#color matching grid

[tanuki-kimono]

Hello! First off, your blog is such an important resource for me in kimono colours and patterns. I’m making a manga when the details of there kimonos are rather important for the time that passes. And I was wondering what the colours/patterns are for each of the four seasons?

Hi and thank you for your kind words <3 I hope my answer will help you with your manga, don't hesitate to link me the finished story!

As for your question, seasonal color/patterns is a HUGE subject. Sensibilities and tastes changed across periods - and so did patterns, colors and styles ^^;

With a "modern" (late Edo to modern times) setting in mind, you can have a look at this past ask, where I linked patterns ressources => Japan 72 micro seasons, kigo seasonal words, Kimonolady's Tea ceremony calendar, etc.

As for colors, check those past notes => otterintheflightdeck's color serie, color association + those ressources => kimono colors matching grid (via Kimono Nagoya), kasane no irome (on Sengoku Daimyo / on Kariginu), Irocore color list (in jp but each color has brief english description)

[unteriors-in-house-flipper-2]

how do you get the angle & fov so close to the original!! is it just trial & error or do you superimpose the photo atop the game somehow

recently ive been tracing the outlines of the rooms in Clip Studio Paint, and then capturing both CSP and the game in OBS and changing the blending mode for CSP to multiply!

i use CSP's perspective ruler tool to find the horizon in the reference picture and then compare it with any doors in the image (theyre very consistently 2m tall) to find the height at which the photo was taken, and then make a little platform in the game so the pov is at the same height

i then trial and error the approximate position by putting down square tiles and lining it up with the floor in the picture. i'll then build up the walls (theyre usually around 2.5m tall, so i just make them 13 blocks/2.5m tall and use the resizable cube to get the ceiling to the right height). then i do even more trial and error to find the FOV, focusing on matching the angle of vertical lines near the sides of the screen.

i use a kitchen cabinet inner corner piece to "save" my position, i'll back into it to get to the exact same spot every single time. i'll also place a small item (usually a clothing hook) on the wall on the spot my cursor needs to be so i can always face the right way!

often the images have to be rotated very slightly for the horizon to be perfectly horizontal. i'll always note down by how many degrees, and when i'm cropping the final screenshot to the correct aspect ratio i'll also rotate it to match :)

[lackadaisycats]

I’m obsessed with the Lackadaisy comics way of shading/colouring! Could you please give a tutorial of how you do that and what brushes you use?

Here's a sample I used for the Lackadaisy Essentials art book. About 98% of the time, I'm not using specialized brushes - just basic soft and hard-round brushes, with various opacities.

Digital scan of the establishing shot pencil drawing - I added some some grid lines on top to double check the 1-point perspective. I didn’t include the characters here because I knew I’d be using the art as a background for more than one panel in the comic.

Initial lighting pass - This was done almost entirely by burning shadow directly into the pencil art scan. This way, I preserve a lot of my pencil lines (rather than painting over them) and the grain of the paper remains in play. This helps retain a sort of aged, natural media look despite the largely digital nature of it.

Contrast and brightness adjustments - Here I hand-painted more minute details into the rug, decor and fixtures with small diameter round brushes. I drew a wallpaper pattern on a separate canvas, then applied it as an overlay layer here too. And, of course, the characters arrived as raw pencils on new layers.

Character compositing and color wash - I didn't want to go fully monochrome with the colors, but I also didn't want to treat this like a full color digital painting. Instead, I opted for something resembling a warm-to- cool wash, achieved with a color layer on top of the grayscale base. Young Mordecai and Rose were toned to match the scene with a combination of burning, dodging and painting.

Lighting effects and atmosphere - Overlay layers can be used to push warm values into a much more saturated, vibrant place than a color layer alone can manage, and that's what I did here to create the streaming sunlight. I used a screen layer to include overexposure on bright colored elements as well. Floating dust motes in the light were added for atmosphere, and I polished the characters up with their own color and overlay layers to match the scene.

There's another, older process breakdown here on the Lackadaisy web site too, if you want more information.

[ari-ana-bel-la]

I was wondering if you could please do one where max’s (or Lando’s you chose) daughter starts karting and wins here first race with all of her favorite grid uncles there

Little Racer

The paddock buzzed with excitement that Saturday morning, not because of any Formula 1 action, but because a certain little girl with golden hair and sky-blue eyes was about to take on her latest karting race.

Yn tugged on her tiny race suit, the orange and blue colors matching her Papa's old team. The suit looked just a touch too big on her, but she wore it with pride. Her helmet sat nearby, a bright pink with little lightning bolts that she had insisted on—“because I’m fast like Papa,” she’d declared with a grin that melted Max’s heart every single time.

Max stood nearby, arms crossed, eyes locked on every strap and buckle as if she were about to get into an F1 car rather than a kart. Kelly sat with Charles and Daniel under the canopy nearby, watching the scene unfold with amused expressions.

“I swear,” Kelly said, sipping her coffee, “he’s more stressed before her race than he is before a Grand Prix.”

Charles chuckled. “He’s been checking that helmet for the past twenty minutes. It’s a helmet, mate, not a spaceship.”

Daniel leaned over and whispered to Pierre, “Ten bucks says he forgets to breathe during the race.”

Pierre grinned. “You’re on.”

Meanwhile, Max knelt down in front of Yn, adjusting her gloves. “Are you sure everything feels okay, schatje?”

Yn nodded eagerly. “Yes, Papa! It’s perfect! Look!” She bounced on the balls of her feet and struck a dramatic pose. “I’m ready to zoom!”

Max smiled, but it was tight. “Okay. But remember—take the inside line into turn three. You’ve been braking too early.”

“I know, I know,” she giggled. “You told me that, like, a hundred times!”

“Because I care,” Max said seriously, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You’re fast, baby, but smart wins races.”

She tilted her head, frowning a little. “But I always get second or third.”

“That’s because you’re still learning. But you’ll get there. You always do.”

Kelly walked over then and placed a gentle hand on Max’s shoulder. “Let her have fun, Max. It’s supposed to be fun.”

Max sighed. “I know. I just—she’s so small.”

“She’s also a Verstappen,” Kelly teased. “She was born ready.”

As Yn was called to the starting grid, she ran off with her tiny karting team, giving Max a double thumbs-up. “Wish me luck!”

“Good luck!” the group of drivers shouted behind her in unison.

Max remained planted in the same spot, watching the little kart go, lips pressed in a line.

“You gonna breathe, man?” Carlos teased, walking up and clapping Max on the back.

“Barely,” Max muttered.

Lando snickered. “He’s going to cry, I swear.”

The race started, and the tension around Max increased by the second. The screen showed the little karts darting around the track, and every time another kart got too close to Yn, Max’s jaw clenched. His hands gripped the edge of the barrier, knuckles white.

“She’s fine,” Fernando said calmly. “She’s in third and holding her line well.”

“Oh God, that kid behind her is getting too close—” Max started, but then Yn took a sharp move on the next turn and overtook second place.

Daniel whooped. “She’s flying!”

“Still needs to catch the leader though,” Pierre pointed out.

Lap after lap, she gained ground. And then, on the final lap, just before the last corner, Yn made a daring move that made the entire group leap to their feet.

“She’s going for it!” Charles shouted.

“No way—” Carlos muttered.

And then—she did it. Yn crossed the finish line in first place.

Max didn’t even react for a moment. His brain needed a full five seconds to process what had just happened. His baby girl had won.

“She did it,” he whispered, almost in disbelief. “She won.”

Kelly clapped her hands and kissed his cheek, eyes shining. “She did it, Max!”

Max barely registered anything else. He was already jogging toward the parc fermé where little Yn was jumping up and down next to her kart, helmet off, hair sticking to her forehead, eyes wide with joy.

“PAPA!” she squealed, launching herself into his arms.

Max caught her, lifting her high off the ground. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispered, hugging her tightly, his eyes damp. “So, so proud.”

“I won, Papa! I won! Did you see me? I did what you said! I took the inside!”

“You were perfect,” Max choked out, kissing her temple. “My little champion.”

The other drivers soon joined, surrounding her with praise and affection.

“You’re the coolest kid ever,” Daniel said, giving her a high-five.

“First win, huh?” Pierre grinned. “You’ll be faster than your Papa in no time.”

“I waved at you!” Yn beamed from the podium, grinning as she held up a shiny, golden little trophy. “Did you see me waving?”

“We saw, chérie!” Charles called out, clapping.

“You’re a legend now,” Lando said, pretending to wipe a tear. “Our little legend.”

“I wanna do it again,” Yn declared proudly. “I wanna win more!”

“You will,” Max promised, arms still tightly around her. “But this one? This one’s special. It’s your first.”

And he looked at her trophy with the kind of admiration that no WDC title could ever match.

The house was quiet, wrapped in the gentle stillness of late night. Yn had fallen asleep hours ago, snuggled into her bed, still in her pajamas covered in little race cars. Her tiny trophy rested beside her on the nightstand, glinting softly under the warm light of her night lamp.

In the living room, Kelly walked in with a mug of tea, only to find Max kneeling in front of their large trophy shelf.

“What are you doing?” she asked softly, amused.

Max was carefully rearranging things, gently pushing his latest WCC trophy to the side. His WDCs joined it, shuffled just slightly away from the spotlight.

Right in the center, now placed on a small elevated platform of its own, was Yn’s trophy.

“She deserves center stage,” Max murmured without looking back.

Kelly chuckled, sitting on the couch. “You do realize it’s a four-inch plastic cup, right?”

Max finally stood and turned to her, arms crossed, nodding. “Exactly. And it means more to me than all the rest combined.”

Kelly raised a brow. “You’re so whipped, it’s ridiculous.”

Max shrugged, walking over and dropping onto the couch beside her. “That’s my daughter. My little champion. You saw her today—she was flawless. Brave. Smart. Calm. Four, and she was more composed than I was at twenty-two.”

“She really was,” Kelly said softly, resting her head on his shoulder.

They sat in silence for a moment before Max whispered, “You think it’s too soon to get her a custom kart?”

Kelly snorted. “Max.”

“I’m just saying. Maybe carbon fiber—lightweight chassis—”

“Max.”

“Fine,” he sighed. “Next month.”

Kelly rolled her eyes fondly. “You’re impossible.”

He grinned, glancing toward the trophy case again, where one small trophy gleamed in the spotlight like it belonged in a museum.

“But admit it,” he said with a soft smile, “it looks pretty good up there, huh?”

Kelly looked and then smiled. “Yeah. It really does.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🩷🎀

[p1girlfriend]

✦soft habits – f1 grid reactions✦

lando norris ── .✦

he finds out when you fall asleep during a movie night in his hotel room. you’re curled up under the blanket, holding your stuffed animal close.

“wait… is that a stuffed bear?” he melts. takes a quick pic and immediately makes it his phone lockscreen. “you sleep with that every night? you’re literally the cutest thing alive. can i borrow it when you're not here?”

oscar piastri ── .✦

he notices it peeking from your pillow the first time he stays over.

“is this yours?” picks it up very carefully, like it's a sacred object. he's a little awkward about it, but there's a tiny smile he can’t hide. “i think it’s sweet. makes sense you’d have something that soft. kind of like you.” then he makes space for it between you two every night like it’s non-negotiable.

charles leclerc ── .✦

he walks into your room one morning, bringing you coffee, and catches you still in bed hugging it.

he stops. stares. then smirks.

“mon ange… i didn’t know i had competition.” he’ll tease you endlessly—but always makes sure your plush is packed whenever you travel. even buckles it in the car sometimes.

lewis hamilton ── .✦

he gently moves it out of the way to cuddle you and goes:

“aww, you still sleep with your baby.” kisses your forehead and pulls you closer. “that’s the kind of softness the world needs more of.” ends up naming it and giving it a whole personality. now it’s officially a trio: you, Lewis, and Mr. Snuggles.

carlos sainz ── .✦

he notices it on the bed and picks it up like

“¿Y esto?” you blush, and he just grins. “That’s cute. I like it. Reminds me you're still a kid at heart.” then throws it up in the air a few times like it’s a toy for him now, until you snatch it back and he laughs like a menace. he still respects the plushy bedtime ritual though.

daniel ricciardo ── .✦

full-on dramatic reaction.

“NO WAY. you sleep with THIS? every night???” immediately names it something stupid like “Sir Cuddles McSnuggs” and creates a backstory. but he secretly loves that you do it. “i’m not even mad. you’re too cute. can he be our child?”

gabriel bortoleto ── .✦

he’s surprised but so gentle about it.

“Você dorme com ele sempre?” / (“Do you always sleep with it?”) he runs his fingers over it with this soft smile and asks where you got it, if it has a name, how long you've had it. “Posso te dar outro? Tipo, um irmãozinho pra ele?” (“Can I give you another one? Like, a little brother for him?”) buys you a matching one in your favorite color a week later.

franco colapinto ── .✦

tries to play it cool but is clearly flustered.

“Oh… you still sleep with that?” pause. “That’s… actually kind of adorable. Like, really adorable.” pretends he’s not obsessed. secretly gets jealous when you hug the plush more than him.

©p1girlfriend | requests are open!

[starkwlkr]

cars go vroom | f1

grid mom series

Albert Park

“Where’s my girl?”

Y/n didn’t have to pick up her head to know who had arrived in the Porsche hospitality. She was currently giving her daughter, Anais, her bottle. Charlie was seated beside her cleaning up the mess he made with the formula powder.

“Hey mate, how’s fatherhood?” Lando greeted Charlie as he sat across the family of three.

“Aside from the obvious waking up in the middle of the night m, vomit down my back, and Ani being attached to her ma, can’t complain.” Charlie smiled at his little family.

“I would ask you how’s motherhood, but you were a mother before this one came into the world.” Lando stood up and immediately went to look at the babygirl in Y/n’s arms. “Oh look at that, she’s got your face!”

“It’s almost like i birthed her,” Y/n joked then adjusted Anais in her arms after the girl had finished her bottle. This was the first time Lando was meeting Anais. He wanted the couple to have some privacy while hey adjusted to their new life. “Look, baby, this gremlin is Lando.”

Anais cracked a little smile as she raised her arm to play with lando’s necklace. “Don’t worry, Ani, I’ll buy you a matching one soon.” Lando tickled her side.

“Has she met everyone else?” The Mclaren driver asked.

“No, we just got here.”

“We’ll get up woman! Anais has to meet her extended family!”

And that’s how Lando Norris ended up with a baby strapped to his chest.

Charlie and Y/n tagged along since it had been months since she saw her friends and also she wanted to meet the rookies. Obviously she had met them before, but this time, they were officially formula one drivers.

“Look, Ani! That’s my teammate Osc!” Lando pointed at the Australian who had just finished taking a photo with a fan. “Guess who found a baby?” Lando showed off Anais.

“Should you even be trusted with a baby?” Oscar approached them. “Hey, congratulations! How are you feeling?” He brought the Porsche driver into a hug.

“I’m okay, some days it’s good other days I just want to sleep the entire day but now I have a daughter.” Y/n looked over at Lando and saw him putting his sunglasses on her face.

“Any chance we’ll see you on track any time soon?”

Charlie knew Y/n wanted to be back on track as soon as she could. He wasn’t filming at the moment so he was more than happy with staying home with Anais, he told her multiple times. But the season had already started and Juan Manuel was in her seat. It didn’t feel right to her if Porsche threw him out and put her back in.

“Um, we’ll see. I’m not done racing, I still have some time left. Uh . . . I haven’t talked to anyone yet about coming back. Juan is doing a good job.” Y/n had noticed the Drive To Survive team was recording nearby. She absolutely didn’t want her daughter near them so she said her goodbye to Oscar and continued walking to visit her friends.

Lando led them to the Williams garage where Carlos and Rebecca were talking. The couple didn’t notice Lando with a baby until he said Carlos’ name in a baby voice.

“Who’s baby did you steal?” Carlos asked.

“Mine.” Y/n made her presence known which caught the couple by surprise.

“You’re back! Holy shit! Oh! Sorry!” Carlos covered his mouth when the profanity slipped from his lips.

“It’s fine, but look at you! Blue looks good on you.” Y/n gave him a hug then it was Rebecca’s turn to receive one.

“Thanks, I think Anais likes blue too.” Carlos noticed the baby taking a liking to the color as she reached for his jacket.

“Oh no, she’s papaya for life,” Lando commented but then got a playful glare from Y/n. “Okay she’s Porsche for life with an occasional mclaren cameo.”

After saying goodbye to the couple, they were on their way to the Red Bull garage. Ever since the news, Y/n had been dying to congratulate Max face to face. She knew Max would be an amazing father.

“Max!” Y/n yelled over the loud noise in the garage. The Dutchman looked at her and ran over to hug her. “I’m so fucking happy for you. Do you know the gender yet?”

“No, but we’re fine with whatever. The baby’s health is more important,” Max instantly smiled at the thought of his child. “Speaking of, is this your beautiful Anais?” He turned over to Lando and the baby.

“My one and only. And Lando is there too I guess.” Y/n laughed.

“Just for that, Ani is staying in the mclaren with my mum.” Lando pretended to leave but Anais had seen Max’s car and cracked a smile at it. “Yeah, that’s Max’s car. His and mine go vroom vroom. One day we’ll put you in there and you can drive it.”

“Don’t even think about it.” The girl’s mother warned.

“Boo! No fun!” Lando teased and he took Anais’ little hands and tried to make a thumbs down gesture, but the girl only giggled.

“Such a good big brother.” Y/n shook her head as she and Charlie said their goodbye to Max and walked to the next garage to greet her friends. Lando slowly walked behind them but would get distracted as he pointed out the track to the girl, whispering how he was going to win the race for her.

[cheftsunoda]

Hi!! I love your poly fics/smau so much! If you’re up to could you maybe write a mick schumacher x reader x jack doohan one? With the reader being toto wolff daughter. No problem if you can’t or don’t want to 🤍

Btw sorry for my english, it’s not my first language lol

unconventional — mick schumacher + jack doohan

smau/blurbs

mick schumacher x!wolff reader x jack doohan

toto wolff x !daughter reader

YN Wolff and Mick Schumacher have always been a quiet constant in the chaos of the paddock. They’d never confirmed their relationship—but they didn’t need to. From secret glances across the garage to late-night flight selfies and matching bracelets seen on opposite wrists, people put the pieces together years ago. They were the paddock’s soft-spoken power couple. The pair who’d grown up under the weight of legendary last names, who never needed the spotlight to know what they meant to each other. And in 2025, as a new wave of rookies crashes onto the F1 grid, YN and Mick have found themselves in a new role—mentors. Friends. A safe space. They’re the calm in the storm for drivers trying to find their footing. But when Jack Doohan gets shockingly dropped from Alpine’s future plans, everything shifts. He’s not just fast and fiercely competitive. He’s charming. Unfiltered. And completely uninterested in following the rules when it comes to the tightly-bound duo everyone assumed was untouchable. Now, under the glossy calm of race weekends and press releases, something’s brewing. Something electric. Something no one saw coming. After all, love doesn’t always follow formation.

fc : leah halton

(a/n) : your english was perfect my love, i got ya🫶🏻 also mick is still a mercedes reserve driver in this story bc it just worked better for my plot line. love youuuuu

hope you love it!

also guys i am going to be posting a lot in the next 24 hours- i am working my way through all these requests! yayayaya

—

yn_wolff

liked by mercedesamgf1, mickschumacher, gina_schumacher & 1,789,001 others.

yn_wolff : dad said I wasn’t allowed back at the track until i pass my bar exam — so I enlisted micky to help me study. (i am the reincarnation of elle woods) #manifestipass

tagged : mickschumacher

—

view 127,003 other comments.

gina_schumacher : our future lawyer!😍 love youuuu

liked by yn_wolff

↳ yn_wolff : love you my sistaaaa💘

mercedesamgf1 : we vote for boss man to hire you as the head of our legal department - admin

liked by yn_wolff

↳ yn_wolff : lowkey he should but if he doesn’t I’ll just go work for another team

↳ scuderiaferrari : heyyyy ynnnnn

↳ mclaren : we think you’d look great in our colors 🧡

↳ williamsracing : hey girl we have carlos sainz

↳ yn_wolff : SOLD

kimi.antonelli : since mick is doing your homework can you do mine???

liked by yn_wolff

↳ yn_wolff : tell the old man to let me back in and we have a deal

↳ kimi.antonelli : he said he doesn’t care as long as we both get it done. SLEEPOVER!!!!

↳ mercedesamgf1 : no fun. only homework - toto

↳ yn_wolff : BAN THIS MAN FROM SOCIAL MEDIA BOOOOOOO

mickschumacher : you’re lucky you are so beautiful

liked by yn_wolff

↳ yn_wolff : and you are so lucky to be able to look at me everyday

liked by mickschumacher

↳ yn_wolff : im jk thank you for all your help my loveeeee

liked by mickschumacher

georgerussell63 : toto acts like we are such a distraction but you are your own distraction

liked by yn_wolff

↳ yn_wolff : what r you on about georgie

↳ georgerussell63 : I’ve watched you study, one minute we are reading about civil law and the next we are on prada’s website

liked by yn_wolff and mickschumacher

↳ yn_wolff : well i gotta look good in court guys

liked by georgerussell63 and mickschumacher

—

The living room is quiet except for the soft scratch of my pen and Mick’s voice, low and steady as he reads from the flashcards balanced on his palm. He’s sitting cross-legged at the end of the couch, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, a legal pad on the coffee table in front of him like he’s the one studying for the bar exam. I’m curled against the opposite end, blanket around my shoulders, hair a mess, and caffeine slowly replacing the blood in my veins.

“Alright,” Mick says gently, eyes flicking over the card.

“What are the four elements of a legally binding contract?”

I groan and bury my face in the throw pillow. “Please. Mercy.”

He chuckles. “You said one more.”

“That was three cards ago.”

He waits. Patient, as always. And somehow, annoyingly kind even when I want to scream.

I peek at him through tired eyes. “Offer, acceptance, consideration, and mutual intent to be bound,” I mumble.

Mick beams, flipping the card and tossing it on top of the growing stack. “See? You’re brilliant.”

“Brilliant and dying.”

“Dramatic and brilliant.”

I smile despite myself, letting the blanket fall a bit as I shift closer, nudging his knee with my foot. He rests his hand on my ankle without thinking about it, thumb brushing slow circles over the fabric of my sweatpants. It’s soothing. We’ve done this dance so many nights before—me panicked and pushing myself too hard, Mick grounding me with nothing more than soft words and quiet presence. He never makes me feel like I’m falling apart. Only that I’m building something.

“I should’ve deferred,” I murmur. “Who studies for the bar while working trackside for half the season?”

“You,” Mick says, matter-of-fact. “Because you don’t quit. And because you’re going to pass.”

“You sound awfully sure.”

“I’ve been sure of you since we were seventeen.”

That earns him a look. “You mean when you watched me trip over air and fall on my face?”

He laughs, eyes crinkling. “Yes. That was the moment.”

I press my lips together to keep from smiling too hard. “God, you’re lucky you’re pretty.”

He leans over and kisses my forehead. “And you’re lucky I love you so much.”

I close my eyes, the weight of his hand warm against my leg, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the worn comfort of our flat. Tomorrow we fly out. The start of another race weekend, another whirlwind. But for now, it’s just us. Law books and flashcards and the boy who never let me forget I could do this. And even though I’m exhausted, nerves fraying at the edges, I feel it again—that quiet certainty he always brings with him. I don’t say anything more. Just let myself sink into the couch and trust that, somehow, with Mick beside me, I’m going to be okay.

—

Mick and I stroll into the Mercedes garage hand in hand, fresh coffees in the other, pretending we haven’t done this exact routine a dozen times before. Same arrival, same subtle smiles, same people pretending not to stare. We’re not flashy—never have been. But apparently, walking in with your boyfriend of several years and holding his hand still counts as news in this paddock. The second we step past the threshold, I hear it.

“Must we hold hands in the workplace?”

Toto’s voice cuts through the soft hum of team chatter and tire guns like a judge entering court. I don’t even look up from my coffee.

“Morning to you too, Papa.”

He’s standing by the pit wall, arms crossed, headset around his neck, giving us the look—somewhere between annoyed principal and long-suffering father.

Mick just smiles, completely unbothered. “Good to see you too, Toto.”

Toto grumbles something about professionalism under his breath and waves us off like he’s allergic to affection. I let go of Mick’s hand just to be petty and blow my father a kiss. He pretends not to see it. We’re barely two steps deeper into the garage when a blur of movement crashes into us.

“YN—I need you. It’s an emergency.”

I turn to see Kimi Antonelli skidding to a stop beside me, tablet in hand, hair sticking up like he’s been electrocuted.

“Please tell me this isn’t another laundry crisis,” I say, sipping my coffee.

“No, worse. Math.”

He shoves the tablet into my hands, eyes wide. “I have to submit this calculus quiz in an hour and I don’t know what I’m doing and I already used up my free trial on that homework app thing and—”

“Kimi,” I interrupt gently, scrolling through the page, “you used the cosine function on a linear problem.”

“I panicked!”

Mick peers over my shoulder, trying not to laugh. “Is that… is that a meme in the middle of your solution?”

“It’s context,” Kimi says defensively. “Visual learning.”

I glance back at Toto. He sighs and mutters something that I’m 80% sure translates to “I need a raise.”

Kimi’s bouncing nervously beside me. “You can fix it, right? You went to actual university. You know things. You’re terrifyingly smart.”

“I’ll help,” I promise, smiling. “But you’re buying me a cupcake later.”

“Done. Two cupcakes. I’ll name my firstborn after you. Please just don’t let me fail.”

I sit down on a spare stool, coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, while Kimi settles in beside me and I begin to explain the cosine function to him. Mick sits across from us and offers emotional support for Kimi.

—

Kimi’s halfway through solving for x—with the dramatic flair of someone diffusing a bomb and not just doing high school math—when he suddenly perks up, eyes flicking toward the entrance.

“Oh! I told the guys to swing by,” he announces, like he’s summoned a group of puppies instead of three more chaotic rookies. “They need your legal help. Also, Jack still owes me food.”

I open my mouth to protest—mostly because this is my workspace and not a study hall—but I’m too late. Isack, Ollie, and Jack stroll into the garage like they’ve done it a million times. Which, to be fair, they pretty much have. Isack’s already deep in conversation with George. Ollie’s sipping on his latte. And Jack…

Jack’s the last one through the door. His hands are shoved in his pockets, his Alpine gear jacket half-zipped, and that familiar, cocky grin is already tugging at his face. His hair’s a little wind-tossed, eyes sharp as they scan the garage—until they land on me.

And that’s when something changes. It’s small. Subtle. But I feel it. We’ve known each other for years. I’ve seen him after races, through interviews, in group chats roasting each other to death. I know his stats, his bad habits, and the fact that he secretly loves corny dad jokes. But when he looks at me this time… it’s different.

“Hey, counselor,” Jack says, his voice smooth, familiar, but the way he says it has weight. Like it’s not just a joke anymore.

I raise an eyebrow. “Hey, future client.”

Kimi chimes in, snorting. “Don’t flirt with her, Jack. She’ll make you do math.”

Jack’s gaze doesn’t leave mine. “Maybe I should. Might actually learn something.”

The comment lands softly but solidly—enough to make something flicker in my chest. I feel Mick shift beside me, subtle but definitely there. A small tightening of his hand on the back of my stool. A reminder. A presence.

I tilt my head at Jack, keeping my voice light. “Only if you show your work.”

Jack smirks, like that’s exactly the answer he was hoping for.

Ollie slides into the chair across from me. “Kimi, if this is about your math quiz again, I’m begging you—stop sending me panic texts at 2 AM.”

“You said you were awake!”

“I was busy!”

“At 2 am?” I questioned with a smirk.

Isack leans in over my shoulder and holds out his phone. “Can you read this brand deal for me and see if I should say yes?”

The moment disperses in rookie noise—complaints, questions, bickering about everything under the sun —but even as I scroll through Isack’s email, I catch Jack watching me again.

—

three month time skip

The ocean is quiet today. Waves roll in soft and slow, like they’re trying not to interrupt anyone’s peace. The sun is warm—not too harsh, not too dull. Just enough to feel like summer without sweating through my sanity. It’s rare for a day to feel still during the season, but somehow, this one does. I stretch out on the oversized towel, my legs tangled with the pages of my study guide, a half-highlighted section on constructive trusts fluttering in the breeze. I should be focused. I need to be focused. The bar exam is a monster creeping closer by the day, and my outlines are starting to blur together like one long fever dream.

But instead of thinking about fiduciary duties, I’m watching Mick and Jack attempt to skim a frisbee across the sand like it’s an Olympic event.

Jack dives dramatically after it—misses by a mile—and flops onto his back, arms out like he’s been shot.

Mick laughs, all golden and easy, brushing sand off his chest and tossing the frisbee back with a smirk. “That’s six in a row. Are you okay? Do you need medical?”

“Pretty sure the sand is actively sabotaging me,” Jack calls back.

“You’re actively sabotaging you,” I mutter, mostly to myself.

Jack hears it. He sits up and shoots me a grin. “You wound me, counselor.”

I roll my eyes and go back to underlining the statute that’s been haunting my dreams all week. We’ve spent a lot of time together this season—more than I expected. It started with paddock run-ins, dinners, legal meetings with my rookies. Then it turned into post-session coffees, long hotel conversations, quiet dinners in Mick’s apartment where Jack somehow always showed up with wine and a dumb story.

It’s not that I don’t love it. I do. I love the rhythm we’ve fallen into. Mick’s calm presence beside me when my brain’s overloaded. Jack’s ridiculous one-liners that make me laugh even when I want to scream. The way they both know not to talk when I’m flipping flashcards like a machine—but also the way they do talk when they know I’m spiraling. Mick comes over now, sweat-slick and sun-kissed, flopping down beside me. He leans over to kiss my temple, his hand ghosting over my back before settling at my waist.

“Still memorizing?” he murmurs, peeking at the page.

“Trying,” I say, voice soft. “Jack’s dramatic death scenes aren’t helping.”

“I love chaos,” Jack says from his new position, halfway buried in sand. “It’s what I bring to this group.”

Mick grins, then gently takes my pen out of my hand and sets it on the towel. “Just ten minutes. Close your eyes. Breathe.”

“I—”

“No arguing,” he says.

I huff but oblige, stretching back onto the towel, letting the sun soak into my skin. Jack wanders over and collapses beside me with a groan, head landing near my shoulder.

“Tell me again why law school doesn’t give you beach credits,” he says. “You’d be top of your class.”

“Because justice isn’t served on a towel,” I mumble.

“Maybe it should be.”

Mick chuckles quietly beside me. I can feel his fingers trace absent patterns over my ribs. Jack’s hand brushes mine in the sand, just barely—not on purpose, but he doesn’t move it either. And for a moment, I forget about everything else. The exam. The season. The rules I usually live by. Because between the two of them, the world feels quieter. Easier.

—

Mick’s POV

The sun’s starting to sink into the horizon, brushing everything in that soft, golden haze that makes the world feel suspended—just for a little while. The three of us are still stretched out on the beach, tangled in towels, sand, and half-finished thoughts. YN’s curled on her side next to me, finally napping, her study guide open but forgotten under her arm. Her face is relaxed in a way it rarely is lately—no bar stress, no logistics spreadsheets, no weight of being Toto Wolff’s daughter or the girl who holds half the paddock together like duct tape.

Just YN. Just this moment. And then there’s Jack.

He’s quiet now, legs stretched out in the sand, arms propped behind him as he watches the sun drop lower over the water. But every so often, his eyes shift. Not toward the sky, or the waves, or anything else. Toward her.

It’s subtle. If I didn’t already know him, I might’ve missed it. But I do know him.

I see the way his expression softens when he thinks no one’s watching. The way his eyes linger on the curve of her cheek, the loose strands of hair brushing against her lips in the wind. The way his fingers twitch slightly, like maybe they want to reach out but know better. It’s not the kind of look you give a friend.

It’s the kind of look you give someone you’re trying really hard not to fall for—even though it might already be too late.

I don’t feel jealousy. Not exactly. It’s something more complicated than that. I’ve loved her for years. And she’s loved me back. Steady. Quiet. Unshakable. We built something strong—something real. But lately, with Jack… things have shifted. I can feel it. The way she laughs around him. The way her eyes sparkle a little brighter when he walks in. The way she listens when he talks, like she already knows what he’s going to say, and wants to hear it anyway. And the thing is…I don’t hate it.

Jack’s become part of us, whether we planned for it or not. He’s stayed late after races to help clean up her flashcards. He’s waited in hotel lobbies with bags of snacks when she’s come back from mock trials too drained to function. He teases her in a way I never could—sharp-edged but safe. Challenging, but kind.

And now, on this beach, under this sky, watching him watch her…I wonder if maybe this thing we’ve built—YN and I—was never meant to have walls. Maybe there’s room for something more. Maybe there’s room for him.

She stirs beside me, eyelashes fluttering as she stretches and yawns. I reach over, brushing a bit of sand from her cheek.

“You okay?” she mumbles, eyes still half-closed.

“Yeah,” I say, soft. “Just thinking.”

Jack glances away quickly, like he wasn’t caught. But I saw. And I don’t think I mind. Not yet. Maybe not at all.

—

yn_wolff

liked by jackdoohan, mickschumacher, kimi.antonelli & 2,509,002 others.

yn_wolff : bar exam is 5 days away and it has consumed me so enjoy these pics (ft jack my paralegal and tech support) (and mick, my emotional support boyfriend)

tagged : jackdoohan, mickschumacher and susie_wolff

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georgerussell63 : less thirst trap more study

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↳ yn_wolff : ironic coming from a man that never has a shirt on

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kimi.antonelli : why is jack suddenly the third wheel??! I thought it was me 😕

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↳ yn_wolff : I do not see you as a third wheel kimi, I see you as my child

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↳ kimi.antonelli : oh okay 😁 that makes me feel warm and fuzzy on the inside

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mickschumacher : my greatest achievement in life is being your emotional support boyfriend

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↳ yn_wolff : you do a rlly good job 😻

susie_wolff : You got this, beautiful girl! We are all rooting for you ❤️

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↳ yn_wolff : mommmmmy i love you 😭 shopping spree if i pass??

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↳ susie_wolff : can’t wait for it! 😁

jackdoohan : adding paralegal, tech support and third wheel onto my resume

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↳ yn_wolff : my fave third wheel

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↳ yn_wolff : don’t forget expert frisbee player

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—

There’s a low buzz under my skin that’s been there since 5AM, a combination of adrenaline, dread, and the overwhelming urge to sprint in the opposite direction. Today is bar exam day, and I haven’t decided whether I’m ready or just completely numb. Jack is riding shotgun, legs kicked up on the dash, spinning a pen between his fingers like he’s the one about to sit this thing. Mick’s driving with the kind of focused calm that’s the only thing keeping me from absolutely losing it. We’re about ten minutes from the testing center when my phone rings in my lap.

Papa is calling...

I blink at the name for a second before answering. “Hi.”

“YN,” comes Toto’s voice—calm, steady, and warm in a way he rarely gets to be when the whole world is watching him. “Just checking in. Are you feeling okay?”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “As okay as someone facing seven hours of legal hazing can be.”

Mick chuckles.

“I wish I could be there,” Toto says. “But I know you. You’ve worked for this. You’ve done everything right. Today is just… the final step.”

“I know,” I say, voice smaller than I intended.

There’s a pause, then his voice softens. “You’re going to be brilliant. No matter what happens, I’m proud of you. Call me when you’re done—your mother is already pacing.”

“Of course she is,” I laugh, blinking fast. “Thanks, Papa. I love you.”

“I love you too, meine Kleine. Now go show them what a Wolff can do.”

When I hang up, there’s a beat of silence. Jack’s looking out the window like he didn’t hear the whole thing. Mick reaches back and sets a hand on my knee.

“I like supportive Toto,” Jack says, mock-wiping a tear from his eye. “Character development.”

Mick just squeezes my hand. “You okay?”

I nod, the nerves still there but… less crushing now. “Yeah. That helped.”

“Good,” Jack says, grinning as we pull into the drop-off. “Because you’re about to argue with the ghost of every law professor you’ve ever had.”

“I swear to God,” I mutter as I step out of the car.

Jack hops out and jogs around, already adjusting my bag on my shoulders like some chaotic assistant-slash-bodyguard. Mick joins us a second later and smooths the collar of my blazer.

“You look terrifyingly competent,” Jack declares.

“Terrifying in general,” Mick adds with a soft smile.

Before I can roll my eyes at them, I get two forehead kisses—one from each of them. Like clockwork. Like it’s normal.

“Go make the justice system your bitch,” Jack whispers.

“And call us the second you’re done,” Mick says. “We’ll be right here.”

I take one breath. Then another. And walk inside without looking back. But I know they’re both standing there, waiting—my boyfriend and my maybe-something-more, and my dad just a phone call away.

—

It’s done. Seven hours. Multiple essays. Hundreds of bubbles filled in so aggressively that I snapped my second pencil during Contracts. My brain feels like mashed potatoes and my hands are trembling, whether from adrenaline, exhaustion, or caffeine withdrawal—I genuinely don’t know. The fluorescent lights of the testing center feel like a personal attack. The air is stale. Everyone looks like they just returned from war. My legs are moving toward the exit before I fully process that it’s over. My mouth is dry. My heart’s still racing. And I’m this close to crying, but not the good kind. The kind where you’re not even sure what you’re crying about—just that your body needs to release something. The second I step outside into the late afternoon sun, I see them. Mick and Jack, leaning against the car.

“CONGRATS TO OUR FAVORITE LAWYER”

(with an asterisk below that reads: *we’re still not sure what tort law is but we believe in you.)

Mick’s holding an iced coffee and the softest smile I’ve ever seen.

“Hey,” he says gently, pushing off the car. “You made it.”

My bottom lip wobbles. “Barely.”

Jack lowers the sign and jogs the last few steps toward me. “What’s the verdict, Counselor?”

I shake my head. “I don’t even remember what I wrote. I think I may have argued with myself in one of the essays.”

“So… standard Tuesday?” he teases, grinning, and I let out a strangled laugh. He steps forward and wraps his arms around me, warm and solid and completely distracting from the lump still sitting in my throat. “I’m proud of you,” he murmurs. “So proud.”

Mick joins us a moment later, wrapping his arms around both of us, letting me sink between them like I’m allowed to collapse for just a second. Like I don’t have to be composed or capable right now.

“I brought coffee,” he says, pulling back just enough to press it into my hand. “And we have snacks in the car. And I promise you’re not allowed to think about any legal principle until at least… tomorrow.”

I rest my forehead against his chest. “I don’t even know how to function right now.”

“You don’t have to,” Jack says softly. “That’s what we’re here for.”

I blink up at them—my boyfriend and my… well, Jack—and suddenly I am crying. But this time it’s the good kind. The messy, exhausted, grateful kind.

They don’t freak out. They just hold me. Let me fall apart a little. Let me be human.

“You did it,” Mick says into my hair. “It’s over.”

The two got me in the car and I finally started to calm down. I don’t know where we’re going until the car slows in front of a restaurant I definitely recognize—but only because it’s impossibly nice and I once spilled tomato soup in the entryway during a Wolff family brunch when I was twelve.

“Guys,” I say warily, adjusting my hoodie and messy bun. “I look like I’ve been in a bunker. We can’t go in here.”

“You look perfect,” Mick says, already out of the car.

Jack grins, holding the door open for me. “Also, too late. We made a reservation.”

I give them both suspicious glares as they usher me inside, but my mouth is too full of caffeine and exhaustion to argue.

We step through the doorway, and I’m met with the unmistakable sound of—

“There she is!”

I stop dead.

At the corner table, Toto and Susie are standing up—standing—with huge grins on their faces and a bottle of champagne already being uncorked by a very confused waiter.

“No. No way,” I whisper, turning back toward the boys, who are now both beaming like the smug little traitors they are.

“You’re not the only one who can pull off a surprise,” Jack says.

“I didn’t agree to this emotionally,” I say, but my voice is already trembling.

Toto steps forward first, wrapping me in a big, warm hug before I even have time to breathe. “You did it, meine Liebe. I don’t care what your score is—you showed up, and that’s more than most people will ever do.”

“Papa,” I mumble, melting against him.

He pulls back and cups my cheek like I’m still six years old. “I’m so proud of you I could explode.”

Susie hugs me next, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I told him we should have met you at the test center, but he wanted the lighting in here to be better for photos.”

Toto scoffs. “I did not say that.”

Mick and Jack are already sliding into seats beside me, practically glowing with pride as the waiter pours the champagne.

“You thought we were just taking you to dinner,” Jack says, nudging my shoulder.

“I thought I was going to cry in a drive-thru parking lot and then fall asleep,” I admit.

“Well, now you get pasta, champagne, and people who love you instead,” Mick says.

I glance around the table—at Toto, beaming like I just won the constructors’ championship; at Susie, already pulling out a small gift bag from under the table; and at the two idiots beside me who spent the last six months making sure I never gave up.

And for the first time all day, my brain stops spinning. I smile. It’s small and soft, but it’s real.

“Okay,” I say. “Now it feels real.”

—

I almost didn’t check. Not because I didn’t care—but because I cared too much. Because part of me still doesn’t believe I’m the kind of person who gets good news after months of surviving on nerves and flashcards and microwave ramen. But now I’m staring at the screen, hands over my mouth, tears welling up so fast I don’t even register the moment I start crying. I passed. I. Passed. A second later, my laptop is yanked away—gently—and Mick’s arms are around me, lifting me up and spinning me once before setting me back on the couch.

“You did it,” he whispers, kissing my forehead, my cheeks, the tip of my nose. “I knew you would.”

I can’t breathe. I’m sobbing into his chest and laughing at the same time, and when Jack bursts into the room—barefoot, holding a half-eaten banana —he freezes, wide-eyed.

“Wait. Is this a happy cry?”

I lift my head and nod. Jack lets out a whoop so loud it makes the dog next door start barking. “She passed?! She passed!” He ditches the banana and practically tackles me onto the couch, both of them hugging me like I’ve just been knighted and crowned in one motion.

Susie bursts in next, phone in hand. “Toto and I were tracking the portal. You passed?”

Mick beams. “She passed.”

Toto appears a heartbeat later with two bottles of champagne. “We’re celebrating. Tonight. No excuses.”

I laugh, wiping tears from my cheeks. “What if I wanted a quiet night in?”

“No,” he says firmly. “You are my daughter. You passed the bar. And we are going out.”

Susie kisses the top of my head. “Already called the restaurant. Private room. Best desserts in the city.”

But when we’re about to leave, Jack slips into his shoes and pulls me aside in the hallway.

“Hey,” he says softly, eyes flicking toward the front door. “I’m not coming tonight.”

I blink. “What? Why not?”

He rubs the back of his neck, not quite meeting my gaze. “Just—something I need to handle. Nothing bad, I swear. I just… need the night.”

I frown. “Jack…”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Go. You deserve the celebration. You earned every second of it.”

Mick joins us at the door, tilting his head. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Jack says quickly. “Take her out. Have a drink for me, Counselor.”

And before I can press him any further, he leans in, kisses the side of my head, and gives me a quick squeeze. He’s gone a second later, disappearing into his car and driving off before I can even think of calling his name. I glance up at Mick, who looks just as confused.

“Weird?” I ask.

“Weird,” he agrees.

Still, there’s champagne waiting. A proud father with a reservation. A night I’ll never forget. But as we drive away, as Toto tells me how proud he is and Susie starts planning a Europe trip in my honor, my mind drifts. To Jack. To the way he looked at me right before he left. Like maybe something inside him is shifting, too.

—

yn_wolff

liked by susie_wolff, georgerussell63, mickschumacher & 4,098,001 others.

yn_wolff : yours truly is officially a lawyer😭 thank you to everyone who supported me on this journey— my friends, my family, my boyfriend — everyone. i love you all.

—

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mercedesamgf1 : Congratulations YN! 🎉🍾🙌🏻 We knew you could do it!

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susie_wolff : We are SO proud of you. You earned this, YN. You are incredible! ❤️❤️

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georgerussell63 : as much as I pick on you, I am genuinely so proud of you. if I ever found myself in legal trouble, I suppose I’d trust you to get me out of it 😉

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gina_schumacher : MY GIRLLLL!! I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT. I AM SO SO PROUD.

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mickschumacher : proud is an understatement. you are incredible, my love. you never fail to amaze me 🫶🏻

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kimi.antonelli : YAYYYYYYY MOMMMMMM😁😁

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olliebearman : Congratulations YN!! We all knew you could do it. Any chance you can help me get out of something I accidentally signed? 😁😁

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—

F1

755,304 likes.

f1 : Alpine has announced that Jack Doohan is out and will be replaced by Franco Colapinto for the remainder of the season.

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—

The music in the private room is soft and jazzy, the kind Toto insists creates the perfect dinner ambiance. There’s champagne in my glass, a slice of pistachio cake in front of me, and Susie’s in the middle of telling a story about how I used to cross-examine my kindergarten teacher over snack time distribution. Everyone’s laughing. I should be laughing. But then my phone buzzes on the table beside my plate—once, twice, a third time. Group chats. Twitter notifications. F1 alerts.

I glance down lazily, expecting another George Russell meme. But then my eyes catch on the headline at the top of my screen.

BREAKING: Jack Doohan Dropped From Alpine and to be replaced by Franco Colapinto for the remainder of the season.

The room spins. My chair scrapes against the floor before I even know I’m standing.

“YN?” Mick’s voice is soft but confused. “What’s wrong?”

I stare down at my phone, my thumb shaking as I scroll. It’s confirmed. Official. Just posted. His name is everywhere—“unexpected,” “internal restructuring,” “development priorities.” All corporate bullshit masking the fact that they just… let him go.

Toto’s already leaning forward. “What happened?”

“Jack,” I breathe. “Jack got dropped from Alpine.”

Mick’s face falls. “Wait, what?”

My heart is pounding now, the air around me too tight. Too loud.

“I—I need to find him,” I say, already grabbing my bag. “I need to go.”

Susie stands up. “YN, slow down—he might need space—”

“No,” I cut her off, eyes already burning. “He was off all night. He knew. He didn’t want to ruin today for me. And I let him leave without—without saying anything.”

Toto gently reaches for my wrist. “Do you know where he is?”

“He wouldn’t go home,” I say quickly, mind racing. “He probably went to the marina. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere he could fall apart without anyone watching.”

Mick is already sliding into his jacket, calm and steady. “I’ll drive.”

Toto gives me one long, thoughtful look—then nods. “Go. We’ll wrap everything up here.”

“Call me if he doesn’t pick up,” Susie adds. “And tell him we’re proud of him no matter what.”

I nod, lips pressed tightly together. My chest aches. My eyes sting. Jack is my friend. One of my best friends. My my mock trial partner, my grounding force these past few months. The one who sat next to me on the floor while I cried over contracts law and made stupid jokes about torts until I stopped shaking.

And now he’s hurting. Alone. And I don’t care that this is my night. I don’t care that I passed the bar. None of it means anything if he’s out there falling apart by himself. Because somewhere between all those late nights and long drives and inside jokes—I stopped thinking of Jack as just a friend. And I’m not going to let him go through this without me.

—

The streets blur past outside the car window, neon lights streaking across the windshield like we’re racing time itself. Mick doesn’t say much—he doesn’t need to. His hand rests on my thigh the whole drive, grounding me as my mind spirals.

“He knew,” I whisper, barely audible over the hum of the engine. “He knew and he still showed up for me.”

Mick squeezes gently. “That’s who Jack is.”

I nod, wiping at my eyes. “That’s why we have to find him.”

It doesn’t take long. Jack’s a creature of habit, always retreating to the water when things get too loud. We pull into the empty marina just after sunset, the sky streaked with indigo and gold, boats gently rocking in their slips. It’s quiet. Peaceful. Too peaceful for the kind of grief I know he must be carrying.

We walk together in silence, scanning the docks until—

“There,” I breathe, pointing.

Jack’s sitting near the end of one of the docks, legs hanging over the edge, a hoodie pulled over his head and headphones around his neck. He’s staring out at the water like it might offer him some kind of answer. Like if he stares hard enough, the waves will make the reality go away. I don’t wait. I jog the last few steps, the wooden boards echoing under my feet until I’m dropping to my knees behind him.

“Jack,” I say softly.

He flinches slightly, but doesn’t turn.

“You should be at your party,” he murmurs, voice rough and low.

“You should’ve called me,” I reply.

Silence.

“I didn’t want to ruin your moment,” he finally says. “You deserved to have that without… this.”

I crawl closer until I’m sitting beside him, shoulder pressed gently against his. “You’re part of that moment, Jack. Every late night, every meltdown—you carried me through it. Don’t you get that?”

He swallows hard, still staring ahead. “Doesn’t matter now.”

Mick walks up behind us and crouches on Jack’s other side, his presence solid and warm. “That’s not true. You’re still you, Jack. You’re still damn good.”

Jack lets out a bitter little laugh. “Good doesn’t keep you in a seat.”

“No,” I say quietly. “But being loved does.”

That gets him to turn. His eyes are red-rimmed, like he’s been holding it together for hours. Like if anyone says the wrong thing, he’ll fall apart. So I say nothing else. Just lean in and wrap my arms around him. He stiffens at first, then melts, pressing his forehead to my shoulder like he’s been holding his breath all day and only just now exhaled.

Mick wraps one arm around us both, his hand settling on the back of Jack’s neck.

“I’m sorry,” Jack whispers. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” I whisper back. “Not now. Not ever.”

The three of us sit there for a long time, no words needed. Just the sound of the water lapping against the docks, the breeze rustling the sails, and our hearts slowly settling back into rhythm beside each other. Because this isn’t the end. Not for Jack. Not for us.

—

Jack’s POV

I wake up slowly. It’s warm—too warm. Not the kind of heat from the sun, but the kind that comes from being wrapped in a blanket you don’t remember getting into, on a couch that doesn’t quite belong to you, with the faint scent of vanilla and clean laundry all around. For a second, I don’t move. I just listen. Soft footsteps in the kitchen. A kettle clicking on. Someone humming faintly—YN. I’d know her voice anywhere, even when it’s just a tune under her breath.

I blink open my eyes and realize I’m at their place—Mick and YN’s. Their living room is full of soft light, the curtains cracked open just enough to let the sun in. A hoodie has been draped over me. Not mine. Mick’s, I think. I shift slightly, and that’s when I see him—Mick, on the other armchair, feet propped up, flipping through some sports section and sipping tea like this is the most normal morning in the world.

He glances up. Smiles. “Morning.”

I clear my throat. “Hey.”

“Coffee’s on,” he says casually. “YN’s making those protein muffins she claims are good. No promises.”

I try to smile. I fail.

“You didn’t have to stay,” I murmur.

Mick shrugs. “You didn’t have to either. But here we are.”

He says it like it’s simple. Like there’s no weight behind it. But I can still feel it in my chest—that ache that started when the Alpine email hit, the one that only got worse when I imagined YN out celebrating without knowing the ground was collapsing under me.

And then she came. And Mick. And they stayed.

“Do I look like a disaster?” I ask, rubbing a hand down my face.

“You look like someone who got blindsided by bad news and didn’t deserve it,” YN says, stepping in from the kitchen with a mug in her hand.

She walks over and hands it to me—hot, just the way I like it, the way she knows I like it—and I don’t think I’ve ever felt more seen.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” she adds softly. “Just so you know.”

I stare at her, throat tight. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not,” she says immediately. “You’re family.”

I can’t speak. I can barely breathe past the lump forming in my chest. So I nod. Once. Twice. And then she leans down and presses a kiss to the top of my head, her hand cupping the back of my neck for just a second too long. It’s comfort. It’s home. It’s… something else. Something I don’t dare name. Yet. Mick watches us with that unreadable expression of his—calm, patient, knowing far more than he lets on. Then he tilts his head, eyes back on me.

“You’re staying here for a few days.”

It’s not a question.

“I—”

“No arguing,” YN says, sitting on the arm of the couch. “You’re not going to be alone right now.”

I swallow hard and let the warmth of the coffee settle into my hands. They’re not going to let me fall. Even if part of me already has.

—

your pov

The apartment is quiet. Jack’s asleep in the guest room, finally. He tried to insist he didn’t need it, but Mick gave him that look, the one that doesn’t leave any room for argument, and now he’s tucked in under fresh sheets, breathing even and soft behind a closed door.

I sit on the couch in one of Mick’s t-shirts, legs pulled up under me, half a cup of tea cooling in my hands.

Mick joins me a minute later, dropping beside me with a low sigh, his hair still damp from the shower, his expression unreadable—but tired. Not from the day. From the weight of it all.

“He finally fell asleep?” I murmur.

Mick nods. “Out like a light.”

I rest my head against his shoulder, letting the silence settle between us like a blanket. We sit like that for a while. Until I say it.

“He means a lot to me.”

Mick doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even shift. He just exhales slowly, like he’s been waiting for me to say it.

“I know,” he says quietly. “He means a lot to me, too.”

I close my eyes. “I didn’t expect it. Not like this. Not so quickly.”

He hums. “I did.”

I glance up. “You did?”

Mick shrugs, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I saw it before you did. The way you light up when he texts. How you always wait to see if he’s going to sit next to you. You never said it, but I’ve always known.”

My stomach twists—not with guilt, but something gentler. Deeper. More real.

“You’re not upset?”

He turns to look at me fully now, his gaze soft but steady. “No. Because I’ve seen how much love you have to give. And I’ve seen how Jack looks at you when you’re not watching.”

I swallow hard, emotion catching in my throat. “Mick…”

He cups my cheek with one hand. “Loving you doesn’t mean I have less to give. If anything… I think there’s more room now.”

I blink at him, tears suddenly stinging behind my eyes.

“You think…?” I whisper.

Mick nods. “I think he fits.”

It’s so simple. So honest. And it breaks me open in the best way.

I lean forward, pressing my forehead to his, trying to steady myself. “I don’t know where this goes. Or what it becomes.”

“Neither do I,” he says softly. “But I trust us. And I trust him.”

I pull back just enough to look him in the eyes. “You really saw it before I did?”

He grins. “Baby… I saw it the first time you made him coffee without asking how he takes it.”

I laugh, tears slipping free down my cheeks as I pull him into a hug, burying my face in his shoulder. “How are you always so good to me?”

He wraps his arms around me, warm and sure. “Because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And if Jack becomes part of that too, then… maybe he’s one of the best things that’s ever happened to us.”

And somewhere, deep in my chest, something finally settles. Something clicks into place. Because Mick’s right. Jack fits.

—

It’s late, and the apartment feels quieter than usual.

The TV’s still glowing softly with the Netflix menu, long past the point where it asked if we were still watching. The takeout containers are scattered across the coffee table, half-eaten spring rolls abandoned in favor of something heavier that’s been hanging in the air all evening.

Jack sits on the floor across from us, legs stretched out, hair a little messy from the ocean wind earlier. Mick’s beside me, his shoulder brushing mine, his thumb tracing slow, steady circles against the back of my hand.

It’s time.

I glance at Mick. He gives the smallest nod.

I swallow and look at Jack.

“Jack,” I say softly.

His eyes lift to mine immediately. So open. So guarded. My heart squeezes.

“We wanted to talk to you.”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t stiffen. Just nods. “Okay.”

Mick shifts slightly, his voice low but certain. “We’ve been talking a lot… about how things have changed. How they feel now. With you.”

Jack stays quiet, listening the way he always does—with his whole heart, even if he doesn’t realize it. I take a breath. A real one.

“You’ve become really important to us,” I say gently. “I love Mick. I always will. That hasn’t changed. But somewhere along the way… I started loving you too.”

I see it land in his eyes like thunder.

And then Mick speaks, calm and grounded. “I care about you more than I expected to, Jack. Not as someone crashing on our couch. Not as a friend we needed to help. But as someone I want here. With us.”

It’s terrifying to say it out loud. Even with Mick’s hand still in mine. Even with the way Jack’s gaze softens like he’s seeing sunlight for the first time in days.

“You’re allowed to say no,” I add quickly, heart pounding. “We’ll still love you. We’ll still want you in our lives. This isn’t some pressure thing. We just—”

“I’m in.”

He says it like he’s been holding it in for months.

“I’m in,” he repeats, quieter. “God, I’ve been in for months.”

Tears burn behind my eyes before I can stop them. My breath catches in my throat.

Mick tilts his head, steady as ever. “You sure?”

Jack nods, eyes on mine. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. I just… didn’t think I was allowed to want this.”

That’s all it takes. I move across the floor before I even think, my arms sliding around him, pressing my cheek to his shoulder. He wraps his arms around me immediately, tight and desperate and familiar. And then Mick is there too—his arms around both of us, grounding us, completing something I didn’t even realize had been unfinished until this very moment. Because this isn’t messy. It isn’t complicated. It’s love. Real, deep, terrifying love. And for the first time, it doesn’t feel like too much. It feels like exactly enough.

—

yn_wolff

liked by jackdoohan, mickschumacher, georgerussell63 & 7,090,875 others.

yn_wolff : my boys forever n ever

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

[blueberrybirdsworld]

Plus one 1/9

Summary : When Lando Norris realizes he's the only F1 driver attending the Monaco F1 movie premiere without a girlfriend, he panics and convinces Oscar to help him find a last-minute plus one.

Author note : I get this story idea after the private projection of the F1 movie with all the drivers in Monaco (also can we imagine they weren't wearing their team kit and actually did dress up).

Genre : pure fluff

Series masterlist

Main masterlist

Lando Norris had never minded being alone.

Not in the way that people always made it out to be, he wasn’t lonely, he just… liked his space. Relationships, for all their affection and comfort, always seemed like too much work for someone who barely had time to unpack his suitcase before flying off again. So no, he didn’t crave candlelit dinners or Sunday mornings entangled in sheets. He had freedom, and for the most part, he liked it.

But this week in Monaco, it hit differently.

The private screening of the much-hyped F1 movie was set for that evening: an exclusive, glitzy event organized as part of the Grand Prix weekend. Invitations had gone out to every driver on the grid, along with the sly note that "plus ones are welcome." Lando hadn’t thought much of it at first. He figured he’d just show up solo, shake a few hands, maybe take a few pictures, and go home. Simple.

That was until yesterday afternoon, when Carlos asked if they were all meeting beforehand.

"Sure," Lando had said, "you bringing anyone?"

Carlos grinned. "Rebecca, of course."

And that was the beginning of the end.

Oscar was bringing Lily. Charles mentioned Alexandra in passing, like it was obvious. George was already coordinating outfit colors with Carmen.

Lando had laughed, brushing it off with a "Well, someone’s got to be the mysterious bachelor," but the joke didn’t quite land.

Now, it was the morning of the event, and he was on a padel court near the port, sweating under the mid-May sun and trying to shake off the odd itch in his chest that had nothing to do with the heat.

He hated to admit it, but showing up alone tonight sounded... depressing. And for once, he didn’t want to be the guy arriving solo while everyone else walked in, hand-in-hand, whispering in each other's ears and giggling at inside jokes. He wanted someone next to him. Someone who looked at him like he belonged.

The ball thudded off the glass behind him. Match over.

He slung his racket onto the bench and tugged off his wristbands, then dropped onto the seat beside Oscar.

"You're coming with Lily tonight, yeah?" he asked, more casually than he felt.

Oscar shot him a look. "Yeah, of course. And you, you have a date?"

"Nah."

Oscar raised a brow. "Do you want to? Like, actually?"

Lando blinked. "What do you mean?"

"I could ask Lily. I’m sure one of her friends would say yes if I told her you needed a plus one."

Lando snorted. "What, like a matchmaking service?"

Oscar shrugged. "I’m just saying. Might be nice to show up with someone on your arm. Lily’s friends are cool. I could text her right now."

Lando hesitated, visibly squirming. "It’d be super awkward. I mean, if I don’t know her and she doesn’t know me? What would we even talk about?"

Oscar grinned. "That’s what small talk is for."

"And there’ll be cameras. A little much for a first meeting, don’t you think?"

Oscar laughed. "You’re the one acting all moody about being the only single guy tonight. I’m offering solutions."

Lando exhaled through his nose. "Maybe. I mean, just hypothetically. Who is this girl?"

Oscar grinned. "Hypothetically?"

"Yeah. Just tell me her name."

Oscar chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. “Her name’s Y/N. Actually, you’ll like her. She’s calm, which is good for you, keeps you from spiraling like a feral cat. Funny, too. And pretty. It could be a solid match.”

Lando sat back on the bench. “And you think she’d actually want to go? With me?”

Oscar’s tone turned teasing. “What, suddenly shy? I thought you were Mister Confidence.”

“Not when it’s someone I’ve never met. You know what, thanks for helping, but no. I’m good."

Oscar held up his hands in surrender. "Suit yourself. Just don’t sulk when we’re all paired up and you’re third-wheeling with the press."

Lando walked away with a grunt, heading toward the trailers to cool off.

Later back at his place, after his shower, he kept remembering Oscar proposition, then he took his phone and his thumb moved almost involuntarily to Instagram. Curiosity was a hell of a thing.

He looked into Lily’s followers and typed the name in the search bar. Only one profile popped up and it was a public one. Lucky him.

@your_usurname

"Sun-kissed, plant-blessed 🌸🌿"

❤️ liked by @oscarpiastri, @lilyzneimer, and 247 others

@lilyzneimer: stop being the main character every time we hang out it’s rude 😩💐

@your_usurname: someone had to do it. you were late 💅

@_user2: petition to ban you from looking this photogenic in real life too

@your_usurname: petition denied.

@oscarpiastri: my allergies make this my ultimate nightmare

@your_usurname: you're allergic to aesthetics??? @oscarpiastri: no pollen

@_user3: i love the cottage vibe

@_user4 : do you even know how soft your entire vibe is?? this is criminal 🌾

@your_usurname

"Busy life lately ☕️"

❤️ liked by @lilyzneimer, @_user5, and 403 others

@lilyzneimer: you seriously live in a movie

@your_usurname: only if you’re the soundtrack 💛

@_user7: how do you look good in every single vibe??

@your_usurname: camera magic and coffee 😌

@_user8: slide 2 made me instantly hungry

@your_usurname: I’ll make you some next time 👩🏻‍🍳

@_user9: this is the softest post I’ve seen all week 🫶

@_user6: this post feels like a warm hug and a quiet playlist

It wasn’t even ten minutes later that he called Oscar.

Oscar answered with a lazy, “Changed your mind already?”

"Just, maybe your right, maybe it could be nice to have someone with me for change. You really think she will accept to come ?" Lando ask nervously.

Oscar laughed. “Well we will see, let me text her. Be right back.”

And now Lando felt… nervous. Which was rare. He could race at 300 km/h and barely blink, but asking a stranger to be his date to a glamorous event with cameras and attention? Suddenly that felt like a lot.

What if she said yes and regretted it? What if she didn’t know anything about F1 and thought he was dull? What if he said something awkward and ruined the whole night?

His phone buzzed with a new message.

Oscar: She said yes.

Lando blinked.

Oscar: Well, she said “Sure, why not?” which is basically a yes. You’re welcome.

Lando’s stomach flipped. That was fast.

He stared at the screen for a moment, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

Lando: Wait… she really said yes?

Oscar: Yeah. Chill. Just don’t be weird about it.

Too late for that.

Permanent taglist : @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie, @linneaguriii, @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek, @actuallyazriel, @sofs16, @thulior, @sltwins, @knivesdoingcartwheels, @henna006, @stylesmoonlight12, @lilaissa, @sideboobrry11, @l3thal-l0lita, @lorena-mv33, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @lesliiieeeee, @sageskiesf1, @adynorris, @curlylando, @rebelliousneferut, @justcharlotte, @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies, @emneedshelp, @lando-505, @yukimaniac, @sashisuslover, @f1norris04, @hi26loveie

Let me know if you want to be add or removed from the taglist :)

[brummelliana]

In honor of 1967, here are some of Paul's favorites from the year. (worn often)

This tan grid overcoat. He wears it into 1968.

Vests grid and MMT

Pink and blue tunics.

This shirt makes it's first appearance, he wears it during get back and well into the mid 70s.

Green shirt

This fuckass scarf.

This sports(?) T-shirt. The jacket is also worn during Our world live prep.

Ancor shirt from 1966 (first pic 66). Is there a red one, or is it colorized? The colors look pretty natural if so.

Stripey blazer, also worn during Sgt. Pepper press release.

1966 tour jacket. (First pic 66) not to be confused with the similar Apple Jacket (below) which he begins wearing late in the year.

Honorable mention to this gray sweater he wears once, I like to think it's the same one from 1963.

Another thing I've noticed is that the Beatles either share clothes (All of them!! Its not mclennon uwu as some claim), or buy matching sets, which is also possible since I've seen them match.

[pucksandpower]

Charles Leclerc x Horner!Reader - Social Media AU

y/nhorner

Liked by maxverstappen1, danielricciardo, and 273,816 others

y/horner waiting to get my wings

View all 529 comments

y/nbiggestfan come on red bull, give our girl her wings already!

y/nhornersupremacy i hate that the talent is right in front of them but they keep overlooking you! totally their loss

y/nhornersupremacy manifesting those wings for you soon! the grid is missing your fierceness

purplesector red bull or alphatauri would be crazy not to lock you down

womeninmotorsport the world needs more phenomenal female drivers like you ❤️

y/n4wdc the day is coming for those wings, i just know it

y/nhorner

Liked by scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc, and 1,395,627 others

y/nhorner i don’t care, i paint the town red

View all 2,894 comments

scuderiaferrari red is your color ❤️

charles_leclerc looks like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other 😉 welcome to the team!

y/nhorner can’t wait 🫶

gridgossip oh it’s about to go down! competing against daddy horner 👀

formulanone never call him daddy again 🥴

womeninmotorsport you go girl! time to show red bull what they missed out on

y/nbiggestfan so excited for you!

lewishamilton onwards and upwards 🙌🏾

y/nhorner thank you, lew!

formulanews red bull must be punching the air right now! y/n and ferrari are going to be a force to be reckoned with together

La Vendicata Revitalizes Ferrari

Maranello, Italy (15 July 2024) - Scuderia Ferrari is reinvigorated in 2024 thanks largely to the arrival of young British driver Y/N Horner. Dubbed “La Vendicata” (The Avenged) by the loyal Tifosi, Horner has made an immediate impact in her first season with the team and rookie season in F1.

Her commanding victories at the Austrian and British Grands Prix added to a consistent streak of podium finishes, establishing Horner as a rising star. Beating Red Bull, her father’s team, on their home soil was sweet revenge after being passed over for a seat.

But Horner’s influence extends beyond her own results. She convinced renowned race strategist Hannah Schmitz to make the jump from Red Bull and breathe new life into the famously questionable Ferrari strategy. Schmitz’s shrewd calls have helped optimize both Leclerc and Horner’s aggressive driving styles.

Additionally, Horner brought along several top designers and engineers from Milton Keynes to strengthen Maranello’s technical team. Her rapport with teammate Charles Leclerc has Ferrari targeting its first Constructors’ Championship and Drivers’ Championship in nearly two decades.

Team Principal Fred Vasseur praised Horner’s technical acumen and work ethic. “Her talent and confidence are matched only by her preparation and diligence. Y/N understands the car and motivates the team.”

The Tifosi have quickly embraced La Vendicata’s bold charisma and flair for the dramatic. With a title challenge in sight, she has brought fresh belief and energy to Ferrari. Still very much early in her career, her potential seems limitless.

Y/N Horner is out to show Red Bull what they lost by revitalizing the Prancing Horse. With La Vendicata and Il Predestinato leading the charge, Ferrari’s glory days may soon return.

y/nhorner

Liked by charles_leclerc, scuderiaferrari, and 784,695 others

y/nhorner i still want your hands up on my body. you still make my heart beat fast, ferrari

View all 631 comments

leclerclover it’s definitely charles! i would know those arms and legs anywhere

trulytifosi i think her boyfriend is just being supportive and wearing ferrari merch

leclerclover no way, the body language is all there. it’s definitely charles!

f1wagupdates charles and y/n would be the dream team on and off the track

lightsoutferrari let’s not jump to conclusions, it could just be a random boyfriend. charles doesn’t have a monopoly on wearing ferrari branded clothing

scuderiay/n i know that nothing’s been confirmed yet but imagine if it is charles 👀 they would have so much chemistry together

monzamash i’m manifesting them so much

scuderiaferrari

Liked by y/nhorner, charles_leclerc, and 2,175,834 others

scuderiaferrari when your drivers take team bonding a bit too seriously

View all 2,906 comments

y/nhorner you told us that we should get close to each other so we did

scuderiaferrari as teammates, maybe friends. not close enough for the admin to be traumatized by finding you with each other’s tongue down your throats while i was just trying to get an espresso

charles_leclerc what can we say? we’re overachievers like that

maxverstappen1 so it’s okay when they do it but when i tried to kiss daniel for team bonding i got in trouble? make it make sense!

redbullracing it’s been seven years, let it go

maxverstappen1 no

ferraricentral clearly whatever they’re doing is working so no complaints here

[capsyst]

Here’s my second big Procreate Dreams animation! Really challenged myself hard with this one!

Remember that storyboard I did for a Minecraft character meeting the Warden? The beginning of the storyboard involved several shots showing the character running away from mobs until they reached an area the mobs wouldn’t step foot into. I decided to make that chase scene into one continuous shot.

I modeled up a cave in a 3D animation program and moved the camera around to what I hoped would be an appropriate path. Once rendered I imported this into Procreate Dreams and began animating on top of it, using a grid to be my guidelines to help me keep the character proportional.

After a rough animation was done, I went back and refined it. Then I inked and colored it. Finally I added a shadow layer on top and a glow layer for the torch. Took me about half a month (15 days) to complete.

I’m really proud of this one. I thought I would animate it in Procreate like I did the last one, but because of the nature of needing to match the art with the background I found it was much easier to just animate it entirely in Dreams.

I’ll post a breakdown later when I have a chance.

Hope you fellow Minecraft Story Mode fans enjoy this!

(Fun little fact, all of the sound effects are from Minecraft.)

[gr4cier4cie]

♡ breaking point (lucky number nine) ♡

or: you're young. smart. spunky. fresh blood on the track. scarily, devastatingly fast. you grew up idolizing lewis, but now? you're racing him. taking risks he used to take. doing things he used to do. pole position might be yours now, but it won't always be. fem!rookie!reader x lewis hamilton pt 2

warnings: oh man this age gap is me appeasing me (reader is ~23, lewis is 41), slight sexual undertones, a lil angst, i do not know when this idea came into my mind but suddenly it was there and it would not leave i needed to write this before i lost my shit

♡

press conferences were always the same.

blinding lights. cameras trained on the line of his jaw, the curve of his mouth, the the commanding, deep-set brown of his eyes. the color of the earth, his father liked to chuckle. it is where we begin, and where we will end. lewis had done this dance a thousand times before. (maybe more. he'd stopped counting somewhere between his fourth and fifth championship.) the routine was damn-near muscle memory. deflect, smile, rinse, repeat. deflect, smile, rinse, repeat.

"ladies and gentlemen," fred's voice cut through the rampant cacophony of whispers. "ferrari is proud to announce..."

lewis tuned his team principal out. focused instead on the way you - you, with ferrari-red painted across your chest like a second skin, you, trained for the camera, for the voices, for the endless void that formula one tended to become- drummed your fingers restlessly against the wooden surface of the podium. once. twice. three times. (nervous tell, that. he wondered what other secrets lingered beneath the pristine surface of your skin. untouched. pure. young.)

the questions were bullets. loaded guns. "first female driver-" "time at the f1 academy-" "are you prepared for the-" "working with lewis hamilton-"

your eyes landing on him like a physical blow. recognition flickered across your features, electricity sparkling in the depths of your irises. (oh, you'd studied him, hadn't you? watched his races. memorized his race radios. you probably knew his lap times better than he did.) lewis watched your throat work as you swallowed. your fingers had stilled. good.

"thank you," you spoke into the microphone, rendering the room silent, if only momentarily. you kept your tone controlled. stable. so much different from how he'd been back in the day. "and to blanket your questions, i know what everyone's thinking. i admit i'm young. i admit i'm inexperienced compared to other drivers on the grid. i admit i'm female." your laughter was tight. "a shocker, i know."

lewis felt something in his chest tighten. sear.

"but with all due respect," you continued, "i didn't come here to make history as formula one's first female driver, because that history has already been made. i came here to win." your eyes found his again. held. burned.

"oh, and about working with lewis hamilton?" a pause. practiced, deliberate. (he wondered how many times you'd rehearsed this in the mirror.) "well. i grew up watching him break records. guess it's my turn, now."

the room erupted as lewis uncrossed his arms. you'd done it, hadn't you? fred had no idea what he'd done by bringing you here. putting you in that goddamn red suit. giving you that seat. making you his teammate. it was akin to striking a match in a garage full of gasoline.

fred was saying something. questions, protocol, new team dynamics. lewis found himself unable to focus, not with the way you kept glancing at him in your periphery, a sharp thing that seemed to search under his skin for acid. resentment. it found none. oh, the italian press would have a field day with this. the way you looked at him. dangerous, and steely, and real.

but that was tomorrow's problem.

"lewis?" fred was staring, now. a knowing look met lewis' apprehensive one. "would you like to comment on working with our newest driver?"

lewis wondered how your number - lucky number 9 - would look in his side mirror as he left you in the dust. (or maybe how it would look pressed against the paddock wall, your breath heavy in his ear, his name on your lips like a prayer. he would grant your wishes, sweetheart. all you'd have to do is ask.)

"welcome to ferrari," lewis said, the weight of every camera trained on his lips as they formed the words. "hope you're ready for what comes next."

your smile widened. sharpened. "oh, i am." you tilted your head, challenge written in your heavy gaze. "question is, are you?"

god, he was fucked.

♡

♡

lewis had always tried to admit when he was wrong. had always tried to take the hits when he deserved them. but suzuka was different. suzuka was you, dancing on the edge of disaster for forty-seven minutes, your car a blur of red in his mirrors, on his tail, that just wouldn't. back. down. relentless. (aggressive. angry.)

he had always tried to admit he was wrong. but he wasn't. not when you'd been the one to clip his rear wing going into turn thirteen. not when he'd requested you on comm only to get radio fucking silence. not when he simply watched - helpless, furious beyond plain, good common sense - as you barely missed the wall.

the garage echoed a tomb when he stormed in, mechanics scattering hastily like startled birds. they, too, taste the tension in his jaw that begged for something to wrap itself around, a fury that tasted like fear on his tongue. you were already there, helmet discarded on the workbench, hair wild from the way you'd torn it free. you'd unzipped your race suit to your waist, revealing the black fireproof beneath. sweat glistened like elixir on your collarbone, a drop following the column of your neck to settle in the curve.

"what the fuck were you thinking?" his voice was low. lethal. you didn't flinch. (you never did. and lewis never got angry. he was composed, he prided himself on it. but you were something else, weren't you? something else entirely.)

"it's racing, lewis," you shot back, chin lifting in that utter defiance he'd sworn he'd someday grow to resent. "forgotten what it looks like already?"

"racing? really?" lewis' step closer had your breath catching. (a tell. another to add to his list.) "that wasn't racing. that was suicide."

"it was calculated-"

"calculated?" his laugh cut through skin. through bone. "you nearly put us both in the fucking wall."

"i had the line-"

"you had jack. shit." another step. another. another. he'd backed you against the workbench, your hands grappling for purchase on the edge. "you're trying to prove something. trying to show everyone you deserve to be here, yeah?" his voice dropped an octave. "trying to show me."

your eyes flashed red. "don't treat me like a fucking child."

"don't drive like you've got something to prove."

"didn't you?" your words cracked. splintered. the silence between you stretched like a live wear. (you were... right. he remembered it. being young, once. he remembered that hunger, that need to prove, to show, to stay. he saw it in you. saw it in the way you raced like you were running out of seconds on a ticking time bomb, like every lap might just be your last chance to show them - to show him - what you were made of.) god, you were close enough now that he could count your eyelashes, could see the way your pulse jumped in your throat.

"that's different," he managed, but it felt hollow. fake.

"bullshit. i've watched every race you've ever driven, every risk you've ever taken, and-"

"how many of those ended with me in a wall?"

"how many of them made you a champion?"

lewis stepped back. had to. needed air that didn't taste like adrenaline and defiance and you. (always you.) "be careful what you wish for," he said finally, voice soft enough that only you could hear. dangerous enough that you shivered.

"you can win all you want. you only get one life."

♡

[YOUTUBE: Post-Race with Lewis Hamilton]

♡

note: is this a thing???? i will defff make a part two if this is something you guys wanna see HEHEHE I NEEDED TO GET THIS OUT THE WRITING GODS GUIDED ME IM SO SORRY ITS NOT PROOFREAD OR ANYTHING LFMAO love always from gracie thank you thank you thank you!!!

[changetyre]

Look after my friends

SUMMARY: You and Max have friends from the grid over for a nice family day when they decide to try a trend on you...it doesn't go exactly as planned. Part of the Verstappen Family Verse

WARNINGS: Super short. fluff.

A/N: Another tiktok inspired drabble that I uploaded over on wattpad a while ago ;)

"Hold on a sec can you guys look after the parents please." Lando walked in his phone facing him before he propped it in front of you and Max. 

Both of you saw the red icon indicating it was filming you. You looked up as those around you began laughing at your confused faces. 

"What is this?" You asked smiling at the joke you weren't getting. 

Aside from many other things one of the small factors that made you and Max so perfect for each other was the way you both were so disconnected from the internet even before having Lea and Ivy. It was easy to play viral pranks on you because you both were simply never aware they existed. 

"What are we supposed to do?" Max turned around to look for Lando who had disappeared. 

"Is this live or something?" You furrowed your brows leaning closer to the camera. 

"PAPA! Look at what I drew!" Lea ran towards her dad completely distracting you both from the filming phone. 

Lea climbed up on her dad's lap with his help. She held up the drawing showing a childlike depiction of the current scene. Children playing in your garden and her parents, uncles, and aunts sitting around the long table. 

"Oh my god Lea this is amazing." Max beamed proudly turning the drawing around to show everyone around the table. 

"Wow!" Compliments flew in from all of Lea's favorite people making her shy away and tuck herself in Max's chest. 

"Mama I dwaw too." Ivy who was in a faze of copying everything her sister did attempted to climb up your lap. You picked her up placing her on your lap. 

"Let's see what you drew my darling." You encouraged Ivy to show you. 

She turned around showing a pink circle and a smaller purple circle with a bunch of scribbles of different colors around it.

"Wow, Ivy is that you and Lea?" You asked her pointing at the pink and purple circles knowing pink was Lea's favorite colour and purple hers. 

"YES Mama!" She got excited at the fact you recognized her. "This is wando, this is auntie wiwy, this is uncwe Ozzie, this is auntie awex, this is uncwe chawie, this is-" She pointed at every scribble and you were surprised to find she'd matched the color of the scribbles to what they were wearing. 

"Wow Ivy good job." Max also complimented his youngest daughter. "I have such talented daughters." The pride in Max's voice made you look at him lovingly. 

"Can you guys draw me something for my house?" Dani asked the girls. 

"YES!" They both cheered excitedly before shimmying of your laps and running back to their coloring area. 

"Me too please!" Charles called out. 

"And me!" Oscar called after followed by the others. 

Both you and Max turned to look at each other huge smiles on your face. "We might have two artists in our hands." You commented. 

Max placed a sweet kiss on your lips. "Maybe a little racer is in here." Max placed a hand on your growing bump, your noses brushing as you both looked at each other in adoration. 

"Ugh, you both are too in love for this challenge." Lando walked back to the garden picking up the phone you both had completely forgotten about. 

Everyone burst out in laughter as once again Max and you both looked at each other confused. 

It's safe to say the f1 world went crazy at the video, a fact you were also too oblivious to.  

[luiluvr]

ultraviolence — luigi mangione

WARNINGS: NSFW, MDNI, f!reader, cockwarming while asleep, sex, unprotected p in v, daddy kink, barely proofread

SUMMARY: Being horny for Lu before bed, but you're too tired to finish the session and end up falling asleep with him still inside you ... Then waking up to each other and resuming the actions from the night before. :)

WC: 1.7k

A/N: wrote this for @gigimangione ilysm, inspired by this request — i also i figured out how to do the 3x3 grid sigh

His skin's silky to the touch, tan flesh that your fingers absent-mindedly trace. Each n' every divot of his beautiful six pack he spent endless time perfecting. Luigi breathes calmly as his nose stays stuck between pages of a book he'd been addicted to the past few days. Your touch was comforting to him and he loved the way you caressed him, the way your palm was so small against his body, the way your lotion rubbed off on him, leaving a lingering scent of vanilla and marshmallow on his skin.

He would be lying if he said he didn't love it.

"Lu," you voice softly broke the silence of the bedroom, your body tangled in the cream-colored sheets, the other sound was faintly the whirring of the fan on a dresser across from the bed.

Luigi perked, he tilted the book down enough to gaze back at you from over it — the smell of a newly printed book plays in your nostrils as you lean onto him.

A smirk tugs at his mouth, he slides a Pokémon trading card in the book to mark where he leaves off. It was one of those newer cards of Gengar, he mentioned it's lack of rarity at some point prior. So, the fact he used it as a bookmark didn't bother you much.

He lays the softcover down on the nightstand and exhales, "What is it, princess?" His large hand comes up to your waist, cupping it softly and gently giving you a squeeze. Something about him lying here beside you, shirtless, looking so fine. He wasn't even doing anything and somehow it just stirred something in your lower stomach.

All he sported was a simple pair of Calvin Klein's that always got your gears turning: in the best way. He was always your man, and you were his pretty woman. You were his treasure, his sunrise, his joy. Not to mention, he loved you being so small, so delicate, and you enjoyed having someone taller, bigger. There's probably some life-long mental issue related, who cares.

"Mmm, just want you to pay attention t'me." You said quietly, his smirk evolved into a grin, the corners of him turn up as they always did. "What was that, angel?" His tone sent shivers down your spine as he lifts you up easily to sit on his waist. His favorite spot for you.

You looked down at him, your rosy lips pursed as he admires your beautiful body in his hands, wrapped in a sheer, white nightgown that accentuated every curve on your body. God, he loved you. "You want me to what?" He asks again.

"To pay attention to me."

His head tips to the side, he gives you a look that makes you weak in the knees that straddle him down beneath you. "You want my attention, amore?" Eagerly, you nod and gaze over his broad shoulders, his biceps that always make you feel so small when he wraps them around you.

He brushes a stray hair behind your ear, tucking it softly and debates his next words carefully. "What kind of attention?" There it is, dragging out your needs just for a few chuckles, to get you needier, to have you practically melting and begging for him to have you.

"J-just need you." You mumbled, his hand moves to cup your cheek, he smiles.

"I know what I want. I think we both know what it is." Your brow raises, "Yeah."

Lu's palm rakes down your side, testing the waters as he pushes up the nightgown. His eyes linger on your lace panties, matching the nightgown you wore for him. The ones that made you feel so pretty, so feminine, and made him so incredibly, undeniably horny.

"Fuck, sweet girl. Look at you. I bet you're already so wet, aren't you, precious?"

"Mhm."

"Let me see." He says, almost tauntingly as he flips the nightgown's skirt edge up, something about it makes your thighs tremble with excitement, the thought of getting this. It was always such a reward for you, obsessed with being spoiled by him. Spoiled by his ‘PhD.’

Luigi's fingers move between your thighs, and he's greeted with damp, lace fabric. His lips twitch. You let out a heavy breath as he runs his fingers along your clothed-heat. "So, so soaked." Is all he manages to whisper.

His fingers lightly dip under your panties and into your folds, eliciting a soft whine from you. It makes him shift, he holds his breath as he continues to toy with you, not exactly touching you where you desire, but sure as hell making you desperate for it. "Lui," you gasp as his middle finger rubs over your clit.

Your body jerked, ass moving down against his boxers — causing him to groan. "God, bellissima. Watch where you're grindin'." You smiled weakly, but that didn't stop him. He continued rubbing your achy nub of nerves and caused you to hang your head backwards, small, needy whines leaving your lips; they only encourage your boyfriend more. He leans up, his breath grazes your ear as he softly nips at it.

"Tell me what you want."

You hated when he did that. He knew what you wanted but he was embarrassing you by forcing a confession out of you, like a sexual, torturous and religious kink. "I want you, Luigi."

"Nuh-uh, sweetie. Say it right. What do you want?"

You groan, annoyed and squirming a little — to which he gives your thigh a slap. The sting chokes up the words he wanted to hear your pretty voice admit. "I want ... I want your dick, daddy." It felt like a thread snapped internally for Luigi, because no matter how many times you've called him 'daddy' before, or told him you wanted his dick, it affected him more and more every time.

His length was straining against the white fabric under you, just against the curve of your ass. "God fuckin' dammit." He grips your hips, "You're gonna get what you want, my girl." He hummed, lifting your body up enough for him to reach down and push down his boxers. For some godforsaken reason, exhaustion hit you like a bus just as his tip slid over the fabric of your panties, his precum dampening the fabric furthermore. You yawn.

Luigi's thick brow raised, confused. "Are you tired, princess?" You rub your eye, shaking your head, "No, no. It was just a yawn." He's suspicious but continues on, he rests your feet on his chest momentarily so he can pull off your panties. He tosses them — they end up somewhere.

"You ready for me, sweetpea?"

"Yes."

"Yes, what?

"Yes, daddy."

"Atta girl, all wet and ready for daddy's cock." Softly, you gulp, then breathe in deeply as he slowly pokes his tip inside your tight heat. A strained whimper escapes you, Luigi grits his teeth a little, because no matter how many times he's been inside you, you feel tighter and more amazing each and every time.

"Fuck," he moans, lifting his hips to push into you completely, hitting you both with a gasp. He gives you a moment to adjust, for himself to be ready. Sure, you've had sex so much before, but he's just too big. It's a wonder you can take it most days.

You were prepping to be fucked senseless, because when Luigi had sex, he never disappointed. He went all in. Obviously, gently when you needed to, but on nights like this... You yawn again, covering your mouth, Luigi smiles and keeps himself buried inside you for some time, clearly with no intentions to thrust up or actually fuck you. "My girl's tired, isn't she?" You shook your head again, but he took your chin in his hand and gripped it slightly. "Why don't you sleep, princess?"

"N-no, I want to do this- I need you so bad, baby." but Luigi chuckled. "Take it easy... You can have me anytime. Also baby, I have no plans on actually fucking you right now. You're just cock-warming me. I like it. Honestly, it'd be sexy to fall asleep with my dick inside you all night. You want that?" His smile is out of this world, he wished he could stuff you full of himself every night, and just fall asleep with his cock in you.

Your hands shake, that does sound hot. Your pussy throbs at the idea, sleeping with his cock in you while you sleep; forcing you to stay as close as possible. It also saddened you a little that Luigi wasn't going to thrust himself into and ruin you tonight.

That's what you did.

💋

You couldn't remember falling asleep, you had kissed Lu and agreed to it, after that it was a mystery. In all reality, you were confused when you woke, finding yourself on top of Luigi still. His arms secured around you, carefully, you sit up and go to shift. You moaned. You forgot.

Lu's cock was still in you.

It was an immediate bubble of need. You had stored him in your pussy all night; he got what he wanted. It's your turn. So, slowly, you began moving your hips: up and down. Luigi moans loudly, despite being asleep — he woke up pretty quickly. "Fuck, baby.. What're you doing?" He moaned, moving to grasp your hips one more time. "Need you, daddy." You murmur, kissing up his neck, he guides your hips on himself, his brows furrow.

"Baby girl..." He trailed off into a grunt as he bucks up into you involuntarily, causing you to gasp. "Daddy's girl, huh?"

"Yes. God, yes." You mumble incoherently, managing to sit up straight and ride him easier. He watches your angelic body, covered by the nightgown move beautifully. He bunches it up desperately, stripping it from your figure and moaning at the sight of you. Your breasts moving with your bounces, every square inch of you was absolutely perfect. He was the luckiest man alive.

"Darling, you're gorgeous." He praises, leaning up enough to kiss your stomach and move up the valley of your breasts. His hands come to squeeze your breasts as well. "Can't believe this is mine." He stated between kisses, mouthing your breast, then the other — spoiling your mounds.

He huffs as you continued your endless ride on his cock. "Look so perfect bouncing on daddy's cock, sweet princess." His little words of encouragement. His words made you so unbelievably horny.

"Lu, you.. Feel so good."

"I know sweetheart, you're so full of me. Huh?"

"Yes, daddy."

"That's my girl."

TAGLIST: @mangionebabymama @iinfinitelimits @gigimangione @fancyyanci @theloverfiles @palmersluvr @fligniuz @alleviatcd (ask 2 be tagged <3)

[cupofteatoyou2]

What if she chose me pt5

The bruise isn’t new. It’s from the match. first match. The one where Alexia chewed through you at halftime and your lungs hadn’t felt full since.

You remember the moment, a poor step forward, a misread rotation. And then a sprint to recover that left your ribs wide open—and the opposing winger didn’t miss her chance.

She barreled through you like you were nothing. You hit the pitch hard. Elbow to turf. Chest to knee. All the air in your body gone in one sharp second.

No whistle. No card. No concern. Just pain.

You remember pushing up before the med staff could reach you. You remember Ingrid kneeling beside you and muttering, “Don’t lie,” and you did anyway.

You told her you were fine. You weren’t.

You played the second half on adrenaline and to keep your pride. And after the match, when you peeled your kit off and caught sight of your side in the mirror, it bloomed in color.

Purple first. Then blue. Then something somewhere between rage and surrender. You haven’t let anyone see it since.

And now, here you are—few weeks later , standing on the edge of training with that same bruise burning under your top. It’s almost faded but pain is not gone.

It pulls with every twist. Every reach. Every breath. But it’s not bad. Not enough to stop you. You could play.

And yet When you jog onto the pitch, boots biting the grass, breath fogging in the crisp air—your eyes find her first.

Jana. She’s already moving. Already working. Already throwing herself into drills with a sharpness you haven’t seen in weeks. She’s moving like someone trying to earn something back. And maybe she is.

You stop at the edge of the cone grid and watch her recover from a misstep, square her shoulders, and demand the ball again.

You can’t look away. Not when you remember her voice from few night ago.

“I wanted to hate her.”

“I’m tired.”

“They don’t need me anymore.”

You shouldn’t have heard it. But you did. And now it echoes in your blood.

You take your place in the drill, jaw tight, lungs already burning before you’ve started. Jonatan splits the group. You and Jana end up on opposite sides of the rotation.

The message is clear one of you will start this weekend. One of you will not.

The ache in your side spikes when you turn. You press a palm to the bruise through your kit. Just enough pressure to remind yourself that it’s still there. That you could use it. If you wanted to.

Because when you glance across the pitch—Jana is locked in. Laser-focused. Alive in a way you haven’t seen in weeks. You remember what she said. Not to you. But about you.

“She’s so solid.”

“And me? I’m still waiting to feel like I’m not temporary.”

You step into the next pass and let your timing be just a little off. Let the touch slip just slightly.

You twist too quickly. Then stop. Grab your side. Not dramatic. Just... enough.

Jonatan notices.

“Hey—what’s up?”

You hesitate. There it is. The moment. Say the truth? Fight for it? Or—

You exhale slowly. Shake your head.

“Don’t feel okay,” you say. “Ribs. It’s burning like hell. Probably shouldn’t push.” His eyes narrow. Not suspicious—just cautious. He knows you. You don’t back down easy.

“You sure?”

You nod. Bite the inside of your cheek. “Yeah.”

He nods. Waves his arm. “Jana. You are starting this weekend.”

She nodded. Small smile is noticeable on her lips. But tries to act cool. Like it wasn’t something she was craving for.

You sit down on the edge of the bench, stretching your legs out like it’s just another day. But your hands are shaking. She slides into the shape drill, shouting for the ball, hitting her marks.

And you watch. Every pass. Every tackle. Every look. And the bruise beneath your top pulses with something deeper than pain. Because now it’s not just physical.

It’s choice. It’s sacrifice. It’s a secret.

You look down at your hands, pressed to your thighs, trying not to unravel.

Then you feel it— Eyes on you. You glance up. Alexia.

She’s standing near the far goal, arms crossed. Watching. Not the drill. You.

You lock eyes. You don’t flinch. She doesn’t either. Her face is unreadable. No scowl. No smile. No pity.

But you know what she’s thinking. You see it in her stillness. In the way her gaze lingers half a second too long.

She knows. She knows what you did. And she doesn’t say a word. Just turns. And walks away.

You wait until the field clears before you move. Your bag is heavy on your shoulder. Not from weight, just… from everything else.

You don’t make it five steps toward the tunnel before someone falls in beside you. Quiet. Unassuming.

Ona.

You don’t look at her. She doesn’t look at you.

But she matches your pace.

You both walk in silence for a few seconds—long enough for it to be comfortable, but not long enough for you to ignore the fact that she came after you. Deliberately.

Finally, she says, voice quiet but not timid

“You didn’t limp this morning.”

You flinch. Just slightly.

Your hand curls a little tighter around the strap of your bag.

Ona doesn’t push. She just waits.

You sigh. “It’s not nothing,” you murmur. “It still hurts.”

“But not enough to stop you,” she says softly. Not accusing. Just… sure.

You glance at her, and she meets your eyes.

There’s no judgment in hers. Just understanding.

You look away. “She needed it.”

“I know,” Ona says.

Another beat of silence. Then “So did you.”

That hits harder than you expect. You swallow. Your throat is dry. “It felt right.”

“It was kind,” she says. “But that doesn’t mean it didn’t cost you something.”

You stop walking. Ona stops too. You turn to her. “Please don’t say anything.”

She shakes her head. “I won’t.” She pauses, then adds, “But just so you know… it doesn’t make you weak.”

“I know that,” you say automatically.

She tilts her head. “Do you?”

You open your mouth. Then close it. Because you’re not sure anymore.

Ona doesn’t press further. She just reaches out and lightly taps your arm, the way someone might close a book after reading the final page.

“I’ll see you inside,” she says. And then she’s gone.

You stand there for a long moment, heart too loud and lungs too tight, staring after her. And maybe it’s the bruise. Maybe it’s the guilt.

Maybe it’s the look on Jana’s face during drills—focused, determined, herself again. But you don’t regret it. Not exactly. You just wish you didn’t have to lie to everyone else… To do something that finally felt like telling the truth.

The stadium hums with that particular kind of noise—matchday noise. The kind that isn't made of cheers or songs, but nerves. Boots clicking against tunnel floors. Velcro tightening. The muted thump of fists against shoulders. Breath warming hands.

You don’t feel part of it. Not today. You’re zipped into your tracksuit, sitting on the bench while your body screams to move, to be in it. But all you can do is watch.

Jana’s name is read over the speakers. Her number. Her position. The crowd cheers. The squad nods, claps backs, taps boots. She jogs onto the field like she never left it.

You watch her the way someone watches a closed door—knowing they can’t walk through it, but still waiting to see what’s on the other side.

You’ve been on this bench before. But not like this. Not after choosing it. Not after making yourself small so someone else could breathe.

The match begins fast—high energy, tight spaces, pressing from both sides. And Jana adjusts quickly. Efficient. Precise. She holds her line with the kind of quiet certainty that earns trust without demanding it.

You’re not surprised. You’ve always known she could do this. It’s the reason you lied.

Midway through the first half, she wins a hard challenge near the sideline. Slides clean, pops up faster than expected, and pushes the ball forward into space for Aitana to chase.

The bench erupts.

Ona slaps the railing and yells something in rapid Catalan that definitely includes a swear and possibly the phrase holy shit.

Aitana points back at Jana with a grin.

The coaches murmur, scribble something on their clipboards.

You sit still. You’re clapping, but not smiling. Not fully. Because watching it happen—watching her reclaim the space—you should feel proud. And you do. But under that? There’s a small, sharp ache. Not jealousy. Not exactly. Just the ache of not being missed.

Right before halftime, she locks down a dangerous switch with a perfect first touch and turns into space like it’s hers. And then, for a split second—she glances toward the bench.

Her eyes sweep across the sideline. You don’t think she’s looking for you. But maybe she is. Maybe she saw. You hold the gaze just long enough for your chest to tighten.

Then she’s gone again—back into the rhythm of the match, back into the center of the moment you gave her. The whistle blows for halftime. You exhale. And you don’t even realize you’d been holding your breath.

The locker room is full of noise again—boots kicked off, instructions muttered, hydration routines kicked in like religion.

Jana sits near the front, head down, unwrapping her tape. She’s calm. Focused. She doesn’t smile. But she feels different. Like she’s reinhabiting her own skin. Like the version of her who’s been folding inward for weeks is finally standing upright again.

You stay quiet in the back, near the extra kits, sipping from a bottle you barely remember grabbing. Mapi tosses a rolled-up sock across the room. Aitana hums something under her breath. Patri checks her ankle tape like it might explode. The team moves on. And you— You stay still.

The second half is more of the same. Not perfect. Not easy. But steady.

Jana plays with something that looks suspiciously like confidence now. She takes a risk with a high press. Holds her shape under pressure. She’s breathing in rhythm with the game, and for the first time, it looks like she trusts herself again.

The bench responds. They cheer. They shout. Ona leans forward with her elbows on her knees every time Jana goes one-on-one.

You feel every second like a quiet pulse under your skin. No one says your name. And that’s the part that sticks. Not being benched. Not being bruised. Just… not being part of it. Not being needed.

Full time.

5–1.

The team wins. The pitch becomes a rush of high-fives, grins, and shouted congratulations. Players jog to the corner flag. Staff claps from the sideline.

Jana gets pulled into a half-hug by Ingrid. Aitana yells something triumphant and spins in a circle. You walk onto the field with the rest of the bench.

You smile. You nod. You say, “Good job,” to someone. Maybe to everyone. But not to her. Not yet. Because you’re not sure what you’d sound like if you opened your mouth.

Later, while the team heads toward the tunnel, you hang back for a second. Just long enough to watch her. Jana jogs past a photographer and waves a quick thank-you to a ball kid.

She looks calm again. Like something is no longer pressing on her chest. And maybe it’s that peace that hurts the most. Because you gave her that breath. And now, all you can do is wonder— Will she ever know?

You file into the tunnel with the rest of them—boots thudding on cement, laughter bouncing off walls, jerseys clinging damp to skin.

The energy is high. Not over-the-top, just bright. Victorious. You move with them, but not quite among them. You're behind the wave, not inside it.

Someone offers you a high five. You take it. Aitana slings an arm around your shoulder for a second, giddy from the win. You smile back, reflexively. But it’s muscle memory, not feeling. And then—Jana.

She walks past you with salma and Patri, expression calm, voice low, her fingers trailing across the sleeve of her jacket as she peels it off.

For a moment, you think she might stop. Say something. Look. Acknowledge you in some small way. She doesn’t. Not because she’s cold. But because she doesn’t know. No one does. To them, you sat this one out. To them, you're just a player with a sore rib and a spot on the bench.

Not the one who watched the moment she gave up a dozen times bloom beautifully in someone else’s hands. Not the one who chose that silence, and now has to live in it.

The locker room is loud again. Mapi’s already pulling off her socks, talking about the free kick no one remembers. Aitana’s trying to hijack the speaker. Marta is yelling about the playlist being cursed. Someone opens a bottle of sports drink and it explodes across the bench.

The chaos is comforting, in a weird way. It means things are okay. Normal. Alive. You move through it like a ghost with a smile on its face. You take off your boots. Tape your fingers. Sit on the edge of the bench and unwrap the compression sleeve around your ribs slowly, carefully, like removing armor you don’t get to wear again.

The bruise is Still there. Not dark,but noticeable. You stare at it for a long second. Then pull your hoodie on before anyone sees.

Across the room, Jana is laughing and it’s real. The soft kind of laugh that comes when something inside finally unclenches. She’s talking with Mapi now. Ingrid tosses her a water bottle. Patri claps her shoulder and says something that makes her roll her eyes and smile. You watch the team absorb her again. Welcome her back without hesitation.

They don’t know what it took. They don’t need to. That’s what you told yourself. That was the deal.

But the quiet part of you—the one still curled around your own bruised breath—wonders if there’ll be a moment where someone sees it. Where someone asks.

Not for credit. Not for thanks. Just… to be seen. Just once. By her.

Outside, the sky is starting to darken. The bus waits in the lot. The cold creeps under your sleeves. You step out with the others, hood pulled up, hands in your pockets. Behind you, you hear someone laugh—Mapi again, probably—and then a quiet voice you know too well.

Jana. You don’t turn. You don’t look back. You just walk onto the bus like it doesn’t matter. Like it didn’t mean something. Like it didn’t cost something.

You take the window seat near the back and press your forehead to the glass. The outside world blurs. And in the reflection—you catch a glimpse of her boarding behind you. She doesn’t sit beside you. She doesn’t even pause. But her reflection glances in your direction once—and you don’t know if it was accident or instinct. But it lingers. And that, somehow, is worse than if she hadn’t looked at all.

Because it’s enough to keep you hoping. And not enough to make it stop hurting.

The bus pulls into the training ground, and as soon as it stops, the team scatters like water on concrete.

Everyone moves fast. Unspoken routines kick in. Car keys. Kit bags. Spare sliders. There’s laughter, back slaps, light swearing. The glow of a win still hangs over everything—but it’s fading now, giving way to fatigue.

You’re the last to stand. You grab your bag slow, not because you’re sore—but because you’re trying to delay that moment where it’s just you, alone in the cold, pretending to check your phone while you wait for your ride to show up.

You step off the bus. Half the parking lot’s already emptying out—cars reversing, headlights cutting through the dark.

You don’t notice her until she speaks.

“Need a lift?”

You turn, heart catching in your throat for reasons you don’t name. Alexia.

She’s not even looking at you. She’s already halfway to her car, keys loose in her hand like this whole thing is optional.

You hesitate. “I’m okay.”

“Didn’t ask if you were okay,” she replies. “Asked if you needed a ride.”

It’s not friendly. It’s not cold, either. It’s just direct. And that’s worse, somehow.

You sigh. “Yeah. Sure.”

She nods once. Doesn’t wait. Just unlocks the doors and slides in. You follow.

The car is quiet. Uncomfortably so.

No music. No small talk. Just the quiet squeak of the windshield wipers as they clear a few drops of late rain and the faint buzz of the engine under your feet.

She drives like she does everything—precise, measured, no frills.

You stare out the window, counting passing lights. Your bag’s in your lap. Your fingers haven’t stopped fidgeting with the edge of the zipper since you got in.

The silence stretches. Then—

“You didn’t have to sit out.” Her voice is calm. Flat. Not accusatory, but not warm either.

You blink. Look at your hands. “Yeah.”

“She would’ve been fine. Either way.”

You nod once. “Probably.”

“She’s not weak,” she adds.

You let out a quiet breath. “I know.”

Alexia shifts lanes, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping the indicator like she’s thinking through something harder than this conversation.

Then— “She’s better when she thinks no one’s watching.”

You glance at her. “That a compliment or a warning?”

Her lip twitches. Not a smile—more like a shrug in expression form.

“Just a fact.”

Another beat. Then“She looked at you.”

You freeze. Alexia doesn’t elaborate. You say nothing.

You didn’t think anyone noticed. Not during the match. Not that moment. The way Jana’s eyes found you for that breath of a second.

“She does that sometimes,” Alexia says, keeping her eyes on the road. “When she thinks it’s safe.”

You don’t respond. You can’t. Because your chest hurts again, and it has nothing to do with your ribs.

“She doesn’t talk much about you,” Alexia continues. “But she doesn’t stop watching you either.”

You grip the edge of your bag tighter. “I wasn’t trying to—”

“I know,” she says. Cuts you off without heat.

You let that hang in the air between you. Neither of you fills it. You watch streetlights blur by outside the window.

She pulls into your street. Parks, engine still running.

She doesn’t look at you. Doesn’t ask if you’re getting out. Just sits there. One hand on the wheel. Still. You reach for the handle. But pause.

Your voice comes out too quiet. “Did it matter?”

Alexia doesn’t ask what you mean. She knows.

She says, “Not to everyone.” Then she adds—softer “But it mattered.” You nod. Stare straight ahead.

“See you Monday,” she says.

You open the door. Step out. Close it gently. She drives away without waiting for anything else.

And you stand there, on the curb, in the quiet night with the streetlight hitting just wrong—and for the first time all day, you let yourself feel it.

The pride. The ache. The silence. And the truth of it all

You didn’t disappear. But you did fade for a time. And somehow, Alexia saw it happen. Not with pity. Not with kindness. But with something that almost—almost—felt like respect.

Your phone is screaming when you wake up.

It’s vibrating nonstop, face-down on your nightstand like it’s trying to crawl off and escape the incoming apocalypse.

104 unread messages.

3 missed calls.

2 voice notes flagged by WhatsApp as “potentially unhinged.”

The group chat is on fire.

Mapi

EMERGENCY VIBES MEETING WAKE UP, COWARDS

Mapi i had a dream that we missed our only chance to go on a girls’ trip and i woke up sobbing

Mapi we deserve sun. and alcohol. and a pool where i can float and not think about defensive shape.

Aitana you were already floating in yesterday

Mapi I WAS MANIFESTING

Ingrid

Can we please pick somewhere with decent water pressure this time?

Marta I vote beach. And a grill. And at least one hammock.

Ona I’m not going if there’s a goat.

Patri

what kind of vacations do you think we’re planning???

Vicky someone find a house and post three options. democracy will decide.

Mapi democracy is a scam unless I win. i want a cliff house with ghosts and ocean views and a cursed mirror

Aitana you want Midsommar

Mapi i want freedom

You stay curled under your blanket, scrolling one-eyed through the chat, barely awake, already winded from the sheer volume of nonsense flying around.

Ona is shutting down every questionable idea with surgical precision.

Marta is spamming house listings—some nice, some deeply suspicious.

Patri is trying to get people to commit to a plan like a responsible adult.

Mapi is losing her mind in six languages.

It’s chaos. Beautiful, feral chaos.

You scroll through another dozen messages until someone starts a new poll labeled

THE VIBE

Beach and Wine

Cliff and Fire

Chill and Healing

Feral and Possibly Illegal

Mapi votes twice. You laugh into your pillow.

Then, halfway through a new thread where Aitana suggests shared groceries and someone says “NO WE ARE FREEFROM SPREADSHEETS,” you pause.

Because something tugs at your memory.

Tamariu.

It’s quiet. Coastal. Tucked away. Not flashy. Just peaceful. You went once—years ago. And something about it still sits soft in your chest. You scroll back to the main thread. Type without thinking

Y/N Tamariu’s nice. Small. Chill. Sea’s good. Market coffee slaps.

You send it. No emoji. No tag. Just that. You toss your phone on the bed like it didn’t matter. Like your heart didn’t skip when you pressed send. You go brush your teeth. Come back. The chat has exploded.

Mapi i googled it. 10/10 would haunt someone there

Salam THE WATER LOOKS SO BLUE MY SOUL JUST GOT CLEANSED

Marta i think i found a house. it has a pool and a roof deck and like… eight beds?

Vicky send the link. please, god.

Patri does it have kitchen knives that won’t cut air?

Ingrid And beds not made of concrete?

Mapi DOES IT HAVE A VIBE??

Marta yes. a haunted-but-hot vibe. it’s perfect.

Aitana i’m packing already

Mapi dibs on the bathtub for morning regrets

Ona dibs on locking my door

You scroll back for a second to check your own message.Just curious. And there it is. Not in the replies. Not loud. Not direct.

Jana liked your message.

Just that. No follow-up. No words. Just one quiet, deliberate tap of acknowledgment.

Buried between Mapi yelling “I CALL THE LEFT SIDE OF THE MOON ROOM” and someone sending a playlist full of vibey synth music labeled “vacation moodboard.”

But it’s there. It’s her. And it lands hard. Because after everything— after all the silence. the side-eyes. the tension. the way she never said anything, even when you stepped off the pitch for her— this is the first thing she’s given back.

It’s not big. It’s not loud. But it’s real. And it’s hers.

The chat keeps spiraling. Someone suggests a packing theme. Someone else says they’ll bring tequila and healing crystals.

Mapi tries to form a carpool and offers to drive despite three unresolved parking tickets and a complete lack of GPS trustworthiness.

The whole thing is ridiculous. Loud. Messy. Alive. And you? You don’t type anything else. You just sit there on your bed, watching the chat burn, smile tucked under the edge of your blanket— And think

She saw it. She saw me. Even if she didn’t say anything. Even if no one else noticed. She did.

[neolithicsheep]

Ok so you're looking at the aftermath of Helene and you're thinking "shit, how would I keep my phone charged? What about my neighbors?" and you have some outdoor space and some cash. Your friendly formerly off grid sheep farmer is here to help.

You need this set up right here:

To that you will need to add:

Y connectors:

The 100aH (amp Hour) deep cycle battery of your choice - lead acid AGM will be cheaper, lithium (LiFePo) is more expensive but lasts much longer.

Finally, you need a small pure sine wave inverter like this one: https://a.co/d/70vRd79

Plug the panels into the Y connectors then into the single wire to run to the charge controller. They are now connected in parallel. Take them outside to a sunny spot and face them south and prop them up at about a 45 degree angle. This isn't perfect but it will be good enough.

Connect your battery and charge controller. Connect the panels to the charge controller. All of the places to do this are labeled and all you need is a Phillips screwdriver. I recommend doing it once in a non-disaster situation so you know you can do it but you'll be fine. Boom, you are getting electricity from the sun!

The inverter draws power even when it's not running so don't leave it hooked up when you're not using it. When someone needs to charge their phone, put those alligator clips on the matching color battery posts, turn the inverter on, and plug in the phone/radio. Voilà! A single 100aH battery is not going to run a bunch of things but it will help keep cell phones charged without using up the gas in your car.

The panels are weatherproof but everything else needs to be protected by the way so you'll need to set this up in a shed or garage or in the house. Lead acid batteries can produce hydrogen gas when being charged but just having one isn't a big risk.

FAQ:

Yes, you can permanently mount the panels to your roof if you own your home etc. They're designed for that!

It is true that places sell "solar generators" - those are a charge controller, battery, and an inverter in one box at a very high price point. When a component goes bad you will be unable to replace the component and must replace the entire $1000 box. They are also not upgradeable or expandable, this is.

You do not have to buy Renogy, I recommend them because they kept me in electricity for the years I was off grid.

You do not have to buy the kit, you can buy the components of it as and when you can afford them!

Remember to keep your battery on a trickle charger.