#raw admin

[yureihana]

One eggs 1x4 and chicken suit shedletsky

[spiderman2-99]

Reminded me of you and your child

🌧️

[revolutionsingingintherainnn]

Lestappen are friends?? I’m so sure they haven’t even got each others phone number saved. They’re literally co workers that have been working together for a long time and occasionally chat.

I’m pretty sure Charles’s only close friend on the grid is Pierre and seems like him and Hamilton are close now as well but max?? I highly doubt they interact outside of work because that what it is, their jobs not a ship party for crazies

It’s so obvious Lando and Carlos are close even Lando and max seem super close but to say lestappen are closer than Carlos and Carlos sr’s other son (Lando) is insane work

i think it was recently when lestappen started following each other on instagram again? im not even sure. but yeah, theyre co workers and they talk about their work. the only time we've seen them together must be on track.

maybe. i'm not sure who charles' closest friends on track are, i don't really keep track of him cause he's not exactly my favourite. but, yeah, max and him are in no way close.

i agree, anon, it is insane work! its the kind of work you would get from someone who refuses to see whats right in front of their face!

[ask-ring-schwartz]

"no jelly beans!"

they excitedly move closer to him!! U^ェ^U

"I don't like them either!! bad texture, and the taste is never right- I think buttered popcorn is the worst.. we already have something in common!!"

🐩

He instinctually takes a half step away, though upon hearing your shared disdain for jelly beans, he gives a short nod.

"Agreed. They're disgusting."

He's silent momentarily before he motions stiffly ahead of him and speaks again, "Lead the way."

[unhinged-motogp-confessions]

let me have a ducati factory team with marc and enea please

.

[methodwriting]

being a teacher paid by the hour is so fucking stupid like imagine wedding planners only got paid for the duration of the wedding event and Everyone including the actual wedding planner agreed that this is a fair deal and actually if you're unhappy you can quit, starve and die

[melting-sugar-cubes]

Since i'm at least 70% sure that i yet again have @meowmewmeows to thank for the raw page scans of TGR that a majority of the next chunk of queued cap edits are coming from, i just wanted to toss this little post as a general thanks for them~💕 before they start posting--

[housepartyprotocol]

Maple leaves

Hockey player!Oscar Piastri x driver!reader

Summary: YN is a Redbull driver and gets introduced to a certain NHL team, and a certain player Masterlist / TipJar

oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, and mapleleafs and 42,639 others

oscarpiastri Coming to the end of the season strong!

view all 105 comments

user he is such a man whore lordy look at him

user delectable user how is he not taken user HES SINGLE !?!

user raw. next question.

user UNHINGED

user I wanna move to Canada to breathe the same air as him

user I am from his hometown in Australia and that's my biggest achievement

ynusername

liked by maxverstappen, landonorris, alexalbon and 532,620 others

ynusername Just a day of packing while wearing my teammates merch

view all 402 comments

user redbull merch is redbull merch regardless of the driver

user soft launching ...

user i doubt it, max has a baby coming user omg DILF

maxverstappen we all know you are immediately unpacking that suitcase

ynusername the things i do for the aesthetic maxverstappen and why would you pack a book you finished a month ago ynusername huh how maxverstappen i follow your Goodreads, we need to talk ynusername NO IGNORE MY READS user shes a smut reader omg user that wasn't on my bingo card

landonorris AUSTRALIAAAAAA

ynusername TIME FOR THONGS ynuersname that sounds strange ynusername nope im sticking with flipflops user HAH landonorris I WANNA WEAR A THONG landonorris ;)

oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, and mapleleafs and 35,747 others

oscarpiastri I'm homesick

view all 97 comments

user Melbourne mention

user 5 minutes and a hair tie

user go to horny jail

user I got this just after the F1 post about the season starting in MELBOURNE

user crossover user no because a F1 x NHL crossover would be so sick! user @ F1 HEAR OUR WISHES

ynusername

liked by maxverstappen, landonorris, yukitsunoda and 654,224 others

ynusername it feels good to be back

view all 398 comments

user the queen is back on her throne

user WINNERR user since she got in the redbull she is a force to be reckoned with user she deserves everything

user shes a bitch

user GET OUT SHOO OUT

landonorris I hate you

ynusername I hate you too ynusername I hate the mullet landonorris NOT THE MULLET alexalbon NOT THE MULLET maxverstappen that was low, holy hell

landonorris

liked by ynusername, maxverstappen, oscarpiastri and 745,221 others

landonorris managed to get tickets to see my favourite hockey team. Took a doofus and now shes a bigger fan than me. Owns more merch than me

view all 573 comments

user they are such a cute couple omg

user they aren't user they aren't ?? user nope they just friends since karting

ynusername I slayyed that photoshoot

landonorris you are welcome ynusername I am learning more about the game every time I watch now ynusername would it be traitorous to switch teams now, i like this Jack Hughes with the devils landonorris NO YOU WILL STAY A MAPLE FAN user YN x Jack Hughes would be so cute user god all people do is ship her with people

mapleleafs Come back soon

landonorris WE WILL user F1 x NHL crossover LOOMING

oscarpiastri

liked by ynusername, landonorris, and mapleleafs, 29,977 others

oscarpiastri Ending the season cold, always.

view all 87 comments

user I wanna be that ice water

user that's such a strange way to say you find him hot user I wanna be it too though

user I can't believe we now have to wait like half a year for more ice bath pics

user I am so sad that the hockey is almost over but the F1 is just starting !! so my calendar is always full

user He can't be single, look at this man

ynusername

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen, pierregasly, and 587,964 others

ynusername MIAMIIIIIII (cue feral behaviour)(yes redbull admin this is non-alcoholic, no drunk driving)

view all 306 comments

user THIS IS MIAMI

user her and lando become demons in Miami user it is so fun

maxverstappen maybe not that one, but the others..

ynusername don't spread such BLASPHEMY maxverstappen you remained sober completely ynusername I did, i just drank alot of caffeine landonorris ah a proper redbull advocate

user WHY DID I AGAIN SCROLL TO THIS FROM A NHL POST

user what NHL post? user the post Oscar Piastri did about him and some of this teammates at the Miami GP user OMG WHY ARE THEY THERE user Idk, they must be fans

oscarpiastri

liked by ynusername, landonorris, and redbullracing, and 42,875 others

oscarpiastri This getting into a new sport thing is fun

view all 121 comments

user NHL x F1 crossover !

user omg yes my life is complete user I am now trying to work out which of his teammates are F1 fans

user He is such a cutie

user OKAY I NEED OSCAR X YN CONTENT NOW

user they have never interacted user true, they could though

ynusername

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen, oscarpiastri and 604,887 others

ynusername had a wonderful time. suck it lando I got an autograph.

view all 435 others

user i love it when famous people are fans of other famous people

user whose signature is that?

user I think it is Oscar Piastri, he was there, and he plays for the Toronto Maple Leafs user she is now such a fan, everyone thank Lando

landonorris I got an autograph too

ynusername yeah you got a piece of paper signed landonorris it was the back of an important document mclaren what ynusername HA ynusername and you called me crazy for packing my hat landonorris you were crazy, but it paid off

user couple alert

user calm tf down

redbullracing

liked by ynuersname, maxverstappen, oscarpiastri and 104,520 others

redbullracing Just Leaving This Here

view all 153 comments

user OKAY maybe redbull got the team tickets to Miami...

user OMGOMGOMGOMGGG

user what are the Toronto Maple Leafs?

user they are an NHL team user huh user hockey

user okay so players in a car or drivers on the ice

user DRIVERS ON ICE PLEASE

ynusername

liked by maxverstappen, landonorris, oscarpiastri, and 548,125 others

ynusername some recent vibes

view all 355 comments

user HOT HANDS GAWD

user omg shes lucky is that her boyfriend

user they look like Lando's hands user no he wouldnt wear that watch though

danielricciardo giddyup

ynusername aren't my boots beautiful danielricciardo need them in my life ynusername don't think they are your size

landonorris very neutral aesthetic, very demure

user WHERE DID HE LEARN THAT ynusername why yes ynusername but don't say that again its weird from you maxverstappen you can call me demure Lando ynusername you are anything but demure landonorris ignore her, max you are very demure ynusername EVERYONE STOP SAYING DEMURE

user shes taken? i thought she was single

user no one is confirming either way user who? user no idea

redbullracing

liked by ynusername, maxverstappen, oscarpiastri and 210,526 others

redbullracing admin can happily say they died of laughter in the making of this...

view all 98 comments

user omg YN and Max ice skating with the team?

user god why won't drivers just stick to racing what's with all this unnecessary extra stuff

user YN so campaigned for this crossover to annoy Lando that she met the team

user I would too, have you seen them, like Oscar Piastri, DAMN

oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, ynusername, mapleleafs, and 40,545 others

oscarpiastri Back home in time for the start of another dose of winter

view all 85 comments

user he just leaves these here and doesn't address them. Sir this is a thirst trap

user all he does is thirst trap (no one complain) user do you think if he gets a girlfriend he will stop thirst-trapping user i hope NOT user i'll just have to resort to Pinterest

user wait if he is in Australia then did he not take part in the Redbull F1 thing

user I think they have already filmed it user PHEW

ynusername

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, maxverstappen, and 600,010 others

ynusername Spain you were perfect

view all 230 comments

user redbull domination!

user the queen is leading the championship!!

user YESS user I hope she wins!

user god she's hot

user god you only watch the racing for the hot drivers woah user no that's stupid as fuck user sorry just felt appropriate to turn tables for once

maxverstappen you make me take a million photos of you and you don't even credit me

ynusername gosh i am sooooo sorry (not) ynusername everyone thank Max for taking the photo of me user thank you landonorris thank you ynusername why you landonorris you said everyone!

maxverstappen thats true you did, thank you Lando

user Why are we still waiting for Redbull racing to release the hockey crossover!

oscarpiastri

liked by ynusername, landonorris, redbullracing and 61,813 others

oscarpiastri Go check out the newest video on both Toronto Maple Leafs and Redbull Racings youtube!!

view all 98 comments

user OMG DID YOU SEE IT

user YN cannot SKATE HOLY HELL

user Oscar making goo goo eyes at that girl the entire time

user you mean YN, Redbull racing F1 driver user you have a lot to learn, she is amazing

user the camera panning as Max Verstappen just slowly skated directly into the wall and then fell over

user I DIED

user I came for the crossover, i stayed for this man WOOF

user I thought the girl in that youtube what his girlfriend user dont think so

user YUMMY

maxverstappen

liked by ynusername, landonorris, oscarpiastri and 514,657 others

maxverstappen What I felt like while filming. What YN looked like while filming. And then that.

view all 193 comments

user she is just FLAT

user im sorry Max that photo does not fit them vibe, its too hot

user you are so right

user She could not skate

user max was worse he is just hiding it!

ynusername you have done me so dirty, i will never forgive you

maxverstappen oh no, what ever will i do now ynusername i will run you off the track redbullracing no you wont ynusername no I wont maxverstappen haha mum told you off ynusername bully

landonorris she was so shit, serves her right

ynusername FOR WHAT landonorris FOR MEETING LOADS OF THE TEAM ynusername yeah I did do that, SUCK IT maxverstappen children, not in the comments

ynusername

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, georgerussell and 622,548 others

ynusername got myself a red hot date

view all 353 comments

user MAMA

user the hand placement, she knows what she is doing

user I wanna be her

user I want to be both of them, I am undecided

landonorris this is why you were being evasive about whether you were coming out with us or not

ynusername guilty as charged ynusername can you blame me landnorris I dont swing like that but no i do not maxverstappen do you know who that is landonorris I might im not sure, hold on ill text you user NO LANDO KEEP IT HERE WE NEED TO KNOW

oscarpiastri

liked by ynusername, landonorris, redbullracing, and 70,623 others

oscarpiastri Really liking this racing thing

view all 53 comments

user HES AT SILVERSTONE OMG

user SIR what you doing there

user the redbull garage, he was so invited by YN

user or max... or the team user I bet by YN so much

user no thirst trap..

user that photo is cute user yes but where is the HOT user has he been domesticated...

landonorris

liked by ynusername, maxverstappen, oscarpiastri, and 655,012 others

landonorris Party. Party. Party.

view all 293 comments

user what is in the water, its thirst trap after thirst trap

user shush you'll spook them away

user I want that man

ynusername Slut

landonorris you are calling me a slut? ynusername man whore ynusername bully landonorris what did i do landonorris OH i see what i did landonorris HOW DO I DELETE A PIC ynusername GRRRR

user DID LANDO JUST EXPOSE YN RELATIONSHIP

user NO IT LOOKS LIKE IT user DAMN ITS BLURRY WHO IS THAT

ynusername

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, alexalbon and 532,124 others

ynusername You know I dont love a london boy

view all 291 comments

user she is dropping hints!

user that mans back, yum

user this is so aesthetic

landonorris this is humorous

ynusername how so landonorris you down bad ynusername who said that landonorris everything you are doing, it is as new you landonorris i take credit ynusername HOW landonorris ;)

maxverstappen I feel like as your teammate i need to give you the talk after all of these photos

ynusername EW NO you arent my dad maxverstappen I wasnt saying that, its more, big brother vibes landonorris Ill join in ynusername gosh, i hate you all maxverstappen young lady!

user why is lando taking credit

user did he introduce them? user hear me out, introduced YN to his team... Becuase its Oscar Piastri user who?

oscarpiastri

liked by ynusername, landonorris, mapleleafs, and 63,201 others

oscarpiastri recently

view all 82 comments

user HES TAKEN

user bye bye thirst traps

user i wanna be her omg

user do you think she is canadian or australian user she could be neither

user he looks GOOOD

user he HAS been domesticated user it looks good on him

ynusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris, maxverstappen, and 684,886 others

ynusername he is definitely not a London boy

view all 394 comments

user he is an ASSUIE BOY

user i feel like im suppose to know who that is

user its Oscar Piastri user ill google

user shes so lucky

user HE is so lucky

landonorris if you switch teams now, its divorce

ynusername i knowwwww ynusername i'll just dream out the Red Devils oscarpiastri you will do no such thing, I am not moving teams landonorris See even he agrees ynusername I hate you both

maxverstappen lets keep it PG in front of the children

maxverstappen happy for you pipsqueak ynusername we agreed to never use that name again maxverstappen sorry, happy for you teammate ynusername better, ish ynusername thank you <3 ynusername ALso what part is NOT pg

user F1 x NHL crossover FOREVERRRR

oscarpiastri

liked by ynusername, landonorris, maxverstappen, and 81,235 others

oscarpiastri I think I officially love this racing thing

view all 102 comments

user RIP Oscar Piastri thirst traps

user RIP user RIP

user He is down bad, its cute

ynusername Yum

oscarpiastri what? ynusername nothing, just you ;) user she is just like us I fear

user she is so pretty

user him being decked out in her merch just feels right

user him going to all the races!

landonorris YN WE GOING TO ALL THE MATCHES

ynusername fans for life babygirl landonorris ew why babygirl oscarpiastri yeah.. ynusername becuase look at him, he is BABYGIRL oscarpiastri fairs sorry x landonorris HUH

[biglisbonnews]

Europe’s mining quest faces a hurdle: angry locals In Portugal's northern Barroso region, Maria Loureiro weeps at the prospect of losing her family's land to a mine that could become one of Europe's biggest producers of lithium, used in electric vehicle batteries and other clean technologies. https://www.euractiv.com/section/energy-environment/news/europes-mining-quest-faces-a-hurdle-angry-locals/

[landoughnut]

PR Nightmare - FC43

masterlist - request

pairing: franco colapinto x fem!reader

summary: you and franco being menaces on your social media accounts

w/c & a/n: smau | bring back the popular f1 fic fandom on Tumblr ✊ its been much more dry this year 😪

francolapinto

liked by yourusername, pierregasly, lando, alpinef1team, and 1,783,540 others francolapinto making some mate 🙂‍↕️🧉

view all comments

yourusername p-papi⁉️ ♥︎ by author

yourusername take my ability to walk sir 🙏 ♥︎ by author

alpinef1team please not again... we thought you learned from last time 😔

francolapinto yourusername anytime mi amor 😉 give me a time and place

user1 my girl is thirsty af but I can't even blame her

lando if there are no yourusername and francolapinto shippers I'm dead ♥︎ by author

yourusername THANKS BEST FRIEND 😝

francolapinto if only the pr team thought the same 😞

alpinef1team francolapinto we DO feel the same... just your behavior could use some... work ☺️

yourusername he's busy slurping his mate but I'm tryna slurp HIM 😋 ♥︎ by author

lando WHAT 😨

user2 yourusername GIRLLL ENOUGH IS ENOUGH (so real)

yourusername user2 back off that's my man 🙂

francolapinto yourusername all yours mi vida 😘 and can I take you up on that offer?

alpinef1team yourusername francolapinto guys. please. stop.

user3 I love watching them ignore admin 😍 #ate

pierregasly 🤘 ♥︎ by author

yourusername THE HAIRRRR I NEED TO PULL ON IT 😮‍💨 ♥︎ by author

francolapinto I love when you do that 🥵

lando GET A ROOM I BEG

yourusername lando you were the one supporting us before

lando yourusername yeah but then you kept commenting stuff...

alex_albon cheers mate 🧉 ♥︎ by author

francolapinto so you've finally learned 😊

user4 he's so gorgeous I can't

yourusername raw. next question. ♥︎ by author

alpinef1team alright grandma, you're coming to the pr meeting with franco tomorrow

yourusername alphinef1team you can lecture me but you can't change me ✊ ♥︎ by author

francolapinto yourusername let's try that out later 😚

lando YOU GUYS ARE SICK AND TWISTED

yourusername lando THEN GET OFF OF MY MANS PAGE

lando yourusername no because he's even worse on yours...

yourusername

liked by francolapinto, kikagomes, alpinef1team, and 1,294,782 others yourusername fun vacation ☀️

view all comments

francolapinto FIRSTTTTT ♥︎ by author

francolapinto MAMIIII 😍🥵 ♥︎ by author

francolapinto come home the kids miss you 😩 ♥︎ by author

lando YOU HAVE KIDS ⁉️

yourusername lando no you muppet its a joke

kikagomes YOU ARE AN ANGELLLLL ♥︎ by author

francolapinto MY angel 🙈 ♥︎ by author

yourusername kikagomes NO YOU AREEEE

user5 can franco fight

francolapinto yes.

francolapinto MINIMUM OF FIVE ROUNDS TONIGHT ♥︎ by author

alpinef1team oh my gosh

alpinef1team franco please. another meeting tomorrow at 10:45

francolapinto alphinef1team NOOOOO

user6 🔥🔥

francolapinto 🧯🧯

user6 francolapinto ...

francolapinto I need to be in between your legs STAT

alphinef1team PLEASE. ENOUGH. WHY DO YOU HAVE TO MAKE MY JOB IMPOSSIBLE 💔

lilymhe how does it feel to be a walking dream 😍 ♥︎ by author

yourusername idk babe you tell me 😚

francolapinto yourusername can you not flirt with your friends 🙄 you are supposed to only flirt with ME

user7 I NEED HER LIKE I NEED AIR

francolapinto well I guess you can suffocate then ☺️

lilyzneimer the prettiest sweetheart 🫶 ♥︎ by author

yourusername lily just marry me atp

francolapinto yourusername I THINK NOT?!?!?!?

pierregasly please come get franco.. he's drooling onto his phone ♥︎ by author

user8 I need a man like franco thirsting over my posts

yourusername pierregasly don't worry he's just practicing for later

pierregasly yourusername you are getting blocked.

francolapinto

liked by yourusername, alex_albon, pierregasly, and 2,973,061 others francolapinto el amor de mi vida 🩷

view all comments

yourusername I LOVE YOU AMORRRRR 💗 ♥︎ by author

francolapinto I LOVE YOUUUU MORE

lando you just had to sneak in that second picture didn't you....

francolapinto 💦 😏

yourusername francolapinto stop traumatizing the kid 😭

lando yourusername I'm four years older than both of you ⁉️

francolapinto lando you don't act like it

lando francolapinto AND YOU DO???

user9 idk who I want to be more, him or her

francolapinto neither, we are happy with just each other 🙂

user10 I guess the pictures of this post could have been worse

francolapinto trust me, I have worse

yourusername francolapinto SHHHHHH

alpinef1team francolapinto don't you dare.

francolapinto alphinef1team you guys are boringggg

alex_albon oh!! not even gonna ask

yourusername good, it's probably better if you don't

user11 I'll never forgive franco for stealing my wife

francolapinto when?

user11 francolapinto when you started dating last year

francolapinto user11 did I ask?

user11 francolapinto BRUHHHH KYS I ALWAYS FALL FOR THOSE DAMN LINES

yourusername we are so hot omg ♥︎ by author

francolapinto I know right 😮‍💨

lando ya'll make me feel single

yourusername cause you are loser 🤣

francolapinto yourusername I wonder why

user12 as much as they are freaks they are also so in loveeee ♥︎ by author

user13 I know they're so happy with each other im jealous 🥹

user14 the way he's gazing at her in every one of these pics has me crying

francolapinto next post coming 🔜🔞

alpinef1team DO NOT 😟 we'll take away your socials

francolapinto alphinef1team I WILL FIGHT YOU ADMIN 🤺

[inkieun]

Failure Has Consequences - Park Seung-Tae x F!Reader

“Ah,” he murmured, voice dark with satisfaction. “You look so good like this.” His free hand curled possessively around my hip. “So when I ask you to do something,” he whispered, his tone now hushed and dangerous. “I expect it done. Got it?"

dark!seungtae, blackmail, noncon turn into dubcon, hair pulling, bruises, humiliation kink, someone walking in and more.

I remember the quiet. That’s what struck me first. The library was mostly empty. Just the hum of the air conditioner, a distant page turning, and the occasional click of a librarian’s keyboard. I walked between the stacks, eyes focused ahead, trying not to look at him. But he was already watching.

Seung-tae sat at the back table, his chair tilted, one arm resting lazily across the back of another. He didn’t call out. He just waited. And when I passed by, he stood up. He walked behind me, closing the distance with silent steps. I felt him before I saw him. The brush of air, the stillness that came with his presence.

“Stop,” he said softly. I went still. His hand reached out, brushed my hair back from my shoulder. He let his fingers linger at the ends, twirling one strand around his index finger before letting it fall.

I was too stunned to speak. His hand moved again, slower this time, until his fingers slid beneath my chin. He tilted it up. Firm. Not rough. Just enough to make me look at him. Our eyes met. “You’re going to the library with Mr. Kim tomorrow,” he said, voice low. “Aren’t you?” I blinked. He smirked, like he already knew the answer.

“I told him you’d help him organize those files. Said you volunteered.” He leaned in, voice brushing my ear. “You’ll be alone. Cameras don’t work on that floor.” My insides twisted. 

He stepped back just slightly and looked me over. Then reached for the front of my uniform. His fingers smoothed the lapel, straightened the collar. His knuckles grazed my chest—just enough to make me flinch. “You’ll cry,” he said, like he was listing instructions. “Scratch yourself if you have to. Tell the principal he touched you.”

I remember staring at him. He tilted his head. “If you don’t,” he said, voice like ice, “that magazine? The one in my bag? I’ll say it was yours. That you put it there.” My lips parted. I was about to say something, anything, but he pressed a finger to them. Silencing me.

“You’re good at playing scared,” he said. “So play your part.” Then he let his hand drop. And smiled. “You don’t want to find out what I’ll do if you don’t.” He turned and walked away. I felt trapped in my own body. The library felt colder. Smaller. Like there was no way out.

I did exactly what he told me to. I told Mr. Kim I’d volunteered to help organize the school’s admin files. That I didn’t mind staying late. That I liked keeping things in order. He looked at me for a moment too long. “You volunteered?” he asked, a flicker of something unreadable behind his eyes. “Of course,” I said. “Didn’t the office tell you?” He hesitated. “No, they didn’t.”

We walked in silence. I could feel the way his eyes kept flicking over to me, like he was trying to match my words to my expression, and nothing was lining up. When we reached the library, he paused at the doorway. “You’re sure you’re okay?” he asked. “You’ve been… quiet.” “I’m fine,” I lied, my voice too light. “Just tired.” He didn’t answer. Still, he followed me inside.

That’s when I let it all unravel. The scream tore from my throat, loud and raw and jagged. My fingers fumbled at the buttons of my shirt, tugging them open. I ran my hands through my hair, pulled at it until it stood wild. My chest heaved. I stumbled back out of the room, sobbing. Loud. Messy. Behind me, Mr. Kim called my name softly. Unsure. He didn’t follow immediately. He stood in the doorway like he’d walked into the wrong dream.

Out into the hall, stumbling, breath coming in jagged bursts. I didn’t have to fake the panic it was already there, just from being part of this. From knowing what Seung-tae would do if I didn’t. That’s when I saw her.

Mrs. Sung, coming out of the staff office with papers in her hand. I collapsed into her arms. Didn’t say a word just pointed behind me, where Mr. Kim stood in the doorway of the library, still frozen, trying to process what had just happened. Mrs. Sung’s arms locked around me like a shield. When Mr. Kim stepped forward, his face pale, lips parted to speak—

“Don’t,” she snapped. “Stay where you are.” Her phone rang in that exact moment. She answered it, still holding me. I could hear the principal’s voice from here. “Bring them. Now. To the homeroom.” So we went. I let her half-carry me down the hallway, my shirt still hanging open, eyes fixed on the ground. I felt like I was drifting through someone else’s life. She kept shaking her head, muttering under her breath.

“I can’t believe this… a teacher. What the hell were you thinking?” Mr. Kim didn’t say a word. “You disgust me,” she muttered, just loud enough for him to hear. “I trusted you. We all did.” He didn’t respond. When we entered the classroom, every head turned. The students went quiet. Some looked away, others leaned forward, hungry for the story they didn’t know yet.

The principal stood waiting. “Bring me Seung-tae’s bag,” he said. Mr. Kim blinked. “His bag?” He turned toward the desk and picked it up. His fingers trembled slightly. The principal took it without a word. He unzipped it. Tipped it over. Books. Folders. A soft thump. Then the slap of something glossy hitting the desk. The magazines. Gasps rippled through the classroom like wind through trees. And when I glanced at Mr. Kim, his face had changed. He wasn’t just stunned now. He was looking at me. Like he was beginning to understand. 

The air was thick with the weight of unspoken dread as my eyes accidentally met Seung-tae’s. It was a fleeting moment, but it was enough to seal my fate. My gaze dropped instinctively. My mind raced, a frantic whisper echoing in my head: That was supposed to be in Mr. Kim’s bag. Oh my God, what the actual fuck? My heart pounded in my chest like a jackhammer, each beat echoing in my ears as the room seemed to narrow around me.

Seung-tae didn’t explode. The moment stretched, heavy and uncertain. A quiet beat where the air shifted, charged with something invisible but unmistakable. He stared at the glossy magazine on the floor as though it might vanish if he glared hard enough. Then came the sound, a sharp, dry crack of his fist slamming against the desk, sharp enough to make someone in the back row flinch. The magazine didn’t move, but something in the room did. Something unseen, like the atmosphere itself had recoiled.

“That’s not mine,” he said, voice low, tight, filled with something worse than anger. Something colder. His jaw clenched. A vein in his neck stood out, pulsing like it was alive. And then, almost imperceptibly, he shifted his weight and dragged the tip of his tongue across the inside of his cheek. A slow, calculated movement. His mouth tilted at one side, caught somewhere between humor and hostility.

He looked at Mr. Kim for a single, cutting second. Then turned his eyes on me.

I felt them hit me before I even saw them, like a sudden drop in pressure, like the air had gone too thin. My gaze dropped instinctively, helplessly. The heat of his attention was unbearable, like standing too close to something burning. My heart slammed against my ribs, trying to escape. And for a moment, just one fleeting, terrible moment, I imagined what he looked like in that exact second and knew I would never forget it. My legs moved before my brain could catch up, my voice barely above a whisper as I mumbled something incoherent to the teacher.

I bolted from the room, the door slamming shut behind me as I leaned against it to catch my breath. My mind was a whirlwind of panic, every worst-case scenario playing out in vivid detail. I could feel the sweat dripping down my spine, My gut clenched, tight and frozen. I knew what that look meant. I was dead. Fucking dead. There was no coming back from this. And as I stood there, my back pressed against the door, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Seung-tae’s eyes were still on me, boring into my skin, waiting for his moment to strike.

I started walking away from the door when I heard the principal’s voice, calm but firm, as he said to Seung-Tae, “Let’s go to my office so I can call your parents.” My heart sank. I needed to leave now before they came out. I didn’t dare look back, didn’t dare hesitate. I pushed through the first door I saw, my legs carrying me on autopilot. It was the girls’ bathroom, the fluorescent lights flickering overhead like a cruel omen. I ducked into the first stall, slamming the door shut behind me and leaning against it as if it could keep out the chaos I’d just witnessed.

Oh God, he’s going to blame me for this. The thought hit me like a freight train, my breath catching in my throat. All I had to do was lure Mr. Kim to the library and make it look like he was attacking me. That was the plan, let Seung-Tae take care of the rest. But I couldn’t even do that. Seung-Tae is fucking crazy. When things don’t go his way, he loses it. I remembered the last kid who dared to cross him. Seung-Tae had made Hak-Soo run over the kid’s leg breaking it, just because he’d reported him to the principal. And then that kid transferred, his family probably terrified to stay. What the actual fuck would this mean for me?

The door creaked open like a warning, and I heard Hak-Soo’s voice echoing through the empty bathroom. “I know you’re in here,” he called out, his tone sharp and menacing. “Get out here!” he yelled, the sound bouncing off the tiled walls. My breath tangled in my throat, and my heart galloped toward something I couldn’t name. I didn’t want to face him, didn’t want to hear what he had to say. But I knew I had no choice. Slowly, I stepped out of the stall, my legs trembling beneath me.

“I don’t know what happened,” I stammered, trying to keep my voice steady. “I didn’t tell anyone about the plans.” The words spilled out of me like a confession, but I could see the skepticism in Hak-Soo’s eyes. He stepped closer, his expression unreadable, and for a moment, I thought he might hit me. But instead, he smiled. The smile that sent a chill down my spine. “It’s okay,” he said, his voice dripping with false reassurance. But I knew it was a lie. Hak-Soo never smiled like that unless something was wrong, unless he was hiding something.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against my hair, and I flinched at the touch. “Seung-Tae told me to pass this message onto you,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “He wants you to meet him in the homeroom after school.” His fingers tightened slightly, a subtle reminder of the power he held over me. “And if you don’t… well, let’s just say you won’t like what happens next.” He paused, letting the threat hang in the air like a challenge. Then, with a final, lingering touch to my hair, he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there in stunned silence, the weight of Seung-Tae’s wrath pressing down on me like a physical force.

I lingered in the bathroom until the last school bell rang, a desperate attempt to calm my racing heart. Each tick of the clock echoed in my mind, amplifying the dread that clung to me like a heavy fog. The thought of facing Seung-tae made my legs feel leaden as I walked toward the classroom, each step dragging me deeper into a pit of anxiety.

As I pushed the door open, the sight that met me was both familiar and unsettling. Seung-tae lounged in his chair, his legs propped casually on the desk, a smirk playing on his lips as he perused a porn magazine, the same one he’d been caught with. The moment the door clicked shut behind me, he lifted his gaze, those dark eyes glinting with mischief.

“Great! You’re here,” he exclaimed, his voice dripping with a cheerfulness that felt utterly dissonant with the tension in the air. He set the magazine aside, the pages fluttering shut, and sauntered around the desk toward me. Panic surged through me, and instinctively, I reached for the door handle, desperate to escape.

But before I could make my move, his hand enveloped mine, warm and firm, as he leaned in closer, The heat of his breath grazed my skin, sending a shiver through me. I pressed my back against the solid wood of the door, a futile barrier between us. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he murmured, his voice low and threatening. “I have Hak-soo right outside the door. If you try to run, he’ll grab you by the hair and drag you right back to me. And trust me, you wouldn’t like that.”

His words hung in the air, thick with menace, as he stared deep into my eyes, his gaze unwavering and intense. I could feel the heat radiating off him, a magnetic pull that made it hard to breathe. It was the kind of intensity that stirred unease, the kind that made my skin prickle with the instinct to flee, yet anchored me in place like a moth drawn to a flame.

“Let’s not make this difficult,” he said, his tone shifting, taking on a darker edge. “All I want is a little chat.” The way he smiled then, it was predatory, promising a predator’s delight in the hunt. My pulse quickened, pounding painfully, a wild drumbeat of fear and uncertainty.

“Seung-tae…” I started, but the words faltered on my lips as he leaned even closer, the space between us charged with a palpable tension.

“Just relax,” he whispered, a sinister lilt to his voice that sent shivers down my spine. “You’ll find I’m not as bad as you think. But running away? That would only make things worse.”

In that moment, I realized I was trapped not just by the door, but by his presence, his charm twisted into something dark and dangerous. My mind raced, searching for a way out, but all I could do was stand there, caught in the web he had woven, knowing that escape was not as simple as it seemed.

He pulled away abruptly, A cold, hunting spark flashed in his eyes.. “Go take a seat,” he ordered, his voice deceptively calm. My heart raced as I took a tentative step forward, but I barely made it three steps before his hand shot out, fingers tangling painfully in my hair. With a swift motion, he slammed me onto the teacher's desk, the wood biting into my ribs.

“You’re hurting me! Let go!” I cried out, desperate to pry his grip from my scalp, but he only tightened his hold, a sadistic smile creeping onto his face. He lifted me effortlessly, only to slam me back down again, the impact knocking the breath from my lungs.

“Wow, do you ever stop talking?” he sneered, his voice laced with a mix of irritation and amusement. I struggled to breathe, panic clawing at my throat as I continued to squirm beneath him. “Shut up,” he hissed, leaning closer, “or I’ll make you shut up.”

The threat hung heavy in the air, and the weight of it silenced me, wrapping around my throat like a noose. My heart thundered in my chest, each beat a reminder of my vulnerability. I tried to swallow, but the fear left me feeling breathless, a storm of emotions swirling inside me.

As I writhed against him, desperate to escape, I accidentally brushed up against him, feeling the heat of his body through the fabric of his pants. The moment I did, he let out a low groan, a sound that sent a jolt of shock through me. Everything in me went rigid, our bodies caught in an unexpected connection, the tension thickening around us.

“Why’d you stop?” he whined, leaning down closer, his breath warm against my ear. “That felt good.” The way he spoke was both seductive and unsettling, as if he enjoyed the power he wielded over me.

I could feel his body shift, the undeniable evidence of his response pressing against me, a stark reminder of the twisted situation I was in. My mind raced, grappling with confusion and fear, the line between repulsion and something else blurring in that moment.

“Please,” I gasped, trying to regain some semblance of control, but the words felt weak and futile against the intensity of his gaze. He moved like a predator, and I, unwittingly, had stumbled right into his snare.

“Just relax,” he murmured, his fingers still gripping my hair possessively. “You might find this is more enjoyable than you think.” There was a dark satisfaction in his tone, a thrill that sent chills down my spine. I wanted to scream, to fight back, but the fear of what he might do next held me captive, my body betraying me in ways I couldn’t understand.

With his fingers still tangled in my hair like a leash, Seung-tae’s other hand slid down the curve of my waist, slow and deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world. My body stiffened, instinct flaring, and I tried to twist away but the moment I resisted, his grip in my hair jerked tighter, sharp enough to make my eyes sting.

“Don’t,” he murmured, voice like silk over glass. “You’ll only make it worse for yourself.”

His breath was hot against my cheek, calm and steady in contrast to the riot in my chest. I could feel his focus on me not just physical, but watchful, like a wolf waiting for its prey to bolt just so he could enjoy the chase. A chill ran through me as his hand crept beneath my skirt. I jerked back instinctively, reaching down to stop him, but every time I moved, he yanked harder on my hair, forcing a whimper from my lips. “Relax,” he said again, not kindly, but as a command disguised in velvet. “Or try that again and I might just call Hak-soo over bet that’d make things interesting, huh? ”

His fingers curled into the waistband of my underwear, slow and sure, and with one firm tug, he dragged them down. They slipped past my knees, crumpled at my feet, shame clinging to every thread.

I tried to breathe, tried to find logic, ground—anything. But then he flipped my skirt up and the cold air kissed bare skin, raising goosebumps that had nothing to do with temperature.

The desk creaked ominously beneath me, the hard wood biting into my stomach as he pinned me down, leaving me completely at his mercy. My heart raced, pounding against my ribs like a caged bird desperate to escape, but there was no escape from this. No escape from him.

"Such a cute little thing," he murmured, voice low and dangerous—too soft to be a threat, too sharp not to be. His breath ghosted along my neck as he leaned in, close enough to feel the heat rolling off him. "I knew you'd look good like this. Held down. Not going anywhere."

His thumb dragged slowly between my thighs, not rough—worse. Careful. Measured. A slow press of control that made my whole body tighten. I squirmed, but his other hand tightened in my hair, a quiet reminder: I wasn’t in charge here.

"You can pretend to fight it," he whispered, brushing my skin again, feather-light, mocking. "But we both know how badly you want this."

His hand released my hair slowly, almost tenderly, before sliding down my side and over my thigh, his fingers dragging with just enough pressure to leave a trail of goosebumps in their wake. I flinched, breath catching as he reached the soft heat between my legs, instinct making my thighs snap shut in protest.

But he only chuckled—a low, knowing sound that sent a chill down my spine.

“Oh no,” he murmured, voice rough with amusement and something darker. “We’re not doing that.”

With a cruel kind of calm, he forced my legs apart, his grip bruising, immovable—like this was always going to happen, and any fight in me was just a formality. He settled between them, deliberate and slow, like he was taking his time claiming what was already his.

“You should’ve done better,” he said, voice low, almost bored. “And you’re going to be a good girl for me, aren’t you?”

I opened my mouth to speak, to beg, but then I heard it—that sharp metallic click. My breath froze. The soft, smooth slide of a zipper followed, so casual it made my stomach turn. My blood pounded in my ears like drums.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear. “Don’t pretend you’re not scared. I like it better when you are.”

Then I felt him pressing against me. The head of his cock grazed my entrance, and I gasped, my whole body seizing, spine going rigid beneath him. I couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. Every muscle locked in place, strung tight with fear.

"Seung-tae, please..." I whimpered, my cheek pressed against the desk, breath catching as I tried to lift myself, but the weight of him behind me kept me pinned. My voice shook, panic creeping in, hands clutching at the fabric beneath me. I didn’t care how desperate I sounded anymore, I just wanted him to hear me. “Please… just stop.” 

I could feel the heat of him. The unrelenting press of him against my bare skin making my breath hitch and my mouth go dry. This was wrong. Every part of me screamed that it was. I didn’t want this… not like this. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to will it away, trying to pretend it wasn’t happening.  “Ah,” he murmured, voice dark with satisfaction. “You look so good like this.” His free hand curled possessively around my hip. 

“So when I ask you to do something,” he whispered, his tone now hushed and dangerous. “I expect it done. Got it? ” His lips brushed the shell of my ear, the warmth of his breath a mockery of tenderness. He didn’t wait. Just pushed forward, rough and unapologetic, tearing the breath from my lungs, forcing a broken gasp from my throat as my body jerked against the desk, the impact echoing louder than I expected. Pain bloomed sharp at first, then dulled into something molten and thick, twisting low in my belly.

"Shhh, jagiya," he cooed, as if soothing a frightened animal—even as he held me in place with merciless control. “You always fight me like this. But we both know how much you love it.” His voice was silk wrapped around steel, intimate in a way that made my skin crawl and shiver all at once. He didn’t move right away. Just stayed buried deep inside me, letting the silence stretch like a blade between us, like he wanted me to feel every inch of him… and every inch of the power I had just handed over.

I writhed beneath Seung-tae, breath stuttering as I tried to adjust to the overwhelming stretch of him. A trembling whimper escaped you. He was too much. Too deep. It felt like he was carving out a space inside me that only he could fill. “That's it,” he murmured, voice low and full of wicked satisfaction. “You're mine. Every inch of you—mine to take, mine to keep.”

His hand slid up my back, possessive and slow, anchoring me as if daring me to move. “You feel that?” he whispered near my ear, breath hot. “No one else will ever touch you like this. No one else will even come close.”

Seung-tae's hand slid up my spine, his fingers splaying across my shoulder blades as he pinned my chest down against the desk with ruthless control. His hips pressed against my ass, the rough fabric of his pants a stark contrast to your bare, overheated skin. “You're only making it harder,” he muttered, tightening his grip. "Stop lying to yourself. You can feel it too, can't you? The way your body opens for me, like it was made for me?" He punctuated his words with a slow, deliberate thrust, driving himself even deeper inside me. The desk creaked beneath us, the sound obscenely loud in the charged silence of the classroom. I bit my lip hard, trying to stifle the moan that threatened to spill out, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of hearing my pleasure.

But my body betrayed me, a shudder running through me as a rush of wet heat flooded my core. Seung-tae groaned, a low, guttural sound of satisfaction. "That's it," he growled, his hips beginning to move with a slow, steady rhythm. "You're so fucking tight. Such a perfect little fit."

He set a brutal pace, the desk slamming against the ground with each powerful thrust. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filled the air, mingling with Seung-tae's harsh breathing and the desperate, stifled noises spilling from my throat. Tears stung my eyes as I tried to deny the building pleasure, the traitorous ache of arousal that grew stronger with each passing second.

"Admit it," Seung-tae demanded, his voice a dark purr in my ear. "Admit how much you love this. How much you need this." His hand slid around to my breast, kneading the soft flesh, his thumb and forefinger finding and pinching your nipple through the thin fabric of my shirt. “What’s the matter?”

"Seung-tae, please—" My voice broke as his hips snapped forward, forcing a scream from my throat when he hit that spot. My fingers scrambled against the polished wood of the teacher’s desk, my cheek smeared against a stray worksheet, the ink blurring from my tears. 

"There she is," Seung-tae purred, his palm smoothing possessively over the small of my back. "That pretty little moan. Just for me." His fingers tangled in my hair, yanking my head back just enough to hear the choked sob that followed. "Say thank you." I whimpered, shaking my head, but he tsked, thrusting deeper until my body bowed helplessly into his. "Thank you," I gasped. "Good girl." His praise dripped like honey, sickly sweet and laced with venom. "See how easy it is when you behave?"

I didn’t say anything. My voice felt lost somewhere in the knot of my chest, tangled with everything I was feeling and trying not to feel. My body moved on its own, and I hated how easy it was. I felt it building, quiet at first, like a tremor under skin but then rising, sharp and urgent. I drew in shallow gasps, my mind too fogged to focus. I was too aware of everything: the press of his chest, the tension in my spine. All I could hear was his breathing, rough and uneven, the low grunts and moans against my ear as he moved. And then, in a voice that sent something hot and wicked curling down my spine, he whispered, “You were made for this, weren’t you? To be taken like this, used until you forget your own name.” 

Maybe that was the last bit of control I hadn’t already given away. In an instant, he drove into me, deep, brutal and the scream that ripped out of me wasn’t just from pain or pleasure. It was from everything I’d buried, everything I couldn’t hide anymore. The moment my scream tore through the classroom. The door creaked open, and there he was—Hak-soo, leaning casually against the frame, a grin tugging at his lips like he already knew what was was happening. his gaze locked onto me: bent over the teacher’s desk, skirt shoved up around my waist, Seung-tae’s hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise.

Seung-tae didn’t even pause.

"Get the fuck out," he said calmly, rolling his hips deeper into me, forcing another broken sound from my throat. His voice was pleasant, almost conversational—if not for the way his fingers dug into my skin like a warning. Hak-soo didn’t move. His eyes locked onto mine, heavy with something feral and unspoken. A slow, knowing smirk curved his lips, oh God, my stomach twisted as I caught the unmistakable bulge pressing against the front of his uniform pants. He wasn’t hiding it. If anything, he wanted me to see. 

Seung-tae noticed too.

"Oh." A slow, cruel smile curled his lips. He leaned down, lips brushing my ear as he thrust harder, deliberately hitting that spot again. I sobbed, nails scraping the desk. "Looks like our Hak-soo likes watching." His hand fisted in my hair, yanking my head back so I had to meet Hak-soo’s wide, guilty stare. "Should we let him stay, jagiya? Let him see how well you take me?"

I shook my head frantically, humiliation burning through me. Seung-tae chuckled, pressing a kiss to my temple like I was something precious. "Good girl," he purred. "You’re right. I don’t share." His gaze flicked back to Hak-soo, all false politeness. "Close the door on your way out. And if I catch you staring at what’s mine again…" He trailed off, letting the threat hang in the air.

Hak-soo backed away slowly, jaw clenched, eyes burning into mine like he was being torn in two. He didn’t want to leave—I could see it in the way his fingers twitched at his sides, in the way he paused in the doorway before finally closing the door behind him. Seung-tae clicked his tongue, easing out of me with a slow, deliberate drag—only to slam back in, tearing a cry from my throat. “Now,” he murmured, voice like honey laced with venom, “where were we?”

The silence of the classroom swallowed us again, broken only by my ragged breaths and the slick, obscene rhythm of his thrusts. The air was heavy, thick with heat and something darker. "Look at you," he murmured, dragging his teeth along the shell of my ear as his hips snapped forward, forcing another whimper from my throat. “Fuck, you’re made just for me — tight and everything.” 

His grip on my hips tightened, fingers pressing into bruises as he fucked me harder, deeper, his breath hot against my neck. "You gonna come for me, jagiya? Gonna let me feel you squeeze around my cock like the greedy little thing you are?" I shook my head, but my body betrayed me, trembling on the edge already. Seung-tae chuckled, low and dark, his hand sliding around to press against my clit, rubbing rough circles that had me arching back against him.

"Liar," he purred. "I can feel you shaking. You’re close, aren’t you?" I bit my lip, trying to stifle the moan building in my chest, but Seung-tae yanked my hair, forcing my head back. "No. I want to hear you." And then he thrust up at just the right angle, and I shattered, a broken cry tearing from my lips as my body clamped around him. Seung-tae groaned, his rhythm faltering for the first time, his fingers digging into my skin as he chased his own release. "Fuck—take it, take it—" His voice was ragged, his hips stuttering as he buried himself deep and came with a low, shuddering growl, filling me up until I could feel the heat of him spilling inside.

For a moment, neither of us moved. Then Seung-tae exhaled, pressing a kiss to the back of my neck before slowly pulling out. I whimpered at the loss, my legs trembling as his cum dripped down my thighs. Seung-tae dent down to slide my panties back up, his fingers lingering between my legs, smearing his release against my skin. "There," he murmured, almost sweetly. "Something to remember me by."

He stepped back, adjusting his pants with effortless grace before turning to me. I forced my shaking legs to straighten, gripping the edge of the desk until my knuckles turned white. My skirt was still hiked up around my waist, marks on my thighs from where Seung-tae’s fingers had dug in too hard. I could feel his cum cooling between my legs, sticky and shameful, as I tugged the fabric back into place with unsteady hands.

Seung-tae watched me from the doorway, arms crossed, his dark eyes tracking every flinch, every hitched breath I tried and failed to suppress. His lips curled when I stumbled, my thighs still weak from being forced open so wide. "Careful," he murmured, voice dripping with false concern. "Wouldn’t want you to fall." I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

Seung-tae pushed off the door-frame, closing the distance between us in two lazy strides. His fingers brushed my cheek before curling into my hair and yanking my head back. "Next time," he whispered, his breath warm against my lips, "you’ll do what I told you to do. Won’t you?" It wasn’t a question. I swallowed hard, my pulse fluttering under his grip. "...Yes." He smiled before releasing me with a pat to my cheek, like I was nothing more than a pet who’d finally learned its lesson. "Good girl." 

Then he turned and left, the door clicking shut behind him. I waited until the echo of his footsteps and Hak-soo’s low voice murmuring something I couldn’t make out faded down the hall before my knees finally gave out, sliding down against the desk with a choked sob. My body ached, my skin still warm where he’d touched me, the faintest trace of his presence lingering unseen but impossible to ignore. 

fin

© 2025 inkieun

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Paddock Princess

♥ masterlist | request rules

♥ pairing: jude bellingham x fem!black!f1driver!reader

♥ synopsis: your boyfriend jude bellingham is welcomed with open arms by the f1 community and becomes the people’s paddock’s princess

♥ smau - fc: tyla - as always none of the pictures are mine <3

♥ warnings: swearing and suggestive comments !!!

♥ a/n: never let em know your next move WAPOW jude fic.

-Jude Bellingham Replies to Fans on the Internet | Actually Me | GQ Sports-

“We know about your inspiration in football, but which athletes outside of football do you look up to—if any?” he read off a laptop screen.

“Uhm,” he scratched the bridge of his nose. “Probably Y/n L/n,” His face lit up with a smile as the camera crew giggled in the background. “She’s done quite a lot in her sport in such a short amount of time and I really admire her driving style, if i’m being honest. Yeah, I’ve been spending a lot of my time watching F1 recently, so probably her.”

He sent the reply and leaned back on the chair, “This is peak journalism.”

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by oscarpiastri, carmenmundt, judebellingham, and 1,494,027 more

yourusername i heard someone say my name?

view comments

realmadrid you heard correctly

user1 exposing him 🙊

user2 @/user1 I'm sure she's seen the video by now

user3 I wish he said my name instead tbh

user4 I wish he would do more than just say my name

user5 @/user4 SO REAL

user6 the someone in question who said her name being the hottest madrid player

yourusername @/user6 that's debatable

judebellingham @/yourusername ???

user7 have you and jude met before? I know you spend a lot of time watching madrid 🤔

yourusername hopefully I'll see him soon !!

user10 @/yourusername that doesn't answer the question...

carlossainz55 @/yourusername I can take you to meet him under one condition

yourusername @/carlossainz55 I already told you I can't give you the Ferrari seat back 😭

carlossainz55 it was worth a shot

liked by scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc, judebellingham, and 1,409,582 more

yourusername first race with you 💋

view comments

scuderiaferrari we're happy to have you ❤️

user7 @/scuderiaferrari did... you buy her those flowers? 😭

user2 @/scuderiaferrari she wasn't talking to you lil bro

user1 I thought she was talking about a secret partner in this post but maybe I'm crazy

user3 @/user1 now I'm confused because I thought the same thing

user5 f1 core is not knowing if y/n made a romantic post about ferrari or a secret lover

scuderiaferrari who's not in love with us? we're hot, fast, and Italian 😉

yourusername @/scuderiaferrari OH 🫣

user6 😨

user8 RAW NEXT QUESTION

user9 why am I blushing

user10 we're not beating the car fucker allegations with this one 🔥🔥🥶

user11 ugh I hate admin. its like why do you post silly comments? what's your @? are you single?

-jude bellingham’s story-

view replies

user1 those flowers look familiar…

user2 ME WHEN

user3 i actually need him so bad

user4 @/yourusername

user5 yn we all know it’s you

liked by judebellingham, charles_leclerc, landonorris, and 2,059,043 more

yourusername I regret to inform you that I am not dating ferrari admin and instead with the lovely @/judebellingham

view comments

judebellingham "regret"? 🤨

yourusername I called you lovely what more do you want

landonorris we all knew you were dating the second he said your name

user1 new lando lore drop he watches jude bellingham videos by himself

landonorris fuck I've been caught

user2 LETS FUCKING GO HARD LAUNCH

user3 oh how I love them

user4 they are the perfect couple

scuderiaferrari I forgive you

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liked by erling, judbellingham, landonorris, and 502,684 more

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[abbotjack]

This City Doesn’t Forget (part three · impression management)

part one - part two

summary : Hospitals are full of ghosts. But the worst ones wear perfume and know your full name. What follows is a slow unraveling: whispers among staff, a curated “gift,” a rooftop encounter with Jack, and the quiet realization that the real threat isn’t scandal—it’s perception.

word count : 4,548

content warning: Emotional manipulation, gaslighting, covert workplace harassment, implied power imbalance, past infidelity, family tension, grief, trauma references (including pediatric death), subtle bullying and ostracization, emotionally intense dialogue, mentions of burnout and medical stress, allusions to PTSD, and ambiguous threats. Contains heavy themes of reputation, control, and the weaponization of grace.

a/n : I dedicate this to everyone whos been waiting for part three, deepest apologies.

TUESDAY

The hospital doesn't hum in the mornings so much as it breathes shallowly. Paper rustles. Shoes scuff. Machines beep in staggered time like a slow, mechanical heartbeat. And somewhere between the coffee pot in the lounge and the trauma board, your phone buzzes with a text that shifts the center of gravity under your feet.

URGENT: Compliance Office needs your signature on file. Sublevel 1. Ask for Jenna.

You stare at the screen a little too long. Your fingers are raw from double-gloving. There's a streak of dried something on your scrub top you can't identify, and you haven't eaten anything solid since a protein bar at 6 a.m.

Still, you go.

Because when you're a first-year resident and someone from Admin says "urgent," you don't ask questions. You obey.

The elevator ride feels longer than it should. Sublevel 1 is clinical in a different way than the trauma bay—quieter, unnerving in its civility. The air smells like toner, laminated badge sleeves, and lemon-scented floor polish that always feels slightly inappropriate in a place where so many people die upstairs.

You push open the door to the Compliance suite—and stop cold.

Charlotte Abbot is sitting at a table by the far wall.

The mother. The matriarch. The woman who once held your wrist too tightly at a holiday dinner and smiled with all her teeth while calling your thrifted dress "a brave choice."

Today, she's dressed in something pale and bone-colored that belongs in a luxury SUV ad. Her scarf is knotted with precision. A small gold pin gleams on her collarbone—medical caduceus, stylized and expensive. She looks like she came here to chair a foundation meeting, not ambush her son’s former mistake.

"Doctor [Y/L/N]," she says. Not Ms. Not you. Not even dear. The title slides out like she's trying it on.

Your first instinct is to flee.

Your second is worse: to apologize for something you haven't done yet. Instead, you nod. Not a bow. Not a smile. Just acknowledgment.

"I was told to meet Jenna," you say.

Charlotte gestures to the empty chair across from her. "Jenna's indisposed. I asked if I could borrow a moment of your time. Just a moment."

Her voice is low. Elegant. Practiced. A velvet rope across a locked door.

You don’t sit right away. There’s a French press and two cups on the table—one chipped at the rim, the other stained inside from something darker than coffee. Who the hell brews a full pot down on Sublevel 1? You glance around. No Jenna. No admin staff. No compliance officers lurking in the corners. Just silence and the slow drip of something that doesn't belong here.

Just her.

You sit.

"I'm sure your schedule’s relentless," she says, voice light but eyes tracking you too carefully. "I remember Jack’s intern year—he’d stumble through the front door looking half-dead, still in scrubs, sometimes with blood or charcoal stains on his sleeves. He’d sit down to eat and fall asleep with his fork halfway to his mouth. Hand would shake so bad he couldn’t get it to his plate without missing."

She laughs, like it’s endearing. Like Jack’s exhaustion was some charming, character-building footnote in his medical career. Like nodding off with a fork in his hand meant he was determined, not dangerously burned out. But you weren’t there for that part. Not really. Not when he came home wearing two uniforms at once—one stitched with rank, the other with a hospital badge. Not when the war hadn’t quite let go of him yet, and residency piled on top like a dare. Still, you can picture it. The tremor in his hand that no amount of caffeine could explain. The way a dropped tray probably made him flinch before his brain could remind him he was safe. The tightness in his jaw that didn’t come from stress, but from memory—old, buried, clawing its way back through fluorescent lights and sterile hallways.

You stay silent. Because even if you weren’t there, you know enough to recognize the ghosts.

"It's impressive," she continues, pouring into your cup without asking. "Emergency medicine. That's a battlefield discipline. You always struck me as more of a philosopher."

"I don't remember us talking much."

Charlotte smiles. "No. You were always in the kitchen with the boys. Laughing too loud. Taking up too much space."

There it is.

You wrap your fingers around the cup. It's porcelain. Bone white. The handle too small for a comfortable grip. Made to look delicate even when it's boiling.

"I wanted to speak before the year progresses," she says. "Before people get attached. Or ideas get… cemented."

You raise an eyebrow. "Ideas?"

Charlotte folds her hands. "About what your presence here might mean."

You hold her gaze. "What does it mean?"

"That depends on you."

She pulls a folder from her bag. Cream linen. Gold-trimmed. Heavy paper.

You already know what's inside before she opens it.

"There are other options," she says. "Other programs. Less crowded. Less emotionally… volatile. One of our family donors is on the board at Wake Forest. They’re looking for someone like you. Quiet. Capable. Willing to start fresh."

You don’t touch the folder.

Charlotte sighs.

"Jack is… loyal to a fault," she says. "He carries things long after they’ve stopped serving him. Pain. People. Promises. He’s never learned to distinguish between guilt and love."

You feel something twist in your stomach.

“What happened that summer was… regrettable,” she says, each word carefully chosen, lacquered in control like she’s rehearsed this line a hundred times. “You were young. My other son made foolish choices.” She doesn’t say his name. Doesn’t have to. “But Jack—Jack almost didn’t come back.” Her tone falters just enough to make you notice, but not enough to admit guilt. She lifts her cup, taps her nail against the rim—once, twice—before continuing. “He wrote me from overseas. Said he couldn’t sleep. Said every time he closed his eyes, all he could see were porch lights humming in the dark and knees scraped open on the pavement. He didn’t say your name, but I knew.” Her eyes flick to yours. “He said he felt failure. Like he’d left something bleeding and didn’t know how to stop it. Like no matter how many wounds he patched over there, it didn’t matter, because he hadn’t fixed that one.”

She lets the silence breathe. Lets it grow.

"I won't let him do that again."

You blink. “Do what?”

"Lose himself," she says.

You take a sip of the coffee. It’s not what you expect—light, almost delicate, with some floral note clinging to the edge like perfume on a collar. Not the kind of coffee brewed for comfort or caffeine, but for image. It tastes like someone tried to soften it on purpose, like bitterness was something to be ashamed of. Like someone poured rosewater over something burned and hoped you wouldn’t notice. It tastes like curated grace. Like someone trying to dress a wound in lace and call it closure.

“Are you in on this with him?” you ask. No soft lead-in. No mask of civility. Just truth, raw and bleeding.

Charlotte doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. She picks up her coffee, takes a sip, and sets it down on its delicate saucer like she’s discussing dinner plans—not the fact that her son cornered you in a garage with a decade old photograph.

“I assume you’re referring to my youngest,” she says, tone light, almost bored. “The one you left.”

“I didn’t leave him,” you say, jaw tight. “He cheated on me. He lied. And the second he told me, I ended it.”

“I was wondering how long it would take you to bring the photo up,” she says smoothly, like she’s been waiting for this moment since you walked in.

Your throat constricts.

“You were heartbroken,” she says, like she’s narrating a memory that belongs to her. “And Jack has always had a weakness for things he thinks he can fix.”

Your pulse hammers in your ears. “He didn’t try to fix anything. He listened. He sat with me. I was the one who—”

Charlotte raises a hand gently, silencing you without needing volume. “I’m not interested in the choreography. It’s a mother’s job to notice patterns. That summer—you and Jack thought you were discreet, didn’t you? The long nights. The mornings he didn’t come home. The way you stopped flinching when his name came up. You were both too careful. And not careful enough.”

Your stomach twists. “You knew.”

“I suspected,” Charlotte says. “Then I watched. Jack is many things, but subtle has never been one of them.”

You force your voice steady. “And your other son? He took a photo. He followed me. Cornered me in a garage.”

She doesn’t react. No flicker of surprise. No maternal concern. Just a slow inhale.

“He’s angry,” she says. “And embarrassed. You made him look like a fool. And Jack let it happen.”

“He cheated on me,” you snap. “I left him. Jack didn’t steal me—I wasn’t his to keep.”

Charlotte leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, the picture of composure. “Be that as it may, the story isn’t about what really happened. It’s about what people think they saw.”

She taps one manicured finger against the rim of her cup.

“The image that remains—the one on that porch—isn’t of a woman scorned. It’s of a woman with her ex’s brother, legs around his waist, dress pushed up, eyes closed. You know what that looks like to everyone else? A scandal. A poor decision. An opening.”

You go rigid. “You’re going to use it.”

Charlotte’s smile is thin, almost pitying. “We don’t need to. All it takes is a whisper. A well-timed doubt. The photo is just a prop—your presence here is the real threat.”

“I didn’t come back for Jack,” you say, voice low, sharp. “I came back because I earned this. I built this life without him.”

“I’m sure you believe that,” she replies. “But tell me—how many people will see it that way once the story shifts?”

You stare at her, breath tight in your lungs.

Charlotte leans forward, her voice dropping.

“Reputation is about narrative. And you let yours tangle itself with both of my sons. That’s not ambition. That’s carelessness.”

You clench your jaw. “So this is what? Punishment? Gatekeeping?”

“This is protection,” she says. “For the legacy Jack still has left. For the family name. For order. You weren’t supposed to come back, and you definitely weren’t supposed to matter.”

You push back from the table, heart hammering.

“I won’t let you rewrite what happened.”

Charlotte exhales, slow and deliberate.

“We don’t need to rewrite,” she says. “We just need to remind people what they’re most willing to believe.”

And with that, you finally understand: she’s not afraid of the truth.

She’s counting on no one caring about it.

She stands. Smooths her blazer.

"You’ll think about it," she says. "I know you will. You always overthink things."

She gathers her purse. Steps to the door.

Then pauses.

Looks back.

"Do send my regards to Dr. Abbot," she says. "But let him rest. He’s done chasing ghosts."

She leaves.

And the air doesn’t move for a long, long time.

You don’t go straight back to the emergency room.

You say you’re checking vitals on 3. You say you’re waiting on a consult. You say your badge isn’t scanning on the trauma locker again. All of it is a lie.

You just need a minute.

And the cafeteria, sad as it is, doesn’t ask questions.

You take the far corner, near the vending machine that’s always broken. Slide into a seat against the wall and uncap your water bottle like you’ve got time to drink it. Like your stomach hasn’t been hollow since the moment Charlotte Abbot said “You always overthink things” and left you alone with your silence.

You don’t eat. You don’t scroll.

You listen.

It starts like a faint breeze. Two tables away. Two voices. Women. Breezy, clipped vowels that belong to people who’ve worked here long enough to stop pretending the place is sacred. You catch the first name—Renee—and the lilt of the second—Kirstie, maybe? RN tags. Hair tied back in uneven buns. One’s reading an email on her phone while eating baby carrots; the other’s folding a napkin into quarters like she’s trying to reduce the space she takes up.

“You see her this morning? Came in late. Or maybe she just looked it. Like she’d been crying or hadn’t slept or both.”

“Table Nine girl?”

“Mmhmm.”

“She matched here?”

“Apparently.”

A pause. The sound of chewing.

“Didn’t think they let that kind of drama through the Match algorithm.”

“They don’t. Unless someone made a call.”

That makes your stomach tighten.

You keep your eyes on the condensation dripping down your water bottle. Watch it bead. Slide. Pool against the label like it’s trying to escape.

“I mean, I don’t blame her, really. I’d sleep with Dr. Abbot too.”

“Wouldn’t. Too intense.”

“Exactly why I would.”

Laughter. Soft. Familiar.

“Still. Wild to go from one brother to the other.”

“I heard it happened before the cheating. Like she was already running hot for the older one while she was still with what’s-his-face.”

A beat.

“God. I sat at her table at the wedding. You could feel it. Like… heat. Not the sexy kind. The kind that curdles.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like Jack wouldn’t look at her. But also like he wasn’t not looking. You know?”

“Mmm. Dangerous.”

“Yeah. Like one of those things where no one says it out loud, but everybody knows? And now she’s on the trauma service?”

“What could go wrong.”

They laugh again.

But not cruelly. Not like they mean to hurt you.

Worse.

They sound curious. Intrigued. Entertained.

Like your life is a late-night case they didn’t have to chart.

And that’s what hurts the most.

Not that they’re wrong.

Not even that they’re talking.

But that it doesn’t occur to them—not for a second—that you might be sitting in the same room.

You rise slowly. Controlled. Leave the table. The air behind you buzzing with assumption and familiarity and the easy rhythm of women who’ve worked too many shifts to care about collateral damage.

You’re almost at the door when you hear one last thing—soft, almost inaudible.

“She doesn’t look like trouble.”

“They never do.”

You take the stairwell back up instead of the elevator. The motion helps. Forces breath into your lungs. Pulls your body back into your skin one step at a time.

You tell yourself it’s fine.

They didn’t say your name. They didn’t know for sure. They’re not malicious. Just bored. Just reading the signs you left behind.

But the signs were never yours to post.

They were hers.

Charlotte’s.

And now they’re blooming like mold on the walls of this hospital—impressions, innuendo, a photo no one’s seen but everyone feels.

You push open the stairwell door and nearly collide with Whitaker, who jumps like you slapped him.

“Oh—shit, sorry, didn’t mean to—uh.” He steps back, almost trips over his own feet. “Didn’t know anyone used this stairwell. Thought this was, like… pigeon storage.”

You stare at him.

He stares back.

Then frowns, softer now. “You okay? You look kinda—like your soul left but forgot its keys.”

You force a breath. “Caffeine’s crashing.”

He nods. Way too seriously. “Yeah. I had three Red Bulls before noon and then started crying in the elevator for, like, no reason? So. Vibes.”

His pager buzzes. He checks it. Grimaces.

“I gotta go help Santos find a vein in a dude. But, uh—if you die in the stairwell, just… don’t haunt me, okay?”

And then he’s gone—half-jogging, granola bar still in his pocket.

And somehow, that helps. A little.

You don’t move for a moment.

You just stand there in the middle of the hallway, scrub top wrinkled, ID lanyard sticking to your neck, pulse too loud in your ears.

Because this is the moment you understand something new.

They’re not going to ruin you all at once.

They’re going to let you rot slowly—beneath the surface, behind polite smiles, under the weight of stories that only have to feel true to become fact.

You rejoin the floor. You check on the elbow dislocation. You re-chart the beta. You even manage to laugh—half-heartedly—when Santos makes a joke about Whitaker falling asleep upright in the break room with his eyes open like some kind of burnt-out trauma raccoon.

You act normal. Because that’s what they expect from you. And you’ve already given them enough to whisper about.

You don’t see it until you swing by the resident lounge.

A bag.

Sitting on the counter near the fridge. Small. Black. Matte paper with matching ribbon handles—expensive, but subtle. One of those gift bags that looks like it came from a boutique that sells candles named after abstract emotions.

Tucked inside: tissue paper, crisp and folded. Something pale blue beneath it. And a small envelope. No name. Just your initials. Neat. Slanted. Familiar.

You glance around.

No one.

You peel the tissue back.

Inside: a travel-sized set of things. Lotion. Lip balm. A roll-on essential oil labeled “serenity.” A tin of mints. A tiny mirror shaped like a peony. The kind of kit someone would give a bridesmaid. Or a nervous girl. Or a mess.

Your hands go cold.

You open the envelope.

The card inside is thick, soft cream stock. Gold-foiled edging. Real stationary. Not drugstore. Not impulse-buy.

The handwriting is deliberate. Feminine.

“You seemed overwhelmed at the wedding. A little grace goes a long way. Hope this helps.”

That’s it.

No name.

But you know.

Of course you know.

Because the font on the “grace” matches the embossing on the brochure Charlotte tried to hand you this morning. Because the lotion is the same brand she used to leave in the guest bathroom during holidays, with the lavender sachets and the monogrammed hand towels no one was allowed to use.

Because grace is a word women like her wield like a scalpel.

You set the card down.

Slowly.

Like it might explode.

You want to throw the whole bag out. Shove it in the trash and light it on fire. But that would make it a scene. That would give it shape. And this isn’t a story with witnesses. It’s a pressure game.

You pick up the bag.

And gently—very gently—place it in your locker, behind your trauma clogs and extra compression socks. You close the door like you’re sealing something inside.

You don’t tell anyone.

Because it’s just lotion, right?

It’s just a card.

It’s just concern.

It’s not a threat.

Except it is.

You feel it in your teeth.

The door creaks when you push it open.

You don’t mean to be here. Not really. You’d just kept climbing—one flight, then another—chasing silence like it might let you breathe.

And now you’re standing on the roof of Allegheny General, the wind catching at the edge of your scrub top, the sky that sickly shade of late-shift blue, and the city stretching wide in every direction like it knows how lost you feel.

Your chest’s still tight from the last case. You can feel it in your ribs, in the place behind your sternum where the monitor beeped too long and too steady. You shouldn’t have run it. You weren’t even the first assist. But Langdon barked something about moving faster, and suddenly it was your hands in that kid’s chest, your voice counting off compressions, your breath stuck in your throat while the mother screamed in the hallway.

You keep trying to forget the sound.

You can’t.

The wind’s colder than you expect. It bites at your fingers, tugs strands of hair loose. You cross to the edge of the rooftop and lower yourself onto the concrete, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tight around them, jaw locked as the city yawns open below.

You don’t cry.

You just sit there. Still in the scrubs with someone else’s blood drying under your sleeve.

You breathe.

One in, one out.

Don’t fall apart. Don’t flinch. Don’t let them see it.

That’s what you’ve been telling yourself since orientation. Since you saw the bag. Since you caught the two nurses whispering about you in the cafeteria.

And now you’re here. On the roof. Alone.

Except you’re not.

You don’t see him at first.

But you feel him—before he says anything. That shift in the air. That low, deliberate kind of stillness he carries with him, like he was built in the silence between artillery rounds. You don’t turn. Not right away.

You just stare straight ahead and say, “If you’re here to tell me I’m being dramatic, you’ll have to wait your turn.”

A beat of quiet. Then—

“That bad, huh?”

You glance over your shoulder.

Jack stands a few feet away, hands in his jacket pockets, watching you like he’s not sure you’ll let him near.

“I didn’t know you came up here,” you murmur.

Jack shrugs. “Only on the days that end in Y.”

You almost smile.

Almost.

He watches you for a second longer, then walks over and sits beside you—carefully, like he’s still measuring the space between you, still remembering what it felt like to want more than he was allowed to ask for.

“You good?” he asks.

You let out a laugh that isn’t really a laugh. “I think I broke a rib trying to crack a five-year-old’s chest, so no.”

Jack doesn’t flinch. He just nods.

“That was a shit case.”

You don’t respond. You just look out at the skyline.

Jack leans back, eyes on the clouds. “First time I lost a kid, I punched a vending machine and bled through three sets of gloves before anyone noticed.”

You glance at him.

He looks tired. Not the kind of tired sleep could fix. The kind that lives in your joints, your blood, your bones.

“I didn’t punch anything,” you say quietly.

He turns his head to look at you. “No. You ran it.”

You stiffen.

“Bad call?” you ask.

Jack’s expression doesn’t change. “No. Right call. Just a hard one.”

You nod. But your hands are fists in your lap now.

Silence.

Then—

“You always did show up when it was already burning.”

You say it before you mean to. And instantly regret it.

Jack’s jaw flexes. But he doesn’t argue.

You don’t know why you said it. Maybe because you’re tired. Maybe because you’re still bleeding somewhere inside from the last time you let him close.

Or maybe because being on this roof, with him sitting too near and not saying enough, makes it too easy to remember that summer. His hands on your skin. His mouth at your throat. His voice in the dark, low and wrecked, whispering your name like a confession.

You loved him. You never told him, but you did.

And when he left—God, when he left like that—you told yourself you’d never feel that weak again.

You nod toward the door. “I should head back.”

He doesn’t move. Just watches you rise.

Then, just as your hand touches the door handle, he says—soft, almost inaudible—“You know it wasn’t just about me, right?”

You freeze.

He doesn’t clarify. Doesn’t explain.

But you know what he means.

That it wasn’t just about him staying away.

It was about who else told him to.

Who else never wanted you there in the first place.

You look back at him—just once.

And the thing that breaks you isn’t the distance. It’s the fact that he still looks at you like he wants to close it.

But you can’t let him.

Not now.

Because if you let him back in—if you let any of this happen again—you’ll lose more than your grip.

You’ll lose him.

So you just say, “I know.”

And then you leave.

Because sometimes protecting someone means becoming the thing they believe they’re better off without.

Even when it kills you.

The hallway you’re walking is the kind that always feels too long at the end of your shift—too fluorescent, too still. This stretch of the hospital doesn’t carry voices well. Just the sound of your own footsteps bouncing off cracked tile and the occasional hum of overworked vents. The air smells like bleach and something older, something settled deep in the walls.

You pass a hand sanitizer dispenser that’s half broken, a light that flickers once and dies. And still, you keep moving. Until something catches in your chest and you stop—just for a second. Just long enough to press the heel of your hand to your sternum like pressure might calm the panic clawing up from somewhere you can’t name.

Jack’s words are still in your ears.

You know it wasn’t just about me, right?

You knew. You’ve always known. The whispers at the wedding. The long looks from his mother. The fact that she wouldn’t speak to you unless his brother was in the room.

You remember the way she smiled when you'd leave. The kind of smile that doesn’t reach the eyes. That says: finally.

You make it to the break room without seeing anyone. But someone’s already there.

Langdon’s leaned against the counter, sipping coffee like he hasn’t run three traumas back-to-back. He glances up as you walk in. Doesn’t say anything at first—just narrows his eyes like he’s assessing damage.

“Hell of a shift,” he says eventually.

You open your locker. Your hands are still shaking.

“Rooftop help?” he adds.

You freeze.

Slowly turn your head.

“I was up near Step-Down a few minutes ago,” he says, tone casual but not careless. “Caught a view of the east side.”

You freeze at your locker. Your hands still.

He sips once. Doesn’t blink.

“Saw you and Jack up on the roof.”

The air tightens.

He leans back against the counter, eyebrows lifting, expression unreadable. “You two okay?”

You force your voice not to crack. “Fine.”

Langdon sips his coffee again. “Uh-huh. That why he’s still up there?”

Your blood goes cold.

You blink. “What?”

Langdon nods toward the window. “Still saw him when I came down just now. Just standin’ there. Staring like the whole goddamn city did something personal.”

You don’t respond. You just shove your granola bar into your bag and close the locker harder than you mean to.

Langdon watches you. “You sure you’re good?”

“I’m fine.”

He lets it sit there. Doesn’t push.

But then he says, casually, “There’s been talk.”

Your body goes rigid.

“What kind of talk?”

Langdon shrugs. “Couple nurses. Something about you. Something about Jack. And something about the Abbot family not being too happy to see you walk through the front doors.”

You meet his gaze.

“Let them talk.”

Langdon snorts. “They will.”

You shoulder your bag. Turn to go.

Langdon calls after you, voice low but serious.

“Whatever this is, it doesn’t scare me. But it scares him.”

You stop in the doorway. Don’t turn around.

“Good,” you say. “He should be scared.”

And then you’re gone.

You don’t look back.

You can’t.

Not when the person who’s still standing on the rooftop hasn’t moved an inch since you left.

[fuckyeahgoodomens]

Good Omens graphic novel update: June 2024

Welcome to the June update. A lot of behind the scenes work at the moment but we're grabbing the travel sweets, popping in the Bentley and hitting the road. More on that below.

Admin

Ongoing reminder that the project FAQ can be found here. 

I pledged using my Apple ID, or no longer use the address my pledge is attached to, or I cannot work out what email address my pledge is connected to. What should I do? Please contact us via your Kickstarter account where the pledge is connected; we will be able to see on our system which address it is. If it's one you have access to, great! The FAQ has information on how to resend your invite link to access the PledgeManager. If it's one you are not able to access, then you can let us know which email is preferred and we can update this on the system, which will automatically send a new invite.

Events

We've had a lot of queries about when the Good Omens team will be attending events more formally, after some Aziraphale and Crowley spotting at conventions we'd been to previously. Well, we're excited to confirm the first: Good Omens HQ will be at ACME Comic Con in Glasgow, Scotland this September.

We'll be bringing the actual-real-life-home-to-Crowley-and-his-plants Bentley from Season 2 of Good Omens, the first time the car has been made available publicly for fans to come see and get photos with, ahead of its journey back to the set and the start of Season 3 filming.

We also see Quelin Sepulveda, aka Muriel, has been announced for the event for some additional ineffable joy.

You can get your tickets for ACME Comic Con here. We hope to see some of you there.

While we won't be rocking up with the Bentley to this next one, we want to let you know about Ineffable Con which, though sold out in person, is also taking place virtually in July. The fan-run event hosts great panels, auctions and more, with money raised going to Alzheimer’s Research UK, in memory of Sir Terry Pratchett.

Where next? We have - not an exaggeration - a list of about 200 events somewhere from when we asked fans this on Instagram and while we can't promise quite that amount of convention attendance, we're certainly looking to do some more things in future with Good Omens at large. Watch this space.  

Good Omens items...

This month has largely seen prototypes and samples for the wider Good Omens merch store arriving, and while we can't share those yet, we are certainly excited to see more fan product suggestions coming to life. That does, however, leave our public item updates a little slim on the ground.

To make up for that, here's some new panels from Colleen:

Also known as, "What could possibly go wrong?" And:

Also known as, "Well why don't you ▇▇▇ ▇▇▇▇▇▇ ▇▇▇ ▇▇!@#▇" or words to that effect, we'd imagine.  

Update from Colleen

Following such a positive response to Colleen's piece last month, bringing you behind the scenes into making the Good Omens graphic novel, we are delighted to say that she has agreed to write something for our updates going forward! For June, she's going more in depth into the process of flatting and the technicalities of colouring on screen vs print. Over to you, Colleen.

---

I mentioned the other month that I use a flatter to help me with technical work on GOOD OMENS, and here is a great example.

This is my original, hand drawn line art.

And this is the flatting file which was created using the MultiFill computer program.

It will put your eyes out.

The raw image above demonstrates how the color art lines up solidly under the line art. If it doesn't do that, you get a weird phenomenon in print called ghosting, a tiny little line of white around each segment of color. I had this issue on one major project and ended up redoing every single color file after I got a look at the first printing. Nearly two weeks of work.

The same image with the line art on top.

The layer order looks like this.

Background copy is the clean, line art layer.

I scan the art at 600 dpi, then make the blacks pure black, the whites pure white. Then I convert back to greyscale, then RGB, then duplicate the layer. Then I delete the white on the upper layer so the line art layer is transparent but the blacks on that layer are not.

If you have blacks on a layer that has been multiplied, you can see slight color through those blacks. You want pure black.

The lower layer is where I use the MultiFill program to create the digital flats. First you use MultiFill to drop in the random colors, then the companion plug-in Flatter Pro to make those colors seal under the black lines.

This probably sounds like a silly thing to worry about, but if the flat colors don’t line up perfectly under the black line art, you get the dreaded ghosting I mentioned. You can see it below in this image. It’s a tiny little white line that will appear around the black lines and color areas.

This drives me nuts and is an absolute nightmare to fix.

It’s a very common problem, especially for people who work for web and don’t anticipate the problems going from web to print.

What looks great on your computer can cause big problems in print.

From here, my flatter Jul Mae Kristoffer, who is way over in the Philippines, does flatting that is more in keeping with the areas of color I want to isolate. As you see on Layer 1.

But again, this is still pretty ugly, and not what I would use for final color. Flatting is a technical issue, not a creative one, though in some cases a flatter will make choices you may use. Most of the time they don't.

Here is my final color page.

Sometimes my MultiFill flats are so wonky I have a hard time getting my brain to snap out of what I see before me. If I get stuck, it's a good idea to just pick at it and come back to it later.

If it really, really bothers me, I’ll take the MultiFill flatter layer and desaturate the color so it doesn’t poke my eyes out.

Here’s an example. The digital flat file.

The desaturated flat file that doesn’t make me want to poke my eyes out.

And the final color.

Sometimes I just put in a solid white layer so I don’t see the flats at all. Flatting is there to allow you to easily pick spots to color in, and doesn’t usually appear in the final work.

Sometimes I want to create my colors using transparent color over a white ground, which is more delicate in the final.

Here’s an example from Neil Gaiman’s American Gods. I also selected all black line art here and converted it to sepia to give it a vintage look. Except for the fairies. They’re green.

A colorist must also consider color settings.

Different clients can have different requirements. I find these color settings, which I got from the Hi-Fi Studio, to be pretty solid. I use them as my default for all my projects unless otherwise requested. If your publisher has other settings, they’ll usually send you a csf file which you can upload to Photoshop. The program will save your files and you can just switch between them as you need them.

This tells the printer things about the paper and the spread of the ink you will use. That’s what dot gain means - it makes printed color look darker than intended, so you set up your files to account for it.

When you hover your pointer over each box, it will tell you what each setting is supposed to accomplish.

Another really important thing to consider when coloring comics is color range.

I’m coloring this book in RGB range, but for print you use CMYK.

I’m about to confuse the heck out of some people with this post, I’m afraid. But here we go.

Here is this shot in RGB color setting.

And here is the same page calibrated for print in CMYK.

The biggest shift is in the reds. Print cannot match those reds.

You may not see much difference here, but it’s the sort of thing that drives artists crazy.

A computer should be perfect for conveying exactly what you want, right? It's all just 0's and 1's, binary information, and that information should be the same from one computer to the next?

Nope. Not even close.

First off, computer monitors must be calibrated. You can use a computer program or a tool that measures the color on your computer screen and then adjusts the color to an industry standard.

Have you ever been in an electronics shop where a bunch of TV shows were on display, all of them playing the same show, and have you noticed how different the color was from one TV to the next?

It's like that.

I freely admit I don't pay a whole lot of attention to calibration, but if I were a professional photographer I would. I'd have a little spectrometer attached to my screen and software would adjust my monitor to the best possible standard range. As it is, I just use the default setting on my computer and hope for the best.

If your monitor is properly calibrated and your art is shown on another monitor that is properly calibrated, the art will look almost identical from one monitor to the next.

YAY!

But from one monitor to the next, that's about where the resemblance ends.

Colors are calibrated to something called RGB, or Red, Green, Blue.

All colors come from a mix of red green and blue. At their greatest intensity, all the colors in the spectrum together become pure white light.

This is why RGB is called ADDITIVE color, because you ADD colors from the spectrum to get ALL colors, and all colors create the entirety of the rainbow, and pure white light.

Your computer monitor, your phone, your television, all images are created via light using RGB, a gamut that covers all possible colors that can be created.

That's a lot.

And that's why some of the colors you see on your TV or phone are so deep and intense.

For the widest possible range of color and intensity, you use RGB.

Unfortunately, there is what you can create with light, and then there is what you can create with pigment or ink. And that is why printing what you see on your computer almost never looks exactly like what you see in a book.

For printing, you must use a color setting known as CMYK. This stands for Cyan, Magenta, Yellow and Key/Black.

In printing, the pure blue is actually Cyan and the pure red is actually Magenta.

CMYK color range is not created by addition, but by SUBTRACTION. In order to get the color you want, you reduce the percentage of one of the four colors for ink mixing. Mixing all colors, instead of giving you white, gives you black.

The gamut of CMYK is limited to what can be created with ink.

You've probably heard the term four color press? This is what that means. Four colors, with each color of ink run over the paper on rollers which, combined in varying layers of opacity, create all the printing colors you see.

But remember, what you see on your computer monitor and what CMYK gamut can handle are two different things.

Now, I’ve been really careful with the color settings on Good Omens, so there haven’t been any big surprises, but let me show you a snippet of a project I did for the French fashion house Balmain.

The RGB version:

And then this shot after it was converted to a CMYK file for print.

That's a pretty big difference.

Now, you see this shift mostly with vibrant colors, such as that pink there. But other colors hardly changed at all, right?

That's because this issue is about range of color. CMYK and RGB occupy a shared range which you can see demonstrated by this graphic I got from Wikipedia.

The graphic shows the RGB ranges supported by various digital formats. SWOP CMYK is the most common range my publishers use. Note that the bounding box line shared by the RGB and SWOP CMYK formats shares about half the range space. So whatever RGB colors you use that are outside that range will be digitally converted to the smaller SWOP CMYK range.

And you may not like what you end up with.

As you can see, some of the most ethereal and intense colors get lost outside of the SWOP CMYK boundary.

A look at the Dark Horse Comics color settings in Photoshop. Theoretically, this information should prevent your art from looking like mud on publication.

Now, after I just told you the dangers of coloring in RGB then converting to CMYK for print, I tell you I am coloring Good Omens in RGB anyway. There’s a couple of reasons for this.

Remember, RGB give you a greater range of color, so it can be to your advantage to preserve your original files using a format that gives you the greatest range.

Again, here is the unaltered file.

You can see what the CMYK result will be simply by clicking the Proof Colors button here. This will show you how the art will convert.

And the Gamut Warning will show you which colors are out of gamut range for print.

The intensity of that magenta and that purple in the top right are not going to print true.

This is how it will look in final.

So even if you do what you think is perfect color on screen, there is no way it can perfectly convert to print. Almost everything will involve a little bit of compromise.

Even though you have to consider the color shift issues, preserving your files in RGB gives you greater wiggle room, especially if you get lucky someday and get to work with a printer who can print in 6 colors. Or maybe some technology you don’t know about will pop up and make printing super glorious. Who knows.

Regardless, you should keep an eye on that gamut and color for CMYK print, while preserving your master files in RGB.

Until next time.

[doyoulikethis-videogame-song]

State of the Queue 22/04/25

Hi all, Mod Rae here! Following the recent poll, people probably want to know what's going on with the queue, so:

All songs up to #1200 (plus #1521-#1525) were allocated in prior to the poll. All songs from #1201 (15/05/25) onwards are drawing from the new submissions pool, which has been cut down to one entry per game. The purge list needs to be created, but the raw data for it is still in our master spreadsheet. Likewise, some songs were cut entirely due to not fitting submission criteria, such as songs from promo material only (a bunch of Honkai: Star Rail songs got axed this way) or playable/commissioned songs from gacha rhythm-action games.

Here's the news I've been dreading breaking since my three day fugue of spreadsheet nonsense some weeks back. The submissions pool currently stands at 2180 songs. This is, you will recall, significantly less than it was; we will, at present rate, be out of August 2024's submissions by February 2026 rather than September 2026. We're currently weighing up options that will let us clear these submissions whilst also reopening the form for new ones, but we ask for your patience and understanding in the interim.

A big contributor to this is, frankly, there are a lot of videogames. We're doing what we can to mitigate some of the bulk as we see it. A lot of it comes from there being some very big and popular franchises where like every entry got a submission (Admin is planning on spacing these out), but more importantly there are just. A lot of videogames. Cannot stress that enough. Just lots of games, and lots of people who remember them.

So yeah, that's where we're at!

[sunsetcupid]

HONEY ; IH6.

synopsis: A fluffy SMAU (Social Media Alternate Universe) about Isack Hadjar and his girlfriend.

trigger warnings: Use of Y/N; Use of feminine pronouns from the reader’s perspective; Use of swear words in French; Descriptions of romantic acts and behaviors; Suggestive comments

a message from the author: It’s been a long time coming. . . my very first story!

yourusername First date, kinda nervous

tagged isackhadjar

comments 2.8k

user1 Have they not been dating for six years now?

user2 It’s a joke LOL.

user3 So cute! 🥹

liamlawson Is this the reason why Isack went home so early?

user4 He looks so sweet OMG. Look at that smile 🥰

user5 That pasta is making my stomach growl

user6 Hope it goes well LOL

visacashapprb Sweet! 💙

user7 Not VCARB admin commenting on this too

user8 Aweee

comments 15.6k

user9 I saw the pictures from Isack’s Instagram story, and I’m sobbing, they’re so cute

user10 If his F1 career doesn’t work out, he should become a photographer 📸

user11 *Searches plane ticket prices on Google*

user12 I’m in Brussels right now, I wonder if I should spend a few days in Paris 🤨

user13 He’s showing her around his hometown OMG

user14 Y/N is also French too! She’s half-French, half-American. Her dad is from Paris and her mom is from Los Angeles, but they divorced when she was six.

user15 That’s why she sounds like a pure American. She moved to LA when she was young, so she lost her French accent 😕

user16 Isack and Y/N will forever be my favorites.

user17 Living my dream life. . .

comments 4k

user18 Poor guy, he misses his girlfriend 💔

user19 His lucky charm is missing!

user20 Help, not his little comment about her “making it up” to him. . .

user21 He acts like an angel, but I know there’s more under the surface

user22 He looks so bashful when he talks about Y/N. Isack has a crush! 🤭

yourusername replied to the Snap

Love you ❤🤗

isackhadjar P6 in Monza! One of my favorite tracks so I am very happy to get points. On to Azerbaijan ⏭️

tagged visacashapprb, f1, yourusername

comments 1.9k

user23 That race was absolutely wild

user24 Awesome drive! 🎉

yourusername So so proud of you Isack! Keep up the good work. Love you 🥰

user25 Y/N rooting for Isack. . .I may be crying right now.

user26 POINTS!!

user27 🎉🙌

olliebearman That overtake on Kimi was great. Just don’t tell him I said that. . .

user28 LOL I’m cackling

user29 WDC in the making!

user30 Vous faites un travail incroyable! (You are doing incredibly!)

yourusername Raw, next question. 💋

comments 12

user31 NO WAY THAT’S ISACK

user32 (S)creaming!

user33 OMG. . . 🥵

user34 When is it my turn?

user35 Y/N’s caption is so real

isackhadjar Merde. . . (Shit)

yourusername Singapore was awesome! 🤩 I was missing home a bit so Isack bought me a baguette 😏

tagged isackhadjar, f1

comments 3.5k

user36 Oh?

user37 Lit 🔥🔥 Glad you had fun!

user38 So cutesy!

isackhadjar Anything for you ❤️

user39 When I pull up to the Y/N simp competition and Isack is there 😔

user40 Beautiful as always!

user41 Did you like the circuit?

user42 This race was relatively boring but it was still cool.

user43 Y/N try not to mention Isack challenge: level impossible

user44 He’s her boyfriend SMH 🙂

user45 My queen and my king 👑

Credits: Dividers — @strangergraphics; Photos — Pinterest