Quin

Love books,fashion and love

[foreverisntenough]

😂😭 😂😭 😂😭😂😭

Unreal they posted this. i can’t right now

[astralcorpse-png]

Good girl bad girl.

[quins-heart16]

SWIPING INTO DESTINY PT 2

LEWIS HAMILTON X FEM READER

Raya Notification: Lewis H. replied to your message.

You blink. Sit up a little straighter. Your phone almost slips out of your hand because—no way.

Lewis H.: Hey. Sorry it took a while—been off this thing. Hope that hi is still valid? :)

Your mouth actually drops open. You stare at the message like it might disappear if you move too fast.

You sit there, for a solid thirty seconds, just holding your phone. A little voice in your head is screaming, “HE REPLIED,” while another says, “Be chill, be normal, be British.”

You run a hand through your hair, instantly twisting a loose curl around your finger. You chew your lip, smiling stupidly. Is this real?

You finally type:

You: Still valid. I’m not that easily scared off 😉 Hope you’re doing okay. Didn’t think you’d actually reply, not gonna lie.

You hit send. Stare at the message. Toss your phone to the end of the couch. Then crawl across the blanket to snatch it back two seconds later.

Lewis H.: Haha I get that a lot. But I’m not a ghoster, I promise. Just bad at dating apps 😅 What’s your week been like?

You hug your knees to your chest. You can’t even hide the way your heart is doing somersaults. This is not just a like. He’s texting. He’s asking questions.

You go back and forth replying and answering questions ,and telling him about your interests and hobbies ,not even looking at the time that’s running until he mentions it ,and that’s when the good nights are passed.

The next morning was a weekend Saturday which meant no work for you ,so you got up showered and prepared to go to brunch with your girl friends

Having dressed up in your mini sun dress and with some heels ,and styled your hair in a pony tail and grabbing your hand bag , you made it out of the door.

Reaching the restaurant Ofcourse your girls were present Mia and Lola ,and thankfully you all made it on time together and That’s when the conversations and the weakly catch ups started.

[quins-heart16]

ALL THE THINGS WE NEVER SAID PT 2

OSCAR PIASTRI X FEM READER

You walked away from him that day — heels pressing into gravel, heart pressing against ribs. The sound of engines faded behind you, but the ache didn’t. You didn’t look back. Couldn’t.

Back at the at charles pent house you collapsed into the cool silence like it was a sanctuary. Monaco glittered beyond the balcony windows, sun dripping gold onto the sea. But none of it could quiet the storm in your chest.

You didn’t tell Alex.

You didn’t have to.

She glanced up from the kitchen-in the morning saw your expression, and simply nodded — like she knew. SHe always did.

The next few days passed in a blur. Lazy mornings on the terrace, working and styling clients ,cafés where no one knew your name, long walks through old alleys laced with bougainvillaea. Monaco was a jewel box, small and shining — but every turn reminded you of him. Of the version of you that still existed somewhere in the cracks of memory.

And then… it happened again.

It was a Sunday.

Alex had invited you to a small get-together — nothing formal, just friends on a rooftop, music drifting in the background, wine glasses catching the light. What she missed out was the get together had formula 1 drivers present. You’d dressed effortlessly — linen dress, hair pinned loosely, trying not to overthink.

You didn’t know he would be there.

Of course you didn’t.

You were laughing with carmen who you had got to know in those few days of being in Monaco, near the railing when a shift in the air made your skin prickle — the kind of change that wasn’t loud, just… felt.

And when you turned, your breath hitched.

Oscar.

He looked different in the soft glow of evening — less guarded than at the track, dressed down in a dark jumper, curls slightly damp like he’d only just showered. There was a beat of recognition when your eyes met — like a skipped heartbeat, like the second before a storm breaks.

He didn’t smile.

You didn’t either.

You just stared.

He hesitated, drink in hand, surrounded by people who didn’t notice that your entire world had shifted again.

You looked away first.

But this time, you didn’t walk off.

You moved to the other side of the rooftop, pretending to check your phone, the tension a knot in your spine. You could feel him watching you. You could feel it.

A few more minutes passed.

Then you heard his voice. Quiet. Careful.

“Can we talk?”

You didn’t turn immediately. The city sparkled behind you — a million lives going on, indifferent to your story.

You finally spoke. “We already did.”

Oscar’s voice lowered. “No. I talked. You walked away.”

You sighed, fingers tightening around your phone.

He stepped closer — not too close. Just enough for you to hear the tremor beneath his calm.

“I’ve been hoping to see you again,” he admitted. “Even though I didn’t deserve to.”

Your chest constricted.

“Why?”

“Because I haven’t stopped thinking about that day,” he said. “Or the ones before it. Or the look on your face when you left me.”

You turned to him now — slowly, carefully — like turning a page you weren’t ready to read.

And he was just there, eyes open and wounded and real.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” you whispered.

“Nothing,” he replied. “Just… maybe a chance to say what I should’ve said years ago.”

You swallowed hard.

“Oscar—”

“I know,” he cut in gently. “You don’t owe me anything. Not your time. Not your forgiveness. I let you go once. I won’t ask you for more than this moment.”

You could feel your walls tremble.

The music behind you shifted — some soft French jazz that made the air taste like something nostalgic. Something tender.

He glanced down. “But I just needed you to know… I never stopped missing you.”

Silence.

Not heavy this time — not sharp.

Just full.

You didn’t say anything.

Not yet.

You just stood there, wrapped in the echo of a thousand almosts

[quins-heart16]

MAX VERSTAPPEN X FEM READER

NEW HEIGHTS PT 1

You have always loved traveling ever since you can remember , having loved visiting different countries ever since the first vacation you went on the first vacation with you family , the love for exploring new places begun.

And that’s how you found yourself working for an international airlines specifically emirates that’s where your story begun.

You worked for emirates and eventually made connections that got you to private charters and airlines that pay more.

And that’s how you found yourself stationed in Europe specifically monaco .

You had stood in the middle of your small apartment in Nice and read the name on the manifest the night before.

Passenger: Max Emilian Verstappen.

Formula 1’s golden boy. Triple world champion. Private jet regular.

And now… your passenger.

Your first assignment after being placed on the elite charter crew was nothing less than a heart-thudding challenge. This was no commercial flight with screaming babies and spilled coffees. No, this was a sleek, luxurious jet — the kind of jet that glided, purred, and cost more than your entire existence.

And you? You were the new flight attendant.

Hair slicked. Uniform pristine. Lip gloss subtle but effective. You told yourself you would be professional. Calm. Dignified.

But that was before Max Verstappen walked onto the aircraft.

He came in quietly. Hoodie up, cap low, but still. That face? That jawline? Those icy blue eyes?

You greeted him with your best calm voice. “Welcome aboard, Mr. Verstappen.”

He looked up, gave you a small, curious smile. “Just Max is fine.”

Oh. Oh no.

The voice. That Dutch accent. The tiny smirk. The way his eyes lingered, just for a second, like they were memorizing you.

You blinked and nodded, trying to breathe. “Of course, Max. Would you like anything before takeoff?”

He tilted his head. “Coffee? Black. Unless you have something better.”

“I make a pretty good cappuccino,” you offered, trying not to sound like you were melting.

“Then I guess I’m in good hands.”

WHY WOULD HE SAY THAT.

You smiled, nodded, walked back to the galley… and immediately exhaled the breath you’d been holding since he boarded.

“Oh my God,” you whispered under your breath, clutching the counter. “That man is… illegal.”

But you composed yourself. You had a job to do.

⸻

Mid-flight, everything was smooth. Max had headphones on. Laptop out. Occasionally glancing out the window like he was flying the plane himself.

You brought him his cappuccino. He looked up at you with a raised eyebrow. “Smells dangerously good.”

You smiled. “Danger is relative. You drive 300km/h for fun.”

He let out a soft chuckle — and that sound? That sound would live in your head rent-free forever.

Then he took a sip, looked impressed, and raised his cup like a toast.

“I might have to request you every time.”

You gave a little laugh. “I’ll have to check my schedule.”

He looked at you for a beat longer than necessary. “You always this calm?”

You tilted your head. “You always this charming?”

The corner of his mouth quirked up.

Touché.

⸻

By the end of the flight, you were holding it together just enough. Until, as he gathered his things, he paused in front of you and asked:

“So, how long are you based in Monaco?”

“Permanently,” you replied, heart hammering.

He smiled. “Good. Gives me a reason to fly more.”

You blinked. “You already fly too much.”

“Not enough if you’re not always on board,” he replied, smooth and casual, as if he didn’t just make your knees weak.

Then he leaned in, just slightly, to murmur:

“Next time… maybe you sit and have coffee with me.”

And with a wink — a wink — he was gone.

⸻

You stood there, clutching your tray like a character from a romance novel.

Yeah. You were screwed.

But in the best possible way.

[bee2124]

How I look after reading angst as if it was me personally in that situation

[quins-heart16]

ALL THE THINGS WE NEVER SAID (Part 1)

OSCAR PIASTRI X FEM READER

The Monaco sun streamed softly through the tall windows of Charles Leclerc’s penthouse, its golden light spilling over the marble floors like honey. You stood at the edge of the balcony, coffee mug in hand, watching the Mediterranean shimmer with that effortless kind of beauty only this city could conjure.

Monaco always felt surreal, like stepping into a world that didn’t quite belong to you. But you were here now — not as a starry-eyed teenager crushing on a Formula 1 prodigy — but as a woman. A stylist. Grounded. Independent. Different.

“Do you remember that coffee place we used to go to in Notting Hill?” Alex’s voice chimed behind you, her bare feet padding softly on the polished floors.

You turned to face her, your best friend since university, her curls wrapped in a silk scarf, glowing in the morning light. She looked effortlessly chic in Charles’ oversized Ferrari hoodie, and you suddenly remembered how many years had passed.

“Of course,” you smiled faintly. “That’s the one you dragged me into during your first heartbreak. You cried into a croissant.”

“And you promised me if I ever dated another celebrity , you’d throttle me,” she grinned. “Now look at us. You’re sleeping in the spare room of a man you once said had ‘trust fund cheekbones.’”

You rolled your eyes. “He still does.”

Alex laughed and moved toward you, linking her arm through yours. “I’m glad you’re here. Welcome to Monaco .”

You gave her a small smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes.

The truth was, you wished you weren’t here because of the one person you ,who ran off with your heart.

Oscar.

The name alone brought a thousand memories crashing like waves — wind-swept uniforms, the scent of burning asphalt, the taste of strawberry gum before sneaking behind the gym after school. He was 17, already a golden boy in the making. You were the opposite — normal, grounded, a girl with second-hand shoes and dreams too quiet to shout.

You’d fallen in love in the reckless way only teenagers could — all heart, no safety net.

And then he broke you.

More accurately — he let them break you. His mother’s disapproval, his father’s cold politeness. The way they said “she’s not from our world” without even saying it aloud. The pressure of his career, the meetings, the sacrifices.

At seventeen, Oscar chose everything else over you.

And you left before he could see what it did to you.

⸻

“Anyway,” Alex said, breaking the silence, “there’s a training event at the private track tomorrow. You should come. Charles is going, of course, but so are the other boys.”

You arched an eyebrow. “The other boys?”

Her eyes sparkled mischievously. “Don’t worry. It’s lowkey. Besides… you look way too good not to run into your past at least once.”

You sipped your coffee, trying to ignore the pounding in your chest. It couldn’t be. There was no way he’d be there.

⸻

The next day arrived faster than you anticipated.

You dressed carefully — not overdone, but sharp. Black tailored trousers, a linen blouse tucked loosely, a hint of gold on your ears. Your hair fell in soft waves over your shoulders, styled just the way you liked it. Like armor.

The private training track buzzed quietly with life, but it was far from the circus of Grand Prix weekends. Just a few cars in the paddock, crew members, some light tuning and laps. Charles had already slipped into his zone, suited up and focused, Alex by his side in a pair of massive black shades.

And you? You kept your distance.

Until Alex grabbed your hand. “Come with me. There’s someone I want to say hi to.”

You walked together across the paddock, heart steady. Until your eyes flickered up — and the world tilted slightly on its axis.

There he was.

Oscar.

Older now. Sharper. Still devastatingly familiar.

He stood in his McLaren race suit, unzipped halfway with a black athletic shirt underneath. His curls were a little longer, his jaw more defined, and that calm, unreadable look in his eyes — the one that used to drive you mad — was still there. Only now, it looked lonelier.

His gaze was on Alex first, then slowly shifted — and landed on you.

For a split second, he didn’t move.

And neither did you.

“Hi,” he finally said, quiet. Soft.

Your throat tightened, but you managed a nod. “Hi, Oscar.”

Alex gave a knowing look and murmured something about going to find Charles. She disappeared, leaving the two of you suspended in the kind of silence that was never really quiet — not when history hung between you like smoke.

He took a step forward. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

You gave a slight smile, the kind that didn’t give too much away. “Yeah. Me neither.”

He was staring now, really staring. And it wasn’t the kind of stare that made you feel exposed — it was the kind that made you feel like maybe he never stopped looking for you in every city he visited.

“Have you been in Monaco long?” he asked, voice low.

You shrugged. “Just a few days. I’m here on business. Styling a shoot for a designer. Staying with Alex and Charles.”

He nodded, then swallowed — like he had something else to say but couldn’t get the words out. Finally, he said:

“You look… amazing.”

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “Yeah, well. Time changes things.”

The way his face shifted — a flicker of pain — made something tighten in your chest.

And before he could say anything else, you gave him a small nod. “I should get going.”

You turned and walked away, heart pounding — not because you were heart broken ,but because even after all these years ,your heart still screams his name.

But Oscar?

He was still standing there. Watching. Like he’d just seen the ghost of the girl he left behind.

[quins-heart16]

ULTIMATE PRANK😂

LANDO NORRIS X FEM READER

The camera on your phone was perfectly angled, slightly tilted and half-hidden behind the potted plant in the hallway outside Lando’s gaming room. You did a quick mic check—well, not really, just whispered to yourself, “Oscar goes to me today”—then hit record.

Wearing a pair of black leggings and one of Lando’s oversized hoodies (conveniently hiding your secret prank weapon tucked into the waistband), you took a deep breath and slipped into character.

The door to the gaming room was open slightly, and from inside, you could hear the unmistakable sounds of laughter and rapid keyboard tapping. Max and Dave were already in there with him, no doubt mid-race or causing digital carnage in whatever game they were on.

You stepped in, face solemn.

Lando glanced up and smiled when he saw you. “Hey, baby—oh, you’re wearing my hoodie again,” he grinned, clearly distracted by how cute you looked.

“Can I talk to you?” you said quietly, your voice flat.

The grin slid right off his face. “Yeah. Of course.”

Max raised a brow, looking up from his chair. Dave glanced between you both.

“Should we leave?” Max offered gently.

You shook your head. “No, it’s fine. I just need to speak to Lando privately… it’s a bit serious.”

Lando was already rising from his seat, eyes fixed on you with growing concern. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He guided you toward the corner of the room, just out of his friends’ full view—but not out of earshot.

You stared at him, solemn. “I went to the doctor yesterday.”

His face paled instantly. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going? What happened?”

You swallowed dramatically. “They did some tests… and they said I have something. It runs in my family.”

Lando’s hand cupped your arm gently. “What is it?”

“Hypertension disease,” you said, adding the most believable sigh. “It’s… rare. Chronic. Mostly manageable, but…”

He looked like he was bracing for the worst.

“It has symptoms,” you continued gravely. “A lot of them.”

“Like what?” he asked quickly, brows furrowed, clearly ready to drop everything in his life to take care of you.

You took another pause. “Well… one of the main things is… bad odor.”

He blinked. “What kind of odor?”

You looked away. “Like… constant body odor. And farting.”

His mouth fell open slightly. “Farting?”

You nodded, keeping your face serious. “It’s genetic. My aunt had it. I remember she used to walk into a room and clear it in five seconds.”

Behind you, Max coughed loudly—too loudly.

Dave whispered, “Nooo way.”

Lando looked like he was trying to hold it together, but his concern was losing a battle with confusion.

“So…” he said cautiously, “you’re gonna… fart. A lot?”

You nodded solemnly. “Like… it could happen anytime. I might not even know.”

He blinked again. “Oh. Uh… I mean, that’s—fine. That’s okay. We’ll get through this together.”

You blinked up at him. “You’d still love me?”

“Of course!” he exclaimed, a bit too quickly. “I mean, everyone farts, right?”

You took a shaky breath and stepped forward, hugging him tightly—and pressed the fart toy inside your hoodie.

PPPPPFFFFFTTTT.

Lando stiffened like a statue.

Max immediately wheezed from behind the desk. Dave choked on his drink.

You buried your face into Lando’s chest, biting your lip so hard not to laugh as the sound echoed.

“Oh my god,” Lando whispered. “That was loud. Are you okay?!”

You nodded into him, still ‘sniffling.’

“It’s starting,” you whispered dramatically. Then—PPPPPFFFFFTTTTTT again.

Lando jolted. “Babe—oh my god—are you SURE this is—?!”

Max was hunched over in the background, shoulders shaking violently. Dave had turned his chair around, facing the wall, clearly trying not to combust.

“I—” Lando began, then cut himself off, waving a hand in front of his face. “I’m here for you. But that’s—wow.”

That was it. You couldn’t hold it anymore.

You stepped back, eyes wide, and then exploded into laughter.

Lando stared. “You’re LAUGHING?!”

You pulled out the tiny fart toy from your waistband, still howling with laughter, nearly collapsing against the wall. “Oh my god, your face! Your face! You looked like you were ready to call NASA for help.”

Max had collapsed in his chair, crying with laughter. “Bro… the concern! I thought you were gonna throw her a sympathy candle and Febreze at the same time.”

Dave added, “I was two seconds away from leaving the room before the next explosion.”

Lando just stood there, still half-stunned, lips parted in betrayal.

“You lied about having a farting disease,” he said slowly. “You created a whole backstory.”

You wiped your tears. “Hypertension disease. It runs in my family.”

He shook his head, laughing now despite himself. “You’re insane. You actually got me. I was about to Google ‘chronic fart conditions’ and buy ten air purifiers.”

You tackled him in another hug, still giggling. “That’s why I love you. You’re patient, even with a fictional diagnosis involving fatal gas.”

“I was ready to live in a Dutch oven with you,” he mumbled, kissing your forehead. “But I’m getting revenge. Just wait.”

From the background, Max raised a hand. “Just let me know when you’re planning it. I want front row seats.”

You grinned and winked. “Only if you promise not to fart during it.”

[quins-heart16]

ADRIENS FIRST RACE

LANDO NORRIS X FEM READER (mom and dad)

The sun was warm over the paddock, the air filled with that electric kind of excitement that always surrounded race day. Lando was already off doing his thing—prepping, briefing, being his usual calm-in-chaos self. You, however, were entering the madness with a tiny storm on your hip.

Adrien.

Your two-year-old son looked like a perfect miniature of his father—soft, unruly brown curls that refused to be tamed, deep hazel eyes, and that same mischievous grin Lando gave you the first time you met him. He was wearing a full McLaren baby outfit, complete with Lando’s number stitched on the back. A walking, talking tribute to his father. He was absolutely adorable.

Despite the Elegant outfit you were putting on black pants ,awhite shirt and a coat on and the black pointed-toe shoes peeking out as you walked gave the look a final, polished touch. You were glowing, graceful, collected on the outside.

Inside? You were one tantrum away from screaming.

Adrien had barely touched ground before he began wriggling in your arms like he had places to be.

“Adrien,” you said calmly, as you set him down, “we are not going on any quests today. No missions. No adventures. Just calm behavior, okay?”

He blinked up at you with the purest innocence and then immediately lunged toward the barricade.

“Adrien, no—nope! Come back here!”

You quickly set your bag down and chased him as gracefully as you could in wide-leg trousers. He had spotted something—or someone—he needed to see. Possibly a golf cart, possibly a pigeon. Who knew at this point?

You scooped him up mid-run, and he immediately began kicking his tiny legs in protest.

“I swear, you only do this to me,” you huffed, kissing his cheek even as he squirmed. “When your father is holding you, you’re all snuggles and smiles. But with me? I’m your cardio workout.”

As if on cue, a group of fans nearby came by wanting to take a-picture with you ,and you couldn’t so you said “sorry guys my hands are full maybe later on” they were understanding about it as you were carrying your 2 year old ,who the fans then said hey as you were walking but Adrien instead said “ bye bye “ in his cute baby voice

You sighed and smiled about how sweet he was but it was short lived instead ,Adrien responded by grabbing your sunglasses and flinging them.

By the time you made it to the viewing deck for the race, you were already mildly out of breath. You plopped into your seat and tucked Adrien into your lap, headphones snugly on both of your heads to block the thunderous roar of the engines.

It was peaceful… for about seven minutes.

Then, Adrien began to fidget. His little legs kicked against your thighs, his fingers tugged at your necklace, and soon he was trying to slide down from your lap.

“No, baby, stay up. You said you wanted to watch Daddy, remember?”

“Boring,” he said bluntly.

You gasped. “Adrien Norris, take that back!”

He just stuck his tongue out.

You looked around, desperate, then leaned in and began softly singing to him—his favorite lullaby, the one you made up when he was barely two months old. His little body calmed, curled into your chest as you rocked gently, whisper-singing as engines roared in the background.

At one point, he stared up at you with his father’s exact smirk. “I want banana.”

“There’s no banana right now, Adrien.”

“I want bananaaaa,” he started up, dramatically letting his head fall back in protest.

You closed your eyes and muttered, “Lord, give me patience.”

Finally—finally—the race ended, and the moment the scoreboard confirmed what you’d been hoping: Lando had won. The paddock erupted in cheers. You lifted Adrien up and kissed his cheek. “Daddy did it! Can you believe it?”

He clapped, then suddenly froze as lily (Alex girlfriend came )

“Well, aren’t you the cutest little man I’ve seen all day?” she said sweetly, brushing his curls. “Hey, you look handsome.”

Adrien stared. Then, with practiced politeness, replied, “Thank you.”

Your jaw dropped slightly at how charming he could be when he wanted to be.

But after approximately ten more seconds of her talking, Adrien grew bored, glanced around, and without a word, walked away—straight toward Max.

You covered your face, mortified. “He didn’t even say goodbye.” So as he was with max I continued talking with Lily.

Later, as the crowd buzzed around Lando’s victory and media interviews began, you were finally relaxed for a brief moment—until Adrien spotted his father across the paddock being interviewed on live camera.

“No. No no no—Adrien, wait!”

But he was already sprinting, tiny arms pumping, curls bouncing as he ran straight for his dad with a huge grin.

“Daaaddy!”

Lando turned mid-sentence just in time to catch Adrien as he jumped into his arms, headset bouncing to the ground.

The camera caught it all—your son interrupting a major post-win interview just to hug his dad.

Lando laughed and held him close. “Guess we’ve got a new team mascot,” he joked to the reporter, then looked at you with that loving smile that always made your knees weak.

You walked over, tired but smiling as the interview finished.

“Congratulations, babe,” you said, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “And just so you know—that was the last time I ever bring Adrien to a race. I mean it.”

Lando laughed, bouncing Adrien gently in his arms. “We’ll see. You say that every time.”

Adrien looked between the two of you, then patted your cheek and whispered, “Banana now?”

You groaned. Lando laughed harder.

And yep… it really was the last time.

[quins-heart16]

I’M SO DONE WITH YOUR MADNESS

JUDE BELLINGHAM X FEM READER

The atmosphere at Santiago Bernabéu was electric. Madrid fans cheering, chants echoing across the stadium, scarves waving in the air like war flags. But not everyone was thrilled.

Jude? Jude was fuming.

He sat beside me, jaw clenched, arms folded, staring ahead like the grass personally offended him.

That red card from last game? Still haunting him.

“I should be out there,” he muttered for the tenth time, eyes never leaving the pitch.

I casually reached into the popcorn tub between us. “You know what, Jude? I’m mad too.”

His head turned so slowly to face me, I almost laughed. “What?”

“I’m mad.” I pouted, adding a dramatic sigh.

“…Why?” he asked, already suspicious.

“Because the ref in your last game looked like he’s never touched grass in his life,” I said simply, “and because you ate my yogurt two days ago.”

He paused. His lips parted, then closed. His brows furrowed. “The… the yogurt?”

“Yeah. Peach. I wrote my name on it.”

Side turn. Full body. Jude gave me a sharp, slow look. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” I replied with a solemn nod.

He looked back at the pitch for two seconds, then turned back to me again, jaw clenched tighter this time. “You’re telling me this now?”

“And you breathe loud when you sleep,” I added. “It’s giving Hoover.”

At this point, Jude just turned and stared. Stared like he was running through every life decision that led him to this moment.

Jude stared at me. Like I’d grown a second head. “You… did you wake up today and choose violence?”

“No,” I said sweetly. “I chose honesty.”

At this point, Jude had his head in his hands. “I cannot with you.”

“And I think,” I continued brightly, “you’re hiding my left socks. I’ve lost three. All left. You’ve got a thing, don’t you?”

His neck snapped to look at me so fast I nearly flinched. “WHAT WOULD I EVEN DO WITH ONE SOCK?”

From behind us, someone let out a loud snort.

We both turned.

His mom. Laughing behind her hand. Next to her, a couple of his teammates were grinning like they were watching a comedy show.

Jude turned slowly back to me.

“I can’t believe this,” he muttered. “Why are they laughing like—”

Then he paused. Narrowed his eyes. “Wait… wait. Are you—are you pranking me?”

I bit my lip and gave him a slow smile. “Maybe.”

His jaw dropped. “YOU’RE JOKING.”

“I had to. You were so grumpy. I had to lighten the mood!”

He leaned back in his seat, arms dramatically thrown over the backrest. “Nah. Nah. You’re not okay. You’re not okay.”

I grinned and hugged his arm, while he tried (and failed) to keep a straight face.

“You know what?” he said, laughing softly but shaking his head. “I’m never inviting you to a match again. Ever.”

“Liar,” I giggled. “You love the chaos.”

He pulled me into a quick hug, still shaking his head. “I’m so done with your madness.”

I leaned into him with a smug smile. “You say that every time.”

“And yet here we are,” he muttered, kissing the top of my head, “me falling for the madness all over again.”

[quins-heart16]

A GLANCE OF FATE

LANDO NORRIX AND FEMALE READER(ELSA)

Rumors were everywhere.

Lando had been spotted on holiday with Magui and a few close friends—sun-kissed skin, casual strolls through beachside towns, dinners under string lights, and shared laughter. They looked like a couple, acted like one too, but neither had confirmed a thing. The world watched and speculated, obsessed with every glimpse, every comment, every story.

But the truth? Lando wasn’t sure what they were either he felt like something was missing and he always felt that way with many others that’s why he hadn’t made things official for along time with also others no one was ever official.

So, when the season picked up again, he dove headfirst into his world of speed—back to early mornings, fast laps, travel bags, and hotel rooms in new cities every week.

It was in Italy that it happened.

A quiet morning in a charming café tucked between cobbled alleys of Florence. He was tired, jet-lagged, craving nothing but caffeine and peace. But peace wasn’t what he found.

She was.

She sat near the window, draped in elegance. A silky white dress hugged her petite frame, her dark skin glowing under the sun filtering through the lace curtains. Her heels were Louboutins—classic red soles peeking from under the table—and a white hat shielded her face, shades covering her eyes as she read a newspaper, legs crossed in a duchess slant. She looked like something out of a movie, the kind of woman who turned silence into art.

Lando froze ,didn’t blink. He couldn’t.

In that moment, the noise, the world, even the racing… it all faded into silence.

And without a word, without knowing her name, her voice, or anything about her—he knew.

That’s my wife.

Not a crush.

Not a fling.

Not the pretty face in a passing dream.

Something in his soul whispered it—quiet, certain, eternal.

She wasn’t just beautiful. She was meant.

She felt like home he hadn’t stepped into yet.

He ordered his coffee and chose a table directly across from her.

For the first few minutes, he didn’t even sip. He just watched. Quietly. Respectfully. Intrigued.

Then it happened.

As if drawn by an invisible string, she lowered her newspaper, then slowly slid off her sunglasses. Their eyes met for the first time.

Warm brown meeting icy blue.

And she smiled.

Soft. Shy. The kind of smile that says I see you too.

It was a shy smile, soft and graceful, like a secret meant just for him. Lando’s heart stuttered.

Lando sat still, completely undone. Then, she rose. Gracefully. Bag over her shoulder, heels tapping like a gentle drumbeat on the floor, and just like that—she was gone.

——————————-/———

Days passed. But her face? Her smile? They stayed with him like a song he couldn’t stop humming.

Back in Monaco, in the grand lobby of a waterfront hotel, life moved on. But fate, as it always does, had its own plans.

Lando was walking past the front desk when he heard soft crying—childlike and frightened. He glanced over and saw her.

In a simple blue sundress and nude heels kneeling in the middle of the marble floor, cradling a little girl who looked about three years old. The child’s tiny hands clung to Elsa’s arm, her cheeks streaked with tears.

“Are you lost, sweetheart?” Elsa asked gently, brushing the girl’s curls back and offering a comforting smile. “Don’t worry. We’ll find your mummy.”

Lando stopped in his tracks. His heart tugged.

Elsa stood out in a crowd effortlessly, but in this moment, she wasn’t the elegant girl in the café. She was warm, real—kind. The way she calmed the child, speaking softly, stroking her back, glancing around to spot any sign of a panicked mother—it was instinctual.

Then he saw it: a woman rushing forward in distress, calling the little girl’s name.

Elsa stood up, gently nudging the child toward her mum, who swept her into her arms, tearful with relief. There were grateful thank yous, promises to never let the child out of her sight again, and Elsa just smiled, brushing it off like it was nothing.

Lando, still watching, knew better. It was everything.

He waited until the woman left and Elsa stood alone, adjusting her bag.

Now or never.

He stepped forward.

“That was pretty incredible,” he said, his voice low, eyes fixed on her.

She turned slightly, surprised—but not startled.

“Oh… she was scared. I just did what anyone would do.”

He shook his head, smile teasing at his lips. “Nah. Not everyone would kneel down in the middle of a hotel lobby in heels like that and calm a three-year-old like a Disney princess.”

She laughed softly, and Lando felt the air shift. That smile again.

“You’re the girl from the café in Florence,” he said quietly.

Her brows lifted, amused. “You were watching me?”

“I tried not to. Failed miserably.”

She tilted her head, eyes narrowing with gentle curiosity. “So what now?”

He stepped a little closer. “Now? I ask for your name. Then your number. And if I’m really lucky, maybe your favorite kind of coffee.”

She smiled again, warm and open. “Elsa.”

“Elsa,” he repeated, as if it was already his favorite word. “I’m Lando.”

“Lando nice name “ she says with a small smile

And then she handed him her phone number as per his request.

Lando walked away later that evening knowing one thing for sure:

He wasn’t just thinking about her anymore.

He was chasing her.

And this time, it had nothing to do with racing.

[theblackfemininesociety]

Thank You Jesus.

[quins-heart16]

LEWIS HAMILTONX FEM READER

RACING AGAINST TIME PART2

The message had been sent.

For a long, agonizing minute, I thought he wouldn’t reply. That he’d see my name on his screen and shake his head, dismissing me like a chapter he had long since closed.

But then, my phone vibrated.

Lewis: Meet me at the café on Berkeley Street. Tomorrow. 6 PM.

I reread the message at least twenty times. My heart pounded so hard I thought it might break through my ribs. I didn’t know if he was meeting me to hear me out or to finally tell me, face-to-face, that we were done for good.

Either way, I had to go.

⸻

The Next Evening

I arrived ten minutes early, my palms sweaty, my heart racing faster than the cars he drove. The café was quiet, tucked away from the chaos of the city. It used to be our spot, a place where we could hide from the world, where he could take off the mask of fame and just be Lewis. My Lewis.

But as I sat there in my lounge wear, staring at the door, I wondered if he was still mine at all.

Then, he walked in.

He hadn’t changed much. The same effortless confidence, the same intensity in his eyes. But there was something different too—something distant. Like I was a stranger now.

He sat across from me, folding his hands on the table. “You wanted to talk.”

I swallowed hard. His voice was calm, but there was no warmth in it.

“I—” My voice cracked. I took a deep breath and tried again. “Lewis, I messed up. And I know an apology doesn’t fix anything, but I need you to know that I regret everything.”

He exhaled, leaning back. “It took you a year to figure that out?”

The words stung, but I nodded. “Yes. Because I was stupid. Because I let people who didn’t know what we had convince me that you didn’t love me. And I should have trusted you. I should have trusted us.”

His jaw tensed, but he said nothing.

Tears burned at the back of my eyes. “Do you know how many times I wanted to call you? How many times I wrote messages and deleted them because I was too much of a coward? You blocked me, and I get why, but it didn’t stop me from missing you every single day.”

He let out a slow breath, his fingers tapping against the table. “And now you’re here. A year later. Why?”

I bit my lip. “Because I still love you.”

His expression didn’t change, but I saw it—the brief flicker of something in his eyes before he looked away.

“Lewis, I don’t expect you to forgive me overnight,” I continued, my voice trembling. “But I need you to know that I’m not that person anymore. I’ve spent the last year learning from my mistakes, wishing I could go back and undo the hurt I caused you.” I leaned forward, desperate for him to see the sincerity in my eyes. “I just… I just want a chance to fix what I broke. To prove to you that I still believe in us.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just stared at me, and I could see the battle happening inside him.

Then, finally, he sighed. “I don’t know if I can go through that again, Y/N, The way you made me feel—like I wasn’t enough—it hurt.”

Tears spilled down my cheeks. “I know. And I’ll spend as long as it takes proving to you that you are more than enough. That you always were.”

He studied me for what felt like an eternity. Then, he reached for his cup, taking a slow sip before meeting my gaze again.

“One coffee,” he finally said. “Let’s just… start with that.”

It wasn’t everything. But it was something.

And for now, that was enough

[quins-heart16]

MORNINGS WITHOUT LEWIS

LEWIS HAMILTON X GF READER

The absence of Lewis in our Monaco home was something I never quite got used to. When he was around, mornings were easy—he’d wake me up with a gentle nudge, a kiss on my forehead, or just his warm voice coaxing me out of sleep. But now? Now he was in Italy for training, and waking up on my own was an extreme sport.

My alarm rang at its usual ungodly hour, blaring through the quiet room. I groggily reached out, blindly tapping at my phone until the noise disappeared. Just five more minutes…

Except five minutes turned into… well, who knew?

I was deep in sleep again, dreaming about something ridiculously nice when my phone rang. With a groggy sigh, I fumbled for it, squinting at the screen. Lewis.

I answered, my voice still thick with sleep. “Hello?”

“Good morning, love,” his amused voice came through the speaker. “Aren’t you supposed to be at work?”

My brain took an extra five seconds to process his words. Then it hit me.

“Wait—WHAT?” I shot up so fast that my blanket flew off the bed. My eyes darted to the clock. I was so late.

Lewis burst into laughter on the other end. “Oh no, babe. You overslept, didn’t you?”

“Why didn’t you call earlier?!” I whined, stumbling out of bed in a panic.

“Because I assumed you were a responsible adult,” he teased. “Clearly, I was wrong.”

I scrambled to grab my clothes, half-tripping over my own feet while he kept laughing at me. “Lewis, stop laughing and help me!”

“What do you want me to do, teleport there and get you dressed?”

“YES!”

He was still laughing when I groaned dramatically, stuffing my feet into my shoes. “Ugh, I miss you. You make mornings easier.”

“I know, baby.” I could hear the warmth in his voice. “Now hurry up before you get fired.”

I rolled my eyes but smiled, even as I rushed out the door.

[quins-heart16]

LEWIS HAMILTONX FEM READER

RACING AGAINST TIME

PART 1

It had been a year. A long, agonizing year since Lewis walked out of my life, leaving nothing behind except the deafening silence of a love lost to my own mistakes.

I should have known better. Should have listened to my heart instead of the wrong voices whispering in my ear. My so-called friends—people who claimed they had my best interests at heart—convinced me that Lewis wasn’t as invested as I was. That his lifestyle, the flashing lights, the constant travel, meant I was only an accessory in his world. And I believed them.

One night, I let it all explode.

“You never have time for me, Lewis,” I snapped, arms crossed, my voice laced with bitterness. “You’re always on the road, always with your team, always with—” I hesitated, swallowing the jealousy that burned inside me.

His brows furrowed. “With who, exactly?” he asked, his voice calm but dangerously low.

I scoffed, shaking my head. “I don’t know, Lewis. The media sure has a lot to say. And my friends think—”

“Your friends?” His expression hardened. “Since when do your friends know anything about our relationship?”

I faltered, but my pride wouldn’t let me back down. “They see what I see. You’re never here.”

His jaw clenched, frustration flashing in his eyes. “I work, Y/N. I race. This isn’t just my career—it’s my life. But that doesn’t mean you’re not a part of it.” He ran a hand over his face, exhaling sharply. “I love you. Or at least, I thought you knew that.”

I did. I knew it deep down. But my insecurities, fueled by the wrong people, made me push him further away.

“If you really loved me, you’d make more time,” I shot back.

His eyes darkened with something I had never seen before—disappointment. “I have given you everything I could,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “But if that’s not enough for you…”

Silence stretched between us, thick and suffocating. I wanted to take the words back, to tell him I was scared, but my pride kept me frozen.

Lewis exhaled, his decision made. “I can’t keep proving myself to someone who refuses to believe in me.”

Then he walked out the door.

Blocked. From his life. From his world. From him.

The first few weeks were unbearable. I told myself he needed space. That maybe he’d come back once he cooled down. But weeks turned into months, and soon, an entire year had passed. And yet, I still found myself scrolling through old photos of us, still replaying our late-night conversations in my mind. Still breaking down in tears when I saw his name on a podium, realizing that I was no longer the person he called after a victory.

Then one night, sitting alone in my apartment, I whispered into the darkness, “I miss you, Lewis.”

My phone, silent as ever, mocked me.

But I couldn’t give up.

Because I knew now—more than ever—that I had lost the best thing that had ever happened to me. And maybe, just maybe, if I found the right words, if I showed him how much I had grown, he’d give me one more chance.

I took a deep breath and typed out the message I had been too afraid to send for an entire year.

Me: I know I don’t deserve it, but if there’s even the smallest chance, can we talk?

I stared at the screen, my heart pounding. Three dots appeared. Then disappeared.

I waited.

Because love like ours didn’t just disappear.

And if there was even the smallest chance, I was ready to fight for us.

Part 2

Post by @quins-heart16 · 1 image

LEWIS HAMILTONX FEM READER RACING AGAINST TIME PART2 The message had been sent. For a long, agonizing minute, I thought he wouldn’t re

[quins-heart16]

SWIPING INTO DESTINY PART 1

LEWIS HAMILTON x Fem Reader

London had always felt like a city of endless possibilities, but for me, it had settled into a predictable rhythm. At 25, I had built a steady life—working as a receptionist in a sleek office building, coming home to my cozy apartment, and spending weekends with my close-knit group of friends. My days were structured, my routine comforting, but if I was being honest with myself, something was missing.

Love.

I had been single for longer than I cared to admit. At first, it was by choice—I wanted to focus on myself, my career, and my independence. But as time passed, I realized that the dating scene in London wasn’t as romantic as the movies made it seem. Apps like Hinge and Bumble had been nothing but a cycle of dry conversations, unmet expectations, and ghosting. My friends had started teasing me, saying I was too picky.

Then, one evening, over drinks and laughter at our favorite restaurant, my best friend dropped a suggestion that changed everything.

“Have you tried Raya?” she asked, swirling the last of her cocktail.

I nearly choked on my drink. “Raya? You mean the app for celebrities and influencers?”

She shrugged. “Not just celebrities. There are normal people too—you just have to get accepted.”

I laughed it off, but later that night, curiosity got the best of me. I submitted an application, knowing full well that the process was selective. I didn’t take it too seriously, so when I got rejected, I brushed it off.

But then I applied again. And again.

By the fourth attempt, I had almost given up. But one afternoon, as I sat at my desk at work, a notification popped up on my phone.

Congratulations! You’ve been accepted to Raya.

I grinned, barely suppressing my excitement. That evening, I curled up in bed, ready to see what all the fuss was about. As I swiped through profiles, I wasn’t expecting much. But then—I saw him.

Lewis. Hamilton.

I stared at my screen in disbelief. No way.

A rational part of me knew there was no chance, but the delusional part? Oh, she didn’t care. Without hesitation, I swiped right. Then, I kept swiping, eventually dozing off with my phone still in my hand.

Over the next few weeks, I matched with a few people, exchanged some messages, but none of them sparked anything real. Raya wasn’t much different from other dating apps—just shinier.

Then, a month later, just as I was getting ready to meet my friends for dinner, my phone buzzed.

Lewis Hamilton has accepted your match.

My mouth fell open. What?

I sat frozen, staring at the notification as my heart pounded. It wasn’t until my friend called, asking why I was late, that I snapped out of it. At dinner, I tried to focus on our conversation, but my mind was elsewhere. I kept replaying the notification in my head, wondering if it was real.

That night, when I got home, I finally worked up the courage to send a message.

“Hello.”

Simple. Casual. Normal.

And then—I waited. And waited.

A week passed. No response.

Just as I was about to give up, my phone buzzed with a new message.

Lewis Hamilton had replied.

[quins-heart16]

LANDO NORRIS x GF READER

LANDO’S SHY PRINCESS: A LOVE CAUGHT ON CAMERA

The apartment is quiet except for the low hum of the cameras as Drive to Survive rolls on, capturing every moment of Lando and Max’s conversation. They’re seated on the couch, discussing last season—its highs, its lows, and the moments that still linger in their minds.

“There were weekends where I felt like we were so close, and then something would go wrong—strategy, bad luck, whatever,” Lando says, leaning back with a sigh.

Max nods. “Yeah, but that’s just how it goes. You can do everything right, and still…”

Lando’s phone suddenly vibrates on the table. He glances down and, seeing the name on the screen, doesn’t hesitate to pick up, lifting it to his ear and shifting slightly away from the cameras. His voice drops, softer, more private.

“Hey, love,” he murmurs.

A small, almost involuntary smile tugs at his lips. “Yeah?”

Lando chuckles, his fingers absentmindedly tapping on his knee. “I like the sound of that.”

“Promise.” His voice is warm, reassuring.

“Love you too, baby.”

As soon as he hangs up, Max, who has been watching him the entire time, smirks. “Oi, who was that?”

Without missing a beat, Lando deadpans, “My mum.”

Max bursts out laughing, shaking his head. “Mate, you are so whipped.”

Lando finally grins, leaning back against the couch. “My girl.”

Max groans dramatically. “There it is! He said it!”

The Drive to Survive cameras catch everything, and Lando just chuckles to himself, knowing this moment is definitely making the final cut.

Y/N POV

Lando is currently in his game room playing with his friends online while I curl up on the couch, exhaustion settling in. But after a while, I start to miss him.

Dragging myself up, I shuffle into the game room, barefoot and wearing one of Lando’s oversized hoodies. My voice is sleepy as I pout, leaning against the doorframe.

“Landoooo…”

He glances over from his monitor, a small smirk already forming. “Yes, love?”

“Do you think fish get tired of swimming?” I mumble, rubbing my eyes.

Max, who’s still on the call, bursts into laughter. “Oh, mate, she’s gone.”

Lando chuckles, shaking his head. “What kind of question is that?”

“A serious one,” I insist, stepping closer, my tired state making me extra clingy.

Lando’s voice softens. “Come here, baby.” He pushes his chair back slightly and pats his lap. Without a second thought, I comply, half-asleep as I sink into his embrace. His arms wrap securely around me, and I nuzzle into his neck, completely unaware that he’s live.

The chat erupts instantly.

“Bro she’s literally the cutest thing ever.”

“Lando’s got a whole princess in his arms.”

“The way she just flopped into his lap 😭.”

Max and the rest of their friends are still on the stream, and Max is practically crying from laughter. “She doesn’t even know!”

I blink drowsily, confused at him chuckling at something looking at the screen then I finally notice the live chat on his screen. My eyes widen. Oh. My. God.

“LANNNDOOO!” I whine, instantly burying my face in his neck. “I wanna die. The ground needs to swallow me right now.”

Lando just laughs, holding me tighter. “Why? You’re adorable.”

“Noooooo,” I groan dramatically. “Why didn’t you tell me you were live streaming?”

Max’s laughter only makes it worse. “This is gold. Absolute gold.”

Lando tilts his head down, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. “Relax, my shy princess.”

The chat explodes again.

The next day, the headlines are everywhere. Lando’s “Shy Princess” Steals the Spotlight on His Livestream. The clips are all over Twitter, and to make matters worse, Lando won’t stop calling me his shy princess just to see me pout.

I swear, I’m never walking into his game room again.

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