#smau // invisible string

[invisiblestringmm]

chapter six - social media

the storm is coming but…

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yourusername Miss ballerina, chocolate chip biscuit monster, peanut - everything will always be about making you smile. Happy you liked your Christmas present this year! 💕

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[seokmn]

Get to work i need more chapters😡😡😡😡

IM JUST KIDDING, bas after so long I finally get to read another amazing textfic tysm especially of my ult bias 😭💋💋💋💋

OH SWEETIE INVISIBLE STRING IS COMPLETE ALREADY !! i just realized i forgot to put the link to the next chapter sorry :/ and also i noticed that the links are kinda messed up bc i changed my user name after completing the smau so im changing everything!! for now (cus itll take a few minutes to change all the links) you can find the rest of the fic on the masterlist!!

[stampiej]

Truly loved it! Excellent writing ❤️

Invisible String — Chapter Two (2/5)

(MAX VERSTAPPEN × CELESTE S. PEREIRA)

SUMMARY — Celeste's ambition was her shield, her love for her family her foundation. Max's fame was his cage, the truth his prison. The invisible string connecting them was one they could neither see nor deny - pulling them together in spite of it all.

WARNINGS — Sexually suggestive content. Chronic illness (Type 1 Diabetes). Lying and deception. Mentions of death of a parent. Emotional themes (grief, trust issues). Identity concealment. Angst + Fluff. Eventual happy ending. Age difference (26-23).

WORD COUNT — 15k

As always, a huge thank you to @emma-manuhpe for her help with this chapter!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

April 2021

Max paused at the door of his apartment, his key still in the lock.

The familiar smell of home hit him first — clean linen, faint traces of cologne, and something sweeter, something that hadn't been there before. Her.

He stepped inside quietly.

Celeste was asleep on his couch, curled on her side, buried under the soft heap of his two cats.

Jimmy was stretched across her ribs, Sassy tucked protectively into the bend of her stomach.

The sight should’ve been funny; it should’ve made him smile, but all he could see were the dried tear tracks streaked down her flushed cheeks and the raw, uneven breathing of someone who’d cried themselves into exhaustion.

Something inside Max cracked at the sight of her.

Something old and ugly that he usually kept shoved way down — but not tonight. Tonight, it clawed to the surface.

You’re doing this to her.You’re making her hurt.

He dropped his duffel bag with a thud that made Jimmy lift his head and meow indignantly.

Max barely noticed.

He moved across the room silently, crouching beside the couch, his hand hovering uselessly in the air above her. He felt like he didn’t even have the right to touch her anymore.

This isn’t what you wanted.

But it was what he’d built — a wall of silence and lies and half-truths, all because he was too much of a fucking coward to trust that she’d want him and not Max Verstappen, F1 Driver. 

He thought, for a stupid moment, about another girl. Years ago.

Back when he was barely out of karting, just starting to claw his way into F3.

He’d thought she loved him.

He’d thought she saw him.

But once the podiums started stacking up, so did the cracks.

The way she’d started introducing him like a prize she’d won. The way her smiles turned brittle when the cameras weren’t flashing.

He still remembered the way it ended, sharp, humiliating, when he caught her selling private photos to a gossip site.

That had been the first lesson: fame didn’t attract love.

It attracted want — greedy, bottomless, never enough.

And now here he was again, hands shaking slightly as he finally, finally reached for Celeste.

He murmured a quiet greeting to Jimmy and Sassy, running a hand gently down their spines. Jimmy blinked sleepily at him, purring louder.

Then Max slid his arms under Celeste, lifting her with a care that made his heart ache. She stirred, a little whimper catching in her throat, and his heart nearly broke in two.

“Hey, Snoepje,” he whispered, his voice rough, almost unrecognisable to his own ears. "It's just me."

She didn’t wake fully, just burrowed instinctively against him, her nose brushing his collarbone.

Max carried her through the dark apartment to his bedroom, laying her down as gently as he could. He sat on the edge of the mattress, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead.

Up close, he could see how red and swollen her eyes were.

She must’ve cried for hours.

He exhaled, sharp and pained, and tucked the blanket up over her.

But then he hesitated,  frowning.

Her shirt had ridden up slightly in her sleep, exposing the edge of the sensor site on her stomach.

Without thinking, Max brushed his fingertips along the skin there, checking carefully for irritation, for the angry red rash she always got when she was too rough or careless with the adhesive.

She was terrible at managing her health when she was upset; he knew that about her already after only three months. She would pretend that she was fine right up until the point when that was no longer an option. 

Tonight, though, it looked okay. A little pink and itchy, probably, but not inflamed.

Still, the worry in him didn’t ease.

He would have to make sure she ate properly tomorrow, and keep an eye on her levels if she let him.

If she still trusts you enough to ever let you touch her again.

He sat there a long moment, just staring at her, one hand resting lightly against the curve of her hip like an anchor.

The guilt was heavier than anything he'd ever felt in his life; heavier than any shunt, heavier than any loss.

He wanted to protect her from everything.

From himself, most of all.

Tell her the truth, the better part of him whispered, harsh and cutting. Tell her who you are before you ruin this with your lies.

But fear was an old reflex, like a scar he couldn’t stop picking at.

What if she looked at him differently once she knew?

What if she stopped looking at him altogether?

He was still trapped in that spiral when she stirred, blinking blearily up at him.

“Still mad at you,” she mumbled, her voice hoarse and raw and devastating.

Max smiled a little — a broken, battered thing. “I know,” he said. “You should be.”

She tucked herself closer, her forehead pressing into his chest like she needed him, his touch and his warmth and his presence. 

Max couldn’t resist pulling her fully into his arms, burying his face in her hair, breathing her in like it might steady the way he was coming apart inside.

He didn’t deserve her.

But he wasn’t strong enough to let go.

—

Celeste stirred first, blinking against the soft grey light bleeding through the curtains. It took her a moment to remember where she was — Max’s apartment, the thick, familiar scent of it grounding her. She was curled up against something warm and solid.

Max.

She turned her head slightly, watching him breathe slowly and deeply beside her. His hair was a mess, flattened against the pillow, and there were faint shadows under his eyes.

Her chest tightened.

He looked... tired. More than tired. He looked worn thin. 

She shifted up onto an elbow, studying his face. That was when she saw them: faint bruises feathering the high curve of his cheek and the ridge of his jaw. Old, yellowed ones hidden mostly under stubble, and newer ones, barely-there purple smudges just beginning to bloom under the skin.

Confusion and concern flickered through her.

Before she could think better of it, she lifted trembling fingers and brushed one gently with the tips of her fingers.

He woke instantly.

His hand snapped up, catching her wrist without thinking. Not rough, but fast, defensive. For a heartbeat, there was something wild in his eyes, something almost hunted, before it softened when he saw it was just her.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, blinking down at him. “I didn’t mean to— I just— You have bruises.”

Max released her wrist slowly, his hand falling to her hip instead, keeping her close. His mouth twisted, like he wanted to lie but didn’t have the energy.

“Just... work,” he muttered, voice rough and hoarse with sleep.

Celeste stared at him, her heart twisting painfully. Just another piece of the truth he wouldn’t let her see. Another wall he kept between them.

She swallowed hard, her throat thick.

“I don’t trust you,” she whispered, the words cutting her own chest open as much as they cut the air between them. “I need you to know that, Max. I don’t. But I want to. God, I want to.” Her voice cracked, thick with frustration and heartbreak. “But you keep disappearing; you keep hiding things, speaking in riddles, acting like you’re scared to let me close.” She pressed the heel of her hand against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath it. “And it feels like... like you’ve had one foot out the door since the day we met.”

His hand tightened slightly at her hip. His eyes didn’t look away from hers. He just let the words hit him, every last one.

“I’m falling in love with you anyway,” she choked out. “And I’m terrified, Max. I’m terrified because I can feel myself drowning in it, and I don’t even know if you’re really here to catch me when I fall.”

The silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.

Then he pulled her down into him, his arms wrapping around her like iron, his hand cradling the back of her head as he pressed his forehead to hers.

“I’m here,” he rasped. “I’m here, schatje. I’m so fucking sorry I made you feel like you were alone in this.” His voice broke, low and raw. “I’m scared too. Terrified. Sick with it.” 

She blinked furiously, her chest burning with too many emotions she couldn’t control.

He kissed her then. Not urgently, but with a desperate kind of reverence, like he was trying to imprint the words he couldn’t say into her skin. She melted against him despite herself, clutching his t-shirt in tight, frantic handfuls just to stay grounded.

When they finally broke apart, she sucked in a shuddery breath.

“I’m mad at you,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “You bought me a car.”

Max gave a low, exhausted laugh against her hair. “I know.”

“I didn’t want you to do that.”

“I know.”

“You can’t fix things by throwing money at me,” she mumbled, burying her face in his chest.

He pulled back, just enough to look at her properly. His thumb drew absent, tender circles against her side.

“I didn’t buy it to fix things,” he said quietly. “I bought it because when I’m not here to drive you, I need to know you’re safe. In something reliable. Something that’ll protect you when I’m not around to do it myself.”

Her heart cracked painfully wide, tears slipping free before she could stop them. “God, Max,” she whispered, voice shaking. “You can’t say things like that. You’ll break me.”

He kissed the top of her head like it would make it better, like he could hold her together if he just stayed close enough. “I won’t,” he murmured. “I’m going to love you so much it stitches all the broken-up pieces back together.”

And she wanted to believe him.

God, she wanted to.

But she couldn’t. Not like this.

She pulled back, trembling slightly, and looked him dead in the eyes. “Then prove it,” she said, voice low but shaking with the force of it. “Be honest with me, Max. All of it. No more hiding, no more half-truths, no more protecting me from things I should already know. Otherwise... I can’t do this with you.”

The words dropped between them like a grenade.

She watched it hit him, the full weight of it, and saw the way his face paled, his body locking up like he physically couldn’t move. Couldn’t speak.

His mouth opened once, twice. No words came out. Just a broken, panicked look she had never seen on him before, like she had yanked the ground out from under his feet.

And that was her answer, wasn’t it?

Tears blurred her vision. She nodded once. Small, shattering.

“Okay,” she said, voice breaking on the word.

She shoved herself off the bed before he could stop her, grabbing her bag blindly off the floor. She didn’t look back.

Couldn’t.

Because if she did, she knew she’d stay.

And she couldn’t fall in love with a man who wasn’t ready to catch her.

She left him there, frozen and silent in the dark, the door clicking shut behind her. 

May 2021 

The knock at the door barely registered.

Celeste didn't look up from her laptop, her fingers mechanically scrolling through the spreadsheet she wasn’t really reading.

It was the same every day now.

A soft knock.

A murmured delivery confirmation.

The faint clink of a glass vase being set down.

She waited until she heard the door click shut again before she moved.

Another bouquet.

Another heavy, beautiful arrangement sitting just inside her apartment, as if it had any right to be there.

She rose slowly, barefoot on cool floors, and picked it up with both hands. Peonies again. Gardenias. Soft, forgiving colours.

The flowers were always the same, like he thought if he just repeated the right apology enough times, she'd eventually hear it.

She carried them into her home office without thinking, setting them down on the corner of the desk already cluttered with blooms from the days before.

There wasn’t even room for her laptop anymore.

She shoved aside an older vase to make space.

The whole place smelled like a funeral parlour.

Sweet. Cloying. Too much.

Her eyes flicked, unwillingly, to the small photo frame tucked beside her monitor.

She should have taken it down weeks ago.

She hadn't.

It stayed exactly where it was, like a splinter she couldn’t pull out.

The picture was from a night that felt like a different lifetime — Max grinning at her from behind the wheel of a stupid little vintage car, sunburnt and sweaty, hair a mess, one arm thrown around her shoulders.

She remembered how he'd kissed her temple right after the photo was taken.

She remembered how safe she had felt.

How stupid she’d been.

Her chest tightened, but no tears came anymore.

She was past crying.

Now it was just a dull, grinding ache that lived under her ribs and made it hard to breathe sometimes.

Her phone buzzed where it lay face down on the desk.

She didn’t need to check to know it was him.

It always was.

She turned it over anyway.

Miss you.Please talk to me.

Celeste locked the screen without answering.

She sat back down at her desk, opened a new page, and tried to pretend like her heart wasn't quietly falling apart inside her chest.

The flowers leaned toward her in the dim afternoon light, patient and blooming.

She ignored them.

She ignored all of it.

Because the alternative would ruin her.

– 

The streets of Monaco shimmered in the mid-May heat, and tourists packed elbow to elbow along the waterfront. Celeste could barely hear her own thoughts over the hum of the city.

Which was fine.

Good, even.

She didn’t want to hear them anyway.

Retail therapy, her friends had called it.

A distraction, was what it really was.

Something to keep her from staring at the walls of her apartment and feeling the way she did — scraped raw, hollowed out. 

They drifted through boutiques. Celeste trailed after them, clutching a coffee she didn’t want, smiling when she had to.

Pretending. Spending an eye-watering amount of money on things she didn’t even really need, but found small bursts of joy in purchasing. 

It wasn’t until Maren gasped, a hand flying to her mouth, that Celeste’s body locked up instinctively.

“Holy shit, there’s a driver over there,” Maren hissed, practically vibrating with excitement. “I think it’s one of the British ones—”

Celeste didn’t look.

Her whole body reacted before her mind even caught up.

That old, sick feeling climbed up her spine — the squeezing in her ribs, the sudden spike of cold under her skin.

Like a memory she wasn’t allowed to have. Like a grief she wasn’t allowed to name.

“Mar, shut up,” Beatrice snapped, her voice tight with warning. She stepped closer, slipping her arm through Celeste’s and steering her away from the windows, deeper into the store. 

“I—” Maren started.

“She’s not interested,” Beatrice said sharply. “Just shut up.”

Celeste focused on her breathing.

In. Out. In. Out.

Like her therapist had taught her after the last time she'd accidentally walked past a race broadcast on the street and had to lock herself in a public bathroom to shake.

You’re okay, she told herself.

You’re okay.

It’s just a person.

It’s just Monaco.

But her hands still trembled where they gripped her coffee cup.

Her skin still burned, like she’d been dropped in the middle of a fire she couldn’t see. All her life, this city had been a battlefield, and no one even knew she was walking through a war zone.

Celeste forced herself to move, pretending to browse racks of linen and silk.

She could still hear her mother's voice in her head, even after all these years — sharp and unyielding. “They love speed more than life itself. They love danger more than the people who wait for them at home. They don’t care about you. They’ll leave you bleeding, and they’ll call it bad luck.” 

Her mother had never let her forget it.

Ayrton Senna had died before Celeste ever took her first breath, but it didn’t matter.

She had lived in the aftermath anyway.

In the silence.

In the absence.

In the way her mother flinched at every engine roar and slammed the TV off mid-commercial.

In the way motorsport was treated like a curse word in their house — something forbidden, something deadly.

Celeste had grown up learning to avoid everything about it. 

She didn’t even let herself glance at the tracks that cut through the heart of her city each spring. When she was a kid, that’s when her mother would take them out of the country — every year without fail. 

Her fingers curled tighter around the coffee cup until the cardboard crumpled.

"Look at these," Beatrice said too brightly, holding up a sundress like a peace offering, dragging Celeste back into the moment.

Celeste blinked, forced a smile, and took the dress.

She could pretend.

She always did.

Outside, a sports car engine revved, a sharp, brutal noise, and for a second, she couldn’t breathe.

Just noise, she told herself.

Just Monaco.

– 

The apartment was too quiet. Too still.

Celeste sat on the floor by the window, her knees pulled up to her chest, staring blankly at the city lights blinking far below.

She hadn’t cried. Not really.

The feeling inside her was heavier than tears — a slow, thick kind of grief that filled up all the spaces she usually used for breathing.

She should call Lila.

Or Marie.

Or her mother.

Anyone else.

But her hands moved before she could stop them, reaching for her phone, scrolling to his name.

Max.

Still saved under Max, like something simple and normal. Like someone who still had a solidified place in her world. 

Her thumb hovered over the screen.

Just one call, she told herself.

Just to hear his voice.

Before she could change her mind, she pressed call.

It rang once. Twice. And then —

"Celeste?" His voice was low, rough with sleep, thick with confusion. Different timezone, maybe. She imagined him blinking awake, scrambling for the phone, hope bleeding through the cracks in his voice.

Her chest seized painfully.

"I—sorry, I know it's late," she rushed out, voice shaking. "I just... I needed—" She swallowed. "I wanted to tell you about property law."

There was a beat of silence. And then, unbelievably, a soft little huff of breath, like he was trying not to laugh. "Okay," he said, voice rasping and tender in her ear. "Tell me about property law, schatje."

She did. She launched into a rambling explanation about easements and zoning regulations, about inheritance complications and lease agreements. It was stupid. It was nothing. It didn’t matter.

He listened anyway. Just like he always used to, smiling that sleepy half-smile like she was telling him the secrets of the universe instead of boring legal technicalities.

By the time she wound down, her voice was trembling so badly she had to clench her jaw to keep the words from breaking apart.

There was a long pause on the other end. Then, soft and careful, like he was trying not to scare her off—"What happened?" Max asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Celeste closed her eyes. She pressed her forehead against her knees, the phone still clutched tight in her hand.

"Thank you for answering," she whispered.

And then she hung up.

The silence afterwards was deafening. She stared at her phone for a long time, feeling like a coward. A failure. Like she'd ripped open her own stitches just to bleed all over again.

She curled tighter into herself, her heart breaking in slow motion.

Maybe tomorrow she would find a way to be stronger.

Maybe tomorrow she could start forgetting about him for good.

But tonight, she let herself miss him. Just for a little while longer.

–

The soft clink of silverware against porcelain filled the quiet between them. Celeste picked at her food without much appetite, her mother watching her from across the long table with dark, perceptive eyes. Outside, the warm Mediterranean night pressed against the villa’s windows. 

“Filha,” her mother said gently, “you are not eating.”

Celeste shrugged, pushing a piece of grilled fish around her plate. “Just tired.”

Her mother leaned back in her chair, wine glass cradled loosely in one hand. “Tired from what?” She asked, voice soft but unrelenting. “From thinking too much about him, hm?”

Celeste’s chest tightened. She hated how easily her mother could read her. Like she was a child again, trying and failing to keep her emotions from spilling all over the marble floors of this very house.

“I called him,” Celeste admitted after a moment, her voice small and humiliated.

Her mother’s mouth pressed into a line. “And he answered?”

Celeste nodded, twisting her napkin between her fingers. “Yeah. He sounded half-asleep. In a different time zone, maybe. I started talking about—" She gave a watery little laugh, helpless. “—property law. Total nonsense. I just… I needed to hear... be in his presence again.”

Her mother set the wine glass down with a quiet clink. “And then?”

“I hung up,” Celeste whispered, feeling the sting of tears she refused to let fall. “Before he could say anything real.”

They sat in silence for a few beats, the ocean breeze rattling faintly against the windows.

Her mother reached across the table, brushing her knuckles lightly against Celeste’s hand — a rare gesture, tentative but full of love.

“Meu amor,” she murmured. “Are you still getting the flowers from him?”

Celeste gave a short, broken laugh. “Yes. Every day. My apartment looks like a botanical garden.”

Her mother’s lips quivered upward — not in humour, but in something sadder. “And yet, you are still alone.”

Celeste swallowed the lump in her throat, blinking hard. “He’s not— He’s still not been honest with me. He’s just… He’s just being Max.”

Her mother’s gaze softened. “You can love someone and still know they are dangerous to you,” her mother said softly, the faintest trace of her Rio accent sharpening the edges of her words. “Sometimes, filha, love is not enough.”

Celeste didn't argue. There was nothing left to say.

When she finally pushed her plate away and stood, her mother didn’t stop her. She just watched with that same aching tenderness as Celeste slipped out of the room — a woman carrying the heavy, lonely inheritance of a life shaped by loss.

–

The paddock was almost empty now, the sharp buzz of race weekend already beginning to die down to a hum. Max sat slouched against the wall of the hospitality unit, cap pulled low over his eyes, a half-empty bottle of water rolling slowly between his fingers. His body ached – from the race, from the travel, but it was nothing compared to the heaviness sitting low in his chest.

Amelia dropped down beside him with a soft grunt, kicking her shoes off and stretching her legs out in front of her. She tossed him a sideways glance but didn’t say anything right away.

"You look like shit," Amelia said eventually. Not unkindly, just brutally honest as always.

Max huffed a dry laugh. "Feel worse."

Amelia picked at the edge of her hoodie sleeve, thoughtful. "Is it about her?" she asked after a beat, voice quieter now.

He didn’t answer, but the way his jaw clenched was enough to answer.

Amelia leaned her head back against the wall, staring up at the steel beams overhead. “I think,” she said slowly, "that we’re just... built wrong for this kind of thing? Real life, real relationships. There’s no rule book. There should be. It would make things so much easier.”

Max let his head tip back too, closing his eyes. "Yeah," he rasped.

He thought about Celeste, about the way she had sounded on the phone a week ago, so small and tired. And about the flowers, stupid, extravagant, meaningless things, probably piling up in her apartment if she wasn’t throwing them out as soon as they arrived. He’d understand if she was.

"You love her," Amelia said, like it was obvious, like it was nothing at all.

Max dragged a hand over his face, letting out a low, dark sound. "Doesn't matter."

“Of course it does," she said. “Love is one of those things that always matters."

He shook his head, shoulders sagging under the weight of it. "She deserves better. Someone who isn't—" He gestured vaguely at himself. "—this."

Amelia was quiet for a long moment. Then, “The chances of her being similar to your ex-girlfriend are very slim.”

He snapped open his eyes, turned his head to look at her.

"You’re scared to tell her the truth about you because you think she will see you differently,” she said simply. “But you need to do it, and you need to do it now. Not tomorrow, not in a week. If you want a chance at… at a life with this woman, you start with the truth. I told you already how much I’d hate to be in her position, scared and confused and hurting.” She told him. “So you need to tell her, Max.” 

The air between them stretched thin. 

"Yeah," he agreed, voice cracking just a little. "I know. I know that I need to.”

Amelia bumped her shoulder lightly against his. A rare, wordless offering of her own brand of comfort. “We need to go. You’re not even in your race suit yet.”

Max nodded. Blinked hard. And then followed her back to his garage. 

– 

June 2021

Celeste swore under her breath as the light turned yellow and the car in front of her, a sleek, showy thing, hesitated, then stopped abruptly. She tapped the brakes hard, but not fast enough.

The faintest thud echoed through her little car as it kissed the bumper ahead.

"Shit," she muttered, throwing the gear into park and grabbing the handbrake.

By the time she clambered out, the other driver was already out of his car, a man who looked just a few years younger than her, tousled brown hair, sunglasses perched crookedly on his nose. He yanked them off, revealing worried blue-green eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” he said quickly, hands raised in surrender. “I stopped too fast. Are you okay?”

Celeste blinked at him, heart still hammering from the surprise of it.

He looked... familiar. In that way Monaco people did, faces from childhood half-remembered; from parks, schoolyards, the streets. She thought maybe he used to race little go-karts when they were kids, always surrounded by a crowd. Of course, she’d tuned most of that out and never became his friend for that very reason. 

"It's fine," she said, waving a hand, inspecting the bumpers. "Looks like just a scratch. Nothing a bit of polish won’t fix."

But he was already pulling out his phone. "I’ll cover it — of course. Repairs, detailing, whatever you need. Please."

Celeste sighed, amused despite herself. "It’s really not a big deal."

Just then, the passenger door of his car swung open, and a beautiful woman stepped out, moving quickly around to them. Mousey brown hair caught back in a loose bun, effortless, the very image of Monaco chic.

"Charles. Is everything okay?" She asked, heels clicking lightly on the pavement.

Celeste glanced over at her and smiled instinctively. "All good. There is hardly any damage.”

The woman gave her a once-over, worried but warm. Celeste couldn’t help it, her gaze dropped to the woman's outfit, some stunningly put-together combination of linen and silk.

"I absolutely adore your skirt," Celeste blurted before she could stop herself.

The woman beamed, pleased. “Merci! It's from a little boutique just down near the marina." 

They slipped into easy conversation, chatting about local stores and weather and tourist season. Celeste caught the guy, whoever he was, standing awkwardly nearby, clearly unsure what to do with himself now that he was irrelevant to the conversation.

"You live here?" The woman asked, eyes sparkling with genuine interest.

“Yes,” Celeste said. "Grew up here. A Monegasque.” 

"I thought you looked a little familiar," the woman said. "I'm Charlotte, by the way."

Celeste gave her name in return, laughing softly. “You probably just recognise me from town. Maybe we went to the same high school, but I think I was likely a good few years ahead of you. Small place, really."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the guy leaning against his car, scrolling on his phone like a sulking teenager. Celeste hid a grin.

She and Charlotte swapped Instagrams, promising to grab coffee sometime, and it was only when Charlotte kissed her cheeks goodbye and slid back into the passenger seat that the man approached her again, awkwardly.

"Really," he said, earnest and boyish. "I can pay for the damages."

Celeste shook her head, amused. “No need. Just… perhaps let me borrow your girlfriend for a shopping trip one day soon? I have followed her on Instagram.” 

His face lit up, and it was nice that he was so keen on his girlfriend making new friends. Very sweet.

Celeste laughed quietly to herself when she pulled back onto the road, hands only a tad too tight around the steering wheel. 

Only in Monaco could a fender-bender end with the start of a new friendship.

– 

Celeste barely heard the knock at her apartment door over the roaring in her ears. She was crouched in the kitchen, one trembling hand fumbling with the glucose tablets she kept in a jar by the fridge. Her blood sugar had crashed hard and fast, too fast, and she was still trying to work out if she'd miscalculated dinner or if the suffocating stress had finally caught up to her. 

The knock came again, sharper this time. She gritted her teeth, popping two of the chalky tablets into her mouth. Her hands shook so badly that she dropped a third one onto the floor.

"Go away," she rasped hoarsely, not caring if whoever it was heard.

But then she heard it — his voice. "Celeste? It’s me. Open the door. Please.”

Her stomach flipped painfully. Not now. God, not now.

The door rattled, and then the lock clicked. How had she forgotten she’d given Max a key, back when things had been good, still new and exciting? 

He pushed the door open, stepping inside, his hair messy, concern etched deep across his face. It only took him half a second to take in the scene: her pale, clammy skin, the sweat beading on her forehead, and the way her legs were visibly trembling under her.

"Fuck," he breathed, crossing the space between them in three long strides. "Celeste—"

"I’m fine," she snapped, voice too harsh, too sharp. She hated how weak she sounded, hated that he was seeing her like this. Vulnerable. Pathetic.

Max dropped to his knees beside her anyway. His hand hovered for a moment like he wasn’t sure if she’d let him touch her. Then, carefully, he checked the monitor site at her stomach, his touch so light it made her throat close up. His jaw tightened when he saw the red, angry welt around the sensor. She’d been rough with it again. 

"You need juice," he said lowly, already moving to grab the emergency bottle she kept in the fridge door.

"I know what I need," she bit out. She hated how her hands fumbled uselessly, how her body felt like it was betraying her. "I don't need you to save me."

He didn’t answer. He just cracked the bottle open and handed it to her silently, his eyes never leaving her face.

Celeste forced herself to drink, gagging slightly at the too-sweet liquid coating her mouth. Her vision was still blurry around the edges, but it was clearing now, slowly.

"I said I'm fine," she muttered again, but it sounded even less convincing than before.

Max sat back on his heels, giving her space but not moving away. “Okay, liefje.”

Something in her chest twisted, sharp and painful.

“I cannot believe that you’re here right now,” she whispered, blinking hard. “I ended things between us for a reason, Max.”

He flinched like she’d slapped him, but he didn’t argue. He just sat there, helpless, watching her fight to get her body back under control.

"You're still mad at me," he said finally, voice rough.

Celeste laughed, a brittle, broken sound. "Mad? Max, I don't even know if there's a word big enough for how angry I am.”

He bowed his head for a moment, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "I shouldn't have come," he said, almost to himself.

"No, you shouldn't have," she agreed, feeling the exhaustion pull her down like a riptide. She leaned back against the counter, breathing hard, the juice bottle still clutched in one trembling hand.

There was a long, strained silence.

Then she felt more than saw Max shift closer.

"Celeste," he said, brokenly. "Please. Please. I fucked up. I know that. I know I'm not giving you everything you deserve — you deserve someone better, someone honest— but—" He broke off, like the words got stuck in his throat. "But I can't stop," he whispered. "I can't stay away from you. I can't breathe when I'm not near you. You have no idea how fucking empty my life feels without you."

Celeste opened her eyes and stared at him.

He looked destroyed.

He looked like she felt — ragged, desperate, completely out of air.

"I can’t do this," she said, but it came out shaky, unsure.

Max surged forward, hands framing her face, not quite touching, just hovering. His thumb brushed the edge of her jaw, featherlight.

"Let me fix it," he said, voice shaking. "Please, schatje. Let me fix it."

She hated him.

But God, she loved him so much.

Celeste felt the tears gathering hot behind her eyes again. 

"You can’t fix this," she said, voice breaking. “Even now, you’re still lying to me. I can see it in your eyes, Max. There’s something you’re not telling me, and I can see it, Max.” 

His face crumpled. He closed his eyes, forehead dropping against hers. "I know," he whispered. "I know. But if I tell you everything — you’ll look at me differently. I know you will. And I couldn’t handle that. I’m too weak to know what would happen.” 

She didn’t move away.

Couldn’t.

Her hands were trapped between their bodies, clenched into fists.

"I already look at you differently," she said quietly. "You did that. That’s your fault.”

Max made a low, guttural sound deep in his chest, something between a sob and a curse. His hands finally touched her, cupping her face fully, thumbs brushing her cheeks.

"I’ll tell you," he said. "Just— not tonight. Please, not tonight. I need you too much right now."

It was so wrong.

Celeste sagged against the counter, her body too weak to fight anymore.

Max caught her before she could slide to the floor.

He lifted her easily, setting her carefully on the cool marble counter, sliding between her legs like he belonged there.

His hands checked her monitor again, pulling her phone out of her pocket and flicking quickly to the connected app.

She watched him, dazed, as he scanned the numbers, relief flashing across his face when he saw her levels were stabilising.

“Good girl,” he murmured, so softly it broke her heart.

Then his hands slid up her thighs, cradling her hips.

He kissed her.

Slow. Devastating.

It was an apology. 

Celeste whimpered, grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, yanking him closer, wanting to crawl into his skin to escape from the hurt that was burning inside of her. 

His hands slid under her thighs, pulling her closer to the edge of the counter, and Celeste gasped into his mouth when she felt the hard press of him between her legs.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasped, forehead against hers, breathing like he’d just run a marathon. “Tell me to stop, and I will. Tell me to leave, and I’ll never contact you again.”

No. She didn’t. Couldn’t. 

She just kissed him harder, more desperately, tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes.

Max made a broken sound, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other slipping up under her sweatshirt, mapping her ribs, her back, and her soft stomach. His touch was reverent, almost shaking.

When he finally touched her properly, sliding his fingers under the waistband of her Alo sweatpants, Celeste let out a low, wrecked moan against his mouth.

He moved slowly, carefully, murmuring in Dutch against her skin; words she didn’t understand but felt down to her bones.

He made love to her with his hands, on her kitchen counter, treating her like she was something fragile and precious. 

Celeste clung to him, her nails digging into his shoulders, muffling her cries against his neck. And when she finally shattered in his arms, Max held her, pressing kisses into her hair, her forehead, her damp cheeks.

“I’m here,” he whispered again and again. “I’m here, liefje.”

– 

Later, after the kitchen lights had been switched off and the city beyond her windows had gone dark and quiet, they sat together on the couch.

Celeste curled up against Max’s side, her body half-draped over him, her face tucked against the familiar curve of his neck. She could feel his heart beating under her palm — steady and strong — and hated how much comfort it brought her.

Hated how her body saw him as safety, even when her brain was screaming otherwise.

Neither of them spoke.

There was too much to say.

Too much that words would only ruin.

Max's hand skimmed absently up and down her spine, tracing slow, aimless patterns.

She wasn't sure he even realised he was doing it.

She closed her eyes and listened to the silence stretch out between them, heavy and brittle.

This wasn’t healing.

It wasn’t fixing anything.

It was an addiction, an ache, a wound they kept tearing open just to feel alive.

Her body still hadn't fully stopped trembling — the aftermath of the crash in her blood sugar, the aftermath of him — and she hated how easy it had been to let him back in. How desperate she'd been for the smallest piece of him, even if it left her emptier afterwards.

Max shifted, just slightly, and his hand stilled against her back.

"Those," he said, voice low and rough, pointing toward the large canvases hung unevenly along the living room wall. "You never told me where you got them."

Celeste stiffened slightly.

She didn’t look up.

"They're just from a local artist," she said lightly, casually. Too casually. "I liked the colours."

Max hummed, not pressing. 

He didn’t ask for more.

He didn’t push.

Hypocrite.

She tilted her head so she could see the paintings, huge, sweeping abstracts in bold, ferocious colours. Crimson bleeding into deep midnight blue, sunburst yellows fractured by violent greens and blacks, delicate silver veins cutting through fields of heavy, oil-thick navy.

The truth was, they weren't random at all.

Each canvas was a memory she didn’t own, a grief she’d inherited.

Each one was an echo of a machine she’d never touched, a ghost of a man she’d never met but who had shaped her entire life.

Her father’s legacy, immortalised in streaks of violent, tangled colour: the liveries of every chassis he'd ever driven.

It was a rebellion, really. Just owning them. 

Her mother had taught her to stay away from it all — to bury it deep, to despise the world that had taken him.

But the ache of burning curiosity never went away.

It just got heavier.

Max's fingers resumed their slow, steady glide along her spine.

He wanted to ask. She could feel it vibrating off him like static. But he didn’t.

Just like she wasn’t asking him why, he still wouldn’t tell her the truth.

They were both cowards.

Celeste closed her eyes again, letting herself have the lie for a little longer.

Letting herself believe that his arms around her could be enough. That the soft breath of his exhale against her hair could stitch them back together.

Max pressed a kiss to her forehead, so soft it barely even registered, like he was afraid she might shatter if he wasn’t careful.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into the darkness. "I’m so fucking sorry."

She didn’t answer.

There was nothing left to say.

The apology was another threadbare band-aid, stretched over a wound too deep to heal. 

She knew it. He knew it.

Neither of them moved.

Outside, the city breathed and glittered in indifferent silence.

– 

When Celeste woke, the light in the apartment was pale and watery. 

She blinked slowly, disoriented for a moment.

Her couch. Her blanket. The faint scent of Max still clung to the fabric.

But he was gone.

The hollow space beside her was cold now, like he’d been gone for hours.

She sat up slowly, her body sore and heavy from the crash the night before, her blood sugar stabilised but leaving her feeling like a wrung-out rag.

Her chest hurt worse, though; a deep, bruised kind of hurt that bloomed as she stared at the front door, half-expecting, half-hoping to hear it open again.

It didn’t.

And suddenly, she understood.

The way he'd held her so tightly, like he was trying to memorise the shape of her.

The way he'd kissed her forehead again and again, so softly, it had broken something inside her each time.

The way he'd said I'm sorry, over and over.

He'd known.

He hadn't just been apologising for what he'd already done — for the lies, for the absence, for the pain.

He'd been apologising for what he was about to do.

For leaving her again.

For choosing fear over her.

A raw, ugly sound clawed its way up her throat, and she pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes hard enough to see stars.

She refused to cry for him.

Not again.

But it didn't matter.

The tears came anyway — slow, silent, bitter.

She stood up on shaky legs and moved through the apartment, picking up her car keys and her handbag. 

She glanced over at the paintings on the wall – the mess of fractured colour and grief and love she didn’t have words for – and felt something inside her crack a little deeper.

Max had seen them last night. Had looked at them and not asked. Had looked at her and still left.

She wiped her face roughly with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and moved to the kitchen on autopilot, fixing herself a glass of water and forcing herself to drink it.

She caught a glimpse of her phone lying on the counter, the screen dark.

No messages.

Good. It needed to stay that way.

Celeste picked up the phone anyway, cradling it loosely in her hand, her thumb hovering over Max’s contact. She wanted to block him once and for all. It would be so easy.

Instead, she powered the phone off and shoved it into her bag, car keys clenched in her hand.

She needed to get out of her apartment. 

But most of all, she needed her mother. 

– 

Max woke up before the wheels of the plane even touched down in Austria, his body stiff from a restless few hours of half-sleep and too much guilt.

The first thing he did was check his phone — like a reflex, a habit he couldn’t break.

No new messages.

Not from Celeste.

His chest ached.

He stared at her name on the screen until it blurred. He could still see her sleeping on the couch in Monaco — curled in on herself, wrapped in the blanket he’d pulled up over her shoulders.

She’d been breathing deeply by the time he slipped his key into the lock and let the door close behind him.

He’d kissed her cheek before he left.

He didn’t deserve to.

And he knew it.

His hand clenched into a fist against his thigh.

The car waiting on the tarmac took him straight to the hotel. Cameras didn’t catch him — he’d perfected the art of slipping by unnoticed. But tonight, it felt more like cowardice than control.

By the time he dropped his bag in the suite and shut the door behind him, Max felt like he was going to crack open.

The silence was deafening.

He stood there for a long time, unmoving. Just breathing. Just hurting.

Eventually, he made it to the bed and sat on the edge, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor. He hadn’t even showered. He smelled like her. Like her sheets. Like her skin.

His heart twisted.

He should have stayed.

He wanted to stay.

But Jos’ voice had been loud in his head — cruel and clipped, replaying over and over like a bad engine knocking loose.

“Distractions don’t win championships, Max.”

“You’ve been off lately. Sloppy. Like your head’s somewhere else.”

“Either you want this — or you throw it away like everything else.”

Max swallowed hard, fists tightening. He did want it. He’d fought for this career his entire life. Every muscle, every scar, and every second of his youth had been built around the idea of winning.

But now?

Now there was her.

And he didn’t know how to do both — how to be everything the world demanded of him and everything she deserved.

Especially when she still didn’t even know who he was.

It was easier to leave.

To believe Jos — that this was a liability.

That love was a weakness.

That she was a beautiful, brilliant threat to everything Max had ever worked for.

So why did it feel like he’d just made the worst mistake of his life?

He thought about her voice. How it trembled when she was scared. How it went low and furious when she was angry. How it softened, slow and warm, when she let herself forget to hold back.

He remembered how she looked at him like she was seeing past all the noise, all the layers, all the bullshit. Like she might actually believe in the version of him no one else had ever cared to know.

And he remembered what he’d done.

Left her.

Again.

Without the truth.

Without choosing her.

Because he was afraid.

Because he still believed, deep down, that if she really knew who he was — what came with him, what the world expected of him — she’d never look at him the same way again. 

Max dragged a hand down his face and let himself lie back on the bed, staring up at the ceiling like it might have answers for him.

He thought about the sensor site on her stomach, angry and red. About the tremble in her fingers. About the way she tried so hard to be strong, even when her body was failing her.

He should have stayed.

He should have fought.

He should have told her.

Instead, he left her asleep on a couch in Monaco, and she would wake up to an empty apartment and silence.

Max closed his eyes and whispered her name like a prayer he didn’t believe he deserved to speak.

—

The sea was like glass, unbroken and glittering beneath the late afternoon sun. Celeste sat on the cushioned powder-blue lounge on the yacht’s deck, bare feet tucked under her, a linen cover-up billowing slightly around her thighs. She hadn't even realised how badly she’d needed this — the sea air, the sun on her skin, the gentle lull of the boat rocking beneath her. Monaco stretched behind them, beautiful and smug and familiar.

Her mother appeared beside her a moment later, effortlessly graceful in a wide-brimmed straw hat and silk trousers that only someone born into this kind of luxury could wear without irony. She handed Celeste a coupe of something cold and bubbling — probably champagne.

“Drink,” her mother said, like it was medicine. Like it could stitch her broken mess of a daughter back together.

Celeste took it with a quiet thanks and sipped. It was dry and sharp and perfect.

They didn’t speak for a while. The wind tugged at her curls and the hem of her shirt, and all around them, the ocean went on and on and on.

“You look thin,” her mother said finally, not unkindly.

Celeste shrugged. “Haven’t been hungry.”

“Still not sleeping?”

Another shrug. “Some.”

A pause. Then, “You saw him?”

Celeste blinked slowly, her gaze fixed on the horizon. “How do you know?”

“I’m your mother. And you are holding yourself like someone who had hope again. I can see it in the line of your shoulders.”

Celeste let out a soft, bitter breath. “It was stupid. I don’t even know why I let him in.”

“Did it help?” Her mother asked.

She thought about the way he’d said her name, like it still belonged to him. About how safe she’d felt, for one stupid moment, in his arms — even knowing it meant nothing would change. Even knowing he was going to leave.

“No,” Celeste said. “Yes. I don’t know.”

Her mother hummed, not pressing.

They watched the wake behind them split the water. A gull passed overhead.

“I don’t want you to become small for him,” her mother said eventually, softly but with steel underneath. “I don’t want to see you disappear trying to fit into someone else's life.”

Celeste turned her head. “You think I’m disappearing?”

“I think you’re grieving your first love,” her mother said, eyes hidden behind dark lenses. “And I think you’re trying very hard not to let anyone see that.”

Celeste’s throat tightened. She looked away.

Her mother shifted closer, brushing her fingers against Celeste’s knee, light and grounding. “You don’t have to explain it. You did love him.”

“I don’t even know if I knew him,” Celeste said, the words tasting sour. “He lied, mamá. About everything.”

“Yes,” her mother agreed simply. “But you don’t miss the lie. You miss the parts of him that were real. And that is the part that hurts.”

Celeste closed her eyes against the sting.

Her mother tipped her glass toward her in a gentle cheer. “So. We heal. We tan. We go to Saint-Tropez. We get our hair done in a way that makes us feel invincible. We remind ourselves who we are and how special that is.”

Celeste cracked a small smile. “That’s the plan?”

“It’s the beginning of the plan.”

“I don’t know if I can ever forget him.”

“You don’t have to. I never forgot your father, but… it gets easier.”

A long silence. Then Celeste lifted her glass. “To remembering.”

Her mother clinked hers against it with a decisive nod. “To remembering.”

Below deck, the chef was already prepping something grilled and decadent. The steward brought out another bottle. Music played low from the speakers — something jazzy and golden.

Celeste leaned back into the cushions and let herself be held by the moment, just for a little while. Just long enough to breathe again.

July 2021

The yacht drifted quietly in the cove, its gentle rocking in sync with the slow, methodical waves. The kind of soft motion that could lull a person into peace — if peace were something Celeste knew how to feel right now.

She stood alone at the bow, the late afternoon sun spilling across the water, brushing against her freckled skin like a memory. The breeze tugged at her hair, loose and unstyled, and for once she didn’t care. Her bare feet were braced against the teak deck, a glass of still water forgotten beside her. Her mother hadn’t questioned it when she wandered away from the sundeck — hadn’t offered to join her either. She never did when they anchored near the cliffs.

The stone was just barely visible from this angle, tucked into the edge of the garden that clung to the cliffside estate like a secret. Weathered but intact. A name, a date, nothing more.

Her father. A myth in the house she’d been raised in. Revered in silence. Feared, too — not him, but what he’d represented. Speed. Recklessness. Love that had come and gone in a flash of metal and smoke before she was even born.

Celeste wrapped her arms around herself, staring out at the water until her eyes stung.

She didn’t know why she was crying. Maybe it was Max. Maybe it was herself. Maybe it was that strange, unspoken ache of loving a ghost you never had the chance to know.

“He doesn’t exist to you,” her mother had always said. “He existed to me. That’s enough.”

But it wasn’t. Not anymore.

Because the truth was, Celeste wanted to know. Wanted to understand what kind of man had been worth breaking her mother’s heart wide open. What kind of passion had been worth dying for. What kind of legacy she carried in her bones, no matter how much her mother tried to pretend otherwise.

She wiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand, frustrated with herself for breaking the rule. The unspoken one. 

We do not talk about Ayrton.

But the not talking had started to feel like erasure. Like a theft. And she was tired of pretending that it hadn’t shaped her entire life — who she loved, what she feared, and what she ran from.

Celeste lowered herself to sit on the deck, hugging her knees to her chest.

“I think I hate you for leaving her,” she whispered into the breeze. “For leaving me.”

It wasn’t fair. She knew that. But neither was growing up under the weight of a name she wasn’t allowed to say out loud.

The waves rolled on, steady and uncaring.

“I think I want to know who you were,” she admitted, the confession too quiet for anyone but the sea to hear. “And I think that scares me more than anything.”

Behind her, the boat was still. No music, no movement. Just her.

Just her and a name on a stone that had stood in the garden for twenty-five years, untended and unspoken.

—

That night, the sea air still clinging to her skin, Celeste sat in the middle of her apartment, surrounded by carefully unboxed mementoes she’d kept locked away for most of her life. 

His name was etched on every scrap — old magazine clippings her grandmother had saved, faded Polaroids, a glossy yellow helmet replica. The pieces looked foreign, like they belonged to someone else’s story.

But they didn’t. They were hers.

She picked up one of the photographs — Monaco, 1990-something, a victory shot. Her father’s smile was so broad it nearly reached the corners of his eyes. Behind him stood a group of crew members and fans, blurred by motion and age. A ribbon of red and white curbing wound through the background. The same streets she walked every day.

The irony twisted like a knife. She’d spent her entire life in Monaco trying to avoid this world — racing, the paddock, the sound of engines echoing through the cliffs each spring — and yet she’d grown up right in the heart of it. It had been everywhere, humming beneath her feet. Waiting.

And now, she found herself aching for it. For a connection to the man she’d never met. For some deeper understanding of the thing he’d loved enough to die for.

She didn’t know what she was looking for, really. Just... something. Something more than silence and repressed grief.

She reached for her laptop, hesitated, then typed in her father’s name.

The videos loaded quickly. Highlights, tributes, documentaries. She clicked at random, her pulse thudding with a strange mix of guilt and yearning.

Monaco. Imola. Rain races. Overtakes that made the crowd erupt.

She didn’t even realise how many hours had passed until the light outside faded to indigo and the screen cast her face in a pale glow.

And still, she watched. It felt like trespassing into something sacred, and still she watched.

What she didn’t know — couldn’t possibly know — was how close she’d come to seeing Max. He was there, woven into the modern footage autoplaying at the edges of her search. His name a mere click away, a thumbnail in the YouTube sidebar. In one race replay, he even walked past the very helmet her father had once worn, resting in a museum display she didn’t recognise. She didn’t pause. Didn’t look closely enough. Not yet.

(Se fosse uma cobra teria te mordido.)

She was circling it, orbiting the truth without knowing.

She closed the laptop sometime after midnight, the ache in her chest heavier now, but clearer.

She didn’t know what it meant yet. All she knew was that the silence she’d been taught to live in — the silence her mother still clung to like armour — was no longer enough.

—

The flight had felt like hours, even though it had only been a few. Celeste sat still in the private jet, staring out the window at the endless expanse of clouds below. She hadn’t told anyone where she was going. The thought of sharing this with anyone felt impossible.

Her father had never been a man who could be easily shared, and now—standing on the edge of his world, on the edge of everything that had both given him life and stolen it away—she felt small.

As the jet touched down in São Paulo, Celeste couldn’t stop the tremor in her hands. It had always been easier to pretend that her father's legacy wasn’t hers to claim—that it wasn’t wrapped up in the track that had witnessed his rise to greatness. But as the taxi wound through the streets of Brazil, weaving through the cityscape, the weight of what she was doing settled on her shoulders.

Interlagos. A place she had avoided for so long, ever since she could remember, not wanting to even think about the tracks he had raced on as a child, not wanting to bare witness to any trace of him. But now, she was here. She had come to face it.

The taxi slowed as it approached the circuit, and Celeste’s breath caught in her chest. It looked so different, yet so hauntingly familiar. The towering grandstands, the curve of the road, the track that had witnessed so much history—her father's history.

She paid the driver triple her fare, ignored his protests, and stepped out of the car, the hot Brazilian air hitting her face like a caress. The world outside was loud and bustling, but here, at the edge of the track, there was an eerie silence. As if the place itself was holding its breath. 

She walked slowly toward the entrance, the only sound the quiet rhythm of her own footsteps. 

When she reached the gates, she didn’t hesitate. She pushed them open and stepped inside. The track stretched out before her, vast and unyielding, the asphalt smooth beneath her shoes, the curves like a challenge she had yet to face.

Her heart was racing. She didn’t know what she was looking for or what she expected to find. But as she crossed onto the track, something inside her shifted.

Celeste stopped at the start/finish line. Her breath came out in a shudder as she looked down at the ground. She could feel it. Feel the years, the memories, the races that had played out here. Feel the sweat, the blood, and the danger that had infused every inch of this place.

Something broke inside of her.

She fell to her knees, the rough asphalt scraping at her palms as she pressed them against the ground. Her breath was ragged as she bent forward, forehead resting against the track as if it could somehow offer her answers, offering her connection to the father she’d never truly known.

The tears came before she could stop them, hot and fast, streaming down her face, splashing onto the ground beneath her. She let them fall. She didn’t try to hide the sob that wracked her chest. For the first time in years, she allowed herself to truly feel the weight of what this place must have meant to him. 

This track, this ground—it was where he had lived. Where he had fought and driven with everything he had. Every inch of this place was soaked with his ambition, his passion, and his fear.

And now it was hers to carry.

Her fingers dug into the asphalt as she breathed in deeply. The smell of gasoline, of rubber, of burnt-out engines – it was like a punch to the gut. She could almost hear the roar of the crowds in her mind, the sound of the engines screaming as her father fought for every victory, every inch of this track.

She felt insignificant. So tiny in comparison to the weight of it all. 

"I wish I had the chance to know you, Papi,” she whispered through her tears, the words leaving her mouth without thought, as if speaking them would somehow close the gap between them, would somehow bring him closer.

Her hands pressed harder into the track, as if trying to hold onto something solid in the midst of the swirling chaos inside her. Her chest tightened with grief, with anger, with guilt, all the emotions she had buried for years coming to the surface all at once.

Her father had been everything to this place—had given everything for this. And she had turned her back on it. She had run from it—and maybe her fear had been taught, but did that really excuse her ignorance? 

She cried harder, feeling a strange release. 

This was where he had truly been alive. Where his spirit had burned brightest.

She could feel him here. She could feel his presence in the earth beneath her fingers, in the air around her. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice raw, broken. "I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I never tried to understand.”

For a long time, she stayed there. Her hands gripping the track, her face pressed to the ground, her body trembling with the intensity of everything she had just let go of.

Eventually, the tears slowed, and Celeste pulled herself up, wiping her face with the back of her hand. Her chest felt lighter, like something had shifted, like she had let go of a piece of the past that had weighed her down for so long.

She took a deep breath, finally feeling the stillness of the place, the quiet hum of the track underfoot; and let herself grieve. 

—

The warmth of the Brazilian sun hung low on the horizon as Celeste finally turned away from the Interlagos circuit. Her steps were slow, reluctant, like she was walking out of a sacred place she hadn’t realised she’d been searching for her entire life.

Her cheeks were still damp. The wind caught on the salt of dried tears, tugging softly at her skin, like her grief itself was brushing a farewell across her face. The silence around the track was holy. Sacred. Like the hush of a cathedral when the candles have long since burned down, but the scent of incense still lingers.

She carried it with her, that silence, cradled it in her chest like something breakable. And yet… she felt lighter. Not healed, not whole. She doubted she ever would be. But there was something close to clarity humming beneath her ribs, something like stillness. For the first time in her life, her father’s memory didn’t feel like a chain around her neck. It felt like a legacy waiting patiently for her to find her way back.

Her phone was still on airplane mode. She hadn’t wanted distractions. This had been hers and hers alone. 

She climbed into the back seat of the sleek black car waiting just beyond the perimeter gate, not even sparing the driver a glance. She murmured a quiet "obrigada" in Portuguese, barely audible, and settled into the leather seat, one hand resting on her sternum, as if to quiet the storm she’d left behind.

The car moved.

The track slipped away behind her like a phantom.

She took one deep breath — then another — before finally unlocking her phone.

And everything changed.

13 missed calls.5 voicemails.UNKNOWN (1 new message).UNKNOWN (5 missed calls).

Her heart dropped. Her fingers stumbled against the screen as she hit “Call” on the most recent number. The line connected after only one ring.

“Is this Celeste?” A woman’s voice asked — unfamiliar, taut, unsure.

Celeste blinked, her stomach folding in on itself. “Yes,” she said, her voice cautious. “Who is this?”

“Uh—Amelia. That’s my name. I’m Amelia. I… I work with Max.”

Max.

That one syllable pulled the air from her lungs.

“What happened?” Celeste said immediately, her voice flat and sharp, honed by dread. “Tell me what happened.”

The silence on the other end was brief, but it was enough to make her feel like she was falling.

“Um… So, I know you don’t know what he does,” Amelia began, voice shaking, “and I promise, I’ve told him a hundred times to be honest with you, but he’s—he’s stubborn and proud and he thought he was protecting you and—”

“Amelia,” Celeste interrupted, her voice now brittle. “Please.”

A breath. And then:

“He’s at Silverstone. He was just in a really high-speed crash. He hit the barrier. Really hard. They red-flagged the session. He… wasn’t getting out of the car.”

The car around Celeste disappeared. Her body numbed, stiffened. She couldn’t breathe.

Silverstone.High-speed.Barrier.Red-flag.Wasn’t getting out.

“No,” she whispered, her throat tightening, voice raw. “No.”

“They pulled him out,” Amelia said quickly, her voice trembling now. “He was conscious, eventually, but he didn’t know where he was. He’s in the medical centre. They're doing scans. It was… really bad.”

Celeste squeezed her eyes shut.

Her voice shook as she asked, barely able to force the words out: “Max… is a Formula One driver?”

“Yes,” Amelia said softly.

It was a quiet confirmation — factual. Brutal.

And yet it felt like someone had slammed a brick into Celeste’s chest. Her entire body flinched like she’d been struck.

“I’m coming to see him,” Celeste said suddenly, her voice cracking open. “Tell me where he is. Now.”

“Oh, he—he might not want—”

“I don’t care what he wants.” Her voice was sharp now, slicing through the panic like glass. “He doesn’t get to hide this from me, almost die, and not have to face me afterwards.”

There was a pause on the other end. Then Amelia said, “He’s still at the Silverstone circuit. They’re keeping him overnight to monitor a concussion. He’ll probably be at the team hotel after that, but for now… it’s the track.”

Celeste did the math without thinking, her pulse roaring in her ears. “It’ll take me twelve hours to get there. I’ll land at Heathrow. Text me the name of the hotel. I’ll figure the rest out.”

“Okay,” Amelia said. “I’ll send everything.”

Celeste nodded, forgetting for a moment that the caller couldn’t see her. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry,” Amelia added. “He loves you, you know.”

Celeste didn’t answer.

Because if she opened her mouth again, she wasn’t sure if she’d scream, or cry, or say something cruel and unnecessary. She wasn’t sure what would come out — only that it would be too much. Too real.

She ended the call.

The driver flicked a glance at her in the rearview mirror. For the first time since she’d stepped into the car, she spoke clearly, with no hesitation.

“Change of plans. We’re going to the airport. I need a flight to London. Tonight.”

He nodded without question and turned the wheel.

Outside, the sun was melting into the horizon — rich oranges and purples bleeding into indigo as twilight crept over São Paulo.

Inside the car, Celeste sat rigid, the phone trembling faintly in her lap. She opened her camera roll, thumb brushing over the photo of Interlagos she’d taken just hours earlier. A quiet image of the asphalt, blurred slightly by the tears that had been in her eyes when she’d captured it.

The caption she hadn’t posted still sat in her notes app:

Coming home, finally.

Her throat tightened.

And now she was leaving again.

For him.

Always for him.

— 

The Uber pulled up to the hotel just past 9 a.m., its tyres crunching quietly on the gravel drive. Celeste barely registered the small cluster of media lingering. A private security guard recognised her from a photo Amelia had clearly passed along and ushered her inside through a side entrance without question.

Twelve hours.

It felt like a century.

She hadn’t slept. She hadn’t eaten. She’d barely spoken.

The interior of the hotel was muted, luxurious. Soft lights and thick carpeting muffled the world, the air heavy with polished wood and money. It felt wrong. Too serene. Too still.

She crossed the lobby with brisk purpose, clutching her phone like a weapon, Amelia’s final message glowing on the screen.

Room 503. Just knock. He’s awake. I think… he’s waiting.

Celeste didn’t know what she was going to say. Her limbs felt like glass, fragile and too light. Her heart, too loud. She hadn’t let herself feel anything on the plane, and now it was all crashing in at once — fear, fury, longing, betrayal, love.

The lift doors opened and closed. Her feet moved on instinct. Fifth floor. Left corridor. Third door down.

Her knuckles hovered for a second above the dark wood before she finally knocked.

A pause.

Then footsteps. Slow. Hesitant.

The door creaked open.

Max stood there, barefoot, in a hoodie and sweatpants that didn’t hide the stark paleness of his face. His hair was tousled, and there was a red scrape at his temple, fading into yellow bruising along his cheekbone. He looked like he hadn’t slept, either.

And yet, somehow, the second he saw her — he smiled.

It was small. Sad. Disbelieving.

“Celeste.” He exhaled. 

She didn't say anything. She couldn’t.

She looked at him, and the sight of him alive, upright, and breathing was enough to knock the wind out of her lungs. Her bottom lip trembled.

His eyes searched her face, waiting for her to yell or cry or run.

She stepped forward instead.

Not into his arms. Not with tenderness.

She shoved him back into the room.

Max stumbled a step but didn’t resist. He just held the door as she stormed past him, into the hotel suite, into the air that still smelled like him.

“You lied to me,” she said, turning on him.

“I know.”

“You could have died—” Her voice broke. “And I didn’t even know where you were, Max. I didn’t even know who you were.”

He shut the door quietly, turning to face her.

“I was just trying to protect you.”

“Don’t say that.” Her voice was sharp. “Don’t insult me. Don’t pretend that any of this was noble.”

Max closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling hard. “I didn’t want to lose you… Lose what we had.”

“So you lied about who you were?” She cried.

He swallowed, jaw tightening. “I wanted… one part of my life that was just mine.”

Celeste stared at him, chest heaving. “You made me fall in love with a man who doesn’t exist.”

“No,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “No. I’m still him. I’m still your Max, Celeste. I am. I swear.”

She bit her lip, hard. She wanted to scream. She wanted to sob. Instead, she whispered, “You could’ve died.”

“I know.” His voice cracked. “I saw the wall coming, and the only thing I could think about was you.” Celeste’s breath hitched. Max took another step closer. “You came,” he said softly, like it was a miracle.

“I didn’t come for you,” she lied, voice shaking. “I came because I needed to know if you were breathing.”

“And now you know.”

She looked up at him, eyes glassy.

And then, before either of them could speak again, she collapsed into him. Not gently — like gravity had pulled her there. Max caught her in an instant, his arms wrapping around her with a desperation that made her knees buckle.

“I hate you,” she whispered into his chest. “So much.”

“I know.”

“You hurt me.”

“I know.”

She lifted her head, eyes full of tears, and kissed him.

It wasn’t delicate. It wasn’t healing. It was anger and grief and need, teeth and tongues and months of silence breaking all at once.

He led her backwards until the backs of her knees hit the bed. 

— 

The hotel room was quiet. 

Celeste sat against the headboard, her back straight but her body slack with exhaustion. The sheet was tangled loosely around her waist, her legs pulled close, feet resting on the soft duvet. Her hands rested in her lap, one curled loosely around her phone, the other knotted in the hem of her oversized T-shirt.

Max lay beside her, half turned away, arm slung across his stomach, his face bruised and shadowed in the faint pre-dawn light. He wasn’t asleep, but neither of them had spoken in the last twenty minutes.

She felt the weight of the past 24 hours settle like sand in her lungs — the stillness of Interlagos, the ache in her knees from falling to the track, the tremble in her hands when she’d heard Amelia say the words crash and barrier and he didn’t know where he was.

She turned her head slightly, watching the way Max’s chest rose and fell. He looked… tired. Not just physically, although that, too — but soul-tired. 

Celeste broke the silence, her gaze lingering at the bruising along his collarbone, the bandage just peeking from under his shirt. “You almost died.” She felt like a broken record. Stuck on it.

“I didn’t.” He whispered.

“But you could’ve.”

Max turned his head then, eyes meeting hers. “Would that have made it easier to hate me?”

She flinched. “No. Just… more permanent.”

He sat up slowly, wincing as he shifted, one hand braced behind him. “I didn’t want to lie to you,” he said. “But I knew that if I told you the truth, you’d see me like everyone else does — empty.”

“You’re not empty,” Celeste said. Her voice cracked. “You’re just a coward.”

He didn’t deny it.

They sat in the quiet again, the kind that no longer felt suffocating, just thick with everything unsaid.

Finally, Max reached out, his hand finding hers where it rested on the bedspread. He looked down at their joined fingers, not speaking.

Celeste stared at the window. “I think I came here to see if I could still forgive you. Or if I even wanted to.”

“And?”

“I don’t know yet.”

Max nodded like he expected that. Maybe he had.

After a long moment, she turned her head toward him again. “Why didn’t you tell me? Last month, when you came home to me, and then left again?”

His jaw worked. “Because I was afraid. And I wanted someone to love me without the noise. Without the podiums and the press and the fame. Just… me.””

“And you didn’t think I could?”

“I didn’t know.” He admitted.

Celeste looked down at their hands. “You thought I’d be, what, a gold digger? Fame hungry?” She asked, her stomach curling with discomfort. 

Max looked up at her, his eyes glassy. She didn’t move, didn’t lean in — just stared. Then finally, she withdrew her hand from his.

She curled it into her lap, retreating into herself again.

He watched her. “Celeste,” he said softly.

But she shook her head.

“I need to sleep.”

Max didn’t argue. He just lay back down beside her, a few inches of space between them.

When she closed her eyes, a single, traitrous tear rolled down her cheek. 

—

The hotel hallway was quiet in the early morning. Celeste padded softly down the corridor, trench coat zipped up, sunglasses pushed into her hair. The ache behind her eyes hadn't faded with sleep, and finding coffee had become a singular mission.

She hadn’t wanted to wake Max. He needed rest, and she wasn’t sure if she could handle another conversation anyway. Not yet. Her emotions were still too close to the surface, raw and unruly.

She’d just stepped into the elevator alcove when she heard footsteps behind her — purposeful, heavier than hotel staff.

She turned slightly.

A man in his late fifties, lean and wiry, with sharp, assessing eyes and the weathered face of someone who’d seen too much conflict and lived on too little grace. He didn’t smile. “You must be Celeste,” he said. Dutch accent crisp.

Celeste kept her hands in her pockets. “Depends who’s asking.”

He extended a hand. She didn’t take it.

“Jos. Max’s father.”

She raised an eyebrow. Ah.

He dropped his hand after a beat, clearly not used to being dismissed so easily.

“I’d heard there was a girl,” Jos went on, eyeing her up and down, calculating. “Didn’t realise you’d be the type to sneak out the next morning.”

Celeste blinked, unimpressed. “Low blow.”

Jos was shaking his head now, condescension dripping from every word. “I’m sure you know how much pressure he’s under, sweetheart. This sport—what it takes—there is no room for distractions. Especially not ones who…” He gestured to her. “Clearly. Do not understand the importance of this career.” 

Celeste’s smile was slow, bitter. She took a small step forward, her voice like ice. “Wow. Who gave you the right to talk to me like that?” 

Jos’ expression faltered, but his gaze only narrowed.

“You think I’m here because I want something from your son?” She asked. “Fame? Money?” She gave a low, dry laugh. “That’s insulting.”

He blinked, expression unchanging.

“You don’t know who I am. And that’s fine — I’m used to small men assuming they understand big names.” She tilted her head. “But let me be very clear. I’ve lost more to this sport than Max has ever given to it. Next time you want to blame someone for your son’s choices, maybe look at how you raised him instead of pointing fingers at the people trying to pick up the pieces.”

Silence stretched between them, thick and sharp.

The elevator dinged.

Celeste stepped inside and turned to face him just before the doors closed.

“Tell Max I’ll bring him back a coffee.”

Then the elevator shut, leaving Jos standing in stunned silence in the hallway — and Celeste descending, pulse steady, jaw tight, already deciding to text Amelia to ask for advice on the best café in the area. She needed something strong. Something bitter.

Just like her mood.

– 

Max was sitting up in bed when Celeste stepped back into the hotel room, coffee in one hand, painkillers in a crisp white paper bag in the other.

His eyes were still puffy with sleep, one arm braced around his middle like even breathing hurt, and the blankets were tangled around his legs. 

“You alright?” He asked, voice rough.

Celeste didn’t answer right away. She crossed the room in a few brisk steps, set the coffee on the nightstand, then pressed the bag into his lap.

“Take those with breakfast,” she said simply, then pulled open the closet, grabbing his small black duffel bag.

Max watched her, blinking. “What are you doing?”

“We’re going back to Monaco,” she said, her tone too casual to be casual. “The jet’s being prepped. We’ll leave in an hour.”

He stared at her, incredulous. “You— The jet?”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “Yes, Max. My jet. Try to keep up.”

He blinked again, groggy and still a little bruised from everything, physically and otherwise. “Wait—what? You booked a flight?”

“No,” she said flatly. “I own the plane.”

Shared it with her mother, but still. 

Max sat back a little like the wind had been knocked out of him all over again. “You own a plane.”

Celeste zipped up his bag and tossed him a clean hoodie. “We need to stop at the pharmacy first when we land,” she continued, ignoring his stunned expression, “and then we’re going to see the cats.”

He frowned. “Cats?”

“Your cats, yes.” She grabbed her sunglasses from the dresser and slipped them on. 

Max’s brow furrowed, like he was trying to figure out which part to question first. “Celeste—wait, you’re serious? We’re going now?”

“Yes,” she said. Then, after a pause: “And after we check on the cats, I’m taking you to meet my father.”

That made him freeze. “Your… father?” His voice was careful. “Celeste, I thought—”

“He’s dead,” she said, without inflection. “Get your shit together. The car is waiting.”

Max opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. He looked at her like he wanted to ask a hundred questions but couldn’t form a single coherent sentence. So instead, he nodded slowly, pressed a hand to his ribs, and started getting dressed.

Celeste stood by the window, arms crossed, staring out at the cloudy English sky, heart pounding in her chest.

She could still feel Jos’ voice in her ears, condescending and small, and her own words burning on her tongue like fire. There was no going back now. Not from this. Not from any of it.

She was going to take Max on the boat. Have them sail to the cliffs, where the memorial headstone that her mother had installed over two decades ago sat. Let him see the name etched in stone. 

No more lies – she would let him find out who she really was.

And then she would see what he did with the truth.

— 

The hum of the engines was low and steady, a soft vibration beneath their feet, almost masking the silence between them.

Max sat across from Celeste, one leg stretched awkwardly to keep pressure off his ribs. His hoodie hung loose, hands twisted in his lap, knuckles pale. Every time the plane shifted, he flinched, just barely.

Celeste hadn’t spoken since boarding. She’d murmured into her phone, signed something from the steward, and now sat curled by the window, sunglasses still on, one leg tucked beneath her. Distant. Untouchable.

Max cleared his throat. “You’re still mad.”

She didn’t look at him. “Mostly tired.”

He nodded slowly. “Tired from flying halfway across the world for someone who lied to you.”

Her jaw clenched.

He hesitated, then added quietly, “And now you’re on a jet I didn’t know you owned, heading to Monaco to—what, meet your dad? Who’s… not alive?”

“Don’t push me, Max.” Her voice was sharp, but shaky at the edges.

“I’m not trying to. I just—” he exhaled hard. “I don’t know what’s happening anymore.”

Celeste finally turned, lowering her sunglasses. Her eyes were red, rimmed with exhaustion. “How does it feel, Max? To not be the one holding all the cards?”

He winced, both from the words and the pain they stirred in his ribs. He didn’t answer.

She sighed. “You shouldn’t even be sitting upright.”

“I’m fine,” he muttered.

“You’re not,” she said bluntly.

Celeste stood. Slowly. Walked across the cabin and lowered herself into the seat beside him without meeting his eyes. “Let me see,” she said, already unzipping his hoodie.

He sat frozen, letting her move. Her touch was gentle, almost absentminded as she pulled up his shirt. The bruises across his side were deep and angry-looking, his ribs tightly wrapped but still swollen.

“God, Max…” she whispered. Her fingers hovered near the gauze, unsure. “Did they at least give you something strong?”

“Yeah. Morphine. Earlier.”

She clicked her tongue. “Of course.”

Her hand found its way to rest lightly above the bandages—warm, grounding. He didn’t flinch.

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said softly. “Take care of me.”

Celeste looked at him, really looked at him, and something in her gaze faltered. The anger hadn’t vanished, but it had dulled. Beneath it: worry. Fear. Something raw.

“You nearly died,” she said. “Forgive me if I’m not convinced.”

Max smiled faintly, eyes soft. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

She didn’t answer. Just stood and crossed to the galley, her movements slower now, less guarded. When she came back, she handed him a protein bar and a dark green smoothie. “Eat,” she said. “You look like shit.”

He took them with a small smile. “Thanks, liefje.”

Celeste paused mid-step. That word, soft and familiar, landed somewhere deep inside her chest. She didn't react, but she didn’t walk away, either.

Max looked up at her. “I wanted to be just Max. Not Verstappen. Just the guy who woke up next to you. The one who got to hold your hand. Not the driver. It was selfish.”

“How long did you possibly think that could last?” she asked, quieter now.

“Not long,” he said. “But I didn’t want to lose it sooner than I had to.”

For a beat, silence stretched between them.

Celeste stepped closer. She brushed his hair back from his forehead, her fingers lingering. “No more accidents. Never again, Max.”

His smile grew, sleep tugging at his features. “You’re very bossy when I’m injured.”

“I’m always bossy.”

“True,” he mumbled, his eyes already drifting shut. “Still love you, though.”

She froze. Her breath caught, but she didn’t say it back. Not yet.

Instead, she smoothed his hair once more, then stepped away, curling back into her seat at the far side of the jet.

But this time, she didn’t put her sunglasses on. And she didn’t look away.

[muniimyg]

BAD HABIT // JJK

unsure if it's a gift or a curse; jungkook chooses you in the midst of it all

+

in a world where jungkook lives through manipulation, he finds himself on his knees—honest, vulnerable, and desperate to keep his invisible string tied to you

navi | m. list | ask kimi !

pairings: jungkook + oc

au/genre:

fantasy / soulmate au

strangers / friends ??? to lovers

fluff / angst /smut (x)

smau + written

parts: ongoing/30

00 | prologue

01 | chest pain

02 | the glow

03 | dump him

04 | nothing

05 | avoiding

06 | big dipper

07 | rematch

08 | hike

09 | stars in your eyes

10 | childhood friend

11 | hello kitty bandaids

12 | dream of u

13 | mine

14 | bossy

15 | tiger lilies

16 | 17 | 18 | 19 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 end.

© 2025 muniimyg on tumblr

[moncher-ire]

Gojo fanfic recommendations because yeah. (nsfw and sfw

(none of these fics are mine chat.)

nsfw

Silent Serenades - arranged marriage au -Ongoing- wc 137k

- by - @madamechrissy -

Healing Hearts - dr gojo -ongoing- 40k

- by @madamechrissy -

Take Me Home Tonight - law professor gojo Wc: 136k

by - @madamechrissy -

Time after Time - ceo gojo Wc: 103k-

by - @madamechrissy -

Fractured Desires ‘enemies’ to lovers? Wc: 95k

by - @madamechrissy -

fantasize - fwb gojo -one shot-

by - @screampied -

fifteen seconds of fame - pornstar gojo- one shot

by - @screampied -

bad romance - pornstar gojo and bassist geto - one shot -

by - @screampied -

poker face - pop star gojo - one shot

- by - @screampied -

it’s a match! last friday night - best friend gojo - one shot

- by @screampied -

The Heir - clan leader husband gojo - one shot

- by - @tonycries -

Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy - cow boy gojo - one shot

- by - @tonycries -

AITA For F*cking My Sugar Daddy's Son?! - rich boy gojo - one shot -

-by - @tonycries -

You Got me thinking Nonsense - brothers best friend gojo - one shot

- by - @madamechrissy -

NOT SO INVISIBLE STRING

- by @sahkuna -

Do I wanna Know? - yandre gojo - one shot

- by - @madamechrissy -

I'll look After You - one night stand baby daddy gojo - one shot

- by - @madamechrissy -

birds of a feather - olympic figure skater satoru gojo

- by @lokissweater)

(side note. this has to be my all time favorite fic ever)

sfw (these are VERY hard to come across..) (

something sweet - one shot

- by @madaqueue

dating gojo

- by @obsesssedblerd -

husband gojo

- by @coffee-and-geto -

(editing because i forgot to add smaus…)

smaus

first class liar - actor gojo -

by - @todayisawthewhxlewxrld

San Miguel: bottoms up - part one - (the rest are there when u click)

-by - @reignpage -

sorry for the @‘s chat (dont hate me pslpslspsl)

[theemporium]

[smau] where formula one meets hockey, but not in the way fans really expected.

aka a random smau fic to introduce you to the wee world me and @hischierhoney spiral over every race weekend. ignore the dates and times on the tweets, i am too lazy to change them :)

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liked by charles_leclerc, jackhughes and others

yourusername winter break was fun😈ready for the season ahead!

tagged: scuderiaferrari, charles_leclerc

view all 13,860 comments

scuderiaferrari ready to see you on track, red!

yourusername ❤️❤️❤️

user QUEEEEEEN

user omg is this a soft launch???

user fuck a soft launch, she has just confirmed the whole relationship!!

user pls pls pls win austin, i am going to that race!!

user HELLO CHARLES-RED SHIPPERS STAND UP!! HARD LAUNCH POST!!

user don't be weird?? they are just teammates

user HELLO WHY IS JACK LIKING HER POSTS???

user who is the guy?? because he definitely looks like charles

user PLS charles is not that buff

oscarpiastri so you only say no to hiking when i suggest it? rude

yourusername that's because i don't like you :) hope that helps!

user wait who the fuck is jack hughes and why are people on twitter freaking out over it

user omg she went to his game over the winter break, maybe he is the secret boyfriend

swissfonduelover i heard he is not her type

user wtf?? as if you know lol

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liked by charles_leclerc, jackhughes and others

yourusername sunshine, blue skies and a pretty boy to celebrate leading the championship going into the summer break😈

view all 12, 430 comments

nicohischier my red❤️

yourusername my cap❤️

user HOLY SHIT

user now wait a damn minute-

charles_leclerc oh finally!! i couldn't keep the secret anymore

yourusername you literally told half the grid before we had even gone on our second date?

charles_leclerc what's your point?

user wait they are actually kinda cute

user NOOOO MY CHARLES-RED HEART IS CRUSHED!!!

swissfonduelover good.

user she is leading the championship AND she has a pretty boyfriend? unfair

jackhughes why was i not invited??

yourusername last time i checked, you weren't a pretty boy

jackhughes rude :(

user i am fucking REELING over this and i have no one to tell

user both in red teams, both wear thirteen, both have the pressure of the world on their shoulder THE INVISIBLE STRING IS INVISIBLE STRINGING

scuderiaferrari our favourite power couple!

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[nichmeddar]

max verstappen

invisible string. mv1. smau.

max verstappen x model!reader

where max and reader's stories seem intertwined up until they finally get together

face claim: nicola anne peltz

taylor swift series masterlist.

2019- september

parisfashionupdates

liked by user1, user2, user3 and 138,928 others

parisfashionupdates: the turnout to the chanel show here in paris has been star studded, with hot new modelling talent y/n y/ln opening the show dressed in vintage chanel. spectators include f1 driver max verstappen and pop sensation harry styles with more a listers rumoured to arrive

view all 14,579 comments

user1: y/n looked so fucking good i am so glad that she is getting more and more popular

user2: harry's outfit omg

user3: i would have never expected daniel and max to show up but honestly it makes sense

2020- april

y/ninsta posted a story

written: hi darlings i am just here to remind you that i am taking part in a charity stream on twitch tonight, this will be to raise money for those affected by the pandemic, i hope you can all join

maxverstappen posted a story

written: on stream all day today to raise money for a brilliant charity

2021 - may

y/nupdates posted a story

written: y/n spotted at a concert in paris looking so stunning

mv1lover posted a story

written: max seen at a concert in paris clearly getting ready for this years season

y/ninsta posted a story

written: can't believe i can now call monaco home

redbullracing replied to this story: since you live right near the track how would you feel about attending the grand prix as our guest in may this year

y/ninsta: i would love that i'll forward you my pr manager's details and she will sort everything out with you

f1updates

liked by user4, user5, user6 and 21,430 others

f1updates: the gorgeous y/n y/ln has just entered the paddock. y/n moved to monaco this year and told us that attending the grand prix just felt like a right of passage, she met with a red bull official so it is safe to assume that is where she will be spending the race.

view all 901 comments

user4: hear me out y/n would make the perfect wag

user5: y/n and max have been seen in the same place at the same time but have never been seen actually interracting

user6: she looks so good omg

y/ninsta posted a story

written: vroom vroom

2021 - august

y/insta posted a story

written: the perfect view

maxverstappen posted a story

written: relaxing with my favourite person

2021 - december

y/ninsta

liked by maxverstappen, landonorris, danielricciardo and 1,873,219 others

tagged: maxverstappen

y/ninsta: safe to say i am the proudest girlfriend ever

view all 168,112 comments

maxverstappen: couldn't have done it without your support my love

y/ninsta: i adore you

landonorris: i am so glad this is finally out been difficult to keep my mouth shut

y/ninsta: proud of you for being quiet a whole seven months

y/bff: mum and dad

y/ninsta: love you child

user7: max verstappen i am in love with your girlfriend

user8: world champion and a gorgeous girlfriend, max is a very lucky man

2022 - august

y/ninsta posted two stories

story one written: i have become a mother meet jimmy

story two: surprise we actually got two meet sassy

maxverstappen posted a story

written: summer break and i have become a cat dad, me and y/n could not be happier

2023 - august

y/ninsta posted a story

written: surprise !

maxverstappen posted a story

2024 - september

y/ninsta

liked by maxverstappen, vogue, danielricciardo and 2,358,911 others

tagged: maxverstappen

y/ninsta: last month i married my favourite person. a massive thank you to vogue for capturing the best day of my life !

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maxverstappen: so excited for this chapter with you my love

y/ninsta: ready for the wife chapter of my story

danielricciardo: for the record this was the best wedding i have ever been to

y/ninsta: thank you danny

landonorris: max sobbed like a baby guys

y/ninsta: please stop exposing my husband

alexandrasaintmleux: i still can't get over how beautiful your dress was

y/ninsta: it was a dream come true

user9: can't believe vogue photographed a f1 wedding

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

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[sargeteen]

𝒇𝒓𝒆𝒆 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒅 ! ᵐᵛ¹

and this bird you cannot change ּ ֶָ֢.𓍼ོ

𝒎ax verstappen x 𝒆arnhardt!male reader synopsis: it’s not often you find your other half, someone who is just like you. and, it’s even more uncommon for you to be in similar sports and both be a prodigal son.

genre: smau warnings: lowk really bad...using chase elliott as a face claim

requested? yes! author’s note: sorry this took forever to come out i literally had no inspo for it 😭😭…also sorry this is so bad idek

masterlist.

liked by maxverstappen1, ynearnhardt, charles_leclerc, and otherstagged: ynearnhardt

nascar GUESS WHO? IT'S Y/N EARNHARDT: FOUR TIME NASCAR CUP SERIES DRIVERS' CHAMPION!

view all comments

userone there has to be something in the blood of these earnhardt drivers i don't trust them ⤷ usertwo they got the red white and blue running through their veins

userthree tf is max verstappen and charles leclerc lurking in the likes for 😭😭???????/ ⤷ userfour remember when max and y/n did that interview back in 2015 cause they were the youngest people in their sports and nascar and f1 did so much pr on that 😭😭??? ⤷ userthree omfg that was all the way in 2015??? i don't remember that holy that makes sense 😭😭

userfour THATS MY NAPA DRIVER!!!!!!!!

maxverstappen1 congratulations, earnhardt! glad to see you still have it in you 👴🏻 ⤷ ynearnhardt thank you verstappen, but go away??????

userfives USA USA USA USA USA

usersix fucking nepo baby doesnt even deserve it ⤷ userseven yeah tell that to the four championship wins

usereight FOUR IS FUCKING INSANEEEE

usernine there is an invisible string attaching max verstappen and y/n earnhardt ⤷ userten there is a taylor swift reference in everything

usereleven YEAH THATS MY GOAT 🐐

usertwelve why is nobody else freaking out over the max comment

liked by ynearnhardt, maxverstappen1, oscarpiastri, and others tagged: maxverstappen1, redbullracing

f1 MAX VERSTAPPEN IS A FOUR TIME WORLD CHAMPION!

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userthirteen dry ass caption 💀💀 ⤷ userfourteen right 😭😭?? like give him some love he just won his fourth championship 😭😭😭

userfifteen I KNOW MY GOAT

usersixteen should've been hamilton

userseventeen wait...y/n earnhardt also won his 4th drivers championship...i know my goats 🐐

ynearnhardt welcome to the 4 timers club, max! 🏆 🐐 ⤷ maxverstappen1 happy to be a part of it, y/n! 👊 🐐 ⤷ usereighteen max using a goat emoji...

usernineteen my goats are interacting...

usertwenty WHY TF DO Y/N EARNHARDT AND MAX VERSTAPPEN KNOW EACH OTHER 😭😭😭😭???? ⤷ usertwentyone long story short, both were young rookies in 2015 and nascar and f1 wanted to make money off of that so they were forced to be bsf, and they hated each other, but now theyre friends...i guess

usertwentytwo yeah whatever when do y/n earnhardt and max verstappen kiss ????

liked by charles_leclerc, ynearnhardt, redbullracing, and otherstagged: redbullracing, ynearnhardt

maxverstappen1 M4X. NEVER QUIT. thanks for all the love and support, here's to 4 and many more.

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usertwentythree "proud of you :')" oh ill see myself out

usertwentyfour EARNSTAPPENS WE WON TODAY

usertwentyfive EARNSTAPPEN TEXT LEAK IN THE BIG 2024???

usertwentysix am i missing out why are people freaking out over y/n and max ⤷ usertwentyseven y/n and max have been "friends" since 2015 after being forced by nascar and f1 cause they were both young and there were rumors that they stopped being friends ⤷ usertwentysix so what youre saying is theyre enemies to lovers ⤷ usertwentyseven i mean..

ynearnhardt stop leaking me being proud of you that's ruining my image of being a ruthless nascar driver ⤷ maxverstappen1 you send me edits of yourself being a softie in interviews i don't want to hear it ⤷ ynearnhardt don't try and pretend you don't have a folder of edits of me on your tiktok account ⤷ usertwentyeight HELLOOOO ???????

usertwentynine oh god...Y/N HAS SEEN THE EDITS ABORT ABORT ABORT

userthirty LETS GO MAXXX WOOOO MY GOATTT

userthirtyone EARNSTAPPENNNNNN

userthirtytwo M4X M4X M4X SUPREMACY

liked by userthirtythree, userthirtyfour, userthirtyfive, and otherstagged: ynearnhardt, maxverstappen1

earnstappen y/n and max spottings recently...all in the same places 👀

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userthirtythree nah they gotta be fuckin ⤷ userthirtyfour HELP 😭😭????????

userthiryfive max spotted in no redbull gear?? ...nah thats photoshop

userthirtysix ok so how many of us actually think there is something between theM ⤷ earnstappen 👀👀 ⤷ userthirtyseven atp...anything could happen ⤷ userthirtyeight like me lowkey ⤷ userthirtynine they would be a power couple ⤷ userfourty they need to come out first

userfourtyone imagine they fted after they texted each other in the text chain max shared in his insta post after his 4th wdc win

userfourtytwo i needed them together yesterday

userfourtythree hoping for a hard launch

liked by charles_leclerc, maxverstappen1, nascar, and otherstagged: maxverstappen1

ynearnhardt little monaco never hurt nobody

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userfourtyfour damn max is getting air

userfourtyfive EARNSTAPPEN INTHE BIG 2024 WINTER

userfourtysix god bless for earnstappen

charles_leclerc never letting you stay in my apartment ever again ⤷ ynearnhardt whaaaaat whyyyyy 😞😞😞 ⤷ maxverstappen1 it's ok y/n, you can stay at mine ⤷ userfourtyseven oh?????

maxverstappen1 you almost killed me with that fishing hook though ⤷ ynearnhardt that's your fault for standing in the way ⤷ maxverstappen1 i was on the opposite side of the boat ???

userfourtyeight just hard launch already

userfourtynine imagine how tired we are

userfifty my favorite 4 time driver's champion winners just need to realize theyre the same person and soulmates and kiss and makeout

liked by maxverstappen1, nascar, danielricciardo, and otherstagged: maxverstappen1

ynearnhardt what's a hard launch?

view all comments

maxverstappen1 i think you just did one ⤷ ynearnhardt ahh well, i think i did

a/n: i have a love hate relationship with this fic

tags: @milessunflowers @lokisen @kevinlolwife @op-81-lvr-reblogs @kazanskied @481rosier @raizelchrysanderoctavius @mountainshuman @youraveragebritishamerican

[jamminvroomvroom]

our secret moments.

ln x fem!reader // childhood friend to lovers

in which you’re friends. best friends. but then you buy a dress for him to take off.

this one is for you guys. thank you for inspiring this, my beloved dress anons. i hope you guys love this as much as i do, and that i got it right for you! obsessed with the concepts and brain rot that went into this aaaaaaa lemme know what you think i beg <3 also sorry if the formatting gets weird, trying out smau elements again :D

songs to set the mood: DRESS by taylor swift

warnings: 18+!! minors dni! smut, oblivious friends to lovers, fluff, minor angst, mutual pining, general sex acts, language, an argument

5.6k words

-

your dress sparkles like a mirrorball as the lights flash along the strip.

vegas week begins with a bang; it’s the night of lando’s 24th birthday. the name of your dad’s company is plastered all over the city, as it usually is wherever there’s a race weekend. a round of golf leads to dinner plans and you get dressed up nice with your girlfriends.

you’re almost ready when lando texts you, your friends giving you a look that you brush off when they see the papaya heart next to his name. you tell him you’ll all be ready soon, that’ll you meet him and the boys in the lobby.

high heels sound against the marble floor of the hotel. you walk confidently, tall, scanning for the group of men you’ll be spending the evening with. you spot max fewtrell first, your dear friend here for the occasion, and then ash, who has his back to you. it’s because he’s talking to lando, your best friend, the man that made you fly in to sin city a week earlier than you would have liked.

he’s looking at you before you even see him, watching you walk towards him over ash’s shoulder. he’s checked out from the conversation the second he spots you, glittering under the chandeliers. he can’t breathe, because you’re wearing a dress that renders him somewhere between life and death.

but you’re getting closer, and max, who can see the look on lando’s awestruck face, nudges him so hard in the ribs. he forces himself to inhale, smile, keep breathing.

“good evening, mr norris.” you grin, squeezing his shoulder. “we starting with slots or drinks?”

both is the agreed upon answer, and you let loose in the casino. you watch him roll the dice at one of the game tables, and suddenly, you’re twelve years old again, playing board games on the floor of a hotel room, while your dads talk at the bar downstairs.

your father is, perhaps, the worlds biggest motorsport fan. he’d been sponsoring different series’ since you were little, and he hadn’t stopped expanding as you’d gotten older. that’s how you’d met lando, aged ten years old with braids in your hair, covered in mud, somewhere in the english countryside. you’d been going to kart races since you could walk, and you were sure from the first time you spoke to the small british boy that you’d be destined to meet him. he’d left a mark on you that day, something golden; he radiated sunshine.

your friendship flowed like wine over the years, nice and easy. time on the road with your father meant that lando was the friend you saw the most, and it stayed that way throughout your teenage years. lando’s step up into formula 1 was paired very well with your dad’s investment into mclaren, and five years later, you rarely missed a race.

lando was so easy to be friends with that it was only natural that he was just as easy to love. platonically. you loved him platonically. it was easy to have late night dinner’s with him in his hotel room, easy to walk around the cities you visited with him until your legs hurt, easy to fall asleep on his bed after a netflix binge. so when he told you to pack your bags and be in vegas, it was like he’d pulled an invisible string, because of course, that’s where you would be.

your friend is waving her hand in front of your face when you finally snap out of it. you’ve been staring across the room for god knows how long, and now the girls are laughing at you.

okay, so maybe it’s not just platonically, but you’d rather die than admit it.

“still gonna tell us there’s nothing between you?” nancy, one of your closest friends, teases. your other friend, mia, is giggling beside her. they’d both flown out for the race as well, and had spent the last two years helplessly watching you fall harder and faster.

“shut up,” you whine. “he’s my-“

“best friend.” they both cut you off in unison, mockingly. nancy rolls her eyes.

“he is!” you protest, waving them off.

you leave them in the dust to join the lads at the table. lando’s arm is draped over your shoulder the second you arrive.

“lost your millions yet?” you whisper into his ear. he tuts in response, knowing grin on his face.

“you have no faith in me, honey.” he bumped your hip with his as he spoke.

the game continues, and somehow, much to your surpise, lando gets richer. the walk from the casino to the club is short, and soon enough, you’re drunk and sweating under strobe lights. rounds and rounds of shots disappear and you sink deeper and deeper into the booth you’d reserved.

you let the music thrum through your body, closing your eyes in contentment. a knee nudges yours, and you open your eyes to see lando sliding into the booth next to you. he hands you a drink, and you mouth him a thank you.

“got your eye on anyone here?” lando’s head is resting in the crook of your neck when he asks. it’s obviously just so that you can hear him.

you pull back from him, scanning his face for a moment, really taking him in. the slope of his nose, curls matted on his forehead, grey blue eyes that you swear flit to your lips for just a second. just a brief second. you smile, soft and tired.

“nope.” you mouth back to him. “you?”

lando returns your smile, mirroring you perfectly. he shakes his head.

it’s around 3:30am when you crave the sweet release of sleep. your feet are aching and your head is throbbing. no questions are asked when lando offers you a piggyback ride.

you ignore the way your friends look at you both when he carries you up to your room.

youruser just posted on instagram

liked by: landonorris, yourfriendnancy, yourfriendmia, maxfewtrell and 378,654 others

youruser: sin city for nozza’s birthday

user: are they together?

otheruser: mother?

landonorris: lost millions.

user2: the photo of the dress next to the photos of lando? she’s tryna tell us something i think.

and 444 other comments

-

you ignore the nausea pooling in the pit of your belly.

apparently, the medical centre isn’t that far away when you sprint there. harsh fluorescent lights greet you when you burst through the door, searching for a mop of curls and a burst of orange. your eyes find adam, lando’s dad, and you rush to his side.

“is he okay?” something about the fear in your eyes makes adam crack a smile. it seems there’s no hiding how you feel from anyone except lando.

“they’re just checking him over now, think they might take him to the hospital, just to be safe.” adam explains. “he was asking for you.” he smiles again.

“so it’s just precautionary?” you ignore the last bit. you ignore the way it makes your stomach twist and your brain fight to keep a smile off of your face.

“you can see him, if you want.” adam gestures towards the nearest examination room.

you’re gone before he can say anything more, bursting into the room without even thinking of knocking.

lando’s pretty much stoned. god knows what they gave him but it seems to be working; he’s propped up on the bed, cracks a sleepy smile when he sees you.

“hey, pretty girl.” he drawls, waving slowly. you pray you’re not blushing.

“scared me out there, you prick.” you joke, but your voice shakes.

“c’mere.” he frowns, so you walk around his bed. he slaps the small spot next to him clumsily, and you perch on the edge of the bed.

lando grabs your hand, pulling you in closer, eyelids drooping as he does it.

“i’m sorry, honey. always wanna race well for you.” lando is pouting. he’s fucking pouting at you.

“hey, hey, it’s fine! as long as you’re okay.”

he nods like a child being told off, but he doesn’t drop your hand. he doesn’t drop it in the helicopter to the hospital, either.

youruser just posted on instagram

liked by: landonorris, ashjbibby, yourfriendnancy and 344,555 others

youruser: alls well that ends well (but i’m in a new hell every time you go to the hospital)

landonorris: whoops?

user1: THE TAYLOR LYRICS HELLO?

user44: do y’all think we can’t see you.

user2: 3RD SLIDE HELLO?

yourfriendnancy: anyway. the dress ate.

otheruser: @ yourfriendnancy WHAT DO YOU KNOW

and 567 other comments

-

“i just don’t get why you keep wearing the fucking shoes if they hurt so much.” lando bumps your shoulder with his, teasing you.

“sometimes you do what you gotta do for the ‘fit.” you huff, trying to keep up with him.

you’re on your way to dinner with lando, marking your first night in dubai. the restaurant isn’t too far, but your shoes are simply not cooperating. you’d left lando to book a table, knowing that a name drop from him would mean good food and not too many people there to watch you both eat it. after vegas, the rumour mill was working overtime, and you’d had a headache for two days as a result.

none of your other friends have arrived in the emirates yet, so it leaves just the two of you to hang out. it’s something you usually love to do, but after the whirlwind of the last few days, it makes your tummy twist.

you can’t stop thinking about the hospital, your hand in his, the way he’d demanded you accompany him despite the presence of his literal father. you absolutely can’t stop thinking about “pretty girl” or the lazy smile on his face when he said it, like it was what he always called you. he usually sticks to honey, not the most platonic thing in the world, but he said it once and it just stuck.

you’re pulled out of your downward spiral by the way he suddenly comes to a stop in the middle of the pavement. you look at him confused, but then he’s making a suggestion that makes you want to lay done in front of an oncoming ferrari.

“want me to carry your shoes? you can put them on right before we go in.” lando shrugs. you must be blushing by the way he fights off a smile.

“lando, i cannot walk down the streets of dubai shoeless.” you scowl. he chuckles.

“says who? give ‘em here. you can wear mine if you want.” lando reasons, and after staring at him likes he’s grown a second head, you cave.

you start to crouch down but he beats you to it. your breath hitches in your throat when his fingers graze your ankle. you watch in shocked silence as he undoes each clasp, letting you step out of the shoes. the pavement is relatively cool under your feet, and it snaps you out of your state. you decline his offer of his own shoes, and he’s started walking again when you stop him.

“lando, why are you doing this?”

“you took good care of me last weekend. least i can do.” he tells you, and you nod once. “c’mon, we’re gonna be late.” he ushers you along and you walk the rest of the way in silence, silver heels swinging in his hand.

youruser just posted on instagram

liked by: landonorris, maxfewtrell, yourfriendmia and 332,211 others

youruser: dinner w bestie

user: lando took this. bet.

user3: her other friends aren’t in abu dhabi yet she has to be with lando

landonorris: how was dinner?

youruser: @ landonorris u tell me.

user4: a date if i ever saw one?

user63: are we sure they’re not just friends?

user4: @ user63 girl. be so fr

and 329 other comments

-

the restaurant is licensed, so you find solace in a glass of white wine. lando sticks to water.

your mains arrive and you natter back and forth, discussing the end of the season and any gossip you may have acquired. you barely stop laughing, head thrown back every time he opens his mouth. it feels easy again, and you find yourself thawing out, previous worries shoved to the back of your mind.

“so what’s next year looking like? last year of your degree.” lando wiggles his eyebrows, wearing a hint of pride on his face.

“might have to stay away from race tracks for a while. it’s gonna be a busy year.” you sigh. his face obviously falls.

“how long is a while? need my cheerleader.” it’s said in jest, but desperation lies in the outskirts of his voice.

“until the summer break.” you frown. you’d gotten far too comfortable studying on the road.

“can’t you continue as you are? i’m gonna mis- your dad will miss you.” lando corrects himself and your fork clatters against your plate.

“can’t get rid of me too easily, norris.” you clean up the awkward mess before it can even become one, returning to the lighter side of the conversation.

“trust me, i’m not trying to.” he flirts. in jest.

you roll your eyes and gulp down wine.

youruser just posted on instagram

liked by: landonorris, abudhabigp, yourfriendmia and 543,288 others

youruser: new heights n pretty lights

user2: i know who took 3/4 of these pics.

landonorris: i want that hat back btw

user6: she is the moment

user: mommy? huh who said that?

and 588 other comments

lando.jpg just posted on instagram

liked by: youruser, oscarpiastri, maxfewtrell and 645,321 others

lando.jpg: from the road

oscarpiastri: violation.

youruser: can u send me these. especially the one of oscar :)

user4: WAIT didn’t she post the second one a while? LANDO TOOK IT?

user81: oscar 😭😭

maxfewtrell: why don’t you take nice pictures of me like this?

user11: the wags are fighting omg

and 799 other comments

-

your back is to his chest and the music is unbearable. it doesn’t stop you from swaying your hips against his.

nothing beats the abu dhabi grand prix’s after party.

lando stays p6 in the championship, but it’s only by one stupid point. celebration is certainly called for, and you bask in the freedom of the season ending.

you don’t even want to think about the way he hugged you when he got out of the damn car.

so you don’t. you drink and you dance and you beg for someone else to try and take you home so that you can avoid him. you’re scared, fucking terrified, and avoiding him seems like the best option.

that’s until he finds you in the sea of people, because of course he does, and you get closer, closer, closer, until there’s no room for god and his hands are on your hips.

it feels too fucking good to stop, you can’t even compute pulling away, so you let yourself go. what’s the point in trying to hide the way you feel when he’s holding you against his crotch? ah, yes. a cornerstone of friendship.

but it’s too hot and it’s too bright and it’s too loud and the anxiety hits. it hits and you can’t stop the way you freeze up against him. you’re sick to death of pretending. you’re sick to death of nights like this one repeating themselves far too often, only to wake up in the morning and act like it means nothing. like the way he holds you and looks at you and touches you means nothing.

no matter how drunk he is, no matter how far gone he is, he knows you too damn well. he’s spinning you around in his arms and pulling you through the hoards of people.

cool air lands on your flushed skin and you realise you’re in the smoking area. lando looks wrecked, but he’s watching you as intently as he can manage.

“you okay, honey? want me to take you home?” he’s rubbing your arm as he speaks and tears well in your eyes. you’re not entirely sure why.

“stay, i don’t wanna ruin your night.” you croak. you need to get out of there immediately.

“no, no, no, you’re my priority, i’ll call us a driver and w-“

“stop it, lando. i can go back to the hotel alone.” he looks bewildered, and you don’t blame him. you sound harsh, way too harsh considering what he’d offered.

“i should take you.” he replies quietly and you feel bad.

great, now you are crying.

“just- i don’t want this to change, i don’t want us to change and if you keep on like this-“

alas, everything changes, then. every unsaid word is fair game and neither of you are holding back. the shots you’ve thrown back fuel an explosion.

“if i keep on like this? what, you think i don’t see the way you look at me?” lando’s words hit like venom and you’re white hot with embarrassment.

fiery despair hits you and you’re bound to regret every word when you’re sober and sane.

“at least i don’t fuck with your head.”*

“you think that doesn’t fuck with my head? the one woman i- fuck, you know what? it doesn’t matter.” he bites his tongue but you most certainly don’t.

“what? what, lando? as if the way i look at you compares to carrying my shoes and putting me to bed and calling me pretty and every other thing that you do to drive me up the fucking wall.” you spit.

your tears burn your cheeks, you’ve always been an angry crier, and they fall faster when he practically deflates and turns away, disappearing into the club.

you make your getaway, your father’s assistant sends you a car.

you cry yourself to sleep in your hotel room, watching the orange sun rise.

-

the flight home is quiet.

your plans to fly home with lando are abandoned, and you board the earliest flight available.

you never fight with him, so you don’t know how to proceed. everything had changed in a matter of words and you ignore the lump in your throat when you land in miserable, rainy london alone.

you’re surprised to see your dad’s blacked out range rover waiting for you when you get through customs. he’d been on the first flight out of the emirates as soon as the race had finished, and you assumed he’d be asleep for at least a day or two. the man never rests during the season, from the minute the lights go out in bahrain, until the flag falls in abu dhabi. then, he biblically crashes, the excitement and adrenaline hibernating until next year. average behaviour for the world’s biggest motorsport fan.

he’s out the car and opening the boot for you before you even reach him, and he’s pulling you into his fatherly embrace when you finally do. you let out a shaky breath, having been in desperate need of a hug.

“hey, kid.” he mutters into your ear. maybe it’s good to be home.

“what are you doing here?” you ask from the passenger seat, once all of your luggage is packed into the car.

your dad sighs, turning to look at you. you groan, thudding your head against the headrest. you know that look, the one that precedes a motivational speech, a bit of tough love, and usually very sound advice that you never ask for.

“lando called me.” he deadpans. they’d grown somewhat annoyingly close over the years.

“fantastic.” you reply, sarcasm as clear as day.

“he was beside himself. told me what happened.” your dad says softly and you squeeze your eyes shut.

“it’s so, so fine. i don’t wanna talk about this.” your voice trembles and you don’t have the energy to cry anymore.

“there’s nothing wrong with telling him how you feel, sweetheart. don’t throw something away because you’re scared.” and, here we go… you think.

“i can’t lose him.” you whisper, furiously wiping away the stray tears that fall, staring out the window.

“you won’t lose him if you tell him. trust me, kid. we all see how that boy adores you. no father ever thinks a guy is good enough for their girl, but lando comes pretty damn close.”

“i don’t even know where to begin.” you rub your temples, battling the tension headache you’d developed sometime the night before.

“well, start thinking. you’ve got a week.” you can see your dad smirking from the corner of your eye.

“what?” you blurt, blindsided. you’d need more than a fucking week.

“end of year gala, kid. pick a dress.”

fuck.

-

youruser just posted on instagram

liked by: maxfewtrell, mclaren, yourfriendmia and 442,689 others

youruser: commotion for the dress?

yourfriendmia: *commotion*

user5: on my knees begging

user1: no lando like? divorce? 😟

mclaren: always good to see you! 🧡

yourfriendnancy: kicking my feet looking at this lord have mercy

and 504 other comments

-

you’re glowing, draped in champagne pink silk.

from the other side of the room, you watch lando, and he watches you. it’s like a game, who’s gonna break first? who’s going to extend the olive branch?

he looks so pretty in his suit that you would cry if there were any tears left in you, if you hadn’t purged them all out of frustration and longing in the week of radio silence.

you’re nursing a glass of champagne, waiting for dinner to start. the room is full of rich people with big ideas, icons of the racing world, both past and present. you make small talk with oscar and his girlfriend, exchange pleasantries with your father’s many friends, and beg that lando makes the first move.

the clinking against a glass indicates that dinner is ready to be served, and you scan the tables for your place card. apparently, the event coordinator has a vendetta against you, because scrawled in deep orange cursive on the place card next to yours is mr lando norris. you scan the room for the nearest exit. your grand scheme to flee in a floor length gown and too high heels is interrupted by the sound of your chair scraping out next to you.

you feel a ghost of breath against your bare shoulder. curls tickle your skin and then, a head rests in the crook of your neck.

he says your name, and the world stops for a second.

“i’m sorry.” lando whispers in your ear, and your heart falls to your stomach.

you whip around, holding him tight as you wrap your arms around him. the tension plaguing your body since abu dhabi dissipates in seconds.

“don’t apologise. just… i missed you.” you sigh.

“you look… fuck. you’re gorgeous.” he breathes in your ear. one hand skims low over your waist. something inside of you explodes.

you don’t even try to fight the blush that tinges your cheeks.

someone important is trying to make a toast, so you take your seats. you’re not listening to a word being said, though. you just smile at lando, and lando smiles back.

you’re gonna tell him, you decide. he has to know, although you suspect he already does; you can’t imagine another day without the privilege of him looking at you the way he is right now.

dinner is a breeze. you eat, drink, laugh at the stories exchanged. you remember why you love this world you were raised in, and find yourself grinning mindlessly at your father as he rattles off yet another wild tale from your travels. you’re lucky, you know you are, and it’s reaffirmed when the man sat beside you - who you think you love a bit more than platonically - drapes his arm over the back of your chair.

plates are cleared away and a band starts their set on the makeshift stage. the mtc is lit so beautifully, fairy lights twinkle above you casting dainty light over the makeshift dance floor.

“dance with me.” lando requests. he hates to dance at these functions, so you know the request comes from the heart.

“lead the way.”

he takes your hand and you make your way onto the floor, which is slowly filling up with other couples. his hold is firm, yet gentle, and you lean into him as he keeps you close. eventually, your ear is to his chest, and you can hear his heart hammering away. you melt further into him as the song plays out, and you wish it would play forever.

“we gonna talk about it?” lando murmurs, just loud enough over the music.

“we are.” you mumble against the lapel of his jacket.

“come home with me.”

you nod, inhaling the scent of his cologne; god, how you missed every little part of him.

you keep dancing and dancing, until the champagne runs out and the band starts to pack up.

-

the door slams softly behind you.

lando takes your coat, and you drop your bag on his coffee table. when you turn around to find him, he’s stood in the doorway watching you. there is so much to say, but you can barely form a thought.

“i can’t take this any longer.” lando tells you.

your breath hitches in your throat.

“neither can i.” you whisper.

“we can be more.”

“what do you want us to be?” your chest is tight and you’re looking at him so fucking intensely, desire as clear as day in your eyes.

“you know what i want. and i know you want it too.” he walks towards you slowly as he speaks, footsteps punctuating each word.

“i need to hear you say it.” you breathe. you’re shaking; you’re not sure if it’s the anticipation or the way you’re holding yourself back.

“all i want, all i ever wanted, is you.” he’s right in front of you and his hands are on your waist. you’re tingling everywhere.

lando’s nose bumps yours. you’re scanning his face, every line, freckle, slope that maps him out. he can’t help but look at your lips, darkened eyes flitting over your face. all you can hear is shaky breaths, and perhaps your heartbeat ringing in your ears.

“can i…?” lando mutters.

you close the gap some more, lips brushing his.

“of course you can.”

he kisses you like he’ll die if he doesn’t. his hands cup your cheeks and yours find his neck, gently pressing your fingertips into his skin. lando’s frantic, passionate, oh so careful as he deepens the kiss, pulling you somehow closer. you hum in surprise, and you feel him smirking. he’s moving hungrily, and you’re starving, impatient when your hands find his curls. the groan he emits at the sensation makes you ache for him all over.

you’re both panting when you pull away, the urgency to breathe the only thing stopping you. the relief you feel is astronomical, your lips lock perfectly and he feels wondrous under your explorative hands. he smiles wide and you grip his collar, pressing your forehead against his.

“i was gonna tell you, and then you turned up looking like this… fuck.” lando groans, and you can’t help but lean up into him once more.

the kiss is slower this time, languid, and he licks slowly into your mouth. his pupils are blown when you break apart and his eyes flutter open. your thighs clench under your dress.

“so, you like the dress?” you giggle incredulously, buzzing from the interaction. lando looks at you like you’re stupid.

“you look…” he runs his eyes over you, pausing mid sentence tentatively.

“say it.”

“fucking incredible.”

“thanks. bought it with you in mind.” you tease, smirking coyly.

his jaw goes slack; you can see him mentally undressing you, and then he’s kissing you all over again.

his bedroom isn’t far, but he insists on carrying you there, sweeping you up into his arms. he peppers kisses over your neck, kicking the door open with his dress shoe.

lando places you on your feet at the foot of his bed, smoothing his hands over the curve of your waist, the silk of your dress. he tucks your hair behind your ears, drawing you close once more as he does, cupping your face in large, calloused hands.

“what do you want tonight?” lando asks, searching your face for any sign of hesitancy.

“need you. all of you.” you keen into his touch, and his breath hitches in his throat.

“we’ll go slow.” he murmurs.

“no.” you shake your head, and his hands drop from your face. “don’t want to hold back anymore.” he finds your ass, grazing his fingers upwards until he finds the fastening of your dress. you maintain eye contact while he drags the zip down, shivering as your hear the faint buzz of the metal.

lando stops, just for a second in an attempt to compose himself.

“take it off. bought it so that you could take it off.” your brutal honesty breathes some urgency into him.

he keeps his eyes on yours as the silk falls off your body, pooling at your feet. the cool air brushes your skin - covered only by lacy panties and stilettos - but his touch warms you when he grabs your waist. lando walks you backwards until the backs of your knees hit the foot of the bed. he places you on the bed, on top of you like a shot, kissing you into the mattress.

he clambers off of you, sliding down your body until he reaches your heels. kisses trail up your legs while he takes them off, the thud of them hitting the floor making you jump. anticipation pools in your barely there underwear; he can see you, all of you, and he cannot bring himself to look away.

“careful with those, they were expensive.” you joke, but your voice sounds wrecked already. you can’t even imagine how you’ll sound when he’s done.

“i have different priorities right now.” he flashes a grin and you lose him between your legs.

your underwear stay on when he dives into your pussy, teeth scraping over your covered folds. he can definitely taste you already, stuttering out a moan as he casts his tongue over you. you sink deep into the sheets, bucking your hips into his face, but his hold on you is firm and you have to relent. he lets go of you for a moment, just to pull your panties down, and as soon as they’re gone, he’s delving deep into you.

the sounds he’s making are obscene, his entire face buried away. lando flicks his tongue over your clit, beginning an extended assault on your nerve endings, sucking hard and fast until you whimper his name. a knot forms in your core.

lando takes his mouth off of you, lips slick and glistening. he swipes his tongue over them, sitting back on his haunches. he begins rolling his sleeves up, and you manage to push yourself up so that you’re resting on your elbows. you reach out to toy with the buttons of his dress shirt, leaving his torso exposed to you. you rake your nails over his abs, transfixed on the way he tenses, shudders under your touch. once his sleeves are out of his way, he pushes you back. your hair fans out around you as he resumes his position between your legs.

one finger ghosts over your clit, poking and tracing the bud. you’re reeling, writhing at the feeling of everything and almost nothing at all. he drags the digit down until he finds your entrance, abandoning the teasing and slipping it inside of you. he twists his wrist, adding a second finger, grinding them deep. he’s slow with it, watches the way your face twists in euphoria, finding a deep sense of pride in the way he makes you shake.

“you have no fucking idea how long i’ve wanted to do this.” his words have you clamping down on him, fucking yourself onto his hand.

“the feeling’s mutual.” you gasp.

lando cocks an eyebrow. he scales your body until he’s hovering over you again, fingers still working in and out of you. the angle change is delightful, your back arching and your nipples harden as they skim his bare chest.

“is it, honey? was it mutual all those nights i pictured you next to me, right on this bed? all those nights i watched you dance in your short skirts? all those nights i carried you to bed and wished i could stay?” he whispers right into your ear. his fingers speed up.

“fuck, lando. yes.” you cry, mouth hanging slack.

“tell me. tell me how mutual it was and i’ll let you come, pretty girl.” he teases; goosebumps litter your skin. there he goes again with pretty girl. this fucking man.

“always wanted more… was too scared to ask for it.”

“oh?” he coos, mockingly.

“couldn’t lose you if you didn’t want me.” you pant. a weight lifts off your chest as you let the words slip, his efforts sending you hurtling towards an orgasm.

“not going anywhere.” he kisses the base of your throat. “ever.” he punctuates, thumb sliding over your clit. “let go, love.”

the wave of pleasure crashes on your shores and it doesn’t stop, rippling through your belly and down into your toes. lando’s name falls from your lips like a sin, over and over until you can’t even hear yourself anymore.

lando’s smiling when you come down, small and knowing. he pecks your lips, once, twice, humming into the kiss when your hands find a home under his shirt. it’s unbuttoned already, so it slides over his bronzed shoulders easily. you hear it thud softly when it hits the floor.

“what?” you catch him looking at you, giddy.

“i can’t believe we’re doing this.” he grins. his words overwhelm you.

“i know.” you beam up at him bashfully.

he undresses himself and then the wait is over, and god knows it was a long one. he finds home between your thighs, runs his cock through your folds.

“you sure?”

“don’t make me wait any longer.” you insist.

it takes you a moment to adjust; he strokes your walls nice and deep and you feel everything he has to offer you. it’s surreal, really, stretching around him like this. you’d only ever daydreamed of the possibility, and now that it’s happening you can’t quite believe it. he moans low, forehead resting on yours. you watch his eyes roll back when he bottoms out.

your lip is quivering; it’s too intense, he’s too good. he takes it slow, just like he’d insisted, but he grinds deep, long strokes making you dizzy. you leave imprints of crescents in his shoulder blades, marking his pristine skin.

you can’t take much more of this, his hips hitting yours at such a delectable pace. he drags in and out, building a blissful rhythm and you’re whimpering into his neck. your teeth dig into the muscled plane of skin, minimal pressure applied, and his thrusts turn erratic, curses tumbling freely from his pink parted lips. it makes you squirm, spilling all over him, white hot and wet.

lando collapses into your damp body, the room is humid. you drag your nails through his hair, pushing the sweat slicked curls off of his forehead, and then your hand thuds lazily against the pillow.

“i’m done pretending.” he mumbles. “i’m yours.”

the last few years of your life flash before your eyes. you think back to his buzz cut and every time you’d failed to rebound. you think of bleached hair and lies about love and how he always saw the best in you. you think of nothing but him, you, together. he’s carved into you now, you think he always has been.

you fall asleep happy. you’ll wake up by his side and then you’ll do it the morning after, and the one after that too.

-

youruser just posted on instagram

liked by landonorris, mclaren, francisca.gomez, lilymhe and 735,641 others

youruser: our secret moments

landonorris: “only bought this dress so you could take it off” 🕺🏻✨💘

youruser: @ landonorris omg shut up (omw over)

user1: FINALLY

user4: bisexual panic is a real thing.

otheruser: i used to pray for times like these

maxfewtrell: took you long enough.

yourfriendmia: mum n dad

user63: mclaren ships it and so do i

and 1,442 other comments

-

taglist

@boysthatgovroomvroom @thegirlinthefandoms @welld0nebaku @mcmuppet @japanesekel @vinvantae @ggaslyp1 @dr3lover @smiithys  @rachstash @infinitebells @multilovebot @fizzpopsnap101 @gaily19 @icecoldtires @mysticalnightenthusiast @thatchickwiththecamera @oyesmendes @disneydaydreameralways @canyouseethesainz @ferrarifwendvale @fcbformulaeri @tony-stank3 @maih23 @nokiaholland @soleilgrec @carolineworld @anthonykatebridgerton @allywthsr @iamasimpingh0e @ophcelia @lovelynikol16 @coffeehurricanes @jennx03 @blueflorals @lqvesoph @sidcrosbyspuck @better-dead-than-smeg @buendiabebeta @pjofics @kovalcin @wintergilmore3 @for-writing-shit @youdontknowmeshh @im-an-overthinker @jule239

maintenance: i’ve removed any tags that weren’t working! lemme know if you wanna be added or removed!

[luviestarz]

choi soobin fic recs!

🍈 ; CHOI SOOBIN 🐰 pepero n weed! - @getoogles

🍈 first love — series masterlist - @moonhoures

🍈 soobin with his chain dangling in your face ! - @duhnova (dom! soobin x fem! reader)

🍈 oblivious; csb - @rosewould

🍈 Happy Accidents SMAU - @sunghun (when you embarrass yourself in front of not only everyone in the candy aisle at your local convenience store, but also the cutest boy you’ve ever seen, you can only hope that you’ll never see him again. but fate, it would seem, has other plans…)

🍈 DRIP. | C.SB - @jeontaeil-archived

🍈 attention // c.sb - @fairybinie

🍈 that’s the spirit! — csb - @agustdiv1ne (a couple weeks before halloween, you find the quiet boy from your high school staring up into your bedroom. you’re a little creeped out, and miles more scared, but then he shows you something that changes how you see, well, everything.)

🍈 wrapped in gold ㅡ c.sb - @heartchoi (m)

🍈 corruption ⋆ ࣪. choi soobin. - @hyunimylove

🍈 hurting you ― choi soobin - @jungwnies (he wasn't JUST your best friend, but he was also your shoulder to cry on. after being left crying on the streets after your boyfriend cheated on you what's better than being in the comfort of your bestfriend; choi soobin.)

🍈 stranger danger ₊˚´￫⊹ c.sb - @delcakoo (after a night out drinking with friends, you suspect a creep is following you home and try to fight him off (spoiler: it’s your boyfriend, soobin.)

🍈 red string of fate - @cathyun (you live in a world where soulmates existed. everyone is connected by an invisible string, it decides if that person is the one for you or not. the only moment you can see the string is when you've realized your feelings for the right person, your soulmate.)

🍈 ૮꒰ ˶• ༝ •˶꒱ა ♡ [4:04 pm] - @itgetsquiet

🍈 LESSON LEARNED - @calumcxke (soobin was in a clingy mood, which usually meant a lot of kisses. but with neither of you being able to swim, it went south pretty quickly.)

🍈 THIS IS WHY YOU SHOULD NEVER DRINK BEYOND YOUR LIMITS (OR MAYBE YOU SHOULD?) - @hannie-dul-set (lovestruck! soobin being a little dummy.)

🍈 friendly desires | choi soobin - @txt-trash (soobin is just a friend, he’s someone you talk to on occasion who you’ve struck a deal with one drunken night. if he helps you get with beomgyu, you’ll help him get with a girl he thinks he likes. what he didn’t expect was to fall for you instead when your attention drifted away from him.)

🍈 fangs - c.sb - @beomie3 (the proper way of doing your boyfriend's vampire makeup for a costume party is straddling him, of course <3 + the hickeys you left on his neck are only part of the costume, right?)

[invisiblestringmm]

chapter three - social media bonus

baby lilian maisie

jazbenham

Liked by yourusername, willowsinsta, masonmount and others.

jazbenham My girlies. 🫶🏼

View all comments

masonmount It’s the matching outfits for me. 😅 tell Summer I said hi! 💙

yourusername I can’t with the cuteness aaaaa!!! 🤍

-

yourusername posted a story

[seokmn]

HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEARTS

yn and chan date since their freshman year and are truly high school sweethearts, but will chan’s dream of becoming an idol get between their relationship?

warnings: cursing words, kms/kys jokes, sexual jokes (not explicit)

status: complete

taglist: closed

lua’s note: waaah here am i doing another smau! this one is way shorter than my first one (invisible string, my beloved one 🥲), but i hope yall shower high school sweethearts with love (if youre liking it, ofc lol)! since its a high school smau and yn and chan are seniors, the rest of svt members wont be mentioned in this project (just one of them). also, english is not my first language.. just so you know

yn’s friend group — chan’s friend group

chapter 01.

chapter 02.

chapter 03.

chapter 04.

chapter 05.

chapter 06.

chapter 07.

chapter 08.

chapter 09.

chapter 10.

chapter 11.

chapter 12.

chapter 13.

chapter 14.

chapter 15.

chapter 16.

chapter 17.

chapter 18.

chapter 19.

chapter 20.

bonus chapter.

[luvkuvi]

34 – invisible string !

What's so good about him ?!

Scaramouche x reader smau series

synopsis — Your ex boyfriend kuni is in a band called 5wirl and they're pretty well known considering him and his bandmates are still in college but you still hated his guts on how he ended things with you back then in highschool the day before graduation. So whats the best course of action in this situation? make a hate account of him of course. 

prev || masterlist || next

In the dimly lit bar, the air hung heavy with the mingling scents of alcohol and cigarette smoke. The low murmur of conversations ebbed and flowed like a distant tide, punctuated by the clinking of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. 

Amidst the crowd, a lone figure slumped on a barstool, his shoulders hunched and his gaze vacant. Scaramouche, drinking away his problems with his tousled hair and bloodshot eyes, nursed his whiskey with a grim determination. Each sip burned like fire as it traveled down his throat, yet he welcomed the sensation, craving its numbing embrace. 

"Stupid stupid stupid..." He slammed his shot glass, scaramouche was never a heavy drinker even though he was surprised at how much alcohol he had consumed. He began to replay memories in his mind mostly memories with y/n, he didn't know if it was the alcohol making him think these but he felt himself losing it in this self-pity party he made for himself 

As the night wore on, Scara's movements became increasingly unsteady, his speech slurred and disjointed. He waved off concerned looks from the bartender and fellow patrons with his signature scowl, insisting that he was fine, that he could handle his liquor. But the truth was evident in the glassy emptiness of his eyes, betraying a soul drowning in sorrow and regret. 

With each drink, Scaramouche sought solace in the swirling depths of alcohol, hoping to drown out the memories that haunted him, if only for a fleeting moment. "This isn't working" he muttered to himself standing up to use the bathroom before driving around to clear his thoughts, he wasn't sure himself. 

As Scaramouche made his way through the crowded bar, his mind consumed by the urgent need to find the bathroom and leave, he suddenly collided with someone, nearly spilling the drink the other person had in the process. Looking up, he froze in disbelief as he found himself face to face with the reason why he was there in the first place 

Y/N's eyes widened in surprise before a cold mask of indifference settled over their features. "Scaramouche," they said, their voice tinged with a hint of annoyance. 

"Y/n..," he replied, his voice catching in his throat. Memories of their tumultuous relationship flooded his mind, and he struggled to find the right words to say. 

Notes: what ef i leave w this cliffhanger(this is the first time they've met in 3 ish years)

Taglist ! (Open): @sakiimeo @sagegreenthinks @evsolostheuniverse @mizokowashere @mechanicalbeat1  @bananasquash @wolfe02 @msameikanevaeh @yukiipc @magica-ren @r0ttenhearts @vvyeislazzy @yuumaofc   @darthvada @the-ghost-0f-t0m0 @yoyo-yui @thenightsflower   @lazy-sanns @sukunasrealgf @danhenglovebot @sketcheeee  @featuredtofu @mine-lu @karma-gisa @amyena @onmywaytoteyvat @fujimoribaby @eliqusgenma   @buubbbbly   @reekapeeka @elernity @kunikissr @miko1ly @feverish-dove @pomeiu @kascar-chronicle @otomegame-oneshots @kiokiee @swivy123

[patscorner]

PAIGE SERIES RECS

=======================

these are some of my favorite paige series, some by my moots, some by amazing people that I haven't had the opportunity to talk to. I'll update as I find more, and feel free to send me some in my inbox.

[pride and prejudice]

[So high school]

[Right where you left me]

[anyone else]

[moth to a flame] (incomplete)

^ @pb524830

[Seven]

[I know it won't work]

^ @iminlovewithpaigebueckers

[You]-pazzi

^ @diamond-champagne

[U my Everything]

[First. Love.]

^ @delusional-day-dreamer

[Tru Fru]

[Talent]

^ @brenwritesss

[My brothers best friend] (incomplete)

[love beyond the likes] (incomplete)

[Drew's babysitter]

^ @sommerbueckers

[Shattered promises] (incomplete)

^ @mopopshop

[Teach me]

^ @sweetbans29

[Paper Rings]

^ @azzibuckets

[The Shock Factor]

[The Last time]

^ @asapeveryday

[ill be your temporary fix]

[Petnames and Airplanes]

[I can do it with a broken heart]

[she's such a good girl]

^ @bbydoll18xx

[In between the shades of Blue]-pazzi

[Golden Hour] (incomplete) -pazzi

^ @imaginespazzi

[yes I am changing]

^ @1for5

[close]-pazzi

^ @sellasstories

[she loves me, she loves me not] (incomplete?)

^ @girlokwhatever

[from the start]

^ @calicohearts

[sneaky link]

^ @arlertwhore

[invisible string] (smau)

^ @d3arapril

[pregnant reader]

^ @mascdestr0yer

[Hit me baby, one more time]

[Say My Name]

[You, Again]

^ @p0rtaled

[it was always you]

[Lines We Drew

^ @rosemariiaa

[what's my name?] (incomplete)

[two can play that game (both ain't shit)](incomplete)

^ @ohbueckers

[Take me to church] (incomplete)

^ @lupinqs

[power trip]

^ @sierrale8ne

=======================

taglist: @wintersstan @bueckerslover @lilia22hicks @fake-intelligences @girlokwhatever @pbloverr @breeloveschris-deactivated20240 @cosmopretty @hellokittyfeenie @averagelobotomyenjoyer @elliewilliamsthang @chelisbae @angelscovee @st4rrzynight

[dolene]

TYING YOU TO ME!

summary: nobody knows where the invisible strings could take you to. no one could ever see the threads, but the clues were surely there. you just don't realize it.

four times charles said his happy birthday, one time y/n said it back.

anonymous requested: Hi, sooo since it's my birthday in a couple of days I wanted to request a smau with Charles Leclerc's birthday post for his gf through the years like a childhood friend to lovers kinda thing and the internet is just being obsessed with them.

pairing: charles leclerc x childhood friend!reader

author's note: this is such a sweet request from you nonny! i wish you a happiest and sweetest birthday whenever it is<3

FEBRUARY, 2019

charles_leclerc

liked by arthur_leclerc, and 467,213 others

charles_leclerc It's been a long time since you're becoming my best friend, Y/n. But unfortunately your mama doesn't trust me with your childhood pictures, so she gave me this.

But I wish you the happiest birthday, Mon loulou😉🎂

view all 274 comments

yourusername Since when did you becoming poetic like this?

yourusername But OMG thank you, Cha! I LOVE YOUUUUU

username MON LOULOU DAAAAANGGG

username i need to scream to my pillow she's so adorableeeee

arthur_leclerc Believe it or not, I have more of her embarrassing photos

  ⤷ charles_leclerc Send it to my phone now

  ⤷ yourusername You're dead

username i can't believe today is her birthday. happy birthday, y/n

username AWW TOINY Y/NNNNN

landonorris she looks so little (same as today)

oscarpiastri I've never knew this was Y/n until Lily told me it was her. Happy birthday, Y/n. I hope you can be in McLaren next time.

  ⤷ scuderiaferrari Not until we do it faster.

  ⤷ mclaren I love to see you try

username she's so adorable 😍

username I wish my best friend does this

FEBRUARY, 2020

charles_leclerc

liked by carlossainz55, and 594,355 others

charles_leclerc Wishing the happiest of birthdays to the coolest person i know my entire life🎂😄 ＠yourusername

view all 824 comments

carlossainz55 I bet that she's cooler than you

  ⤷ charles_leclerc NOBODY is better than the original.

username Shes really cool, now I know why is she called the coolest person he know

  ⤷ username she got that tiktok style

luisinhaoliveira99 Feliz aniversário!!! 😙😙

mickschumacher Thanks for cropping me off the picture 😔👍🏻

  ⤷ yourusername Sorryyyyy

username HAPPYYYY BIRTHDAAAAY

username LITERALLY OBSESSED W THEM

username racer bestie + influencer bestie

username imagine being wished every year like this by charles

charles_leclerc added a photo to their story! 3h

caption: Selfie with the birthday girl

FEBRUARY 2021

charles_leclerc

liked by landonorris, and 639,427 others

charles_leclerc She's a menace. Happy birthday baguette eater.

👤: ＠yourusername, ＠joris__trouche

view all 868 comments

landonorris ooohhhh myyyy

username is this the undiscovered dirty self of THE charles leclerc??

username BAGUETTE EATER???????

username idk who's the menace here

yourusername STOPPP😭😭😭

username I can't believe that he is this dirty sometimes

username and lando is the fastest on liking this one yet is making me cry

yourusername YOU PROMISE WOULDN'T POST THIS

  ⤷ charles_leclerc Sorry, can't help it, Arthur said i need to post this

  ⤷ arthur_leclerc THE BETRAYAL

FEBRUARY, 2022

charles_leclerc

liked by lewishamilton, and 882,490 others

charles_leclerc Still be the coolest and the nicest person I've ever had, and now she is my girlfriend. Happy birthday, loulou. ti amerò per sempre.

👤: ＠yourusername

view all 1,246 comments

yourusername anch'io ti amo per sempre😭😭😭😭😭

username Loulou pronounced lulu, that means i'm sleepy so let's sleep and be delulu

lilyzneimer Ahhh happy birthday, sweetheart!

georgerussell63 Happy happy birthday Y/n. have a visit to London, so that Carmen and I could make you some muffins 😉

carlossainz55 Happy birthday Y/n, don't forget to join me and Isa tomorrow!

isahernaez Have the happiest of birthday, Y/n

username 😭😭😭 I still can't believe they're really together

username when will i date my best friend like this

  ⤷ username DONT GIVE ME IDEAS

FEBRUARY, 2023

charles_leclerc

liked by yourusername, and 724,560 others

charles_leclerc A year has passed since the time that I asked you to be my girlfriend. Joris said that he took more, but unfortunately the camera took a swim, and that leave us with this grainy picture.

And anyways, I wish you a marvelous birthday to my beloved girlfriend, ＠yourusername. never change.

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yourusername I LOVE YOU TOOOO CHARLES I'M CRYING SO HARD RN

joris__trouche 😉😉👍🏻

username i love them your honor

username parents

username MAMA Y PAPA😍😍😘😚

lilymhe Charles, I am not aware of your games

username 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

username i need to have it like them because if i'm not i'm going to explode

username EVERY 😭😭 FUCKING 😭😭 YEARS😭😭

username i wanna cry i want this so much

username poetic charles are gonna be my favorite gender fr

username joris when i catch you joris

carmenmmundt Happy birthday to you, Y/n!

nicholaslatifi Oh you Lovebirds... 🥹

OCTOBER 16TH, 2024

yourusername

liked by sebastianvettel, and 859,437 others

yourusername Who knew that this tiny man is once my best friend?

Even though I got my hair slicked back, putting up my fakest smile, and wearing the black dress you hate; I'm still amazed that you were still there for me whenever i could count on you.

And now that you're my boyfriend, I cannot be more grateful for that. Happy birthday, big boy. Je t'aime pour toujours.❤️❤️

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leclerc_pascale 🥳🥳🥳

username WHO'S CUTTING ONION HERE

carlossainz55 I've noticed that you both are doing great with words now, happy birthday, Cabrón.

username a lil spicy on the eyes don't you think

username HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHARLES😭😭😭

landonorris that's cute. happy birthday

username ISN'T😭IT😭 JUST😭SO😭PRETTY😭TO😭THINK😭ALL😭ALONG😭THERE😭WAS😭SOME😭 INVISIBLE 😭STRING😭TYING😭YOU😭TO😭ME😭

username I've had enough, I need to date my best friend

username i'm not yet moved on from charles's birthday wishes to y/n, and now i'm screwed by thinking about this

lewishamilton Happy birthday, mate

scuderiaferrari Have the happiest birthday to you, Champ! ✨❤️

[bbluefllame]

t. todoroki

blah blah blah - random touya texts p1!!

bubblegum bitch - random touya texts p2!!

bubble pop electric - random texts w touya p3!!

there was an invisible string tying you to me - texts w todofam and ur dating touya!!

know it's for the better - angst drabble 🕸 300+ wc

the ghost of you - breaking up w touya

don't stop the music - random touya texts p4!!

what's up danger - spiderman touya texts!!

peach eyes & blue skies - ua with touya throughout the years <3

ua touya hcs

breakin' dishes - head chef touya x waitress reader except they don't like each other

demolition lovers - pro hero au touya x pro hero reader

t. shigaraki

Southern constellations - random tomura texts p1!!

I don't care if you're contagious - random tomura texts p2 !!

welcome to the black parade - random tomura texts p3!!

h. toga

you're my best friend in the world - platonic himiko texts!!

dear maria, count me in - platonic or romantic (ur choice!) himiko texts!!

k. takami

teenagers scare the living shit outta me - texts w teenage hawks as heroes in training tg!!

dumb & poetic - texts w teenage hawks as heroes in training tg p2!!

asleep among endives - teenage hawks texts p3

lovefool - being silly w keigo

various.

three cheers for sweet revenge - texts w the lov and silly rivalry over dabi w hawks (but also some hawks x reader as well.. but reader's dating dabi)

a match into water - tomura x reader x dabi :P just silly texts!!

hcs on how mha chars sleep!! - self explanatory I hope..

whatta man - keigo, tomura, touya on ur bday!!

color your night - late night silliness w the trio!!

all my life, my seasons - the trio taking care of u when ur sick !!

real man - being comforted by the boys when ur sad/insecure

that's what I like - bday smau w ua! touya, aizawa & toji from jjk

downlow - being in secret rs with touya, keigo & tomura