book loving babe

18+

[book-loving-babe]

hey can anyone remember this story? i remember it specifically but i cant find it in my saved or liked.

i can’t remember if it’s theo or mattheo but basically he’s a big smoker but he quits and after a while it starts to affect reader and they don’t realize but since she always kissed them after smoking she also go addicted. if someone could help me find it or tag it i’d greatly appreciate it.

thank you!!! 🩷

[book-loving-babe]

i need NEED more pato o’ward fics 😩

[book-loving-babe]

What kind of Y/n do you like reading about? Specific jobs or one of the categories

y/n jobs

famous (actor, influencer, etc.)

famous athlete

singer

not famous

something else (answer in comments)

Voting ended onAug 9, 2025

[book-loving-babe]

thinking of writing another fic which driver should it be?

bf!driver

Pierre

George

Alex

Kimi

Ollie

other (comment who else)

Voting ended onAug 9, 2025

[book-loving-babe]

But daddy I want to go to fashion school

————————————

Relationship: Yuki Tsunoda x fashion designer! Y/N

Description: Famous fashion designer, y/n, gets reached out to by redbull. They want to work with her and their second driver.

—————————————————————

A/N: hey this is my first time writing a fic let alone an smau so sorry if it sucks. I just love yuki and think he deserves more fics 🙏🏼 (everything written is purely fiction and doesn’t represent any of the people in real life) also i’m writing this on mobile so sorry if they lines are messed up

faceclaims: any pictures used for y/n are off of Pinterest, designs are by antonia.bronze on insta

—————————————————————

comments:

@.bffuser: your work is 🧑‍🍳💋

——> @ y/n: awww I love you!! 😘😘

@ Julie.brand: Thank you so much for the jacket, i’m in love 😍

——> @ y/n: I love you! bring it home 🇩🇪💪🏻

(🩷 by julie.brand)

@.user1: so cool!

@.user2: no way is that 2nd slide for Ellie Carpenter? 😧

——>@ y/n: Yes! for her wife’s euros match!!

————>@.user2: That is epic!

(🩷 by creator)

@.bffuser: you are the moment! ✨

(🩷 by creator)

@.user9: you need to make one for leah williamson

@.user3: girl you’re living the dream I’m jealous!!!

@.user11: What is @redbullracing doing in the likes? 🤔

——> @.user15: I know right?!?

————>@.user18: maybe a custom jacket for max? 🤷🏻‍♀️

————>@.user20: or for yuki?

————>@.user18: pshhh yeah right it’s definitely for max

@.user4:I’m obsessed with slide 2

@.user22: OH MY GOD MAX JUST LIKED

——>@.user20: so did yuki?!

——>@.user22: no one cares about him 🙄

view more comments…

Comments:

@ Redbullracing:Keep up the good work yuki 💪🏻

(🩷 by creator)

@ Lando: we look cool 😎

(🩷 by creator)

@ maxverstappen1: let’s go yuki

(🩷 by creator)

@.user10: you’re the best yuki!

@.user11: you got this!

view more comments…

———————————INSTAGRAM DM’S————————————

@ Redbullracing: Hello y/n, we saw your jackets with adidas for the women’s euros and would love to work with you! We have two drivers in f1, Max and Yuki! We’ve had some pieces made for Max but would love if you could make some for Yuki. If you’re interested let us know!

@ y/n: Hello, I’d love to work with you guys!

What kind of pieces were you thinking?

—————————————————————

@ y/n posted a story

replies:

@ yukitsunoda0511: so excited! 😁

——>@ y/n: I hope you love it! 💙

——>@ yukitsunoda0511:I love everything you make

(🩷 by creator)

@.user42: omg redbull jacket?!??!!

@.user26: i hope it’s with max!!!

———————————INSTAGRAM DM’S————————————

@ yukitsunoda0511: Hey Y/N, It’s Yuki! You made a custom jacket for me last week?

@ y/n: Hey Yuki! ☺️ How’s everything going? Is the jacket okay?

@ yukitsunoda0511: No, yeah everything with the jacket is great!

I just wanted to reach out and say thank you!

The jacket is incredible, so thank you!

@ y/n: awww thank you 😊

you’re so sweet!

@ yukitsunoda0511: …

so you making anyone else some cool custom jackets?

@ y/n: unfortunately no 😕

I’m actually going on vacation next week

@ yukitsunoda0511: no way!

I’m going on vacation too

I’m heading to spain

@ y/n: are you messing with me?

@ yukitsunoda0511: umm no 🤔

@ y/n: I’m also going to spain!

small world

@ yukitsunoda0511: oh cool!

…

maybe we can meet up while we’re there?

we don’t have to do anything

it might just be cool to meet the girl who elevated my wardrobe

if not that’s cool too

…

you’ll probably be busy

@ y/n: i’d love to meet up 🤭

@ yukitsunoda0511: really?

@ y/n: really 😉

—————————————————————

Comments:

@.bffuser:have fun…but not too much fun 😉

(🩷 by creator)

@.bff2user: is that…a guy? 😦

——>@ y/n: he’s just a friend

———>@.bff2user: a friend that you kiss? 😏

———>@ y/n:. . . no comment

(🩷 by yukitsunoda0511)

@.user20: is that who i think it is???

——>@.user22: go back to bed grandma

——>@.user4: who do you think it is?

———>@.user20: it’s definitely yuki, that’s his jacket

———>@.user22: don’t mind her she’s crazy

@.user56: omg all the drivers in the likes!!!

——>@.user21:right?? lando, alex, max, yuki, george. something definitely is going down

@ maxverstappen1: fun 💙

(🩷 by creator)

@.user12: MAX COMMENTED

@ yukitsunoda0511: fun looking trip 😁

——>@ y/n: it was. . . except for the phone that got dropped in the lake

——>@ yukitsunoda0511: good thing you all had a backup 👍🏼

———>@ y/n: right?!? 😉

@.user77: yall seeing her and yuki’s comments???

——>@.user1: they aren’t very subtle

(🩷 by creator and yukitsunado0511)

view more comments…

comments:

@ redbulldriving: looking good yuki 💙

——>@ yukitsunoda0511: thanks

@ lando: who’s the girl??? 🤨

——>@ yukitsunado0511: non of your business

——>@ lando: WOW! i thought we were friends 😭

@ maxverstappen1: nice car almost as good as the real thing 🏎️

(🩷 by creator)

@ y/n: good trip?

—>@ yukitsunoda0511: yep 💙

——>@ y/n: good company?

——>@ yukitsunoda0511: the best 😁

@.user43:yuki’s looking so boyfriend coded here

——>@.user32:right??? y/n’s rubbing off on him

@.user20: these pics look familiar 👀

——>@.user22: give it a rest 😒

——>@.user16: nah i think @.user20 is onto something

(🩷 by creator and y/n)

@.user31:can’t wait to see you back on the track

@ alex_albon: okay yuki… i see you

——> @ yukitsunoda0511: 🫣

@ georgerussell63: yuki you’ve been holding out on us???

——>@ yukitsunoda0512: no, just being selective

——>@ georgerussell63: when do @alex_albon and I get to meet the girl??

———>@ y/n: soon i hope 🤞🏼

(🩷 by creator and georgerussell63)

view more comments…

comments:

@.user58: THE JACKET!!!!

@.user44: I’M GAGGED

@.user15: @ Y/N what’s 4+4?

——>@ redbullracing: ATE!!

——>@.user15: NO WAY REDBULL RESPONDED

@.user66:come on yuki 💪🏻

@.user82: i have nothing appropriate to say…😏

(🩷 by y/n)

@.user28: Thank you y/n for this 🙏🏼

view more comments…

Comments:

@ maxverstappen1: cool jacket yuki!

——>@ yukitsunoda0511: thanks man 💪🏻

@ lando: i want a custom jacket

——>@.user31: pretty sure you’d have to date the designer to get one

——>@ lando: i’m willing to do anything, that jacket is sick

———>@ yukitsunoda0511: no and no 😡

———>@.user31: uh oh protective yuki

———>@ lando: touched a nerve there

@ alex_albon: so you’ll bring her to the padlock, hold her hand, hug her but won’t let me meet her?

——>@ yukitsunoda0511: 🙄 we’re on our way now

———>@ alex_albon: HIP HIP HOORAY! 🙌

(🩷 by creator)

@ y/n: looking good yuki 😊

——>@ yukitsunoda0511: thanks my girlfriend made it 😁

——>@ y/n: lucky girl

———>@ yukitdunoda0511: i’m the lucky one

(🩷 by y/n)

@.user42: yuki relationship confirmed????

@.user91: max would’ve killed this jacket

——>@.user20: too bad yuki did it better than he ever could

(🩷 by maxverstappen1 and creator)

@.user11: that’s got to be y/n!!!

@.user53: y/n and yuki padlock official????

@.user64: it’s 100% y/n! i was at the race today and I saw them walking together

——>@.user18: how’d they look?

———>@.user64: so cute!!! it was when they were going to meet alex and lily. they were holding hands and giggling the entire time and then yuki was so excited to introduce y/n to alex

——>@.user18: awwwww they are so cute 🥹

@.user73: maybe y/n is his good luck charm 🍀

(🩷 by creator)

view more comments…

comments:

@.bffuser: ?????

@.bffuser: omg call me now!!!!

——>@ y/n:. . . 😬

———>@.bffuser: does this mean you’re official???

———>@ y/n: 🫣

@.user4: @.bffuser is asking the real question here

@.bff2user: baby’s first padlock 🥺

(🩷 by creator)

@.user12: y/n who are you rooting for?

——>@ y/n i think slide 4 speaks for itself 💙

———>@.user12: OMG CONFIRMED!!!!!

@.user43: look at those arms in slide 2 🤤

——>@ y/n: i know right 🥵

@.user63: STOP Y/N OUT HERE THIRSTING ON THE MAIN!!!

——>@.user19: can you blame her have you seen yuki???

(🩷 by creator)

@ lando: can i get one of the cool jackets you made yuki???

——>@ yukitsunoda0511:Ummmmm no 😠

———>@ y/n: sure lando! yuki be nice lando’s your friend

———>@ yukitsunoda0511: fine, sorry lando

———> @ lando: it’s all good mate 👍🏼

@ yukitsunoda0511: if you’re making lando a jacket can i have another one?

——>@ y/n: sure baby

——>@ yukitsunoda0511: ☺️

@.user65: yuki really trying to tell lando back off she’s mine

(🩷 by yukitsinoda0511)

@ yukitsunoda0511: padlock life suits you

——>@ y/n: yeah i kinda like it here 😉

@.user86: couple goalsssss

view more comments…

Comments limited:

@ maxversappen1: good job yuki! so nice to meet you y/n

——>@ y/n: thanks max! congrats on p1 💙

@ redbullracing: i think your his good luck charm 🍀

——>@ y/n: 🤭

@ redbullracing: what’s your schedule looking like…for the rest of the season?

——>@ y/n: i’m sure i could squeeze in a couple races 💙

@ yukitsunoda0511: couldn’t have done it without you baby! 🩷

——>@ y/n: i love you!! i am so proud 🥹

———> yukitsunoda0511: i love you too!

@.bffuser: and to think if you hadn’t answered that dm…

(🩷 by creator)

@.bff2user: congrats yuki!! celebrate a ton!

——>@ yukitsunoda0511: thanks bff2! 💙

———>@ y/n: i can think of a few ways we can celebrate… 🥵

(🩷 by yukitsunoda0511)

————>@ lando: AHHHH MY EYES!!!! MAKE IT STOP

@ lando: congrats yuki!! someone pr train your gf tho

——>@ yukitsunado0511: thanks lando! and how about no

(🩷 by creator, 👎🏼 by lando)

view more comments…

Comments limited:

@ redbullracing: LETS GO YUKI!!!! 💙💪🏻

(🩷 by creator)

@ maxversappen1: that’s my teammate! 💙

(🩷 by creator)

@ lando: proud of you buddy!!

(🩷 by creator)

@ alex_albon: congrats mate! ig she really is your lucky charm!

(🩷 by creator)

@ y/n: don’t mind me just gonna go sob 😭 you were so incredible yuki

——>@ yukitsunoda0511: don’t cry baby!! we’re supposed to celebrate

———>@ y/n: i’m just so proud! 🥹 you’ve worked so hard, it’s so great seeing it pay off!

———>@ y/n: thank you for letting me be a part of this journey!! 💙

———>@ yukitsunado0511: there’s no one id rather have on my side!! love you baby 🫶🏼

(🩷 by y/n)

view more comments…

—————————————————————

The end!!!

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed, hopefully it’s good this was my first ever smau!! lmk if there’s any mistakes or if i should write more!!!

🩷🩷🩷

[book-loving-babe]

anyone interested in a SMAU I’m working on for Yuki?

Interested?

Yes

No

Maybe

Voting ended onAug 7, 2025

[hamilton-here]

Hi! I know you’re requests are closed, sorry for sending you this. Hope you’re doing well.

First, I wanted to tell you that I really love your writing.

Maybe you don’t want to do this and it’s okay… but I was wondering if maybe you’d write some angst where Lewis’ friends don’t like reader and Lewis somehow put some distance between them… but with a happy ending.

Thanks, for reading this and for your writing ❤️‍🩹

𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝐼 𝒜𝓁𝓂𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝐿𝑜𝓈𝓉

Authors Note: Hey everyone! Here's a little angst-filled one-shot to tide us over. I'm slowly withering away without F1 this weekend - what am I supposed to look forward to now? Hope your week’s been treating you kindly. Sending lots of love your way! xx

Summary: Lewis lets the people around him turn him against you, until losing you shows him exactly who he should’ve been fighting for all along.

Warnings: angst, mild language, emotional neglect, toxic friendship

Taglist: @piston-cup @nebulastarr @hannibeeblog @cosmichughes

MASTERLIST

࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִ ֶ 𓂃࣪𓏲ᥫ᭡ ₊

You had always known, in that quiet, aching way that truths settle into the bones and make a home there, that they didn’t like you. It wasn’t anything they said outright no cruel words hurled across rooms, no overt dismissals that could be named or confronted but the signs were there, unmistakable and insidious, etched into the subtle choreography of their interactions like a language you were never taught.

The polite smiles they offered were brittle things, stretched thin across faces that never quite softened, never quite welcomed. Their eyes, sharp and assessing, flicked past you like you were a shadow cast by someone more important, someone they actually wanted to see. The laughter they shared, full bodied and effortless, never spilled into the space you occupied beside Lewis. It hovered just out of reach like warmth behind glass visible, but untouchable, a reminder that joy could exist in abundance, just not for you.

It had started early. You remembered the first time Lewis brought you along to meet his friends, that night at the rooftop bar with the fairy lights strung overhead like constellations and the city humming below like a living, breathing thing.

You’d worn your favourite jacket, the one that made you feel like yourself - confident, a little bold, a little soft and you’d arrived with open palms and a heart full of hope, eager to be liked and seen, to be folded into the fabric of his world. You laughed when they laughed, asked questions with genuine interest, offered stories that revealed pieces of yourself, tried to find the rhythm of their banter like someone learning a new dance.

But the rhythm never found you. Their responses were clipped, their smiles tight and fleeting and their eyes kept scanning past you like they were waiting for someone else to arrive, someone better, someone more familiar. You’d felt it then, that subtle shift in the air like you were a guest who’d overstayed before you’d even sat down. And though Lewis had held your hand the whole night, thumb brushing comfort into your skin like a promise, the chill had already settled in your bones and it never truly left.

That night was the beginning and the feeling never faded. It followed you through every gathering, every dinner, every group chat you were added to but never really included in. You tried to tell yourself it was nerves, or unfamiliarity, or just bad timing that maybe they just needed more time to see you the way Lewis did.

But deep down, in the quiet corners of your mind where honesty lives, you knew. You were never what they wanted for him. You were the wrong shape for the space they’d carved out in their lives and no amount of softening or stretching would make you fit.

Every inside joke was a thread in a tapestry you weren’t meant to touch. You’d hear the punchline, see the way they doubled over with familiarity and ease, and feel the sting of exclusion settle deep in your chest like a bruise that never healed.

You’d smile anyway, a practiced curve of the lips that felt more like armour than expression and pretend you didn’t notice the way their gazes slid past you like oil on water - smooth, deliberate and impossible to grasp. You became fluent in pretending, in swallowing the ache, in convincing yourself that maybe it was all in your head, even as your heart told you otherwise.

And Lewis – sweet and radiant Lewis, loved you. Not in whispers or half measures, but with the kind of devotion that made you feel like the universe had tilted in your favour like the stars had rearranged themselves just to make room for the two of you.

He loved you loudly, with arms that pulled you close in crowded rooms and eyes that lit up like dawn breaking over a quiet sea. He spoke your name like it was a promise, a prayer, a song only he knew the melody to. With him, you felt seen not just looked at, but truly understood, cherished in a way that made the rest of the world blur at the edges. He was your anchor, your refuge, your proof that you were not invisible.

So you tried. For him. You swallowed the bitterness that rose like bile when they ignored your contributions to the conversation, when your words were met with silence or a quick pivot to someone else’s story. You bit your tongue when their compliments skipped over you like a stone skimming water, never quite touching the surface.

You smiled through the ache, through the quiet humiliation of being tolerated rather than welcomed, of being present but never truly included. You told yourself that love, his love was enough to bridge the chasm between “us” and “them,” that if you just held on tightly enough, the gap would close and you’d finally be allowed to belong.

And for a while, it did. Or at least, it felt like it had. You convinced yourself that the occasional nod, the rare moment of shared laughter, meant progress. You clung to those scraps like a starving thing, weaving them into a narrative of hope, of possibility, of change. You believed that love could soften edges, that your presence could become familiar enough to be accepted, that time would wear down their resistance like waves smoothing stone.

But the truth was always there, lurking beneath the surface like a crack in porcelain. Small, but growing, threatening to split everything apart. Every time you looked up, heart fluttering with the fragile hope that maybe, you’d finally been let in, you’d catch one of them watching you. Not with kindness. Not with curiosity. But with that same look cold, dismissive like you were a stain Lewis hadn’t noticed yet. Something to be scrubbed away, quietly without fuss, without confrontation.

And in those moments, the ache returned. Sharper. Deeper. It curled around your ribs like smoke, filled your lungs with doubt, made your chest heavy with the weight of being unwanted. Because you knew - no matter how brightly Lewis loved you, no matter how fiercely he held you, some doors would never open. Not for you. And the longer you stood outside them, the more you wondered if love alone was enough to keep you from freezing.

It started small. So small, in fact, that you almost didn’t notice it at first like a thread quietly pulling loose from the hem of something you thought was whole. He stopped bringing you to the group dinners, those weekly rituals that had once felt like a test you were determined to pass. He’d say they were “just catching up,” or “you’d be bored anyway,” his voice light, casual, as if the exclusion were a kindness rather than a wound. He’d squeeze your hand with that familiar pressure, kiss your temple with lips that still felt warm but somehow more distant, and tell you not to take it personally. So you didn’t. Not at first.

You’d gotten used to not being included, to being the footnote in his social life, the afterthought in conversations that always seemed to circle back to people you were never meant to know. You told yourself it wasn’t personal, that maybe they just needed more time, that maybe he was protecting you from the discomfort you’d always felt in their presence. You made excuses for him, for them, for the growing silence that began to settle like dust between you.

But then his phone would light up at night, casting a glow across the sheets that felt colder than moonlight and he’d slip out of bed to take their calls in the hallway. You’d lie there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the muffled sound of his laughter, laughter that used to belong to you and used to fill your apartment like sunlight.

He stopped talking about his day with you, brushing off your questions with a soft, “You wouldn’t know them, babe,” like your lack of familiarity made your curiosity irrelevant. And when you reached for him, when you tried to bridge the growing gap with touch, he’d kiss your forehead and say he was just tired. Just tired. As if exhaustion could explain the way he no longer looked at you like you were the centre of his world.

The distance crept in slowly, insidiously, measured not in miles but in inches between your bodies in bed. In the way his back began to face you more often than his chest. In the hours that passed without a single word exchanged, even when you were sitting side by side. In the smiles he gave you that felt more like apologies than affection tight-lipped, fleeting like he was trying to convince himself he still meant them.

You started to shrink yourself, slowly, painfully, like a flower curling inward to survive the frost. You began talking less, afraid that your words would push him further away, that your voice had become something he no longer wanted to hear. You started feeling more, all at once emotions that had nowhere to go but inward, where they festered and grew heavy.

You cried in the shower so he wouldn’t hear, letting the water mask the sound of your unraveling. You laughed too hard at their jokes on the rare occasions you were invited, your laughter brittle and desperate, hoping that if you loved them enough if you were charming enough, agreeable enough, invisible enough they’d love you too.

They didn’t.

They never did. And now, you weren’t sure if he did either. Not in the way he used to. Not in the way that made you feel like you were the sun and he was the sky bending to hold your light. What remained between you was a quiet ache, a hollow space filled with memories of warmth and the echo of a love that once felt invincible.

It came to a head at his birthday.

You had planned it for weeks combing through venues, agonising over lighting and seating arrangements, coordinating with vendors who didn’t understand why you cared so much about the shade of the table linens or the playlist that would play softly in the background. You’d booked a private rooftop space overlooking the city skyline, a place that felt intimate and grand all at once, just like him. You worked with his favourite chef to design a vegan menu tailored to his tastes with no onions, extra spice, locally sourced ingredients.

You even flew in his favourite wine from Tuscany, the one he’d mentioned offhandedly months ago, thinking you hadn’t remembered. But you had. You remembered everything. Every detail, every preference, every fleeting comment that revealed something about the man you loved. You wanted the night to be a reflection of that love meticulous, thoughtful, full of warmth.

When the guests arrived, it was as if a dam had broken and his friends surged in like a tide loud, uncontainable and utterly self-assured. Their laughter rang out like bells in a cathedral, echoing off the walls with a kind of careless joy that felt almost weaponised. They were dressed in curated carelessness, each outfit a masterclass in effortless wealth - linen shirts artfully wrinkled, designer shoes scuffed just enough to suggest they’d lived interesting lives, and jewellery that glinted under the candlelight like secrets they weren’t afraid to flaunt.

They moved through the space like they owned it, like they belonged in every room, every conversation, every moment. You, on the other hand were invisible like an accessory to the evening, a shadow stitched into the corner of the frame.

They barely acknowledged you. A few offered nods in your direction, the kind of perfunctory gesture you’d give a stranger who held open a door at a petrol station polite, obligatory and utterly devoid of warmth. One of them Miles, you think, though his name felt like it didn’t matter paused in the doorway, his eyes sweeping over the decor you’d spent hours perfecting - the wine decanted and breathing, the soft candlelight flickering in glass holders you’d chosen with trembling hands, the music low and intimate, the food arranged like offerings.

He smirked, lips curling with the kind of disdain that doesn’t need to be loud to be cruel. “Wow,” he said, voice thick with condescension, each syllable dipped in venom. “You must’ve maxed out his card for this.”

And Lewis laughed. He laughed.

Not the kind of laugh that tries to smooth over discomfort, not the kind that stumbles out awkwardly when someone says something inappropriate. No he laughed like it was funny. Like it was true. Like he didn’t see the way your spine stiffened, didn’t notice the way your fingers curled into your palm so tightly your nails left crescent moons in your skin. He laughed like he hadn’t watched you agonise over every detail of the evening, hadn’t seen you pacing the kitchen with a checklist and a heart full of hope. He laughed like he didn’t know you at all.

You stood there, frozen in place, the smile on your face suddenly feeling like a mask made of glass fragile, cracking, impossible to hold together. It felt like someone had tapped a wineglass too hard, and now your chest was reverberating with the impact, the echo of it ringing through your ribs, sharp and endless.

You wanted to speak, to say something, anything, but your throat was a locked door and the key had vanished. So you moved through the rest of the evening like a ghost, drifting from room to room, smiling when spoken to, refilling glasses with hands that trembled just enough to spill a few drops, checking on the food you no longer had an appetite for, pretending you didn’t hear the whispers or see the glances that slid past you like knives.

Lewis was radiant. He glowed in their presence, basking in the attention like a flower turning toward the sun. They gave him love freely, generously, recklessly love that felt like champagne, bubbling and golden. And you? You were the silence between their laughter, the pause in their stories, the person they forgot to include in the group photo. You watched him from across the room, watched the way he leaned into their affection, the way he smiled with his whole face, the way he became someone else entirely under their gaze.

And for the first time, you felt like you were watching a stranger. A beautiful, beloved stranger who had once held your hand and promised you the world and now stood in the centre of it, laughing at your expense.

Later, when you got home the silence of the apartment didn’t feel peaceful, it felt suffocating. The warmth and noise of the party had evaporated the moment the door closed behind you, leaving behind only the low, mechanical hum of the refrigerator and the distant, ghostly wail of traffic bleeding through the windows. The soft glow of the hallway light cast long shadows across the floor and everything felt too still, too quiet, like the world was holding its breath.

Lewis stumbled in a few moments later, the scent of wine and expensive cologne clinging to him like a second skin. He was drunk, grinning, his eyes glassy with celebration and obliviousness. With arms wide and unsteady, he wrapped them around your waist from behind, pressing his face into the curve of your neck. “Best birthday ever,” he murmured, his breath warm and heavy against your skin, his voice thick with alcohol and joy that didn’t belong to you.

You stood stiff in his embrace, your body unmoving, your hands limp at your sides like forgotten things, like props in a play you no longer wanted to be part of. His arms around you felt foreign now too warm, too familiar, too late. And then, like a dam finally giving way after years of pressure, after countless moments of biting your tongue and swallowing your pride, the words spilled out. They didn’t explode. They bled. Quiet, trembling, but sharp enough to cut through the haze of wine and celebration that still clung to the air.

“You let them disrespect me,” you whispered, the sound barely louder than the pounding of your heart, which felt like it was trying to escape your chest, like it couldn’t bear to stay inside a body that had been made to feel so small.

He blinked, confused, pulling back slightly to look at you, his brow furrowing in that familiar way that always made you feel like you were the problem. “What are you talking about?” he asked, the words slurred but defensive, like he already knew and didn’t want to know, like he was bracing for a storm he didn’t believe he deserved.

“They hate me, Lewis,” you said, turning to face him fully now, your eyes already burning with unshed tears, your voice cracking under the weight of everything you’d swallowed down not just tonight, but for years. “And you keep choosing them. Every single time. You laugh with them. You let them mock me. You let them treat me like I’m nothing. And you act like it’s normal.”

Something shifted in his expression subtle but unmistakable, like a door quietly closing behind his eyes, like he was already retreating. “Don’t do this,” he said, his voice low and warning, the kind of tone that begged for silence, not resolution. “Not tonight.”

“Why not tonight?” you asked, your voice rising, trembling with fury and heartbreak and the kind of exhaustion that comes from pretending everything’s fine for far too long. “Because it’s your birthday? Because you’d have to admit I’m right? Because you’d have to look me in the eye and admit that you’ve watched them tear me down piece by piece and done absolutely nothing?”

“You’re being dramatic,” he muttered, stepping back, rubbing his temple like your pain was a headache he didn’t have the patience for, like your heartbreak was inconvenient.

“God, do you even hear yourself?” The words came out jagged, raw, like broken glass. “They treat me like I’m some pathetic charity case you’re sleeping with. Like I’m lucky to even be in the same room as them. And instead of standing up for me, instead of defending me, you laugh. You laugh with them. You let them humiliate me, and you act like it’s a joke.”

“That’s not what happened,” he snapped, his voice sharper now, his face hardening into something cold and closed off, like he was building a wall between you brick by brick.

“No?” you said, your voice hollow now, the anger giving way to something colder, heavier, more permanent. “Then tell me what did happen, Lewis. Tell me how I’m supposed to feel when your friends look at me like I’m a stain on your reputation. Tell me how I’m supposed to feel when they whisper behind my back, when they roll their eyes at me, when they make jokes at my expense and you just stand there. You don’t flinch. You don’t push back. You don’t even notice.”

“You’re making this about you,” he said, arms crossed, eyes narrowed, his tone laced with irritation. “It was my night. My friends. You could’ve just let it go.”

“Let it go?” you echoed, stunned, the words hitting you like a slap. “You think I should just let it go when they treat me like I’m disposable? When they look at me like I’m some mistake you haven’t fixed yet? When you stand there and let them laugh at me like I’m a punchline?”

“I didn’t mean to -”

“But you did,” you interrupted, voice breaking. “You did mean to. Maybe not consciously, maybe not cruelly, but you let it happen. You let them make me feel small. And you didn’t stop them. You didn’t even hesitate.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again, like he was searching for a defence that didn’t exist.

“They’ve disrespected me for years, Lewis,” you said, your voice quieter now, but no less fierce. “Since the very beginning. Since the first dinner, the first party, the first time I walked into a room with you and they looked at me like I didn’t belong. And you didn’t even realise it until I said something tonight. You didn’t notice. Or maybe you did, and you just didn’t care.”

“That’s not fair,” he said, but his voice lacked conviction.

“No,” you said, stepping back, your chest aching with the weight of everything you’d carried alone. “What’s not fair is loving someone who won’t fight for you. What’s not fair is giving everything I have - my time, my heart, my effort to someone who won’t even give me the dignity of being defended.”

He didn’t say anything. Not I’m sorry. Not You’re wrong. Not I love you. Just silence. A silence so loud it felt like it was screaming, like it was echoing off the walls and bouncing back into your chest, hollow and cruel.

And in that silence, something inside you broke. Not with a crash. Not with a scream. But quietly, like a thread snapping deep inside your chest, unraveling everything you’d tried so hard to hold together. You turned away, walked to the bedroom and closed the door behind you not with anger, but with finality. The kind of finality that doesn’t need words to be understood.

Because sometimes, the deepest heartbreak isn’t in the shouting. It’s in the silence that follows. It’s in the way someone chooses not to fight for you. It’s in the way they let you walk away without asking you to stay.

And you knew, then.

Not in the way people talk about knowing. No lightning bolt, no dramatic crescendo. Just a slow, aching certainty that settled in your bones like winter. You knew it in the way he looked at you and saw inconvenience instead of pain. You knew it in the way his silence spoke louder than any apology ever could. You knew it in the way your love had become something he could set aside, like a coat he no longer needed.

You’d lost him.

Not to someone else. Not to a sudden betrayal or a cruel twist of fate. You lost him to the version of himself that thrived in rooms where you were invisible. You lost him to the laughter that echoed at your expense. You lost him to the comfort of people who never had to earn his loyalty, because they’d always had it. You lost him in the quiet, in the absence of words, in the space between your heartbreak and his indifference.

And the worst part? He didn’t even notice.

You left the next morning.

There was no screaming. No slammed doors. No suitcase dragged down the hallway in a fury of tears. Just quiet. Just the soft rustle of clothes being folded with trembling hands, the zip of a duffel bag that felt too small to carry everything you were leaving behind. You didn’t take much just what you needed. The rest could stay. The memories, the gifts, the photos on the fridge. Let them haunt the walls the way they haunted you.

You walked through the apartment one last time, each room echoing with ghosts. The kitchen, where you used to dance barefoot while cooking dinner. The living room, where you curled up together on rainy nights, his head on your shoulder, yours on his chest. And the bedroom - God, the bedroom. Where you’d stopped sleeping in each other’s arms months ago, without even noticing. Where the space between you had grown so wide, you could’ve fit all your unspoken words in it and still had room left over.

You left a note on the kitchen counter. Just a few lines, written in your neat, careful handwriting. No accusations. No bitterness. Just truth.

I hope they make you happy. I hope it was worth it.

You stared at the words for a long time, wondering if he’d read them and feel anything at all. Wondering if he’d even notice you were gone before the apartment felt colder, quieter, emptier. You placed the note beside the coffee machine, where he’d be sure to see it. Where it would sit like a whisper in the morning light.

And then you walked out the door.

No one saw you leave. No one stopped you. The world didn’t pause or shift or mourn. But something inside you did. Something cracked open and bled, quietly, as you stepped into the morning air and let the door close behind you.

Because sometimes, the most painful endings aren’t the ones that explode. They’re the ones that slip away without a sound.

One month later.

He didn’t call.

Not after a day. Not after a week. Not even after two. The silence stretched long and taut, like a wire pulled between you, humming with everything unsaid. You waited at first, even though you told yourself you weren’t. You kept your phone close, screen face-up on the nightstand, just in case. You left the volume on, the notifications unmuted, the battery charged. You told yourself it was habit, not hope. But it was hope. Quiet, stubborn, aching hope.

And then, slowly, you learned how to stop checking.

You trained yourself to look away when your phone lit up, to stop imagining his name appearing on the screen like a lifeline. You stopped opening old messages just to reread the ones where he said he loved you, where he called you “his person,” where he made promises he never kept. You stopped refreshing his social media, stopped wondering if he was thinking about you, stopped waiting for the apology that never came.

You learned how to answer friends when they asked about him with a tight smile and a shrug, the kind of shrug that said “I’m fine” even when you weren’t. You became fluent in deflection, in changing the subject, in pretending that the absence didn’t feel like a wound you carried everywhere. You told them you were moving on, that it was for the best, that you were focusing on yourself. And they nodded, and they believed you, because you were convincing. You had to be.

You went on with your life, but not in the way people imagine when they talk about healing. You didn’t bloom. You didn’t rise from the ashes. You didn’t find sudden joy in yoga or baking or long walks in the park. You moved through your days like a ghost learning how to pretend it was still alive smiling at the right moments, laughing when prompted, showing up to work and answering emails and folding laundry like someone who hadn’t been hollowed out.

But inside, everything felt muted. Food tasted like texture. Music sounded like noise. The world lost its colour, its sharpness, its warmth. You’d walk past places you used to go together and feel your chest tighten, like grief was a hand pressing down on your ribs. You’d hear a joke he would’ve loved and feel the ache of wanting to share it, only to remember you couldn’t. You’d wake up in the middle of the night, reaching for a body that wasn’t there, and lie in the dark wondering how love could vanish so completely.

And still he didn’t call.

Not to ask how you were. Not to say he missed you. Not to say he was sorry.

And maybe that was the worst part. Not the leaving. Not the silence. But the realisation that he could live without you. That he was already doing it.

Until one night, someone knocked on your door.

It was late - later than late, the kind of hour that felt suspended outside of time, when even the city’s restless hum had quieted into a breathless lull. Your apartment was steeped in silence, broken only by the soft ticking of the clock and the low amber glow of a single lamp casting long, sleepy shadows across the walls. You hadn’t expected anyone. You hadn’t expected anything anymore, really. The days had blurred into a quiet monotony, and the nights had become a place where memories came to ache.

So when the knock came sharp, tentative, like a question asked in the dark you froze.

Your heart stuttered, a sudden, jarring rhythm against your ribs. A strange cocktail of dread and something dangerously close to hope surged through you, rising like a tide you hadn’t prepared for. You stood there for a moment, breath caught between seconds, listening to the silence that followed. The knock hadn’t come again. Whoever it was hadn’t insisted. It was as if they, too, were unsure whether they belonged there.

You moved toward the door slowly, each step heavy with hesitation. Your fingers trembled as they reached for the handle, and when you finally turned it, the door creaked open with a sound that felt too loud in the hush of your solitude.

And there he was. Lewis.

But not the Lewis the world knew. Not the man who lit up screens and podiums, who wore victory like a second skin and smiled with the kind of brilliance that made people believe in something bigger than themselves. Not the icon, the legend, the golden boy of Mercedes.

This Lewis was different.

He stood in the hallway like a ghost of himself, shoulders hunched beneath a hoodie that hung loose and shapeless on his frame. His face was pale, drawn tight with exhaustion and his eyes that once sparkled with fire and defiance were rimmed with shadows, hollowed out by something deeper than fatigue. He looked like a man who hadn’t slept in days. Like someone who had been running, not on a track, but from something inside himself. Something that clung to him no matter how fast he drove or how far he traveled.

His lips parted slightly, as if he wanted to speak, but no words came. He just stood there, breathing in the quiet, his gaze locked onto yours with a kind of desperate vulnerability that made your chest ache.

You didn’t say anything. You couldn’t.

Your voice was buried somewhere beneath the avalanche of emotion crashing through you shock, confusion, longing and a pain you hadn’t let yourself feel in months. It was all there, raw and unfiltered, rising like a storm behind your eyes.

And in that moment, with the door open and the night pressing in around you, the world felt impossibly small. Just you, him, and everything that had been left unsaid.

“I read the note a thousand times,” he said, voice barely more than a breath fragile, like it might shatter if he spoke too loud. “And every time, it felt like losing you all over again.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Your arms stayed crossed over your chest, a makeshift armour forged from silence and self-preservation. You could feel the tension in your shoulders, the way your fingers dug into your skin like you were holding yourself together by sheer will. The storm he brought with him was already stirring inside you, and you weren’t sure you could survive its second coming.

“I didn’t protect you,” he continued, his voice rough, scraped raw by regret. His eyes lifted to meet yours and the look in them nearly undid you glassy, red-rimmed, full of sorrow so deep it felt ancient. “I let them talk about you like you were a phase. Like you weren’t the person who kept me grounded when everything else felt like smoke and mirrors. When the pressure was crushing and the world felt too loud, you were the quiet I needed.”

He paused, swallowing hard, his throat working against the weight of everything he hadn’t said until now. “And I think I let them win because some part of me thought…if they liked you, they’d approve of me. Of who I was with you.”

That cut deep. Deeper than you expected. Because it was honest. Brutally, beautifully honest. And honesty had always mattered more than apologies.

“I kept thinking you’d call,” he said, voice cracking like ice underfoot. “And when you didn’t, I realised I never gave you a reason to.”

“You didn’t,” you said, soft but steady. The words floated between you like mist delicate, undeniable and laced with the ache of truth.

“I miss you,” he whispered, stepping forward just slightly, like the space between you was sacred and he didn’t want to trespass. “Every day. Every hour. I miss your voice, your laugh, the way you looked at me like I was more than just the man on the screen. I miss the way you made me feel human.”

You looked at him then.Saw the man who once held you like you were something holy, like you were the answer to every question he didn’t know he was asking. And the boy who had, somewhere along the way, forgotten how to fight for what mattered. You saw the guilt carved into the lines of his face, the sorrow in the way he stood like he didn’t know if he was welcome anymore, like he’d come to the door not expecting forgiveness but needing to try.

“I don’t want to be someone you have to defend,” you murmured, your voice trembling, barely holding together. “I want to be someone you love so fiercely that no one would dare say a word.”

“You are,” he said, stepping closer, his voice thick with emotion, like every syllable cost him something. “You always were. I was just too much of a coward to see it. Too afraid of losing their approval to realise I was losing you.”

The silence that followed wasn’t sharp this time. It was heavy, yes but not with anger. With possibility. With the fragile, flickering light of something trying to be reborn. It wrapped around you both like a blanket stitched from old memories and new hope.

He reached out, slowly, reverently, like he was afraid you’d flinch. His fingers brushed against yours barely a touch, but it felt like a spark, like something ancient and electric waking up inside you.

“I told them I chose you,” he said. “That if they couldn’t respect the woman I love, they didn’t belong in my life.”

You blinked, stunned. The words hit you like a wave, unexpected and overwhelming. “You told them that?”

“I told them everything,” he said, voice steadier now, like the truth had given him back some of his strength. “I told them how they made you feel. How I let it happen. How I failed you. And I haven’t spoken to most of them since. Because if loving you means losing them - then I’ll lose them a hundred times over.”

You felt it then hope, rising like warmth from your chest, like sunlight breaking through a storm. It was terrifying. It was beautiful. It was real.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me,” he whispered, voice breaking again, but this time with reverence. “And I’m sorry it took losing you to understand that.”

You took a shaky breath, your heart pounding like it was trying to escape your chest. Slowly, you reached out and touched his face his cheek rough with stubble, his skin warm beneath your fingertips. He leaned into your touch like it was the first comfort he’d felt in weeks, like he’d been starving for it.

“Don’t make me regret letting you back in,” you said, your voice barely holding together, each word trembling with the weight of everything you’d risked by opening the door.

His smile was small, but real. The kind of smile that came from somewhere deep, somewhere honest. “I won’t,” he said. “I swear to you.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believed him.

Later that night, the world outside faded into a distant hum rain whispering against the windows like a lullaby, the occasional gust of wind brushing the panes with a sigh. The curtains were drawn, the lights dimmed to a golden glow and the chaos of the day of heartbreak, confessions and trembling hope had settled into something quieter. Something sacred.

Inside, the air felt softer. Warmer. Like the universe had exhaled and left the two of you suspended in a pocket of peace carved out just for this moment. The kind of peace that only comes after a storm, when the wreckage has been acknowledged and the rebuilding has begun.

You were curled up on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, a blanket draped loosely over both of you like a cocoon spun from second chances. Lewis lay stretched out beside you, his head resting gently in your lap, one arm draped across your thighs like he couldn’t bear to let go. His body, once tense and guarded, had melted into yours with a kind of trust that felt reverent. Like he’d finally found the place he’d been searching for all this time and it was you.

He reached for your hand, fingers brushing over your knuckles with reverence and then slowly, tenderly he brought it to his lips. He kissed it like it was holy. Like it held the power to heal every wound he’d ever carried. His lips lingered there, warm and gentle, and you felt the weight of everything he wasn’t saying in that single touch. It was a vow. A prayer. A promise wrapped in silence.

You watched him, heart swelling with something too big to name. His eyes were closed, lashes brushing his cheeks, and there was a softness to him now that hadn’t been there before. A quiet vulnerability. A kind of peace that only comes when you’ve stopped running and finally let yourself rest.

Your fingers found their way into his dreadlocks, threading through them slowly, lovingly, like you were memorising the texture of him all over again. He leaned into your touch instinctively, like it was the only thing tethering him to the earth. You could feel the way his breathing slowed, the way his body relaxed deeper into yours, like he was finally safe.

“I missed you too,” you whispered, voice low and full of emotion. The words slipped out like a secret, like a confession wrapped in warmth and the kind of love that doesn’t fade it just waits.

When he heard them, his breath hitched. His eyes fluttered shut, and his entire body stilled as if those four words had granted him something he hadn’t dared hope for. As if he’d just been handed peace after a lifetime of war. You could feel it in the way his shoulders relaxed, in the way his grip on your hand tightened just slightly, like he needed to anchor himself to the reality that you were here. That you were his again.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. Everything he felt was written in the way he held you, in the way he pressed another kiss to your palm like a vow etched in skin and soul.

Love, you realised, should never ask you to shrink. It should never demand silence or compromise at the cost of your soul. It should feel like this like safety, like warmth, like being seen and cherished in every way that matters.

And this time, Lewis would make damn sure you never had to shrink again.

He’d love you loudly. Fiercely. Unapologetically.

Because now he knew: you weren’t just someone he loved.

You were home.

The world didn’t change overnight but you did. Together.

You stopped caring what people thought. The whispers, the judgment, the sideways glances they became background noise, distant and irrelevant. Because Lewis didn’t flinch anymore. He didn’t hesitate. He held your hand in public like it was the most natural thing in the world, like it had always belonged there. He kissed your forehead in front of cameras, laughed with you in crowded rooms and spoke your name like it was a sacred verse soft, reverent, full of love.

He posted pictures of you unfiltered, unposed, radiant in your joy. You, wrapped in a hoodie too big for your frame, laughing with your eyes closed. You, dancing barefoot in the kitchen, flour dusting your cheeks. You, curled up beside him on long flights, your head resting on his shoulder. And beneath each photo, he wrote words that made people stop scrolling. Words like “my peace,” “my strength,” “my forever.” Words that didn’t just say I love you they said I see you.

And when someone dared to question it, he didn’t defend you. He celebrated you.

He spoke about you in interviews with a quiet pride, the kind that made hearts ache. “She’s the reason I smile like this,” he’d say, eyes soft. “She’s the reason I remember who I am when the world gets loud.”

You rebuilt slowly. Tenderly. With late-night talks that stretched until dawn, voices hushed and hearts wide open. With morning coffees passed between sleepy hands and shared playlists that became your soundtrack. With long drives where you sang off-key to old songs, and he smiled like you were the melody he’d been waiting for his whole life.

You learned each other again not just the good, but the messy, the complicated, the real. You learned how to hold space for each other’s fears. How to say I’m sorry without shame. How to say I love you without hesitation.

And you loved each other through it all.

There were moments of doubt, of course. Healing isn’t linear. There were days when the past crept in like a shadow, when old wounds whispered cruel things. But every time you faltered, Lewis was there arms open, heart bared, eyes full of unwavering devotion.

He reminded you that you were worth fighting for. That you were never too much. That you were everything.

And one night, as you lay tangled together beneath the stars his hoodie wrapped around you, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest he whispered, “I don’t care if the world doesn’t understand us. I just care that you do.”

You smiled, kissed his shoulder, and whispered back, “I do.”

And that was enough.

Because I Almost Lost You wasn’t just a chapter it was the turning point. The moment everything cracked open and let the light in. The moment he realised love wasn’t about approval or perfection it was about choosing each other, again and again, no matter what.

Now, your days are filled with laughter that echoes through sunlit rooms, with quiet mornings wrapped in blankets and each other, with spontaneous road trips and shared desserts and the kind of joy that doesn’t need to be loud to be real.

He loves you loudly. Fiercely. Unapologetically.

And you love him back with every piece of your heart.

Because you didn’t just survive the storm.

You found home in its aftermath.

[norrisradio]

see it with the lights out

♡ pairing: yuki tsunoda x reader | ♡ wc: 4.2k ♡ genre: tooth-rotting fluff and quite literally nothing else, yuki is in love etc etc etc ♡ a/n: i am back from my hiatus to celebrate @tsunodaradio 's birthday month (this is just the first of many, hopefully) !! i haven't had the time or the energy to write as of late, but it turns out, all i had to do was think of kae and the words came easy. to kae: happy birthday month, i adore you most. i'll love you forever, if you'll let me.

Yuki doesn’t like waiting.

Patience has never been his virtue. He moves through life like the cars he drives—fast, relentless, with no room for hesitation. A second lost is a second too long. His fingers drum against the wheel at red lights like they can will them to change. His jaw tightens when a text bubble appears and disappears without a response. When a barista takes too long foaming milk, he exhales sharply through his nose, weight shifting from one foot to the other, itching to move.

Waiting is an empty stretch of nothingness, and Yuki has never known what to do with nothing.

And then there’s you.

Taking your time with everything. Standing in front of the mirror, smoothing invisible creases from your clothes, tilting your head slightly as if considering some secret detail only you can see. Your fingers ghost over the delicate chain of a necklace, contemplating, before deciding against it, only to pick it up again a moment later. When you put on lipstick, you press your lips together slowly, blotting, then checking again, as if perfection is just a breath away from being achieved.

And food. God, food. The decision is never simple. You scroll through endless options, reading reviews like they hold the weight of fate itself. "What are you in the mood for?" he'll ask, and you'll hum in contemplation, clicking through another menu, then another. He could make a lap around the paddock in the time it takes you to decide.

Your stories are never a straight line. You start with something simple, something that happened at work, something a friend said, and then it unravels into threads of unrelated details, tangents winding in and out like an uncharted road. You laugh at your own distractions, doubling back, adding side notes and explanations. It should be frustrating, the way you lose yourself in the telling. But somehow, it never is.

With anyone else, he’d groan, cross his arms, tell them to hurry the hell up. But with you? He just watches.

Tonight, it’s no different. You still haven’t picked a restaurant, still lost in the endless debate of sushi or pasta or maybe something new, but that’s a problem for later. A problem for exactly seventeen minutes from now, if he’s guessing right. Right now, he just leans against the doorway, arms crossed, observing the quiet ritual of you getting ready.

He watches the way your fingers skim over fabrics, indecisive, how you turn slightly to see different angles in the mirror. You don’t rush. You never do. And somehow, against all logic, he never minds.

When you finally settle on an outfit, you approach him with a delicate chain in hand, turning your back to him in silent expectation. He huffs, but it’s barely a sound—more habit than anything else—as he steps forward.

The clasp is tiny between his fingers, and his movements are careful, deliberate. The softest brush of his knuckles against your skin sends a quiet shiver down your spine. He catches it, of course. Smirks. But instead of teasing, he lets his lips graze the back of your neck, a barely-there kiss, warm and fleeting.

You exhale, just the tiniest sigh, tilting back ever so slightly into him. His hands linger at your shoulders for a moment longer before he pulls away, like the warmth of you is something he wants to commit to memory.

And when you finally turn to him, triumphant in your decision: because yes, you’ve finally picked a place, he just smirks and takes your hand.

"Finally," he teases. But there’s no bite to it. Just fondness. Just you.

Yuki doesn’t share his food.

He’s always been territorial over his meals. A habit born out of necessity, of growing up in a world where survival meant claiming what was his. If it’s on his plate, it’s his. No exceptions. His teammates learned that the hard way: once, when Pierre tried to swipe a piece of sushi, Yuki had smacked his hand away so fast it left a sting. No one tried again after that. His engineers don’t dare reach for his snacks, either. If they’re hungry, they know the rule: get your own.

But then there’s you.

You, who takes an eternity to decide what to eat, scrolling through menu after menu with a furrowed brow, lips pursed like you’re contemplating the meaning of life instead of dinner. When the waiter comes, you wave them off with a sheepish, "Just a second!" only to spend five more minutes debating between two options. In the end, you settle on your well-practiced lie—"I’m not that hungry, I’ll just have a little of yours."

A lie. A blatant, shameless one.

Because it always starts the same way. The first time, you reach over with casual ease, fingers stretching toward his fries like you’ve done it a hundred times before. He’s faster, catches your wrist midair, his grip firm, fork still poised between his fingers. His glare is sharp, warning.

"No."

You blink at him, all wide-eyed innocence, withdrawing your hand like you’ve been gravely wronged. And then, the moment his attention flickers back to his food—

Another attempt.

The second time, he doesn’t just scowl: he shifts his plate closer, an unmistakable barrier between your thieving hands and his perfectly arranged meal. A challenge. You only grin, tapping your nails against the table, waiting.  He eats a fry while looking you dead in the eyes, slow and deliberate, just to make a point. There’s mischief in your gaze, a silent dare, and before he can react—

You strike. Quick. Efficient. A fry, stolen right from the top.

His brow twitches.

The third time, he sighs. Defeat, begrudging and inevitable. His fingers tighten around his burger as he watches you pop another fry into your mouth, chewing in smug satisfaction. He should be annoyed. He wants to be. But then you look at him like that: head tilted, eyes twinkling, the kind of look that makes him feel like he’s losing a game he never wanted to play.

And maybe he is.

"Just take them," he mutters, pushing the plate toward you with an exaggerated eye roll.

You hum in satisfaction, plucking another fry. This time, without the theatrics. Your hand lingers on his wrist, fingertips brushing against his skin for just a second too long, leaving warmth in their wake. He feels it even after you pull away.

And then—because you never let a victory go uncelebrated—you lean in, pressing a quick, grease-slicked kiss to his cheek, barely more than a brush of lips.

"Thanks, babe."

He groans, deep and exasperated, but the corner of his mouth betrays him, twitching up despite himself.

He doesn’t take the plate back.

Yuki doesn’t do mornings.

Mornings have always been a battle for him. A fight he rarely wins, especially on days that aren’t marked by the screech of tires or the roar of engines. Those days, race days, adrenaline is enough to slice through his grogginess. The second the sun breaks the horizon, he’s already sharp, his mind a laser focus, every muscle wired for action. He doesn’t even feel it when the day begins, not with the rush of purpose coursing through him.

But on mornings like this—quiet, unhurried, with nothing demanding his attention—Yuki is a creature of blankets. The soft, heavy weight of the covers calls to him, a promise of warmth, the kind that keeps him cocooned in sleep even as daylight spills through the windows. His hand reaches out instinctively to swipe at the alarm, but when he finds it, the screen just mocks him: too early, it says. And he agrees wholeheartedly.

In the dim light, his body feels sluggish, his movements slow and uncoordinated, he could easily fall back into a deep, thick sleep if only the world would allow it.

But then…

There’s you.

You, who never seem to have trouble waking, even in the early mornings. You always stir before him, never in a rush, just the slow, gentle stretching of muscles as you lazily push yourself up from the warmth of the covers. And then, just as effortlessly, you curl back into him, pressing yourself against his side like you belong there. And maybe you do. There’s something about the way you fit into him, the way your body drapes over his like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The curve of your cheek presses against his shoulder, and the soft sigh you let out, content and peaceful, lingers in the air, making the early hour a little less unbearable.

Your breath is warm against his skin, and the weight of you, pressed close, becomes an anchor that tethers him to the moment. He doesn’t even try to move, not even to roll over and bury his face in the pillow again. He just... stays there, eyes half-closed, caught somewhere between waking and dreaming.

"It’s early," you mumble, your voice still thick with sleep, like a purring hum that barely reaches his ears.

Yuki grunts in agreement, his body shifting slightly, but only enough to adjust to you, to allow your small movements to nestle into him more comfortably. Not that he’d want you to move away, even if the quiet morning makes him want to pull the covers back over his head and shut out the world.

But then, the quiet settles again, and he feels your fingertips—so soft, so light—tracing lazy patterns over his stomach. Aimless, gentle, like you’re sketching invisible lines in the air, drawing with no particular plan, just because you can. 

And then, when the silence stretches long enough, your voice comes again, quieter this time—a murmur against his chest, laced with hunger.

"’M hungry."

Yuki cracks open one eye, just a slit, enough to catch your profile as you shift slightly, your hair falling messily over your forehead. You’re warm, so warm, radiating comfort. He watches you for a second, his brain half asleep, half awake, still struggling with the very idea of leaving this bed.

"Then go eat," he mutters, the words coming out gruff and unintelligible as he burrows deeper into the pillow, but the sharpness of his tone fades when you simply press your face closer to him.

Your lips brush against his jaw as you speak, muffled by his skin. "Can’t move. Comfy."

A small noise escapes him, a frustrated exhale that blends into a groan, but it's all fondness, the way his arms instinctively tighten around you: enclosing you closer, even though part of him longs to return to the dark, heavy quiet of sleep. But not yet. Not with you here.

"So starve," he grumbles, his words lazy with sleep, but there’s no malice in them. He doesn’t really want you to go hungry, not when you're this close, the quiet thrum of your heartbeat beneath his ear, the rise and fall of your chest so steady, so familiar.

You make a sound that’s something between a whine and a pout, burying your face against him like you’ve decided he’s your pillow now, your human cushion. You’re so damn cute, and it makes something inside him twist in the most uncomfortable way, like he’s helpless to it.

"Rude," you grumble, and he can feel the curve of your lips against his jaw, the ghost of your kiss before you speak again. "Some boyfriend you are."

He smirks despite himself. He can’t fight it, not when you’re this close, not when your warmth fills the spaces between his ribs. He groans again, muffled, but his body betrays him, pulling you in deeper, shifting until your head is tucked into his neck, your body a perfect match to his as you press yourself into him with a slow, deliberate ease.

You shift again, only this time, it’s your lips, soft and warm, brushing against his jaw, leaving a barely-there kiss, so light, so soft, that it makes him shiver. 

"Mm," you hum, the sound full of satisfaction. "Love you."

The words seep into him like honey, slow and thick, and for a long beat, Yuki stays still, his heart pounding in his chest, unable to ignore the sudden rush of warmth filling him from the inside out. His eyelids flutter open, just enough to catch the way you blink up at him, sleepy and impossibly smug, your lips tugging into a smile that’s everything he wants to see.

"Love you too," he mumbles, his voice rough with sleep, the words still coming slow, like he’s trying to hold onto the hazy warmth of sleep for just a second longer. And then, after a beat, he sighs, feeling the weight of the day creeping up on him.

"Now shut up."

You laugh. It’s soft, a little breathy, and it carries all the sweetness of the morning.

And for once, Yuki doesn’t mind the early morning. Doesn’t mind waking up. He doesn’t mind anything at all as long as you’re here.

Yuki doesn’t try new things.

Yuki’s routine is sacred. The familiar, the comfortable, the things he knows will always be there—those are his preferences. When it comes to food, he’s not adventurous. Sure, he’ll put on a show for the cameras: pretend to enjoy some bizarre, experimental dish cooked up by the team for social media content. But that’s because he has to. It’s part of the job. The likes, the shares, the endless promotional content. He’ll grin through it, even if the taste is something straight out of a horror story. But outside of that, when he’s given the choice, when he’s the one in control, he sticks to his tried-and-true favorites.

Which is why, when you walk down the grocery aisle together, Yuki’s hand automatically reaches for the familiar: a tub of Ben & Jerry’s Cookies and Cream. He pulls it from the shelf with a satisfied, almost reverent air. The cold carton, the ice cream with those perfect little chunks of cookie—this is his happy place.

But then, just as he’s about to toss it into the cart, you sidle up behind him, a mischievous grin on your face, and hold up something that makes his stomach twist in a very un-Yuki-like way.

"Look what I found!" you say, the gleam in your eyes impossible to ignore. You’re holding a tub of bubblegum ice cream, the bright pink color practically screaming for attention. "I’ve been looking for this forever!"

Yuki’s nose scrunches instantly. His lips curl in disgust as he eyes the ice cream, then shoots you a look like you’ve just committed some grave offense.

"No," he says firmly, shaking his head as if even the idea of it is sacrilege. "That looks gross."

You’re relentless, though, and your pout is lethal. It’s the kind of look that softens his resolve faster than anything else. You lean into him, your face inches from his, and his breath hitches at the closeness, even if it’s just the softness of your eyes that does it.

"Baby," you whine, just enough to make his patience snap like a twig.

Yuki sighs, the sound heavy and full of reluctant affection. He takes the tub from your hand, dropping the one he was holding into the cart and begrudgingly placing the bubblegum ice cream in its place. It’s a silent surrender, but there’s a subtle, almost unnoticeable smile that plays at the corner of his mouth. He still buys his usual, though. He’s not that far gone.

Later that night, when the living room lights are dim and the flickering glow of the TV fills the space, you’re sprawled across the couch beside him, a bowl of the bubblegum ice cream in your hands. It’s become a routine of sorts after qualifying: movie night, couch lounging, just the two of you with a random film playing in the background.

You extend the bowl toward him, holding out the spoon like a challenge. "Want a bite?"

Yuki looks down at your offering, his lips curling in a disinterested, almost condescending way as he raises his own spoonful of real ice cream, his precious Cookies and Cream.

"I'm good," he mutters, lifting the spoon to his mouth. It’s the perfect balance of sweet and cookie, the familiar chill that fills him with a sense of calm. He could eat this every day for the rest of his life and be content.

But you’re still looking at him, your eyes wide and pleading, the kind of gaze that never fails to chip away at his defenses. You stick out your bottom lip in that irresistible pout, and for a moment, it feels like the world narrows down to just the two of you, the silence punctuated only by the soft hum of the movie.

"Please?" you ask, your voice a little teasing, a little desperate in that endearing way you know gets to him. "It's so good, I promise it'll change your life."

Yuki groans, a low sound of defeat. You always know how to make him cave, even if he’ll never admit it. He rolls his eyes, but despite his protests, he leans forward, reluctantly taking the spoon from you.

The first bite hits him cold, and for a moment, all he can focus on is the strange, almost sickly-sweet bubblegum flavor that coats his tongue. It’s too sweet, too artificial; nothing like the comforting richness of his usual choice. His face scrunches, but he swallows anyway, the texture strange and the taste lingering uncomfortably.

He doesn’t say anything right away, as if waiting for his taste buds to process what’s just happened.

You’re watching him closely, your eyes sparkling with mischief, but also a touch of hope.

Yuki looks at you—genuine, unaffected, as if nothing’s changed. He takes another spoonful of his own, shrugging noncommittally.

He still prefers Cookies and Cream. The bubblegum is a novelty, nothing more.

But... sometimes, just sometimes, when you're there beside him with that expectant look in your eyes, Yuki reaches for the bubblegum ice cream instead. Not because it’s better. Not because he’s suddenly a convert. But because, in that small way, he wants to let you win a little.

And maybe, just maybe, it’s not so bad after all.

Yuki doesn’t get nervous.

The track is alive with sound and energy, the roar of engines filling the air like a living thing. Yuki has been in the thick of it more times than he can count, his hands steady on the wheel, his mind sharp, as if every twist of the road was part of a dance he had mastered long ago. He thrives under pressure, welcomes it like an old friend. The chaos of it all—the adrenaline, the need to make split-second decisions that could change everything—only sharpens his focus. Confidence is his armor, polished and unyielding, a constant companion that never wavers.

But today? Today is different.

Today, it’s you.

It’s the first race in a while that you’ve been able to attend. Your work at the hospital always keeps you busy, and Yuki would never dare hold that against you. He knows how hard you work, how many lives you touch with your compassion, and he’s proud of you for it. But it doesn’t change the fact that he’s missed you at the track, missed the quiet, steady presence you bring, the way your eyes always seem to find him in the chaos of the race.

The car hums beneath him, a low growl of power that makes the world feel like it’s about to shift on its axis. He’s focused. Laser-focused. 

But it’s hard to keep that edge when you’re standing at the edge of the garage, just outside the fence that separates the chaos from the calm. Your arms are wrapped around yourself, your posture a mix of anticipation and quiet calm. The moment your gaze locks with his, it’s like everything else fades away. The world becomes a blur, and it’s just you and him, just the way your eyes fix on him with such intensity that it makes his chest tighten.

He’s seen the look before, but today, it feels different. Today, there’s a weight to it, a softness that makes his stomach twist, makes his heart beat just a little faster. And in that moment, Yuki realizes something that catches him off guard, something that pulls him away from his usual confidence.

It’s not nerves, not doubt. It’s something else, something quieter, something urgent. A need, perhaps. 

To be good. 

To be great. 

To make you proud. 

He swallows, his throat suddenly dry, and tightens his grip on the wheel, as if the car might feel it, as if it might understand that this time, it’s not just about winning for himself.

It’s about you.

So when the lights go out and he launches forward, he’s not just racing for himself anymore.

Yuki doesn’t do sappy stuff.

Romance movies make him cringe, the kind where someone runs through the rain with their arms wide open, all dramatic and earnest. Grand gestures are reserved for people who don't know how to express themselves with just words. He rolls his eyes when his friends get all soft and sentimental, throwing around sweet nothings like it’s second nature.

Yuki is none of those things.

He’s the guy who prefers bluntness over all the fluff, the one who keeps his affection hidden beneath layers of sarcasm, behind the smirk he wears like armor. It’s simpler that way. Cleaner.

But then there’s you.

You, with your quiet way of being. Your softness, like it’s woven into every little thing you do. You curl up next to him, body warm and relaxed against his side. Your fingertips trace absentminded shapes on his palm, slow and gentle, like it's the easiest thing in the world to touch him. It’s simple, effortless. No rush, no expectation—just your hand in his, like it's always been meant to be that way.

The room hums with that quietness, the soft buzz of a late night, with the only sounds the soft rustle of sheets and your steady breathing. It's the kind of silence that feels like home. Not the absence of sound, but the absence of any need to fill it.

Yuki doesn’t need to fill the silence when it’s with you.

He’s never been good at this, at letting himself sit with his emotions without some form of distraction, without running away from the weight of them. But with you, it’s different.

You, with your warmth. You, with your quiet acceptance of him, of all his rough edges, the parts of himself he hides behind teasing words and quick smiles. You make it so easy to just… be.

Then, without any warning, you break the stillness, your voice a soft murmur against his shoulder. "I love you."

It’s not the first time you’ve said it. But this time, this time, it feels different.

The words slip out so easily, like they’ve been waiting for the right moment to escape. Like they’re not something you’ve practiced, something you’ve planned, but something you’ve just… known. Something you’ve been carrying inside of you, and now, here in this quiet, tucked against him in the warm darkness, it just flows from your lips as naturally as breathing.

And suddenly, Yuki’s chest tightens.

He blinks, once, twice, like he’s trying to clear the weight that’s settled behind his ribs. His breath catches in his throat, too surprised by the simplicity of it all, by the sudden way his heart seems to stop beating for just a second.

He turns his head slightly, just enough to catch the gentle curve of your face in the dim light. Your eyes are closed, your lashes resting softly against your skin, as if you’ve said something ordinary. But Yuki? Yuki feels like the ground has shifted beneath him, like he’s teetering on the edge of something he can’t quite explain.

There’s no grand gesture, no need for fireworks or dramatic pauses. Just you, so sure of yourself, so unafraid to offer him something so pure.

He swallows thickly, his throat suddenly feeling tight, heavy with the weight of something he hasn’t allowed himself to feel in a long time.

His eyes flicker to your hand still resting on his, and for a moment, it’s as though time has stopped. All he can think of is the way you’ve quietly and gently made a place for him in your world, how effortlessly you’ve slipped into his heart.

And in that moment, something in him shifts, something soft, something fragile.

He looks at you again, really looks at you, and his breath comes out in a slow exhale. Your face is calm, content, the way it always is when you’re with him. And maybe it’s the way your touch lingers on his palm, or maybe it’s the quiet trust in your voice, or maybe it’s just the undeniable truth that, with you, he feels like he doesn’t have to hide anymore.

So, maybe, just maybe—his voice is barely a whisper, but it holds more weight than any grand gesture ever could. "I love you too."

It’s simple. Quiet. Almost as if saying it out loud makes it more real, more tangible, than it’s ever been.

And when you open your eyes and meet his gaze, your smile is soft and slow, as if you’ve always known.

And for once, in the silence that follows, Yuki feels like he’s finally where he’s meant to be.

[book-loving-babe]

why is making an smau so hard???? so many pictures, so many websites, so much

i just had a good idea for a fic goddamn 😩

[book-loving-babe]

what’s a girl got to do for some underrated driver fics??? where are the lance, alex, pierre, gabriel, george, ollie, kimi, yuki stories

(and not the throuples just the one driver please 🙏🏼)

[keonholoversclub]

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ Oscar Piastri fic rec ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

(this rec include smau , long fic , drabble ect...)

(everything is fluff)

LOST & FOUND @femreader

reader has a shitty friendgroup. But it does lure in a driver.

some angst, comfort & fluff

smau

SPILLED TEA @nono-serves

While Oscar is gone for his daily training, you and his mom Nicole have a relaxing day, where she can't help but spill a few funny stories about her only son.

2.1k+ words

written

CAN YOU FIGHT @meadowscarlet

fans teases a whipped oscar piastri if he can fight for his pretty girlfriend.

smau

P1 IN WORLD HISTORY @stzrgirl4norris

no one understands how Oscar suddenly dropped facts after facts on the most random historical events

Oscar Piastri x Historian!Reader

smau

THE SAINZ EFFECT @sharlsworld

𝗅𝗂𝗍𝗍𝗅𝖾 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗓 𝗁𝖺𝗌 𝖺 𝖿𝖾𝗐 𝖽𝗋𝗂𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌 𝗐𝗋𝖺𝗉𝗉𝖾𝖽 𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗎𝗇𝖽 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝗀𝖾𝗋， 𝗌𝗁𝖾 𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗌 𝗉𝗅𝖺𝗒𝗂𝗇𝗀 𝗐𝗂𝗍𝗁 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝖻𝗎𝗍 𝗐𝗂𝗅𝗅 𝗈𝗇𝖾 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗆 𝖿𝗂𝗇𝖺𝗅𝗅𝗒 𝖼𝖺𝗉𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗁𝖾𝗋 𝗁𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍？𝗆𝖺𝗒𝖻𝖾 𝖺 𝖼𝖾𝗋𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇 𝗌𝗁𝗒 𝖺𝗎𝗌𝗌𝗂𝖾

𝗈𝗌𝖼𝖺𝗋 𝗉𝗂𝖺𝗌𝗍𝗋𝗂 𝗑 𝗌𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗓 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

smau

THE HATING GAME @sainzzreputaticn

oscar jack piastri is your teammate, and you hate his guts and he hates yours, that’s just how it’s always going to be… right?

oscar piastri x sainz!reader, carlos sainz x sister!reader (platonic)

3.5k+ words

mostly written

LUCKY CHARM @paddockletters

Nobody had seen her. No posts, no tags — until she attends her fisrt gp, miami.

smau

HOUSE OF HEARTS @hugleclerc

people think oscar is just a fan of your music, turns out he is a bit more than that.

oscar piastri x dj!asian!reader

smau

MATCHMAKER @harrysfolklore

oscar finds a puppy wandering around the streets of monaco that leads him to meet his lucky charm

smau

ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚ hole in one₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚ @emsdrabbles

when oscar goes on an adventure with alex to watch lily’s tournament, he doesn’t expect to meet her

oscar pisatri x golfer!reader

smau

this one’s for you, babe! ⛐ @tsunodaradio

you don’t usually believe in jinxes, but the track record is damning. every time he says it—this one’s for you—something goes horribly, comically wrong. like the universe is actively penalizing him for being besotted in public.

1.8 k words

written

NEVER TOO BUSY FOR YOU @thepitlanepress

oscar caring about reader having period cramps

written

STOP PRETENDING ! @mrspiastri

blurb

1.9k words

written

[chrisevansonly]

𝐛𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐜

ʚ charles leclerc x female reader

ʚ charles gets the one call he never wanted to get, and despite your worries about his precious pista, he doesn’t care about the car. just you.

ʚ angst, description of injuries (minor), mentions of blood, panic attacks, violence (minor), tears and lots of soft charles

ʚ okay idk why i thought of this idea, but i have and here we are, i know people have been asking for angst, this idk if it qualifies as the angst you’re all looking for but I will work on some other ideas too:)

Time was frozen as you sat in the driver’s seat of what once looked like a Ferrari 488 Pista. Only now you could make out the back of the car, the front of it might as well be in a what not to do when you drive a luxury vehicle catalogue. Your head was ringing and your chest pounding as adrenaline and anxiety pumped through your veins, as much as you’d started to feel pain in a multitude of places, your brain was thinking of only one thing;

Charles is going to be so mad.

To make matters worse, the man who had hit you was now cursing through the tinted window, claiming the accident to be all your fault. Deciding to think about Charles’s potential anger later you picked your phone up and called his number.

Thankfully it didn’t take long, 

“Hi baby, are you on your way back”

A pause 

“Um…I-I got in an accident Char…”

The line was silent before he spoke up, panic laced in his voice. 

“Qu'entendez-vous par ‘accident?’  Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé? Où es-tu, es-tu gravement blesse.”

“Charles, english please my head hurts so bad.”

Normally you’d be able to hold an entire conversation with him in French, but right now it was just too much.

“I’m sorry, where are you baby? Are you hurt bad?”

Sniffling softly, you hummed

“I am down by the marina; my head really hurts. The man who hit me…he-he is yelling loudly at me…can you-oh Charles your poor car….”

“No, don’t even worry about my car baby, you matter more to me, I can’t replace you, but I can replace the car. I’ll be there in ten minutes, keep the doors locked, don’t get out.”

You nodded, only then realizing he couldn’t see you. 

“Yes, okay, I’ll wait here…please hurry”

“I will chérie, I promise.”

-

Just like he’d said, a familiar black Alfa Romeo pulled up next to the crash site, Charles quick to get out and come towards the driver’s side door, only to see the man banging at the window. 

“Hey, can you step away from my car?”

The man turned to look at Charles

“Cette stupide salope a détruit ma voiture!”

“Je vous le redemande, éloignez-vous de ma voiture”

It was getting harder for Charles to reign in his anger, quickly pushing the man back, giving him a look that at this point in the evening, had him backing away, finally allowing Charles to open the door and see you

“Hey..hey.. I’m here, its okay?”

Charles swore his heart broke as you looked at him with teary eyes, a bruise above your eyebrow, but thankfully you appeared alright otherwise.

“I-I’m so sorry about your car Charlie, he just-he came out of nowhere, and I-I couldn’t-I am so so sorry!”

Holding back the sobs was almost impossible at this point, but Charles was quick to undo your seatbelt, helping you turn towards the door and put your feet on the ground. Once he had you turned toward him, he brought his hands up to hold your face, his thumbs swiping your cheeks.

“My love, listen to me, you are my main priority, you are the love of my life, and this car is just mental and parts, all which can be fixed, but you cannot, and I cannot have another one of you, ever okay?”

Sniffling you nodded

“Okay…”

In the distance you could heard the sirens coming your way, knowing you’d be going to the hospital, it was a given but for now you really just needed Charles, and he wasn’t going anywhere, that was for sure.

“Are you hurting badly baby?”

“No, just my head…can you help me up?”

Your boyfriend nodded, holding onto your arms gently as he helped you stand up, before bringing you into his chest, your arms wrapping around him, as he did the same to you.

“I am so glad you’re okay, you have no idea how worried I was…we’ll get you to the hospital and then i’m not leaving your side”

“Promise you won’t?”

Charles smiled as he saw your pinky finger come up, quickly linking his in a pink promise, a tradition you’d both been doing since your third date.

“I promise, i’m not going anywhere”

As the sirens got closer, you leaned further into Charles, knowing no matter what happened, he’d be by your side for as long as you needed him, he’d be there. It didn’t matter if he had a race, media or social events to attend, for you he’d drop them in a heart beat over and over again.

Because he never wanted to get that kind of phone call again.

translations:

-Qu'entendez-vous par ‘accident?’  Qu'est-ce qui s'est passé? Où es-tu, es-tu gravement blesse : What do you mean by 'accident?' What happened? Where are you, are you seriously injured?

-Cette stupide salope a détruit ma voiture!: This stupid bitch destroyed my car!

-Je vous le redemande, éloignez-vous de ma voiture: I'm asking you again, get away from my car

[miusvault]

BUSY ─ max verstappen

໑ word count ﹙1.2k﹚

໑ pairing ﹙max verstappen x gf!reader﹚

໑ content ﹙angsty-angst, max is quite dismissive sorry, breakup au, implied cheating, slight carmen slander﹚

The cold Monaco night felt amazing on your skin. The warm light bouncing off the surfaces of the restaurant gave you a radiant and dewy shine.

The silk dress that you had adorned fit like a glove. The kitten heels on your feet adding just a little to your height; so you didn't look too tall nor too short next to your boyfriend. All in all, you looked gorgeous.

You had also spent an insane amount of time fixing yourself up for dinner. You wanted nothing short of perfection.

Eyeing the rest of the restaurant, your chest squeezed in despair. Everyone looked so happy with their loved ones, however, the same couldn’t be said about you.

Your date for the night, your boyfriend of one year, was too busy giggling and typing away on his phone to acknowledge your presence.

You should have seen it coming, you supposed. He had been nothing but short with you these past few weeks. Snapping at you over the tiniest of things.

Just last week you added a little too much salt in his rice and he went off on you; heavily accusing you of purposely trying to sabotage his diet.

Now, Max was never abusive. In fact he always treated you with so much love and tenderness that you felt like a princess.

However, something sinister had overcome the Dutch man, replacing your dear ‘Maxie’ with a shadow of his former self.

With your relationship's best intentions at heart, you thought a dinner night out would at least ease some of the stress he had been under; with his team and all. Plus it was also your one year anniversary.

But now that you were staring at him from across the table you couldn’t help but think that maybe the metaphoric candle that was your relationship had long died out.

Plastering a fake smile on your face to mask the hurt, you attempted to strike up a conversation. “The weather’s nice tonight.”

“Sure.” His voice as unenthusiastic as ever; sounding like he’d much rather be anywhere else than at the restaurant with you.

And that hurt.

The perfect dinner you had organized didn’t feel as special anymore. You desperately wanted to leave. To run back home and hide yourself away.

And just like your ride home, when you crossed the threshold into his apartment, you didn’t utter a single word to Max.

You were still trying to wrap your head around his cold behaviour.

Had you done something wrong to warrant his indifference?

Painful questions swirled around your head like a broken carousel. Your subconscious, as if to mock you, relayed distasteful outcomes.

Did he not love you anymore?

Several months ago that thought would never have crossed your mind. However, since Austria, it seemed like the thought of you was the last thing on his mind.

And honestly. . . It hurt.

It hurt to see the man who cherished you so deeply, not give a fuck about you anymore.

Where did it all go wrong?

No.

What did you do wrong?

How long will you keep faking smiles? Pretending everything was okay when it really wasn’t. Your heart broke each waking day it was a surprise it still beat.

In desperate need of some answers, you suddenly turned to the Dutch man. Your sudden move jostling him a bit. “Do you not like me anymore?”

You hated to say it out loud. But you couldn’t go on like this. Walking around with a dark cloud full of sadness and uncertainty looming over your head.

Max stilled at your words. Huh? What did you mean?

“You don’t seem to like having me around anymore.” You mumbled so low that he almost didn’t catch your words.

Did he miss something? A small and confused ‘why’ fell past his lips.

Why? You would have scoffed if you weren’t so upset.

Then it hit you. He didn’t even know he was hurting you. You were right. He didn’t care about you anymore.

Like a tidal wave, exhaustion hit you like a speeding truck. You suddenly didn’t have the will to fight for your love anymore, not when you had been fighting for so long.

“Why? Max. You’re asking why?” You scoffed. For real, this time.

“Max. You’ve been ignoring and treating me like absolute shit since Austria.” Your finger poked at his chest. Anger seething off your body.

“You’re so busy with everyone but me. I spent a ridiculous amount of money getting ready for our anniversary dinner tonight and you never complimented me! Not even once.”

Max’s eyes dropped to your figure as if he were seeing you for the first time tonight. He probably was to be honest.

You look gorgeous. He wanted to say but he figured the complimentary train left station a few hours ago.

“You know what?” You sighed. “Why do I even bother? We should just end this.”

Those five words sent an icy chill down his spine. But instead of feeling nervous, anger clouded his veins.

You were giving up? Already?

“You’re giving up?” He voiced. Sarcasm dripping from his tone

“Excuse me?” His tone took you by surprise.

“We have a few bad days and you’re giving up? Typical.” He scoffed. His feet leading him away from you. No way he was trying to pin this on you.

“Since Austria you’ve been nothing but cold to me, Verstappen. You don’t come on walks with me anymore. You don’t hold me in your arms anymore. You don’t even call me pretty anymore.” The list would have been far much longer if you had the will to fight him. “You’re too busy streaming and ignoring me when I need you.”

“But those are my friends!” He bit back. “I deserve to spend time with them, especially after the mess of races I’ve had.”

“What about me?” Your voice broke. Tears pooling at the corner of your eyes. “What about your girlfriend?”

Max stilled. You were right, but that doesn’t mean he would go down without a fight. So he probed on. Let’s see who would cave first.

“What about you?”

You couldn’t respond. Instead your body shook with violent sobs. This man before you wasn’t the Max you loved and held dear to your heart. This had to be some cruel joke.

“You don’t make love to me anymore. Do I repulse you that much?” You sobbed. The tears falling from your eyes never ceasing.

“You promised me a fun summer. And now I’m stuck in this stuffy ass apartment, forced to live my euro summer through Carmen’s obnoxious snapchats. You–”

“Then leave.” He said with such finality it caught you off guard.

“What?”

“If you hate it so much then leave. Find yourself someone who’s willing to waste money on an over glorified boat in the sun.”

This was it. The final nail in your relationship’s coffin.

Just when you thought couldn’t break any further, you could feel the pieces pool at your feet.

“You want me to leave?” You couldn’t believe it. He wants you gone?

“If you are going to moan about how your friends are soaking up the sun, you might as well go and date them.”

This wasn’t what you envisioned when you started going out with him. You certainly didn’t sign up for such disrespect.

Looking up at him for the final time, you walked out the door. Where you were going? You didn’t have the faintest clue. But you were leaving.

Just like he wanted.

໑ note ﹙some angst bc i'm down in the dumps ❤﹚

© miusvault

[maxwhathappened]

Order #1

pairing: Max Verstappen x reader

warnings: language

word count: 1,171

order:

waffle cone - angst

butter pecan - “I can’t imagine my life without you.”

espresso - “Fuck, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

orange soda float - secret relationship

You were waiting in Max’s hotel room. He was out celebrating after a win—out of obligation he told you. It didn’t take any of the sting out of the fact that Max had you hiding away in his hotel room instead of by his side. You had been dating for eight months. Occasionally paparazzi had gotten a photo of you together, but his manager had been able to stop all of them from going public. Max had literally paid to keep you a secret. You were upset about it. You had been for a while. But as you sat alone watching tv in the empty penthouse Max had booked you knew that you couldn’t accept it anymore.

It was 12:36 AM when Max finally came back from his night out. You were seated on the couch when he got there. You turned to look at him and he had a wide smile on his face, happy to be with you again. His smile quickly fell when he met your eyes. You had never been good at hiding your emotions. He walked over to you slowly, unsure exactly what it was you were upset about.

“Thank you for staying up for me, schat,” Max said as he sat down beside you. “I missed you.” You scoffed.

“You missed me?” You questioned, your tone harsh. Max furrowed his eyebrow.

“Of course I missed you,” he tried to assure you. “I wanted to be back here with you.” You sighed.

“You didn’t want me there with you though? You just wanted to be here with me?” You asked. Max was confused to say the least.

“What’s this about, schat? Let’s just talk,” he requested. You took a deep breath.

“Why aren’t we public yet?” You asked. Max was quiet for a moment.

“I like having you to myself,” he said thoughtfully. “The world knows everything about me, but you and I are the only ones who get to know about us.”

“They won’t know about us just because we go public,” you said. “It’s not like they get to watch us when we’re at your place together.” Max cringed a bit at the words ‘your place’ from your mouth. His place was your place. It was your home. He knew it was too soon to ask you to move in with him, though you basically already did. You only stayed at your place when he was out of town and you couldn’t go with him.

“They won’t see us at our home,” Max said. “But they’ll know more about us than you or I want.” You stared into his icy blue eyes, emotion pouring out of yours.

“I don’t want to be a secret anymore, Max. I want this to be real,” you told him.

“This is real,” Max told you firmly. “People don’t need to know for this to be real.”

“But we can’t be together. Not everywhere. I can’t kiss you in the garage before races. I can’t hold your hand or even walk into the paddock with you,” you replied.

“Is that important?” Max asked. “Isn’t it enough that we love each other?” You stared at him blankly. You hadn’t really been expecting him to say ‘no.’ It seemed like you were overdue to be public to you.

“I want to love you everywhere,” you told him quietly.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea. You’ll be safer if nobody knows that I care about you,” Max said. You felt tears coming to your eyes and looked down at the ground. Max raised an eyebrow. He was about to speak up when he heard you sniffle. His face immediately fell. “Fuck, I’m sorry,” he spit out quickly. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

Max pulled you into his lap at once, letting you tuck your head into his neck and wrapping his arms tightly around you. You let out a small sob and Max felt his heart break.

“Shh. Shh. Shh,” he soothed. “It’s alright.” He tucked some loose strands of hair behind your ear and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “I’m sorry,” he murmured again.

“I just don’t get it, Max,” you whimpered. “You tell me you love me, but you don’t want anyone to know. It just feels like I’m temporary.”

“Baby, no,” he cooed. “You are not temporary. I can’t imagine my life without you.”

“Then why do you still want to keep us a secret?” You asked.

“I want you safe, schatje,” Max explained. “Once the world knows we’re together the press and fans will start criticizing you for everything you do.” He sighed. “I don’t want that for you.” You were quiet for a moment.

“I would rather the world hate me and know that I love you than if they didn’t know I loved you at all,” you said thoughtfully. Max smiled softly. He lifted your head from his neck so he could meet your eye, cupping your cheek and gently wiping away a stray tear with his thumb.

“You want the world to know you love me?” He asked.

“And that you love me back,” you said. Max chuckled.

“Do you want to officially come to the next race with me then?” He asked. “You can kiss me good luck before the race and we can hold hands in the paddock,” he suggested.

“Really?” You asked.

“Yes, schatje,” he confirmed. “I want you to be happy.”

“You make me happy,” you said. “Just you. I don’t need anything else.”

“But you need me to show you off, hmm?” He teased you.

“I need to be with you when you celebrate,” you told him. “I’m proud of you, Maxie. I want to be there with you.” Max smiled softly.

“It’s amazing how you tell me something so simple and it’s better than a whole night with my friends celebrating me,” he said.

“Imagine how great a night where we’re celebrating together could be then,” you replied.

“The two of us can celebrate when we get back to our home,” Max said.

“Our home?” You had noticed when he said it earlier, but when he said it a second time you couldn’t resist.

“You might as well move in,” Max said boldly. “You already have a key,” he reasoned. “And my closet is full of your clothes,” he added before you could reply.

“The only people who know we’re dating right now are our families, but you want me to move in with you?” You asked with a chuckle.

“I don’t see the issue,” he replied. You giggled before leaning in to kiss him. He gave you a dopey smile when you pulled away. “I love you,” he sighed helplessly. Another giggle escaped your lips.

“I’ll move in,” you told him. “I want to see an instagram post about it though,” you teased him.

“Liefje, if I’m not hiding you anymore then I’m going to be showing you off,” Max said. “There won’t be a person alive who doesn’t know you’re mine.”

[emchantearchive]

broken confessions

part 2 | masterlist | requesting rules

summary: in the haze of a drunken night out, you finally confess your feelings to max. but instead of the joyful moment you imagined, you’re met with a harsh dose of reality as max struggles to accept your drunken confession.

WARNINGS: angst, use of alcohol, hurt no comfort

w.c: 1.7k

a/n: first piece of sole angst posted on here yayy. however this was written for @inevesgf and is still solely dedicated to her !! you guys get to see too though, i hope you all enjoy. let me know your thoughts on this via reblog, comments or asks!

the bass thrums through the floor, vibrating up through your heels, but it’s nothing compared to the pounding in your chest. it wasn’t just the alcohol causing it— no, it was the fact that max was only a few metres away from you, happily dancing away with people he had just met that night.

it wasn’t his attention on others people that made your heart race; it was how deeply in love with him you were, though he remained completely oblivious.

inviting you out for drinks might not have been the best idea, because one thing was certain when you were drunk: you got honest— a little too honest.

that’s what got you to where you were now. you weren’t sure exactly what possessed you to do it— maybe it was the alcohol taking effect, maybe it was the way max’s laughter made your chest tighten, or maybe you just couldn’t keep it together any longer.

before you know it, you’re standing infront of max himself, grabbing onto his arm to get his attention. he turns, a little shocked, but his expression quickly softens, a smile overtaking his face. he greets you, his other hand ruffling your hair as he lets out a chuckle; he’s tipsy himself.

he asks you what’s the matter, and if you needed him for anything particular. you shake your head though, squeezing his arm tighter before leaning on the tips of your toes to reach his ear. then, “maxie, i’m in love with youuuu,” drunkenly tumbles from your lips.

max freezes, his smile faltering as he stares at you, eyes wide. all he can manage to murmur is a quiet “what?” which was barely audible over the pounding music.

you misinterpret his reaction, thinking he didn’t hear you. determined, you straighten up and repeat yourself, almost shouting it this time. “max, i’m in love with you!”

max’s eyes impossibly widen, panic flashing across his face. without a second thought, he moves his hand over your mouth, muffling your words. “shhh, not so loud!” he whisper-yells, urgently looking around to see if anyone heard.

you blink up at him confused, your words lost behind his palm. the look on his face wasn’t what you expected— there’s no joy, no relief, just shock and something which you could only recognise as fear.

after max finishes his frantic glancing around, he pulls his hand from your mouth. before you can utter another word, his hand is gripping your wrist tightly as he tries to guide you out of the place. you can barely hear anything from the loud thumping of your heart and the booming music, but you catch bits of max politely trying to excuse you both as he leads you towards the exit.

as max pulls you through the crowd, your mind races to catch up with what just happened. the warmth of his hand on your wrist is a stark contrast to the cold dread you feel settling within you. he pushes the club door open, leading you into the chilly night air. the sudden quietness compared to the almost deafening sound inside the club makes everything feel too real, too raw.

he finally released his grip on your wrist, turning around to face you, his face mixed with confusion and frustration. “what were you thinking??” he asks, voice sharp but low, as if to keep himself in check.

your chest tightens, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. your voice is small and trembling as you try to talk to him. “i couldn’t keep it in anymore—“

you weren’t able to finish though, as max is interrupting you again. at first it’s with a groan, as he lifts a hand to run through his hair and ruffle it, an anxious habit he developed long ago. “this isn’t something you say in the middle of a club, with hundreds of people around— and especially when you’re drunk!” he tells you, hands in the air as he tried to convey his frustrations.

the tears spill over, and you wipe at them angrily, embarrassed and hurt. “so when am i supposed to say it? you know i wouldn’t have the confidence when i’m sober.”

max’s eyes soften, but only momentarily before his expressions harden again. “i don’t know! but it was a mistake to do it now.” he harshly let out, taking you aback as your eyes widen.

“this was a mistake? i think loving you might’ve been a mistake too,” you tell him, tears overflowing now as your vision is too blurry to make out his expression. you rub harshly at your eyes, trying to stop the tears.

you can only hear max let out a frustrated sigh, as well as him fidgeting around. it’s silent for a moment, before you hear the ringing of a phone. you go to ask what he’s doing, but you aren’t able to as someone picks up on the other end too quickly.

turns out, max was calling you a cab home. the thought made you anxious, you didn’t want to go home with him, not when you were both like this. “i don’t want to go home with you, i’ll—“

“you’re not. i called a cab for you,” he interrupts again, shoving his phone back in his pocket. “you’re too drunk to be having this conversation. sober up, and we’ll talk,” he tells you, looking you right in the eyes.

it hurts him to see you so upset and broken about it all, but he can’t have this conversation with you when you’re intoxicated. he needs you to be sober, in the right mindset.

you want to protest, but at the same time you don’t. your mind is all over the place, some thoughts telling you to stay here and talk it out with him, while others tell you to just go home. you put your hands on your head, squeezing your eyes shut as you desperately try to gather your thoughts, but to no avail.

you feel yourself jump when a hand is placed on your shoulder, and you look up to see max looking at you, stoically. you flinch at the touch, not sure if it’s the cold, emotionless look in his eyes or if it’s the suddenness of the move. his hand lingers on your shoulder momentarily, and for a brief second, you think he’s going to talk to you, say something to make this situation better.

but he doesn’t.

instead, max’s grip tightens slightly before his hand slides off of your shoulder, and back to his side. “the cab will be here in a few minutes,” he tells you, voice devoid of the warmth it usually has, stepping back. there’s not much distance between you realistically, but to you— in your drunken state— it feels like there’s miles.

you stare at him, eyes desperately searching for any hint of emotion, any clue that might show he’s just as torn about this as you are. but his expression is unreadable, and it’s as if his emotions are locked away, behind the emotionless wall that was built as soon as you confessed your feelings.

“i don’t— i don’t want to leave things like this, max,” you hiccup, voice still trembling like earlier. “can we please just talk? i’m sorry, i was—“

“we’re not talking,” he states, shaking his head. a weary sigh escapes his lips, before clarifying, “not tonight anyways, not like this,” and he waves his finger between you both.

you’re not sure when max got so.. serious, when he was drunk. granted, he wasn’t as drunk as you were, only a little tipsy; but it still scared you. the reality was starting to set in, and you felt yourself go still.

you thought tonight would have gone better, you thought max would be happy to hear you loved him. you even thought he’d reciprocate the feelings. but now, all you could think about was how cold he was being, and how it felt too much like rejection to think otherwise.

you watch as his mouth opens, and your heart starts to beat faster as you anxiously wait for what he’s about to say. but, the words die on his tongue as the headlights of the cab shine through the darkness, breaking you both out of your own world.

at the side of your eye, you see max take another step back as the cab pulls up infront of you. you want to turn to him, ask him what he was going to say. but your mind betrays your wants, and you feel yourself walking towards the cab, hand resting on the door handle.

you’re frozen, as if you’re fighting your mind to let you stay and talk to max, begging it to allow you to fix the mess it created tonight. but alas, you end up simply opening the car door and sliding into the back seat, before slamming the car door shut.

you glance out the window, praying max will pull a move that would resemble something of a romance film. stopping you from going in the cab, regretting his decisions and pulling you back to him, allowing a quick and easy resolve—

but it never happened.

max just stood there, hands shoved in his pocket as his eyes drifted from yours to the drivers, giving him a nod to signal he was fine to leave.

the cab starts to pull away, and you can’t bring yourself to keep looking at max. the engine roars, and you look down at your trembling hands, a shaky sigh escaping your lips before you felt the tears from your eyes drop onto your soft skin. squeezing your eyes shut, you allow yourself to cry it out on the way home.

there’s no chat from the driver, no asking if you’re okay, but also no asking you to keep it down. it’s silent, and all that can be heard is the faint sound of the crackly radio, and your own sniffling.

for the first time since max had been brought into your life, you felt completely and utterly alone.

[no-144444]

the grid: late for a date!

Day 29 of fic-tober! fic-tober masterlist

Featuring: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Daniel Riccardo, Charles LeClerc, Max Verstappen

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Oscar Piastri: miscommunication

So, it wasn’t a date. As much as you thought it was, Lando showed up. That wasn’t uncommon for your ‘dates’ to turn into ‘Oscar and Lando time’, but it still pissed you off. You just wanted one night with your boyfriend. Not Lando’s.  

You huffed as you sat down at your vanity, carefully cleaning off your face with a wipe. 

“You’re annoyed,” Oscar stated, leaning against the door and watching you. 

“I’m not,” you sighed, truthfully just wanting to be left alone. 

“You clearly are,” he said matter-of-factly. “Talk to me.”

“I thought it was a date,” you explained sheepishly. “I was a little disappointed when Lando showed up. I thought it was just us two, y’know, since we haven’t gone out ‘just us’ in months.”

He sighed and looked down. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have-”

“Osc, it's fine. I’m just much annoyed with myself that I didn’t properly read the text-”

“But we should go out, just the two of us. You’re right,” he realised how little he takes you out. “Why don’t you talk to me about this?” 

“You have a lot going on,” you shrugged. “I’m not going to add to it by being a bitch about shit like this.” 

“You’re never a bitch,” his heart ached a little, how could you ever think that he’d ever be annoyed by you? He wrapped his arms around you , pressing soft kisses to your neck and whispering apologies. “I love you so much, I want to be with you as much as possible. Lando was just lonely and called me, so I said yes. I’ll say no in future, yeah?”

You nodded, feeling a lot more loved than before. 

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Lando norris: he forgot. 

It had been weeks in the planning, you both were ecstatic to get to enjoy your favourite restaurant in Brazil. You sat there for 2 hours. In the end you ordered stuff to take out and left a hefty tip for the inconvenience of your boyfriend. You texted and called him at least 20 times. No fucking answer. 

When you got back to the hotel, he wasn’t there either and you started getting worried. Could he be hurt? Surely he wouldn’t forget the important date, he remembered about it last week. 

You called Oscar, scared that Lando was lying in a ditch somewhere or something. 

“Hey Y/n,” his voice came from the other side of the phone. Distantly you could hear the sound of house music playing loudly. 

“Is Lando with you?” You asked. 

“Well, he was a while ago, but now he’s going back to the hotel,” he explained. “Why?”

“Just wanted to check on you guys,” you sighed, unable to keep the disappointment out of your voice. “You all good?” 

“Yeah, I’m with Alex and Zhou, we’re just outside the club now, we’re safe, promise,” he smiled into the phone. 

“Alright, well, I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah? Be careful,” you reminded him. 

“We will,” he nodded. “See you tomorrow.”

As you hung up the phone, the door swung open and Lando appeared. Dishevelled but there. 

“Baby I am so sorry I forgot about-“

“It’s fine,” you sighed, used to the excuses by now. “It’s whatever, Lando.”

“Baby, come on, let me make it up to you,” he tried again, but you stayed unchanged on the topic. 

“Something will always be more important to you,” you mumbled. “And every single time it kills me. And I just let it. Because sadly, I love you so much that I let you treat me like this.”

“Baby that’s not-“

“We planned this months ago, Lando. And I put so much fucking effort in to looking nice for you, and you don’t show. I was so excited to have one fucking night where I wasn’t dating Lando Norris, Championship Fighter, McLaren Number One, McLarens saviour. One fucking might where I could just be a girl who got to dress up night for her boyfriend, who showed up to the date. One night when we could be normal people, that’s what I wanted, Lando.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I have a lot on my mind…”

“Yeah, you do. Maybe we should break up.”

“W-what? You don’t mean that, right baby? Come on, I’m- we’re- you’re the best thing that’s ever fucking happened to me. I don’t wanna lose you-“

“Yeah and you don’t want to have me either! Lando, I do fucking everything for you, I’m so fucking understanding every single time you disappoint or fucking annoy me. I understand that you're going through shit, and I’m here to help you. But I cannot deal with this disrespect anymore, alright? I am worth something! Right? Like, I have to be worth more than what you’re giving me, right?” You said, breaking down. Your plan had been to just keep calm and talk tomorrow, but that clearly flew out the window. 

“I love you-“

“Do you?! Really?!”

You were both silent. 

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Lewis Hamilton: he forgot

The silence was deafening in your shared home. You sat at the table, all dressed up with nowhere to go. 

“Baby, I know I-“

“Just fuck off,” you sighed. “Go back to work, or whatever it was that held you up.”

“I wanna make it up to you, I’m sorry baby,” he sighed, wrapping his arms around you. 

You took a deep breath. “I just wanted one night,” you sighed and he nodded, feeling guiltier by the second. “Away from work and the kids, just one fucking night Lewis.”

“How about a weekend? We drop the kids off at Natalie’s and we can go away for the weekend?” He offered and pressed a kiss to your cheek.. 

“We’re busy this weekend.”

“Cancel it.”

“Cancel my promotion dinner?” You scoffed. “Cancel Ellie’s football match? Cancel half the grid coming over? Cancel Nick’s karting race?” You quested, listing off the things you had to supervise for the weekend. 

He sighed. “I’m sorry baby, I forgot-“

“Yeah. You forgot. You keep fucking forgetting,” you groaned. “I just… I want some time. I’m pissed off right now and I just want to go to bed.”

“I’ll put the kids to bed,” he nodded. “I’m sorry again.”

“You’re always sorry Lewis. Just be there, for once,” you took a deep breath. “If not for me, then for our children. Don’t ruin the relationship because of your busy schedule.” 

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George Russell: you forgot...

You walked into your shared apartment, exhausted after work. 

“Hey darling,” he smiled, taking your bags out of your hands. “You look gorgeous.”

“Thanks love,” you smiled. Then you noticed the suit he was wearing. “You look handsome, what’s the occasion?”

His face fell. “Did you forget?” 

Shit. You did. The fucking anniversary dinner. “No! Just joking!” You laughed. “Give me like 20 minutes to get ready, yeah?”

He smiled. “Alright, just remember our reservations are in a little while.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. 

You completely forgot about the plans. No gift. No dress. Nothing. 

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You sat at dinner, somehow throwing together something, only to find out it wasn’t a fucking date, but a surprise birthday party. 

Your anniversary is months away. 

“Sorry baby,” he smiled, not one bit sorry. 

“I was terrified! I thought I’d fully forgotten!” You whined, rolling your eyes. He pressed a soft kiss to your lips, a promise for more later. 

“I'm sorry darling,” he added, a small wink in one eye as he pulled you into the dance floor. 

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Alex Albon: genuinely injured

You sat in his apartment, waiting for him to finally show his face. He was 40 minutes late, and while this wasn’t a huge deal, you had made dinner which had gone cold, plus you felt your time should be at least worth a text. 

The door finally opened and Alex walked through, well, uncoordinatedly crutched into the room, a huge boot covering his foot. 

“Holy shit, Alex,” you cursed, shocked at the sight in front of you. He blushed slightly. 

“Yeah… accident prone, or whatever my mum called me. I have a few weeks off,” he chuckled. 

“What happened?” you asked, just staring down at the boot. 

“Funny story, Lando-”

“Of fucking course it was you,” you scoffed, looking at the guilty Lando standing beside him. 

“Lando accidentally ran over my foot,” he finished. 

“With what?” you asked, wondering if it was a bike or something, surely Lando was an experienced enough driver to have not driven over Alex’s foot. 

“A car,” Oscar explained. “Twice.” 

You saw red, turning your attention to Lando. “You fucking idiot!” you seethed. You chuckled. “How fucking stupid are you?”

He just giggled and shrugged. “Very?” he offered as an answer. 

“Thank you for bringing him home, now please leave before you cause any more bodily harm,” you sighed, showing Lando the door. You weren’t really mad, just shocked. 

“I’m sorry I was late,” he sighed, sitting on the couch. 

You chuckled. “You don’t have to apologise for that,” joining beside him. “I’m sorry you broke your foot.”

“Lando broke my foot,” he corrected and you just laughed and pressed your lips against his. 

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Daniel Riccardo: he forgot 

You walked into your shared apartment with your head held low. He’d forgotten your anniversary. 

“Baby? Where have you been? Are you alri- you look beautiful,” he stood up, walking over to you. You looked up and he saw the tears streaming. That sinking feeling he’d had all day, the one that told him he forgot something, it finally clicked. He’d forgotten the date. 

“Do you know how humiliating it is when someone stands you up? Do you know how humiliating it is when that gets fucking paparazzied?”

He gasped, no way you’d been subjected to the paparazzi. “Baby I’m so-”

“Sorry? Sure, I  believe  you,” you scoffed. “Just leave me be.”

You walked off to your bedroom and he was left to think about how he could pick up the broken pieces. 

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Charles LeClerc: he’s just being a dick. 

At least he remembered the date, but the fact that he’s sitting on his phone the entire time is literally gaining you pity smiles from other girls in the restaurant. When you went to the bathroom, two girls literally called him a ‘fucking asshole’ for what he’s doing to you, and gave you their numbers so you could be friends and bitch about him. 

“Charles,” you sighed, looking down at your bowl of pasta. You weren’t exactly hungry anymore, and now you just wanted to go home instead of being publicly humiliated like this. 

He looked up from his phone for a split second. “Yeah?” straight back down. 

“Are you going to eat any time soon?” you sighed, looking at his full plate. 

He looked at his food, then picked up a fry and ate it. “Eating, see?”

You rolled your eyes. “I want to go home.” 

He finally put down his phone. “But we are having a nice date, no?” 

“A ‘nice date’ usually includes talking of some sort, and maybe just a little bit of attention from my boyfriend,” you gritted out. “This is what I was talking about, if you don’t have time for me, I’d understand Charles. Just don’t waste my time like this.”

He sighed. “I’m sorry-”

“Sorry isn’t cutting it anymore Charles, I’m not just going to wait here forever like some little fangirl who’s just ‘so blessed’ to be dating the Charles LeClerc. I love you, not you being a racing driver, not you being a model, not anything else. I love you, Charles. And I’m starting to feel like you don’t love me back.” 

“Mon ange, please listen-”

“I’m done listening, I’ll see you at home,” you said and got up, actually receiving a clap from the two girls you’d met in the bathroom. 

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Max Verstappen: circumstances end it. 

You called again. And again. And again. 

No answer. As always. 

Long distance was hard, it was always going to be. Max didn’t need to make it any harder by not showing up for your phone-dates. He hadn’t called in months. He hadn’t seen you in over a year. He hadn’t done anything. He was never the first to call or text. He was never the one making the effort. He made you feel like a burden. He made you feel like shit. 

Max: Busy sorry. Can’t make it tonight. 

You: Don’t bother calling again. We’re done. 

Max: What are you talking about???

You: There’s always something more important than us. There’s always something you’d rather do. I’m so done with this shit Max. I want a boyfriend, not a fucking pen pal. I want a boyfriend who texts and calls me back. I want a boyfriend who asks about my day. I want someone who actually cares about me. 

Max: I care about you! Alright, just let me call you later, I’m at HQ right now

You: Max. I. Am. Done. Don’t fucking call me, don’t text me, don’t visit me. Let me live my life in peace. 

Max: Is that really what you want?

A tear fell down your cheek as you read the message. You wanted Max, but you knew you could never truly have him, he’d always be married to his craft, always be more in love with winning than he’d ever been with you. 

You: Yes. 

You have now blocked this user. 

You had to think about yourself.

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[afterglowsainz]

imperfect for you | oscar piastri

pairing: norris!reader x oscar piastri

summary: you’re too focused on being the paddock’s cupid that you fail to notice your perfect match is right there, on your brother’s teammate

fc: madisyn menchaca

a/n: i’m choosing to ignore all the trouble and negativity surrounding oscar’s win and just focus on the fact that oscar piastri is a formula 1 grand prix winner!!!

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liked by ynnorris, charles_leclerc and others

f1 the ferrari couple arrives in blue classiness 💙

tagged charles_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux

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username omg alex’s first appearance in the paddock !!!

username she’s truly one of the most beautiful women i’ve seen

username let’s all thank yn’s mind for bringing these two together 💕

ynnorris my babies 🥹🫶🏽 (liked by charles_leclerc and alexandrasaintmleux)

username still can’t believe if it wasn’t for yn they wouldn’t be together

username i just love when hot people date each other 😍

username and they’re matching too 🥺

liked by oscarpiastri, francisca.cgomes and others

ynnorris currently in monaco looking for my next project ❤️‍🩹

tagged landonorris, oscarpiastri, logansargeant and alexandrasaintmleux

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username not her saying she’s looking for a “project” after setting up charles and alex 🤣

username the one and only paddock’s cupid 💘

username it’s insane how she sets everyone up and she’s still single

username the prettiest girl❣️

oscarpiastri you literally posted a pic playing padel, there’s you next project

ynnorris padel is for the weak who can’t play tennis

maxverstappen1 hey!

alexandrasaintmleux charge €10 per tarot reading 🫶🏽

ynnorris alexandra malena your mind is immaculate 🤌🏽

liked by logansargeant, friend1 and others

ynnorris the look from the nosebleeds🩸

tagged logansargeant and friend1

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username why on earth wasn’t she at the garage???

username babes your brother is a literal driver what are you doing there

ynnorris he kicked me out :(

lissiemackintosh shame on you landonorris

landonorris that’s literally fake she just wanted to see how it looked from up there

oscarpiastri i can confirm

ynnorris no one asked you‼️ oscarpiastri

username and who’s that with logan 👀

username omg not another one of yn friends 😭

username she took the paddock’s cupid name too seriously

logansargeant send me that last pic

ynnorris ask friend1 🤭

liked by logansargeant, landonorris and others

oscarpiastri exploring more of monaco🇲🇨

tagged logansargeant, ynnorris and friend1

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username can’t believe he’s moving there

username we lost the game of keeping f1 drivers out of monaco

username not oscar hard launching logan’s relationship 😭

username i genuinely think yn hard launched them first in her last post

username hard launch between yn and oscar when

username no because was this a double date orrr???

username logan and his new gf, no lando, oscar and yn next to each other … hmm …

ynnorris you look cute 🥰 friend1

friend1 youuuu 💕

logansargeant 🤨🤨

friend1 you look cute too ig

logansargeant 😊

oscarpiastri no flirting on my instagram please

ynnorris boooo 🍅🍅🍅

liked by oscarpiastri, trentarnold66 and others

ynnorris post-beach clarity 🏝

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username the only woman ever

username 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

lissiemackintosh my girlfriend 🥵 (liked by ynnorris)

username obsessed with you

username face card is insaaaane

username oscar is very slow

trentarnold66 damn😍

landonorris uhm 🤨

charlesleclerc 🤨

maxverstappen1 🤨

pierregasly 🤨

lancestroll 🤨

lewishamilton 🤨

ynnorris all of you leave rn.

ynnorris except you lewishamilton you can stay 🥰

liked by friend2 and others

f1gossip some drivers were seen clubbing at monaco this weekend including oscar piastri with a mysterious brunette. yn norris and lissie mackintosh were also at the party

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username who’s the girl with oscar?

username i believe it’s friend2 but i could be wrong

username omg and look who follows her 🤭

username yn once again playing cupid but this time with the wrong guy 😩

username no because i wanted her and oscar to date so bad i thought they liked each other :(

username but look at the bright side!!! she’s been rumored to be dating trent alexander arnold so is not all bad

username i guess 😔

liked by f1gossip and others

footballwags trent alexander-arnold was seen recently with rumored girlfriend spending some time at the beach

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username excuse me what

username i thought his rumored girlfriend was yn norris? who is this?

username guys i think trent and yn were never really together

username you think?

username trentyn goodbye goodbye goodbye you were bigger than the whole sky

username tbh i can’t be mad at this

username same

liked by oscarpiastri, lissiemackintosh and others

ynnorris took a trip down under 🇦🇺

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username OMG GUYSSS THIS IS NOT A DRILL

username so we weren’t completely delusional huh😭

lissiemackintosh can’t believe you’re cheating on me 😔

ynnorris you’re my number one always! 🫶🏽

username she’s so gorgeous i’m speechless

username yn give me a chance pls pls pls

oscarpiastri you’re too much 😍

ynnorris do you want an australian kiss? 😛

aussiegrit kids please

username last pic is peak boyfriendism 🥵

username FINALLYYYYY