heirloom. I'm not sure where it came from." Not entirely a lie, it just wasn't your family heirloom.

"Neat. So, where are you staying?" She asks after a moment.

"With Coriolanus and his family. They've been very kind to me." You smile. Their eyes go wide and they look at each other again.

"You mean, on the Corso?"

"Yes, that's what he told me it's called."

"Wow, you really made yourself comfortable here, huh?"

"Well," You laugh slightly. "It's been an interesting transition, but he's made it much easier. He helps as much as he can."

Simultaneously they pick up on the pink flush of your cheeks as you remember the amount of times he's come running when you had a nightmare, only to bring you water and back to his bed to sleep after. Weirdly enough, he made you feel safer now.

"Oh my god." The girl with the bob laughs. "You like him, don't you?"

"Of course I do. He's my friend." You smile, a little confused. That only makes them laugh more, and you pick up on what they were implying. Quickly, you turn even more pink in the face. "Well, I mean, um..."

"Y/N." You turn your head at the mention of your name, looking up at the girl now standing in front of you. She was smiling, and immediately seemed to have a kinder spirit than the girls you were already sitting with. "Come sit with me, Coryo asked me to save you a seat."

"Oh, okay." You nod, grabbing your things again and standing. You were eager now to get away from those other girls.

"Lysistrata, come on. We were just talking to our new friend." The girl with the ponytail pouts, and you look back at Coryo's friend. She just stares at them, something akin to a warning in her expression.

"Where do you want to sit?" You ask her, still recovering from their mildly embarrassing comment as you stand up.

She just nods toward one of the upper rows and starts walking. "It was nice to meet you." You smile at the girls nervously before following behind her.

"Oh, and Twelve?" You stop and turn when the girl with the ponytail speaks up again. "Good luck with Coriolanus, though I hate to tell you I have a head start. We're actually engaged. But like I said, good luck!"

You feel your face pale and you just nod, quickly turning away and focusing your gaze on the long dark braids belonging to the girl leading you up the stairs.

Your mind is absolutely reeling as you follow her to some seats near the back. You didn't know he was engaged. Honestly, you thought you were kind of his girlfriend. He told you he loved you not ten minutes ago, for god's sake! But maybe it had meant something different to him all along. Was this something they did in the Capitol? Because back home if you kissed someone that meant they were your one and only, but maybe that was very different here. So many things are very different here.

"They aren't engaged. Don't listen to her." Coryo's friend, Lysistrata you think her name was, says as you sit down.

You look over at her. "They aren't?"

"No." She scoffs. "Livia just thinks they're getting married because her daddy wants them to. They hardly ever even talk."

"Oh." You reply quietly, looking down the rows at the girls you were just with. That does ease your panic. "Not... not that it matters to me."

"It's okay." She smiles kindly at you. "To be honest, he hates her." She whispers. "I think you've got a much better chance. He speaks very highly of you."

You blush, smiling back at her. "I don't believe we've met properly. My name is Y/N."

"Nice to meet you." She smiles, and for the first time today, it feels genuine. "I'm Lyssie."

"Did you go to the academy too?" You ask for the sake of making conversation. She seems lovely, and you're excited at the idea of actually having a friend in one of your classes.

"I did." She smiles. "I was Jessup's mentor. Coryo and I worked a lot together during the games."

You chew on your lip, nodding slightly.

Today was just full of draining conversations.

"I'm sorry." She adds quietly. "You all deserved better."

"I'm sorry I didn't stay with him." You whisper. "I regret it every day."

"Don't. You did what you had to do, no one holds anything against you. I think you did the right thing."

You just nod, opening your notebook. You have to hope that once you get all these impossible conversations out of the way and people know you better, you'll have other things to talk about. And maybe one day, the topic won't make you want to cry, throw up, and jump off the nearest building all at once.

"He was one of the best of us. He should have won." You say quietly.

"Don't say that." She smiles sadly at you. "I'm glad it was you if it couldn't be him, and he was very sick. He wouldn't have made it much longer anyway."

"I had to go home and see his family." You felt comfortable talking to her, like she wouldn't judge you. It was a relaxing feeling. "My heart breaks for them, they're good people. And they needed him."

"You know his family?" She asks.

"Not really. We've crossed paths here and there, my Ma helps them on occasion with fixing their clothes." You shrug. "Still, though. From what I know, they try to stay in life. Instead of weeping when a tragedy occurs in a songbird's life, it sings away its grief. I believe we could well follow the pattern of our feathered friends."

"Would you happen to know their address? I would love to write to them. To apologize, that is." She explains and you smile, nodding before scribbling it down in your notebook and ripping out the page to hand to her.

"Thank you."

Another two hours, another "icebreaker", and more stares. You hoped that your classmates would eventually get tired of staring at you, you imagined it would make it quite difficult to take notes or pay attention to the lecture.

You felt almost guilty about it. Coryo didn't tell you that everyone would be so shocked but you shouldn't be surprised. Looking down at your clothes and the scarf that had almost entirely been cleaned of the blood stains it carried back to Twelve, you thought maybe it could have something to do with how you dress. Obviously, it would be distracting if you stood out so much, so maybe fitting in would be better. As much as you love your handmade clothes, maybe they would have to be reserved for time spent at the apartment or on rare days out.

Coryo is waiting outside since he got let out a few minutes early. There was no use in starting a lecture when going over the syllabus took a full hour and a half. When students start pouring out of your room, he looks at everyone waiting to see your smiling face. Well, hoping to see you smiling.

Lysistrata walks out first, and with no sign of you with her he grabs her arm to catch her before she turns the other way.

"Thank you for doing that." He says, smiling sympathetically at her.

"Of course." She grins. "She's lovely, we talked for a bit before class."

"Yeah, she is. Anyway, thanks." He nods at her, dropping her arm and with a kind nod, she's back on her way.

He counts his blessings that he had run into her after leaving you for that class a few hours earlier.

"Hey, Lyssie." He grins, stopping her in the hall as she was on the way to class.

"Coryo. How are you?" She smiles and he shrugs.

"I'm alright." He replies quickly. "What class are you going to?"

"Uh..." She looks briefly at her notes. "Geography. B217."

He sighs in relief, and she looks at him confused and lets him pull her to the side of the hall. "That's Y/N's class, would you mind sitting with her? She told me that this morning that no one would and I know she just really wants to make some friends... Could you do that for me?"

"Y/N? As in Y/N Y/L/N, your tribute?" Her eyes go wide and he nods. She didn't pay any attention to gossip and focussed more on getting from one class to another. She didn't even know that you were here.

He chews on his cheek while he waits for her to respond. If anyone was willing to make that social sacrifice, it would be Lyssie. School was never a popularity contest to her.

"Of course I can. Yeah."

When you walk out not long after her, he's quickly joining your side. Earlier, he felt so uneasy having you all over him with people watching and by now he just missed you. If he didn't know better, he would have decided he didn't care- but he has to.

"How was it?" He asks and you smile, as per usual, but he notes that now you have untucked your scarf and are instead using it to drape back over your shoulders and around your arms and back.

"It was delightful." You say happily, following his steps along the hall. "And yours?"

"Delightful?" He asks, smile tugging at his lips. He can't help it. "That wouldn't be a word I would use, but I would say it was okay."

"Okay is better than awful." You shrug.

"Certainly is." He agrees, leaning down to speak quietly into your ear in the loud hallway. "Missed my girl, though."

"Is that me?" You ask, allowing him to open the door to the building for you.

"Of course it's you." He chuckles as you pass him. "What do you mean?"

You laugh. "Well, I met a girl named Livia in my class and she told me that the two of you were engaged."

Coryo groans, letting the door fall shut as he follows behind you. "No, ew. She's... no. Absolutely not. Maybe if I planned on marrying someone I absolutely despise, then she would be the perfect candidate."

"But that's not what you look for in a woman?" You ask, turning to walk backward in front of him.

"Nope."

"I'll take your word for it." You giggle, seemingly nonchalant about Livia's apparently blatant attempts to scare you away. Coryo wouldn't let that happen, and he's glad you didn't see it that way.

He smiles at you as he rejoins your side.

"Coryo." You say, breaking up the peaceful quiet of your walk home. He looks at you. "I think I shall look for a job."

"A job?" He asks, raising an eyebrow at you. "You don't need a job, we talked about this. Just focus on school."

"No, I know." You say quietly. "But I think I would just like some spending money, perhaps get some new clothes. Wouldn't that be nice?"

His heart sinks unexpectedly. As much as he would love to see you blending in more and embracing the culture that came with living in the Capitol, it didn't feel like that would really suit you. If he wanted a Capitol girl, he could have had one. Apparently, that's not what he wanted anymore, but the more you blended in and became "one of them" like he promised Dr. Gaul you would, the more likely people would be to accept the extent of your relationship. However undefined it may still be.

"If that's what you would like, but you don't have to work for that." He shakes his head. "I told you I would take you to the mall, the one with the ice cream shop. Maybe we can go on Friday." Friday was the first day of your weekend- the one day during the week that neither of you had any classes.

"That would be fun." You smile up at him. "I'll just have a look around, see what people are wearing. Get a better idea of what to save for."

"If that's what you want, love."

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