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@chunniwritesalot
about me/navigation
18+ blog! minors and ageless blogs DNI- i am not responsible for the content you consume!
i am 21 and i use she/her pronouns :)
hi! this account is my secondary blog, and it is also my fanfic related one! my main account is @windywaves , make sure to give it a follow as well (or not, i just post my reblogs and poetry on there) this account ONLY writes fanfiction- if you have questions about POETRY please direct it to my other account! REQUESTS? open!
masterlist
Hey are you okay? Also new follower
im fine!! i was just on a break since my dog died and i was between jobs! back to work now (both on this account and professionally)
Could you please make an Smau with Lando or write something when youre the daughter of an American actor you have been together for nearly two years and three months after you’re very public break up with Lando you are seen kissing New York Giants Quarterback Jaxson Dart and of course Twitter is exploding wondering how long you have been in an new relationship and if he’s the reason you called it quits with Lando as you been at an Giants game back in October when you still where in an relationship with Lando. While the F1 fans are freaking out the NFL fans say that there’s no reason to make you’re new relationship about you’re ex. Much Love❤️
posted here
i hate this fic so much because i didn't know how to write it biut i tried at least 5 times and decided this was the best one out of all my attempts!
pigskin - ln1 & jd6
in which y/n finds herself in some hot....gatorade..?
hello! obviously, im back. maybe not for long, i forgot about this account and then my dog died so i fell into a weird depression. im in the writing mood so what other place? im between jobs currently (just got hired a a new one but its work from home - i love my useless english degree) and have a lot of free time! im writing a cs55 series currently and taking all requests. dont be afraiddddd. i dont really like this but i have atleast 5 drafts of this same request and i needed to post SOMETHING. i know NOTHING about football so it was a new experience for me!!
cw: cheating allegations, cursing? wc: 1.85k
y/n schreiber
senior at nyu, the oldest daughter of liev schreiber. the only child he shared with naomi watts that somehow, despite all of that, she had managed to live most of her life just outside the spotlight. not invisible exactly, but unremarkable enough that strangers didn’t think to look twice.
that changed the moment she started dating lando norris.
they met because of her mom. y/n had been visiting europe for her 'euro summer' and naomi, on a whim, managed to secure a few silverstone passes. it was meant to be casual, a weekend thing, something to talk about later. y/n was nineteen then, freshly independent in the way only nineteen-year-olds believe they are. lando was twenty-three, already living a life that moved faster than hers ever had.
it wasn’t quite love at first sight. it was something less poetic and far more dangerous—an immediate pull, a sense that this person would matter in ways neither of them could explain yet. the kind of connection that doesn’t ask whether it’s convenient or sustainable. it just exists, loudly and without apology.
and it lasted.
almost three years, actually.
long enough that their lives began to overlap in strange, uneven ways. long enough that distance became less of an inconvenience and more of a constant presence. sometimes it felt like they were living in two different time zones emotionally, not just geographically. when it ended, it wasn’t explosive. there were no betrayals, no carefully worded statements blaming schedules or priorities. the romantic kind of love simply ran out, quietly, like a song fading before anyone notices.
somehow, they stayed close.
so close, in fact, that lando once took it upon himself to help her find a “potential husband” at a columbia frat party, as if that were a normal thing for an ex-boyfriend to do.
it did not go well.
“oh, he’s got nice eyes,” lando said, leaning over y/n’s shoulder with an easy grin.
she followed his line of sight for exactly half a second before groaning. “lando. he looks like he’s eighteen.”
there was a pause.
“oh,” he said. “yeah. that’s… unfortunate.”
--
maybe their first mistake was not telling the public they had broken up.
y/n had always had a tendency to just… be private. it wasn’t a calculated mystery or a branding choice, despite what people online liked to assume. she simply didn’t feel the need to explain herself to strangers. all of her social media accounts were private, carefully curated circles of people she actually knew. even with nearly seventy thousand follow requests sitting unread on her instagram, she preferred it that way. the quiet felt safer.
the breakup itself was uncomplicated. almost disappointingly so.
she and lando ended things in july, during his summer break, when the racing calendar finally slowed enough for real conversations to happen. there were no raised voices, no dramatic ultimatums. just the soft, mutual understanding that whatever they’d been holding onto had shifted into something else. something gentler. something that wasn’t romantic anymore.
it was as simple as that.
except the internet didn’t know.
there was no announcement, no joint statement, no carefully selected photo with a caption about gratitude and growth. nothing changed online. old pictures stayed up. mutual likes continued. they still spoke, still laughed, still showed up in each other’s lives in ways that felt normal to them.
to everyone else, though, it looked like nothing had ended at all.
and so, somewhere between summer and fall, the story the public believed froze in place—while the real one kept moving forward without them.
there was an attached photo. grainy, overexposed, unmistakable. her hand curled into the collar of his jacket, his mouth pressed to hers, both of them mid-laugh, mid-kiss, mid-mistake.
--
y/n opened twitter by accident.
it wasn’t an app she used anymore—hadn’t used seriously in years—but a notification had slipped through, a friend’s name lighting up her lock screen with a message that read: are you okay???
she tapped the app, still half-asleep.
holy shit.
the tweet refreshed itself before she could even process it. the likes climbed in real time. replies multiplied. quotes stacked on top of each other, faster than she could read them.
isn’t she still with lando??? wait wasn’t she at a giants game in august too? wait so she's cheating on lando??
her stomach dropped.
the internet had decided, collectively and confidently, that this moment explained everything. three years reduced to a headline. a quiet breakup rewritten into a betrayal she didn’t recognize.
she locked her phone and stared at the ceiling, heart racing, already knowing this wouldn’t stay contained.
because once the internet tells itself a story, it doesn’t really care whether it’s true.
holy shit
a call from lando lit up at the top of her phone.
she stared at it for half a second before answering.
“hi,” she said.
“okay, first of all,” lando said immediately, voice bright in a way that felt deliberate, “congrats on breaking twitter. that’s actually impressive.”
she snorted despite herself. “you’re unbelievable.”
“i try,” he said. “second of all—are you alright?”
that question landed softer than it should have. “i think so,” she said. “just… surprised.”
“yeah, well,” he replied, “welcome to being perceived.”
she sighed. “they think i cheated on you.”
“tragic,” he said dryly. “i thought we agreed you’d wait at least six months before ruining my reputation.”
she laughed then, real and shaky. “i’m sorry.”
“nope. not allowed,” lando said. “you did nothing wrong. and for the record, my pr team is already panicking on your behalf.”
her eyebrows lifted. “your pr team?”
“yeah,” he said. “i told them if anyone’s getting dragged today, it’s not you.”
she blinked. “lando—”
“relax,” he cut in, gentle. “they’re drafting something vague and boring. mutual breakup, july, still friends, everyone behave. i’m basically saving your ass with corporate language.”
she pressed her lips together, warmth blooming in her chest. “you don’t have to do that.”
“i know,” he said easily. “but i want to.”
there was a brief pause, comfortable this time.
“for what it’s worth,” he added, “the guy looks tall. good for you.”
“oh my god.”
“what?” he laughed. “i’m supportive.”
she shook her head, smiling despite everything. “thank you.”
“anytime,” lando said. “now go drink some water and don’t read the replies. that’s a direct order from someone who has, unfortunately, learned.”
the other calls piled in quickly after, names stacking on top of each other until her phone felt heavier in her hand. publicists she didn’t have. friends she hadn’t spoken to in weeks. numbers she didn’t recognize and already knew better than to answer.
the only one she picked up was from her father.
“hey, chick,” liev’s voice filled up her apartment, warm and familiar. “cheating scandal this morning?”
she groaned, dropping back onto the couch. “not the time, dad.”
he hummed, unbothered. “fair. just checking if you were alive before the headlines buried you.”
“barely,” she muttered.
“good,” he said. “that’s usually when it blows over.”
she closed her eyes, letting his calm wash over her. if anyone knew how quickly the public could decide who you were, it was him.
“you okay?” he asked, softer now.
“yeah,” she said after a beat. “i think so.”
“good,” liev replied. “then here’s my professional advice.”
she smiled faintly. “i didn’t know i was getting that.”
“ignore it,” he said. “don’t feed it, don’t correct it, don’t explain yourself to people who don’t know you. the truth doesn’t need a press tour.”
she exhaled. “lando’s pr team is already on it.”
“smart kid,” her dad said. “i always liked him.”
she laughed quietly. “of course you did.”
“call me later,” liev added. “and eat something.”
“okay.”
“love you, chick.”
“love you too.”
the line went dead, and for the first time that morning, the room felt a little steadier.
--
“ohhhh so that’s why she was at the giants game in october 👀” “thank god. people really love twisting everything into a scandal” “respect the privacy lol. let them live.” “ok but lando’s pr team really saved y/n’s ass here, thank you” “so they’re still friends?? that’s… cute??” “i don’t care about football or f1 but this thread is wild” “y/n x jaxson is officially canon i guess 👀💀” “love seeing an ex handle their breakup with humor and class, honestly.” “twitter’s gonna explode anyway, nothing to be done”
--
by the end of the day, the chaos of notifications, headlines, and pr statements had slowed to a dull hum. she’d eaten, barely. scrolled through the replies once, twice, and decided enough was enough. the apartment was quiet now, except for the city pressing against the windows. she was just about to let herself breathe when a knock at the door made her jump.
her heart immediately sank and soared at the same time. she wasn’t expecting anyone. she wasn’t seeing anyone. she definitely wasn’t expecting him.
y/n set her phone down and walked over, hesitating just a second before opening it.
jaxson dart stood there, shoulders slightly hunched, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, looking both awkward and impossibly calm.
“hey,” he said, voice low, carrying that easy confidence that made him impossible to ignore.
“hey,” she replied, trying to keep it steady, her chest still hammering.
he shifted, glancing past her at the apartment behind her. “uh… can i come in?”
she swallowed, the day’s tension bubbling back up. “yeah… sure.”
and just like that, the quiet of her apartment—the first she’d had all day—was about to be shared.
jaxson stepped inside, hesitating just a second, like he wasn’t sure if he should. y/n leaned against the counter, arms crossed, trying to look unbothered.
“so…” he started, voice low, “uh… that tweet. yeah.”
y/n gave a dry laugh. “yeah.”
he ran a hand through his hair. “twitter exploded. people are insane.”
“welcome to my life,” she muttered. the corner of her mouth twitched up. “except, you know, i’m actually in it.”
he smiled, stepping closer, careful. “so… can we just… pretend none of that exists for a minute?”
she blinked, heart picking up. “pretend?”
“yeah,” he said, voice softer now, closer. “just… us.”
before she could answer, he leaned in. slow. cautious. like he was asking for permission without saying it. and she didn’t hesitate. she tipped her head, letting him close the last fraction of space.
their lips met, tentative at first, testing, and then firmer, more certain, the kind of kiss that made everything else fade—the twitter outrage, the photos, the pr statements, the world outside her apartment.
jaxson’s hands found her waist, gentle but insistent, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, letting herself melt into him.
they broke for air, just barely, foreheads pressed together.
“okay,” she whispered, voice shaky, “that’s… dangerous.”
“yeah,” he said with a grin, nuzzling her temple. “but fun.”
her laugh was soft, breathless. “don’t get used to me being this reckless.”
“oh, i intend to,” he said, smiling, before kissing her again. slower this time, like he wanted the world to stay away forever.
where the wind takes us - cs55
in which, y/n meets carlos sainz, and they fall in love - a written and smau fic
wc: 871 cw: cursing maybe, ALL PICS BELONG TO PINTEREST!, HORRIBLE google translate spanish (im so sorry i speak french) tags: @notaceventura, @okayarkay
the bell jingled again, soft but insistent. y/n’s heart skipped. mateo’s hand tightened around hers, just a little. “well?” he whispered.
she peeked over the counter. and there he was. hoodie, cap low over his eyes, hands tucked into his pockets, and that smile—gentle, familiar, almost knowing. he looked around the shop like he was making sure it hadn’t changed. then, finally, his gaze landed on her.
“morning,” he said, cautiously, but warm.
“morning,” y/n replied, trying to sound casual. mateo let go of her hand but stayed behind her, pretending to be invisible.
he took a slow step forward. “i thought i might find you here.”
“you… found me,” she said, a small smile tugging at her lips.
“not hard,” he said, tilting his head as he looked around. “i started that book you recommended… finished it last night.”
“oh?” she leaned on the counter, curious despite herself. “and?”
“better than i expected,” he admitted, a faint shrug. “you picked well.”
y/n laughed quietly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “glad to hear it. most people just skim the pictures.”
he smiled, watching her in a way that made her forget the rest of the shop. “i don’t usually pay attention like that. you… you make it easy to focus.”
she blinked, heat creeping into her cheeks. “is that… supposed to be a compliment?”
“i think it is,” he said softly, shrugging again, almost like he wasn’t even aware of how much weight his words carried.
y/n hesitated, glancing at mateo, who was pretending to browse but clearly not. she swallowed. “so… uh, do you come to bookshops often?”
“not really,” he said, keeping his eyes on her. “but i might start.”
the pause stretched between them, neither knowing what to say next, both aware of how small the space had become.
y/n finally cleared her throat. “well… i should get back to work.”
he nodded, but didn’t move. “right… of course.”
mateo muttered under his breath from behind her, barely audible, “he’s trouble.”
he shifted, scratching the back of his neck, looking everywhere but her face. “uh… this is awkward, but… maybe i could—i mean, would it be okay if… you gave me your number?”
y/n froze, caught somewhere between surprise and amusement. she raised an eyebrow. “my… number?”
“yeah,” he said quickly, a little flustered now. “so i can… you know… talk about books. or… pastries. or… whatever.”
she blinked at him, trying not to laugh. “you… don’t even know my name.”
“yeah,” he admitted, a small grin tugging at his lips. “i figured we could… work on that.”
y/n tilted her head, pretending to think it over. “hmm… tempting, but i don’t usually give my number to strangers who wear hoodies and smile too much.”
“well,” he said, leaning slightly closer, still careful not to crowd her, “i promise… i only smile this much when it’s worth it.”
she laughed softly, shaking her head. “you’re ridiculous.”
“maybe,” he said, grinning. “but maybe it’s worth it too.”
after a beat, y/n reached into her bag, fishing out her phone. “fine,” she said, handing it to him. “just… don’t blow up my notifications.”
he took it, careful, almost reverent, and typed his number in. “deal. i’ll try to keep it… reasonable.”
she raised an eyebrow, smirking. “reasonable for you probably still means like… twenty messages an hour.”
he chuckled, handing the phone back. “i’ll try. but no promises.”
he slid the phone back into his pocket, pausing near the door. the sunlight caught the edge of his cap, and for a moment, he looked… hesitant.
“oh, uh…” he started, scratching the back of his neck.
y/n tilted her head, curious. “oh?”
“yeah,” he said, shifting on his feet, like saying it out loud made it real. “i’m… carlos.”
her eyebrows lifted slightly. “carlos,” she repeated, tasting the name. “nice to… meet you, carlos. i'm y/n”
he gave a small, shy smile. “nice to meet you too, y/n. really.”
the pause hung between them for a second, filled with sunlight, paper dust, and something unspoken. neither seemed to mind.
the bell above the door jingled again, a reminder that the world outside still existed. he hesitated, glanced at her once more, and then nodded. “i’ll see you around.”
“yeah,” she said, watching him go. “around.”
mateo muttered from behind her, shaking his head. “oh no. this is officially a disaster waiting to happen.”
y/n just smiled to herself, heart still racing. “maybe,” she admitted. “but a fun disaster.”
--
carlos_shhhainz has posted!
liked by aabono, chalec, lanorrisd and 30 others
carlos_shhhainz tengo su número (i got her number)
load comments...
lanorrisd OH MY GODDDDDDDDD.
lanorrisd DID YOU GER HER NAME? ANYTHING ELSE?? IS GOOGLE TRANSLATE LYING TO ME?
fernalon No. Google Translate is not lying. lanorrisd okay thanks mate lanorrisd wait when did you get a spam instagram 😭
chalec mate TEXT US
4lewwh4 I'm quite curious myself. lanorrisd im SO lost when did you lot get spam accounts and why am i not following them 💔 ospc take a WILD guess on why you aren't following them mate lanorrisd OSCAR?
aabono why did you not tag me
aabono WAIT WDYM GIRL? WHAT NUMBER carlos_shhhainz The girl's number...?
--
previous part - next part
where the wind takes us - cs55
in which, y/n meets carlos sainz, and they fall in love - a written and smau fic
wc: 1.8k cw: cursing maybe, ALL PICS BELONG TO PINTEREST!, HORRIBLE google translate spanish (im so sorry i speak french) tags: @notaceventura, @okayarkay
he didn’t mean to come back.
that was the lie he told himself as he stood across the street the next morning, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, staring at the bookshop like it might vanish if he looked away for even a second.
the truth was simpler. and worse.
he hadn’t stopped thinking about her.
about the way she moved through the shop like it was an extension of herself. how natural it all seemed—the ladder, the shelves, the dust, the quiet. how she hadn’t rushed him. hadn’t clocked him. hadn’t tried to figure out who he was.
that almost never happened anymore.
people usually looked at him like they were searching for something familiar. a name. a headline. a reason.
she hadn’t searched at all.
carlos exhaled slowly and crossed the street before he could talk himself out of it. the bell above the door rang, bright and sharp, and there she was—behind the counter, coffee in hand, sunlight catching in her hair.
his chest did something deeply unprofessional.
“morning,” he said, hoping his voice sounded normal.
she smiled up at him, easy, warm. “morning.”
god.
he hadn’t planned the pastries. that had been impulsive. reckless, even. but when he’d passed the bakery on the corner, something in him had decided she deserved something soft and sweet and uncomplicated.
when she looked surprised—actually surprised—his stomach flipped.
for someone who spent his life at 300 kilometers an hour, it was ridiculous how one small reaction from her could knock him off balance.
they talked. longer than he’d expected.
she listened when he spoke, like, really listened, like his words weren’t background noise. like he wasn’t performing. and when she talked, he found himself leaning in without realizing it, memorizing small things—the way her voice dipped when she teased him, the way she smiled with her eyes first.
he kept his answers vague. out of habit. out of self-preservation.
but she didn’t push.
when he finally left, stepping back into the street, the city felt sharper. louder. like the world had remembered him again.
--
carlos woke up to sunlight cutting through the curtains and the unfamiliar feeling of having slept well.
for exactly twelve seconds.
his phone started buzzing on the bedside table, aggressive and relentless, like it had a personal vendetta against his peace.
he didn’t even need to look at the screen.
“no,” he muttered, rolling onto his back and squinting at the caller id.
lando.
he let it ring once. twice.
it stopped.
three seconds of silence passed.
then it rang again.
“you are not calling me at eight in the morning,” carlos said to the ceiling, voice hoarse.
the phone kept buzzing.
with a sigh, he picked up. “what.”
“CARLOS.” lando’s voice exploded through the speaker. “I SAW THE POST.”
carlos winced, holding the phone a little farther from his ear. “good morning to you too.”
“DO NOT ‘GOOD MORNING’ ME,” lando said. “you can’t just post ‘i met a girl please send help’ and then disappear. who is she. where did you meet her. are you okay. are you in love.”
“i am not in love,” carlos said immediately.
lando went quiet for half a second.
“…interesting,” lando said slowly. “not what i asked.”
carlos sat up, running a hand through his hair. “it’s nothing. i met her at a bookshop.”
“a bookshop,” lando repeated. “CARLOS.”
“what.”
“you don’t go to bookshops.”
“apparently i do now.”
lando made a sound that could only be described as delighted panic. “okay. okay. start from the beginning. did she recognize you.”
“no,” carlos said.
another pause.
“…NO?”
“no.”
lando actually gasped. “oh my god.”
“why is that your reaction.”
“because that means it’s serious,” lando said.
carlos groaned, dropping back onto the bed. “please don’t.”
“what’s her name.”
he stared up at the ceiling.
“…i don’t know.”
silence.
lando inhaled sharply. “YOU DON’T KNOW HER NAME?”
“don’t yell,” carlos said. “it just… didn’t come up.”
lando laughed, incredulous. “so let me get this straight. you met a girl. you brought pastries. she recommended you books. she doesn’t know who you are. and you don’t know her name.”
“when you say it like that—”
“when i say it like that it sounds like you’re already married,” lando cut in. “have you thought about her since.”
carlos didn’t answer.
lando hummed. “yeah. thought so.”
carlos closed his eyes.
he thought about her hands. her laugh. the way the shop smelled like paper and lavender. the way time slowed down when he was there.
“lando,” he said quietly.
“yeah?”
“…i think i’m in trouble.”
lando’s voice softened, just a little. “yeah. you sound like it.”
--
the key sticks in the lock like it always does, forcing y/n to lean her weight into the door until it finally gives with a soft click.
“one day,” y/n mutters under her breath, “i’m replacing you.”
the bell jingles as she steps inside, and the familiar scent of aged paper and lavender candles wraps around her like muscle memory.
“mamá?” y/n calls, setting her bag down behind the counter.
no answer.
instead, there’s spanish—fast, hushed, and unmistakably gossipy—floating from somewhere between the back shelves.
“…te digo que sí,” her mother’s voice says. (i’m telling you yes.) “ayer. un chico. muy guapo.” (yesterday. a boy. very handsome.)
y/n freezes.
“mamá?” she calls again, already knowing she’s too late.
“no, no era del barrio,” her mother continues, lowering her voice like she’s sharing classified information. (no, he wasn’t from the neighborhood.) “se notaba. tranquilo, educado… y y/n ni se dio cuenta.” (you could tell. calm, polite… and y/n didn’t even notice.)
y/n squeezes her eyes shut. “oh my god.”
aunt rosa’s voice crackles through the phone speaker. “¿el de la gorra?” (the one with the cap?)
her mother gasps softly. “sí. ese mismo.” (yes. that one.)
y/n steps farther into the shop, pinching the bridge of her nose. “mamá.”
her mother finally appears from between the shelves, phone pressed to her ear, glasses perched low on her nose, completely unashamed.
“buenos días, cariño,” she says sweetly (good morning, darling), then turns slightly away from y/n. “sí, ya llegó.” (yes, she’s here now.)
“are you talking about me?” y/n asks flatly.
“no,” her mother replies instantly.
from the phone: “estamos hablando de ti, y/n.” (we’re talking about you, y/n.)
y/n groans, leaning against the counter. “why is my life a family group chat.”
her mother waves her off, smiling. “ay, no seas dramática.” (oh, don’t be dramatic.)
y/n straightens, suspicion creeping in. “how do you even know all of this?”
her mother’s smile widens—slow, smug.
“…la cámara,” she says casually. (the camera.)
y/n’s stomach drops. “what camera.”
her mother tilts her head toward the corner of the shop, where the small security camera blinks red, barely noticeable unless you’re looking for it.
“esa,” she says. (that one.)
“mamá,” y/n says slowly, horrified. “you cannot be spying on customers.”
“no estoy espiando,” her mother replies immediately. (i’m not spying.) “es seguridad.” (it’s security.)
from the phone, aunt rosa laughs.
y/n presses her lips together. “you watched me talk to him.”
her mother shrugs. “un poquito.” (a little bit.)
“mamá.”
“ay, por favor,” she says, waving a hand. (oh, please.) “no todos los días entra un chico así.” (not every day a boy like that walks in.)
y/n groans, covering her face. “this is actually my worst nightmare.”
her mother softens then, stepping closer, lowering her voice. “pero y/n,” she says gently. (but y/n.) “sonreías.” (you were smiling.)
y/n freezes.
from the phone, aunt rosa hums thoughtfully. “esa sonrisa no la pone cualquiera,” she says. (not just anyone gets that smile.)
y/n drops her hand, heat creeping up her neck. “it was nothing.”
“claro,” her mother says, unconvinced. (of course.)
she glances toward the door, then back at y/n, eyebrow lifting. “además,” she adds. (besides.) “si vuelve hoy…” (if he comes back today…)
y/n’s heart betrays her, skipping before she can stop it.
y/n.spamm has posted!
liked by friend1, friend2 and 29 others
y/n.spamm sound the wedding bells
tagged: @/friend1 and @/friend2
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friend1 caption? call me.
yn.spamm girl this is in person tea
friend2 so aesthetic love it
bestfriend.1 im visiting soon i hate england
yn.spamm PLEASEEE I MISS YOU
--
the shop is slow. the kind of slow where the floorboards creak louder than the customers, where y/n has already straightened the same display twice just to feel useful. the front window lets in a soft wash of afternoon light, dust motes floating lazily in the air.
the only people inside are a group of teenage girls clustered near the travel section, whispering and giggling like they’re trying not to be obvious and failing miserably.
y/n is re-stacking a pile of paperbacks when the bell above the door jingles.
“don’t even pretend you’re busy,” a voice says brightly. “i can feel the lying from outside.”
y/n freezes.
“…mateo?”
“the one and only,” he says, already sliding his sunglasses off like he’s entering a runway, not a bookshop. “and before you say anything—yes, i saw the post. yes, i ran here. yes, i deserve answers.”
y/n laughs, shaking her head. “you’re insane.”
mateo grins and kisses her cheek, then immediately starts inspecting a nearby shelf. “and you’re withholding information. which is worse.”
“i hate you.”
“no you don’t. now spill.”
y/n glances around. the teenage girls are still whispering, one of them glancing over a little too obviously.
“mateo—”
“spill,” he repeats, softer this time. the tone he uses when he knows something matters.
y/n exhales, leaning against the counter. “okay. so. he came in two days ago.”
mateo’s eyes widen immediately. “HE.”
“yes, he,” y/n says, rolling her eyes. “asked about rally racing. i thought he was just some guy.”
“already a rom-com,” mateo murmurs.
“i didn’t recognize him at all. he was quiet. polite. listened when i talked. didn’t look at his phone once.” she pauses. “and he came back yesterday morning.”
mateo gasps, clutching his chest. “returned.”
“with pastries.”
he makes a small, wounded sound. “pastries in a bookstore is a declaration.”
“that’s what i said!”
“no, that’s what you felt,” mateo corrects gently.
y/n scowls. “anyway. we talked. like, actually talked. about books. about life. he was… careful.”
mateo tilts his head, studying her. “and how did that make you feel.”
y/n hesitates.
the teenage girls giggle again, one of them pretending to browse while absolutely eavesdropping.
“…comfortable,” y/n admits. “which is not something i usually feel with strangers.”
mateo nods slowly. “oh no.”
“what.”
“that’s the dangerous part,” he says.
y/n groans, dropping her head onto the counter. “don’t say that.”
mateo smiles, soft and knowing, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “baby. you already did.”
the bell above the door jingles again.
mateo’s eyes flick up first.
“and if that’s him,” he adds quietly, “i’m judging him immediately.”
--
previous part - next part
where the wind takes us - cs55
in which, y/n meets carlos sainz, and they fall in love - a written and smau fic
hello.... im back... maybe?
wc: 1.27k cw: cursing maybe>
it was a quiet afternoon in madrid, the kind that felt timeless. the streets outside were humming with soft chatter and the occasional clatter of café plates. inside the small bookshop, the scent of aged paper and lavender candles filled the air.
you were perched on a small wooden ladder, carefully rearranging the vintage motorsports section. it wasn’t a popular corner, but you’d always found the history of it fascinating—the courage, the speed, the stories behind the helmets.
the bell above the door jingled, breaking your focus. you glanced down briefly, offering a polite, “i’ll be with you in a moment.”
“no rush,” came a voice, smooth and easy, with the faintest hint of a spanish accent.
you returned to the task at hand, brushing off some dust from a hardback copy of the art of racing in the rain. you climbed down a moment later, brushing your hands on your jeans. “can i help you with anything?”
standing there, wearing a plain white t-shirt and a baseball cap pulled low, was carlos sainz. you didn’t recognize him, to you, he was just another customer—albeit one with a disarmingly kind smile.
“i’m just looking,” he said, his eyes flickering to the shelves. “do you have anything on rally racing?”
“of course.” you motioned for him to follow, leading him to a shelf tucked away toward the back. as you scanned the titles, you spoke without looking at him. “are you a fan of rally, or just curious?”
“you could say i grew up with it,” he replied, a small grin tugging at his lips.
you handed him a book and finally met his gaze. “this one’s a good place to start. it’s a bit technical, but the photos are incredible.”
“thanks.” he took the book, his fingers brushing yours for a moment. there was something oddly familiar about him, but you couldn’t place it.
“let me know if you need anything else,” you said, offering a small smile before retreating to your ladder.
he lingered for a while, thumbing through the book and occasionally glancing in your direction. as he approached the counter to pay, he spoke again. “this is a nice shop. family-owned?”
“yeah, it’s been in my family for three generations,” you said, ringing up his purchase. “it’s not much, but it’s home.”
he nodded thoughtfully, sliding his card across the counter. “home is important. not everyone gets to have that.”
something in his tone made you pause, but before you could say anything, he had already tucked the book under his arm and was heading for the door.
“thanks,” he said, turning back with a small smile. “i’ll be back.”
you watched him leave, the bell above the door jingling once more. as the afternoon sun streamed in, you shook your head, returning to your work. just another customer, you thought. but something about him lingered.
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yn_l/n dump dump dump!
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friend1 de lo mejor!!
friend2 ahh amazing
café.papel very nice yn
yn_ln get back to work!
--
the next morning, the shop was quiet again, save for the soft rustle of pages and the occasional creak of the wooden floorboards. sunlight spilled through the large front window, catching the edges of the book spines like a spotlight.
you were at the counter, halfway through your third cup of coffee, trying to focus on inventory. but your thoughts kept wandering back to yesterday.
him.
the man with the gentle voice and the knowing smile. there was something about the way he carried himself—calm, yet purposeful. the kind of presence that felt rare, like a steady heartbeat in the chaos of the world.
you shook your head, laughing quietly at yourself. “get a grip,” you muttered, scribbling down the titles of books that needed restocking.
the bell above the door jingled again, and instinctively, you looked up.
he was back.
wearing a dark hoodie and jeans this time, with the same cap pulled low, he looked like he was trying to go unnoticed. he hesitated for a moment, as though he wasn’t sure if he should be there. but then his eyes met yours, and he smiled.
“morning,” he said, stepping inside.
“morning,” you replied, trying to sound nonchalant, though your heart gave an unexpected flutter.
“i told you i’d come back,” he added, holding up a paper bag. “i brought something for you.”
you blinked, caught off guard. “for me?”
“yeah.” he set the bag on the counter, pulling out two neatly wrapped pastries. “i wasn’t sure what you liked, so i got one of each. thought maybe you could use a break.”
“that’s... really kind of you,” you said, warmth creeping into your cheeks. “thank you.”
he shrugged, leaning casually against the counter. “it’s nothing. this place feels... peaceful. i figured you deserved a little peace too.”
you smiled, unwrapping one of the pastries—a small almond tart dusted with powdered sugar. “so, do you always bribe bookshop owners with sweets, or am i just lucky?”
his laugh was soft, almost self-conscious. “only the ones who recommend good books.”
you chuckled, breaking off a piece of the tart. “well, in that case, i’ll make sure my suggestions stay top-notch.”
he nodded toward the shelf you’d directed him to yesterday. “you were right about the book. i started reading it last night—couldn’t put it down. it’s been a while since something’s hooked me like that.”
“that’s high praise,” you said, leaning on the counter. “so, do you read often?”
“not as much as i’d like,” he admitted, his tone thoughtful. “my schedule doesn’t leave much room for it. but when i do, i like books that make you feel something real, you know? stories where people push themselves, take risks.”
you tilted your head, intrigued. “like racing, then?”
he hesitated for a split second, then nodded. “yeah. kind of like that.”
“so, you’re into motorsports,” you said, half-teasing.
his lips quirked up in a small smile. “you could say that.”
“are you always this cryptic, or am i just bad at asking questions?” you teased, taking another bite of the tart.
he laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “maybe a little of both. what about you? what’s your story?”
“mine’s not that exciting,” you said with a shrug. “i grew up here, took over the shop after my parents retired. most of my days are spent organizing shelves and talking to people like you.”
“like me?” he repeated, raising an eyebrow.
“you know,” you said, gesturing vaguely, “mysterious strangers who bring pastries and ask about rally racing.”
“mysterious, huh?” he said, his smile widening. “i’ll take that as a compliment.”
“it’s not a bad thing,” you admitted. “but you’re definitely hiding something.”
“maybe,” he said, leaning on the counter.
as the two of you talked, the minutes stretched into an hour. he asked about the shop’s history, your favorite books, the quiet rhythm of your life. in turn, you asked about his—though his answers remained vague, always steering away from anything too personal.
but you didn’t mind. there was something unspoken in the way he listened, in the way he seemed to soak in the moment, as though he’d been starved for simplicity.
and as he left again, the bell above the door jingling behind him, you realized something.
you still didn’t know his name.
--
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carlos_shhhainz I met a girl please send help!
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lanorris WHAT.
lanorris HELLO???? TEXT ME??
chalec A girl you say...
lanorris TEXT ME PHONE ME text ME PLEAse TEXT
--
next part
im writing... stay tuned
ARUGHGHF)JEWOIFHGJREHGF:OIERHWGJ{PEIJF{inaerjof
max is getting absolutely KISSED on the lips 😍
"Don’t post politics!" NO. Post them. Raise your voice. Exercise your right to question, to challenge, to speak up. Awareness is our weapon, our shield against the injustices we face and the oppression that threatens to come. Use your voice to shine a light, to resist, to remind those in power that we see, we hear, and we refuse to be silenced.
amen me!
voting for the first time is lowk such a core memory
WE NEED PART FIVE OF MRS ALONSO PLEASE 🥲
sorryyyyy unless someone wants to make the posts and tweets i can’t promise anything! uni is my top priority but i can write small blurbs or smaus
When will part 5 of Mrs Alonso be out?
i have it sitting in my drafts tbh it’ll be out by the end of this year 😭 that’s all i can promise
hi everyoneee i have 12 requests in my inbox but unfortunately many of them are smut!! please read my guidelines before requesting, they are located in my navigation post which is pinned :)
i drove all the way down to see travis at metlife… CHILLS OH MY GOD!!! he’s such an amazing performer! i saw him last year as well literally amazinggg. and my seats were actually pretty good!
max smut 😳😁
hiii thanks for the ask but i don’t write smut 😭 feel free to request anything else 💕
