Starset

✨23✨

[starset21]

Hello and welcome to chaos that is my blog!

I’m Starset, but I go by Bess, Star, or whatever else you wanna call me. I’m 23 and this is a multi fandom blog including, Top gun/TGM, Starwars, Marvel, OneChicago, F1/racing, etc. All my writing will be tagged #Starset writes. I am also on Wattpad @.itswildflower. I’m always down to talk fandom or anything really so just shoot me a message if you’d like.

Masterlist

NASCAR!Driver Reader x F1 Masterlist

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

I’ll never forget the fanfic space on wattpad back in 2016-2017’ish where its culture was that writers would not post their new chapters until they reached x amount of votes (kudos) and comments. I mean I’d never judge anyone for how they chose to update their fics even though I didn’t agree with them. but like. it was the entire wattpad fanfic culture back then that made most writers believe they had to set these specific numbers of votes and comments that they must reach first before they posted the next chapters. so if you were on the fanfic corner of wattpad during that time, you’d most likely have seen fics where it said in the chapter something like “50 votes and 20 comments for the next chapter!” and it was literally the norm and so normalized that I didn’t see anything weird about it back then. but looking back, years after I’ve left wattpad for ao3, yeah that culture as a whole was weird and it shaped writers into thinking that they wrote for the sake of shallow engagement instead for the joy of getting to create, it shaped writers into thinking that their fics’ worth was decided and dictated by strangers’ approval. and then tiktok became a thing and this mindset continued. not to mention how wattpad is full of ads now unless you pay the site monthly for a premium, ad-free service.

so like. man, this is why I love ao3. there’s none of these capitalism or algorithm bullshit on ao3. just writers creating out of love and passion. everybody say thank you ao3

[starset21]

Oh I was 100% an avid hater of Wattpad from 2015-2020 honestly, I started reading fanfic in 2014-2015 on my Nintendo 3Ds and I hated the format for it and I just didn’t think the quality of story was there at the time and those x number of likes and comments thing kinda annoyed me too (as an author now I realize that they were just trying to get any kind of interaction they could for validation but yeahhhh)

Ao3 at the time was difficult for me to navigate (I was like 11-12 at that time) so my go to’s were quotev and fanfic.net.

I didn’t turn to Wattpad again until mid 2020 when I was bored and had found nothing new to read in my fandoms in a while and yes the ads are annoying but I’ve mostly just skipped them by leaving the app and going back in or using 1 of the 2 offline things they offer

I was definitely late to the tumblr fanfic party, I think I made my blog in 2022??? But man am I glad, it may be a hell site sometimes but it’s my hell site, I’ve met and talked to so many great people. And Ao3 finally also made sense to me around this time lol

Fanfic culture has changed in general so much over the last decade that it’s definitely wild to look back at sometimes

[erin-bo-berin]

To Catch A Priestess: The Equals

ACOTAR Masterlist

Part 1: To Catch A Priestess | Part 2: The Pull | Part 3: The Connection | Part 4: The Thread

Your past returns with a vengeance—throwing a wrench in your friendship with Eris. It forces you both to share the final pieces of yourselves, allowing one last truth to finally surface.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x f!reader

Warnings: mentions of domestic abuse, trauma, angst, priestess reader, canon Eris trauma, longing, secret mate bond, slow burn, fluff

Word Count: 14.8k

A/N: We made it to the final part of To Catch A Priestess! I’m so sad to see this end as I grew so attached to these too and spent so long with them. But I had so much fun writing these two and their respective journeys and the one they went on together. I hope y’all enjoy the last installment!

Huge thanks goes to @harvest-bunny for all the writing process help and beta reading this! 💕

ERIS

An entire week passed.

Eris spent every night waiting long into the night for her, hoping against hope she’d appear. She never did. Each passing night only deepened the panic and concern that plagued him.

Training had become unbearable, watching her go through the motions like she no longer cared. Gone was that fierce determination and grit. What was left in its place was a female even worse off than the version of her he’d first met.

It was worse because now he had the knowledge of just how much she could brighten a space, fill his day…hold his heart.

The mating bond raged in him. That bond, that damned bond—the one he’d spent so long ignoring, assuming it was more manageable that way—only made itself more known. He walked around constantly feeling like the air was being squeezed out of his lungs and that his heart was being sliced apart, slowly.

She’d made herself practically unreachable—and not just physically. He felt the emotional distance, the wall she’d built around herself—like a blade to his chest.

A blade to his chest would’ve hurt less.

Eris felt helpless. He yearned to help her, but had no idea how he could. He didn’t even know what was wrong. What sort of mate could he be if he couldn’t even tell what was wrong with her?

Old anger flared again, reminiscent of the early days after meeting her. This time, it wasn’t directed towards her, but at the situation. But Eris quite literally felt angry with the world nowadays. It didn’t help that he was constantly on edge, irritation flaring in him at his inability to be useful.

Every time her gaze passed over him like he wasn’t even there, a physical ache went through him. He’d experienced so much in his centuries alive—enough to leave scars—but nothing left him feeling as raw as this had. The absence of her in his normal routine hadn’t helped matters either.

He knew there were parts of her he didn’t know, hadn’t been privy too, but he also knew this version of her was wrong. Amidst all of this, he still felt the nagging worry that he’d caused all this. That his inability to control his selfish desires had scared her off, pushed her away.

Left with no answers was dangerous for Eris, especially as a male that thrived on certainty.

That bond pulled even more taut as the days passed, like a string pulled far too tight. He halfway wondered if it was capable of snapping in half. It only furthered his agitation.

Though he managed to mask his rising panic well—with his usual cool indifference—it wasn’t enough for everyone else that surrounded them to quickly notice something was amiss.

One morning he said her name as she passed, itching to reach out and touch her, something. She didn’t bother to slow or even glance at him as she walked by—the most concerning part being that it seemed like she hadn’t even heard him.

Whatever world she’d been pulled into, the horrors that lurked within, had trapped her, causing her to retreat to a place that he couldn’t reach. The incident had made his jaw tighten and hands ball into fists beneath his folded arms.

One morning, Cassian finally broached the subject as it neared a week of complete silence from her.

“Is something the matter?”

“Other than it being scorching out today?” Eris drawled, unimpressed—and very unwilling to divulge.

“For a male who wields fire, I’d assume you’d be fine with a little heat.”

Eris cut the Illyrian a glare, both at him pressing and the double meaning to his little comment.

“He won’t ask, so I will,” Azriel cut in, having joined them just as Cassian voiced his previous comment, “Did you say something to her?”

Eris knew irritation flashed on his face, flames likely sizzled in eyes at the insult.

“How easy it is to assume I’m the one at fault,” he sneered.

“Answer the damn question,” Cassian bit out.

Eris’s anger flared, but he reined it in, dropping his crossed arms and standing straighter.

“I have as little knowledge of what’s troubling her as you do,” Eris answered stiffly, “Unless you know something I do not.”

Both males’ protective anger seemed to bank then vanish entirely as it morphed into wary confusion.

“We just assumed…”

“It’s been no secret that you and she seemed to be…acquainted,” Azriel hedged, cutting Cassian off.

Eris snorted, but didn’t answer.

“I don’t know what you’ve done—”

Eris was seconds away from shooting a derisive look towards the shadowsinger but the male continued.

“But I’ve never seen her more alive than she has been in these last few months,” Azriel finished.

He faltered at that, the harsh edges of his irritation softening just slightly. To know that he’d had such an impact on her…

Eris studied the males, contemplating what to say when he finally settled on, “I truly do not know what’s wrong and I find myself…troubled by that fact.”

Cassian looked over to where a group of the females had gathered around the water ewer, chatting as they got a much needed drink. Nesta was among them, a serious look on her face as she listened to something one of the priestesses was telling her, nodding in answer. The General of the Night Court turned back to him before speaking.

“I think the most important thing is not to give up on her. Wherever she’s retreated to, she’s going to need your help climbing out.”

Which was exactly why Eris found himself sitting under the moonlight again that night—night seven of this. He’d never intended to give up on her, but he couldn’t help but wonder if it was a fruitless effort. Even worse, he feared she’d never return.

He sat staring at the archway that led to the stairs like he could will her into existence. He could almost picture her walking through it, that sly smile on her face, the barely contained amusement blooming over her features as she took in his presence. Something in his chest twisted when he was only met with silent night air.

He missed her greatly—and he didn’t know what to do with that fact.

Stiff from hours of sitting, he finally stood, deciding to call it a night. He couldn’t force her to meet him or even talk to him. He looked around the shadowy space, sighing deeply, resigned as he winnowed back to the Autumn Court.

Maybe he’d try again tomorrow.

He had no way of knowing that only moments after he’d departed, a lonely, broken priestess had just cleared the archway into a dark and empty training ring.

•••

You were the most horrible person alive.

The lone thought cycled through your head in the week that’d followed. The days of your past and present bleeding together—when you’d feared Eris to be no better than Finneas—were long gone. Though you no longer thought the Autumn male to be anything like the one who’d destroyed your life, something still held you back.

You weren’t even sure if you were okay. You didn’t quite know what you were, truth be told. You’d fallen into a state frighteningly similar to how you’d been in your early days after arriving at the library.

The nightmares still continued—all pertaining to that final night with Finneas. It sent you to a dark place of despair with worrying speed.

You hadn’t intended to punish Eris, to push him away and avoid him, but you hadn’t wanted him to see you like this. You were too ruined, too imperfect for someone like him to care about. If he knew the horrors that lived in your head—what had happened to you—he’d never look at you the same.

So as the nightmares continued hounding you, you pulled further into yourself and kept on ignoring Eris. Ignoring everyone. Gone was the female you’d felt like you’d started rediscovering. All the hope and joy you’d once felt seemed to have vanished. You pulled further into yourself, narrowing your world back to just you, alone. After all, you could only count on yourself.

Your days had turned into the monotony of training, returning to the library for your work and crawling into bed. You skipped services, you skipped dinners most evenings and you definitely didn’t venture up to the roof to meet Eris.

He’d probably forgotten all about you anyway. You’d likely only been a way to pass the time. Whatever had been between the two of you was only meant to be short lived, you were sure. You never had figured out why he’d been so taken with you and for so long.

You’d been foolish to think you ever deserved even a modicum of happiness.

As dark circles started reappearing under your eyes and your spirit plummeted even more, you found yourself feeling like you were drowning again. Finneas’s words echoed in your head, along with your other doubts.

Maybe he’d been right when he’d said no one would love you or want you. You were but a shell, so broken that some days you felt like you were made of nothing but jagged shards of glass.

It was Clotho that noticed your deteriorating mindset, first.

You were busy placing books on the cart one afternoon, four days after you’d stopped meeting Eris, when you heard the familiar sound of a pen scratch.

You’re quieter than usual.

You shrugged, picking up another book and placing it on the cart. You were organizing the books by levels so it would be easier when it came time to shelve them later.

“Just tired is all.”

You waited for her enchanted pen to stop moving.

Your eyes tell a much different story.

You let out a long breath, a strand of hair fluttering out of your face in reaction. You had no idea where to even begin on what you truly felt. Clotho wrote again.

We are never meant to traverse life and its challenges alone. Sometimes it’s a blessing to let another person carry some of the load.

Clotho was dangerously close to the truth of what Eris had become to you lately. Even if there were still parts of you he didn’t know, he’d provided stability and familiarity—comfort—in a way you hadn’t been expecting.

Somehow, over the months, he’d started filling the lonely cracks that had been gaping open in your chest for far too long. Nightly meetings with him had even seemed to chase the nightmares away at one point. He’d become a constant in your life as you’d begun to grow and heal. A lot of that had come from your own determination, but he had played a significant part in who you’d started to become.

“Sometimes people disappoint you,” you finally spoke aloud.

Which wasn’t fair to say. Eris had done nothing to make you question that—certainly not in the ways Finneas had. Even if you’d been the one to pull away from him—in fear, hopelessness and despair—you still missed him. He’d snuck into your life so craftily that you found you now missed the place he’d so easily occupied. This last week had stretched on endlessly while you’d walked around with an aching hole in your chest.

This hurt felt different from the types you’d experienced before though. Instead, this felt like an intricate part of you had gone missing, the dull ache only growing as the days passed.

Clotho seemed to be studying you from under her hood. For a concerning moment, you were afraid she could read all your vulnerable thoughts. The enchanted pen wrote again.

Is it others that frightens you? Or yourself?

“If I didn’t know you were High Priestess, I would think you were my counselor,” you mumbled.

A breath of amusement fluttered from beneath the hood as the paper returned to her to continue the conversation.

It has been nice to see you full of life lately. Whatever—or whoever—has caused that deserves to have a place in your life.

“Maybe,” you answered, noncommittally.

Even if she wasn’t daemati like the High Lord and High Lady of this court were, Clotho always seemed to possess an unnervingly excellent ability to read individuals. She’d always been able to when it came to you. You knew she meant well and cared about your wellbeing, but you couldn’t bring yourself to explain the raw feelings you’d carried with you this week.

For once, thoughts of Eris and Finneas intertwined for a different reason, though it hadn’t been unusual for the past and present to bleed together. But now, the stark differences between the males were more apparent.

Eris was the present, potentially a future, the male of such unexpected kindness and good intentions hidden beneath a deceptively cold face. Finneas was the past, the male who had actually possessed such cruelty beneath a friendly face.

Even still, the hesitancy and apprehension remained in you.

Sometimes, the heart knows before you do.

Your mind filled instantly with images of familiar amber eyes, pale skin, a curtain of red hair—of a male with such a sharp mind and keen talent of perception. One who had a unique sense of humor, tinged with arrogance and snark, yet who concealed a compassionate, good male, beneath it all. The very same male that, at first glance, seemed cold and calculating—unfeeling—but who had instead spent time with you in the most vulnerable of ways, even sharing pieces of his dreams for his court with you.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” you finally answered, placing the last book on the cart, “I better get busy returning these books. I’ll see you later, Clotho.”

With that, you left the High Priestess, pulling the cart of books behind you as you went, her advice echoing in your mind and heart as you went.

That night, Gwyn found you in front of one of the fireplaces of the library—where you once regularly found yourself when you couldn’t sleep.

“I thought I’d find you here.”

You started, not having heard her approach.

“What are you doing here?”

It was late, close to midnight by your guess. Far too late for Gwyn to typically make a visit.

“I had Azriel drop me off. I wanted to find you. May I?”

She motioned to one of the comfortable velvet chairs that sat in front of the fire. Specifically the unoccupied one right next to you. You nodded and she took a seat next to you.

“You wanted to find me?” you prompted.

“Yes.”

The pretty, freckled face of your friend was tight with concern and you had good sense to know where this conversation was heading. But she didn’t launch into demanding an explanation or prying questions like you’d anticipated.

“I’ve been worried about you.”

You shrugged halfheartedly, peering down into your lap.

“I’m fine.”

Gwyn was silent for a moment before answering.

“I used to say the same thing as well—in that exact same tone.”

You bit your lip, tears unexpectedly springing to your eyes. Just her confession alone had something unraveling in your chest—the knowledge that you weren’t the only one who’d been in this same place.

The truth was you weren’t fine. The past had ensnared you again but in a new and bigger way, making you afraid to live again—to have a future. It was doing its best to convince you that you didn’t deserve one.

“I recognize drowning when I see it,” Gwyn said so gently that your eyes squeezed shut, willing the tears away.

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t seen you cry before, that wasn’t it. You were just so tired—of the shame, the fear, the thoughts that kept your head too loud. You’d been foolish to believe healing and making positive progress meant this part was over.

“I thought I was finally okay,” came your broken whisper.

You hadn’t known what would come out when you finally allowed yourself to talk about this. You’d kept it locked up inside of you all week—the storm of emotions only gaining in strength rather than disappearing. You hadn’t expected that to be the first words off your lips, but you knew they carried so much truth to them.

Gwyn didn’t comment and you took the invitation to continue.

“I was finally stepping out of the shadows and into the light for a change—quite literally,” you huffed a humorless laugh, “I started waking up looking forward to the days ahead instead of dreading them. I no longer felt that heavy weight that once seemed to try to pull me down. I felt like I was capable of…anything. But perhaps I was fooling no one but myself.”

Your friend was contemplative in her silence, not rushing to agree or to reassure you, letting your feelings and words settle in the air between the two of you. You were so emotionally fatigued you weren’t even sure what you wanted anymore.

“Did something happen? With Eris?”

Her pleasant voice filled you with such comfort, reminding you of all the times she’d spent helping you in the past. But the mention of his name sent a dull ache through you. The male had become so deeply tangled in emotions surrounding a situation he had no knowledge of. While that was no fault of his own, it only made things more confusing for you.

“No. Yes. I don’t know.”

“Well, at least that covers everything,” Gwyn responded wryly.

You exhaled a half laugh, her attempt at humor making you feel lighter for just a moment. You heaved a deep sigh, knowing Gwyn was someone you could trust and were comfortable with being vulnerable with. After all, she was your friend.

“He didn’t do anything. He didn’t do anything at all,” you answered her earlier question.

“Well…” she hesitated, “It has been rather jarring to notice how the two of you went from rather familiar with each other to impersonal almost overnight.”

Your eyes slipped shut again, guilt flooding you.

“That was all my fault.”

Again, she waited for you to continue, not filling the silence with unnecessary commentary. You toyed with the edge of the blanket that was folded neatly and resting over the sidearm of the chair.

“When I first met him, I didn’t trust him,” you stated simply as you finally turned back to face her.

Both of her copper brows rose in surprise.

“You see, the male— with my past—”

You cut yourself off and took a steadying breath. Even if you didn’t intend to share your entire history with Gwyn, just sharing this was difficult enough.

“I unfairly assumed his intentions were the same. I only expected the worst because I had been taught to be on my guard in all the wrong ways. You know how he is—how he appears. That didn’t help matters.”

Gwyn’s lips twitched in answer, like yes, she was more than familiar with the front Eris showed the world.

“But somehow, that changed. I found myself more intrigued by him and less frightened. You remember how I told you about the time he found me on the roof? Well, those nightly meetings became something I looked forward to. I don’t know if it was just the company or what, but somehow we formed this—”

You paused, searching for the correct word.

“Understanding,” you concluded.

“So what changed?” came her soft inquiry.

Images of that last night with Eris flashed behind your eyes—his vulnerability as he told you what he wanted to accomplish as High Lord, the way he’d looked at you.

“Last week, after the last rooftop meeting with Eris, I started having nightmares again. It was like being back there, living through it once more. My head got…loud again. I—I can’t explain why I pulled away, from him, from everyone.”

“You were scared,” she said.

She made it sound so simple, but in all truthfulness, it rang the most true.

“He scares me,” you admitted softly.

“He does or what he represents?”

Your brow furrowed in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Safety. Happiness. Closeness. Is that not what you’ve felt with him?” she asked, ponytail shifting as she tilted her head in curiosity.

She wasn’t analyzing you, but merely questioning, assessing where your head was while simultaneously allowing you to come to your own conclusions.

“It is not unusual to be haunted by your past—I still live with memories of my own. But it’s not fair to yourself to let it hold you back in life. I know what it’s like to live with shame of what you’ve survived and the fear that happiness doesn’t last for long. For far too long, I held myself back from embracing all life had to offer me. I don’t want to see you make the same mistake.”

“It seems safer to rely on only myself though.”

For you had started to trust Eris, rely on his companionship. Old habits made you fearful that something so precious could easily be taken away. Especially now that you were beginning to realize just how much you cared about him.

“Is that fair though?” she asked, “Rather than try and fail—you would take the safe road? Is it living to take the safe road?”

You didn’t have an answer for her. Gwyn’s words were firm, but heartfelt as she continued.

“The male in your past wins if you let what happened to you continue to have this power over you. The pain will always linger in some sense, but it becomes more manageable over time—easier to live with. It’s a matter of learning how not to be swept away with it when it sometimes does return.”

She reached out, grasping one of your hands in both of her own.

“I realize I have no knowledge of what you endured, but what I do know is that I’ve watched you grow and change—in a positive direction—so much over these last few months. Words cannot describe how proud of you I am, for all that you’ve already accomplished. That female is still within you—she’s always been in you—she’s just buried right now in uncertainty.”

A tear finally slid free and you let it roll down your cheek as her words sank in, a balm to all the fears you’d been harboring throughout the past week. Blunt honestly came slipping from your lips in a whisper.

“I think—I think I found myself caring about him in a way I never expected.”

A small smile played on Gwyn’s lips like she wasn’t all that surprised by the revelation.

“I think he’s also seen more of me than I’ve shown anyone and that became terrifying too. I’m afraid he’ll see me differently when he eventually learns about my past.”

Gwyn’s features softened as she listened to your fears.

“While frightening, that sounds like a risk worth taking, don’t you think? Especially if he’s someone you’d like to remain in your life.”

You knew she was right, even though your heart pounded at the thought of being so vulnerable. But he had shared things with you, perhaps it was only fair you finally returned the sentiment.

Gwyn let you ruminate in the silence, turning over everything in your mind as she gave your hand a squeeze before pulling away.

“Tomorrow’s a brand new day. I think it’s time for that strong and fierce female we’ve come to know to make a reappearance, don’t you think?”

Her smile was bright as she stood, making you feel lighter than you had all week. Between Gwyn’s words now and Clotho’s from earlier in the day, resolve settled over you—determination to once again fight for the life you wanted to live. One that came with all the good and bad.

As she bid you farewell—letting you know she’d see you in the training ring in the morning—you knew what you needed to do. Pushing up out of the chair you’d been settled in, you headed to the stairwell that led to the roof.

What you hadn’t expected was to find it completely empty, devoid of the presence that knew how to fill a space. Your eyes were met with only shadows as they roamed the darkened training ring.

The other thing you hadn’t anticipated was the disappointment that settled deep within your chest—or the realization that you couldn’t bear losing him.

•••

ERIS

Once again, something had changed. But this time, it was for the better.

Eris watched her put all her determination and energy into training the following morning. She completed her warmups early, did them harder, faster. She hit all the marks in the sword lessons of the day, her footwork precise, her body perfectly aligned with every turn.

She pushed herself hard through the hours long lessons and by the end of it, she was panting, hairline soaked with sweat as she pulled off the jacket of the leathers she normally donned every day now.

He couldn’t help the relief that flooded him to see her will returning, but something like sadness tugged in his chest momentarily. He hated feeling it, but it gnawed at him that he hadn’t been able to help her—couldn’t pull her out of whatever had been bothering her.

She fanned herself, her face sweaty and flushed as she retrieved a drink of water. He tried not to be too obvious as he watched her every move, assessing to make sure that somehow she truly was doing better.

She flashed one of the priestesses—Deirdre, he recalled—a pretty, bright smile in response to something the female had said. His heart stuttered at the reappearance of the smile that had gone missing for over a week.

While a hint of that smile lingered on her lips, her eyes flicked his way, holding his gaze. Her face turned a shade more serious as something charged hung in the air between them—oddly similar to that instance when he’d felt the mating bond snap into place.

The spell was broken by Azriel calling his name, pulling him into a conversation with the shadowsinger—one that had Eris’s back turning to the females. When it wrapped up a few minutes later, Eris was surprised to turn and find her waiting for his attention to free up.

Up close, he realized that while her demeanor had improved, there were still dark smudges under her eyes, shadows lingering within the gaze that peered up at him. He could tell the difference between her behavior as of late and now, but even then he knew she wasn’t fully alright.

“Tonight? Same time?”

The sound of her soft voice was music to his ears. It felt like he hadn’t heard it in centuries. The hope that bloomed in him at this turn of events sent his pulse skittering.

“Yes—of course.”

She merely dipped her chin in a nod before turning to leave.

The day passed dreadfully slowly and Eris found himself closest to fidgeting than he ever had been. For someone who knew how to handle unease and anticipation, without displaying a single indication of what he was feeling, he was struggling with the skill today. The minute he was free of his duties back home, he escaped to his chambers, winnowing to Velaris practically the moment his door closed behind him.

Despite arriving a tad earlier than usual, he was surprised to see her sitting in the middle of the training ring, cross-legged. She was back in the pale blue priestess robes, her hair loose and fluttering gently in the warm summer night. Her head turned as he approached silently, head tilting up to look at him.

Wariness lined her features, a sort of defeated look about her. Her eyes weren’t empty as they had been previously, but he could see the exhaustion in them—an exhaustion that wasn’t physical.

“There’s something I want to tell you,” she said, hesitation thick in her words.

“Alright,” he said, sitting down next to her, so close that their shoulders almost brushed.

Her fingers tapped nervously against her leg before she caught herself, curling them into her hand. His eyes took in how her nails dug into her palms. She took an audible breath—her chest expanding with it—and blew it out slowly. Eris waited patiently, though concern tugged at his ribs, right at that strange place that seemed to wait for her.

“Five years ago, I was brought to this library.”

Eris’s spine stiffened and he automatically sat up at the severity in her voice. He hadn’t known what to expect by her greeting, but he hadn’t considered it would be this—that she would be sharing the story that had impacted her life so greatly.

“Rhysand found me in the alley behind Rita’s, bleeding, half frozen, left for dead.”

Anger, nothing but pure anger flared through him, followed by an overwhelmingly sickening sense of horror at what she’d just said. She gave a humorless laugh.

“I probably should start at the beginning.”

Eris only tensed further, irrational protectiveness flooding his senses as he tried to prepare himself to hear a story that he knew had to be incredibly difficult for her to share.

“Five years ago, I knew a male by the name of Finneas. He was beautiful—practically perfect—the kind of male that one could only dream of. I think I fell in love with him from the first moment I laid eyes on him.”

Eris scolded himself for the momentary envy that slid through him, oily and wrong—especially at such an inopportune time. But something in him still reacted to hearing her talk of another male in such a way. He inhaled through his nose quietly, trying to rein in the absurd reaction that he had no control over.

“You see, I used to own a bookstore—here in Velaris. It was my dream to own one, ever since I was a child. I didn’t own it long, just over a year, but the short time I did have it are some of the happiest moments of my life.”

Surprise filled him at the discovery of this piece of her history, a brief smile appearing. Somehow it didn’t surprise him to know that she’d once owned a bookstore. It seemed that no matter where she’d been in life, she always managed to end up surrounded by books. He made a mental note to ask her more about it at a later date.

“He came into my store one day and the rest was history. Unfortunately.”

The last word sounded like it came with much regret, the weight to it so heavy he felt the air around them shift with the severity of the moment.

“He told me he was the son of a lesser lord and that he was estranged from his parents—though I’m still to this day unsure if that was the truth or another one of his lies. He claimed the aristocratic world was far too formal to hold his attention for long. Thinking back now, I realize I truly knew little about him or his life. I don’t even know where he hailed from—whether it was from Prythian, the Continent or even other faraway lands. All I knew was that he was a handsome High Fae male with the palest of blonde hair and striking green eyes and had a penchant for traveling. I’d always assumed he had ancestry from the Spring Court. I don’t even know if his parents were alive. Guess that should’ve been my first warning, huh?”

Eris felt a sense of dread creep over him as she spoke, not entirely knowing what to anticipate, but knowing it couldn’t be good. He didn’t speak, his eyes focused wholly on her as she spoke, though her gaze stayed elsewhere.

“At first he was charming, so incredibly charming. He said all the right things, complimented me endlessly and just showered me with attention, appreciation and even gifts. It was overwhelming in the best of ways—I thought I was the luckiest female alive.”

“I take it that didn’t last long,” Eris rasped, a statement more than a question.

She shook her head, a halfhearted exhale escaping her—one that sounded like it was meant to be a self-deprecating laugh.

“No, it did not,” she answered, “But, thinking back, I feel like it was a distraction of sorts—a sleight of hand, if you will. His attempt to preoccupy my attention so I would never anticipate his true intentions.”

She nervously tucked a piece of hair behind an arched ear, attempting to steady the shaking of her hands. Eris noticed every small movement, his chest aching at the sight. He resisted the urge to reach out and take her trembling hands in his broad ones.

“It didn’t happen quickly—the changes. In fact, it was so subtle I didn’t even realize it when it was happening. It seemed to be a series of strange moments, ones where he acted oddly. But I kept brushing them off, explaining them away.”

Eris didn’t know whether he should let her talk or say something, but the question came out before he could stop it. If anything, at least it proved that he took this incredibly seriously and that she had his full attention.

“Such as what?”

She shrugged, glancing over at him quickly before looking back towards her lap.

“He’d start criticizing me over the strangest things—what I wore, a decision I made about the store. I figured he was just strongly opinionated. Then it escalated in frequency to the point where I was second guessing myself and my abilities.”

Her robes rustled as she shifted into a more comfortable position.

“Then came the possessiveness and the irrational jealousy. He’d make me feel guilty if I had other plans with anyone other than him. He’d get irrationally angry if a male was even kind to me, automatically jumping to the conclusion that he was flirting with me. Then he’d turn around and accuse me of being far too friendly with them. Little by little he narrowed my world until it was only him in it. I trusted him and relied on him, I even thought I was in love with him.”

His jaw clenched but he kept on listening.

“I don’t know how it really started. I know there was a distinct moment it began, but in the plethora of bad memories, I don’t remember it. You think I would recall what led to it, wouldn’t you?”

It was a rhetorical question and he didn’t answer, just waited, tensely, as that sense of dread grew, positive he knew exactly what was coming.

“The first time he hurt me he gripped my wrists so tightly that I had bruises for days. He slammed me into a wall with such force, my teeth rattled. I was left with a knot on the back of my head after that incident.”

Her voice was so small, so quiet, filled with so much shame. Eris wasn’t sure he was breathing. The female that had been made for him—the one that the Mother had tied him to—had experienced such horrors so similar to his own, to what his own mother had endured. That quiet place that only answered to her seemed to roar again, fury and agony entangled.

Amongst those reactions laid a sense of astonished awe at the irony of it all. Every iota of him loathed that she had to experience even a fraction of the sort of physical abuse he’d been subjected to, but in the same breath he knew that those shared tragedies allowed him to understand her far more deeply than she realized.

Another realization struck him. That deduction of his—when he’d first noticed how she’d flinch around males—had been absolutely correct. She’d been on edge for far longer than she should’ve been—always anticipating a strike or explosive anger because of invisible scars this piece of shit had left on her.

“Besides his words, his fists were his favorite way to hurt me,” she uttered, beginning to sound detached, “But of course I was naive and a damn fool for thinking things would eventually improve.”

“You were never a fool for thinking you could trust someone that was supposed to care for you,” he said, perhaps a tad sharper than he meant to.

Her eyes lifted to his again and he didn’t think his chest could ache any more than it did in that moment. In the moonlight, he saw the deep pain etched into her face. That haunted look had returned to her face, mixed with grief, despair and regret. Whatever his own expression beheld apparently gave her the strength to continue her story.

“He always apologized—every time, actually—said he was sorry and it would never happen again.”

“I take it that was far from the truth.”

Eris barely bit back the grimace at his inane and very obvious question, though she didn’t give him any grief for it. She pulled her legs to her chest as if trying to shrink herself, make herself less vulnerable in this situation as she continuously exposed herself.

“You would be correct,” she said flatly, “I’m sure you can guess what the rest of the story is like. The brutality continued and I learned to become smaller, never too much, fearful of upsetting him or triggering his anger. I thought I didn’t deserve any better. I lived in such a state of constant fear that it’s a wonder that didn’t kill me before he tried to.”

Every muscle in his body tensed in reaction. He heard her take in a shuddering breath as she prepared to voice what he assumed to be the hardest part of her story. Without even thinking of what he was doing, he laid his hand—palm up—on the ground between them. She’d once offered him reassurance in a small touch, he could offer her the same courtesy.

The motion caught her eye as she glanced down and saw his silent offering—support, strength, and comfort in the gesture. All to let her know she wasn’t alone, not now or ever. One hand fell from where she gripped her legs, reaching out for his hand, her fingers just barely curling around his.

“One night he went too far,” she breathed into the night air.

Eris felt the pain in every syllable. His fingers twitched against hers.

“Similarly to what led to the first time he put his hands on me, I don’t recall what led to this night either. All I remember was pain and paralyzing fear.”

He squeezed her fingers gently in silent encouragement, giving her the needed courage to continue.

“Rhysand said I had a black eye, broken nose, busted lip, several broken bones—including a few ribs—and a massive head wound that had left me so bloody and broken he later admitted that, at first sight, he’d been terrified I was already gone.”

Wrath raced through his bloodstream, nothing but pure wrath. High Fae were harder to kill, yes, but he also knew the strength they had. If that brute force had been taken out on an individual…it would very much leave them in a state just like she’d described. His eyes closed briefly—not only to settle the intense emotions swirling in him—but because of all she’d just revealed.

He couldn’t bear to imagine the female sitting in front of him—the same he’d seen display such fierceness and strength—reduced to nothing, physically and emotionally.

“Finneas left me for dead in that alley behind Rita’s. That’s where Rhysand found me. He healed me as best as he could before he brought me to the library—where others like me resided. Ones who experienced such unimaginable horrors. This is where I’ve been for the last five years.”

There was still one question that nagged him, that he knew he needed the answer to. If only to calm the rage that made his blood boil.

“What happened to him,” Eris snarled through clenched teeth.

“Rhysand hunted him down and looked into his mind to see what he’d done—to avoid me having to relive it by telling him. Then he killed him.”

Eris was of the mind to consider the male lucky because with the way he was feeling, he knew he would’ve done the same thing if he was still alive and breathing.

As he studied her, in the aftermath of sharing all that she had, he realized how much of it made sense now. Her reluctance around males, the confidence that had been shredded to pieces, the haunted look in her eyes that first night he’d found her up here. That was why she’d looked like a frightened animal when he’d unintentionally startled her.

It was also the explanation as to why she’d been in the library for so long. Not because she was weak, as he’d once assumed, but because her life had been so brutally interrupted that rebuilding it was no simple matter. He’d been an asshole about it—questioning why she was still living there—all because he was furious at fate.

He had just opened his mouth to apologize for that encounter, once again, but apparently there was more she felt the need to share.

“I started having nightmares again last week. It pulled me back into such a dark place that I felt I could no longer maintain the female I thought I was becoming. I was terrified of you seeing me like this too, afraid when you inevitably discovered the truth you’d see me differently or think me foolish for allowing this to happen to me—”

He said her name so sharply that her eyes instantly flew to him. She’d been staring at where their hands were still loosely connected as if he was the only thing grounding her in reality.

“The only way I see you is as a female who finally decided to take her life back after some asshole tried to crush her spirit,” he said vehemently, “You are not lesser for what you’ve had to endure, you hear me?”

She managed a small nod, tears finally flooding her eyes. That tugging pain in his chest returned as the tears began to fall down her cheeks.

“I think I knew for a while I wanted to tell you, I was just so scared that when you knew the truth…you’d leave too. I was forced long ago to believe that I could count on no one but myself—that getting too close to people would only end badly.”

The painful truth was that she had no idea just how much he understood that sentiment. All the instincts he’d been pushing down for months swelled again and this time, he didn’t ignore them as gently he pulled her into his arms.

He found himself surprised at the gesture because this wasn’t how he usually offered reassurance, but then again it was rare he offered it to begin with. With her though—with her, it felt natural as she fit perfectly in his arms, against his chest. His arms settled around her, one broad hand flat against the center of her back, thumb brushing soothing strokes back and forth.

The tears weren’t the dramatic sobs he’d half expected, but more quiet. As if something within her was fracturing but rebuilding stronger—a healing of sorts. More than a small part of him hoped that even sharing her story with him would go a long way in her healing.

Her arms stayed bent against his chest, pressed between both of their bodies as her own expelled all the pain and grief of the last week—and likely far longer. Between quiet gasps of breath and sniffles, he felt her fingers tangle in the lengths of his hair, as if they’d always belonged there. He said nothing though as he sat and held her, content to be there for as long as she needed.

If only to let her know that she’d never have to be alone again.

•••

You didn’t know how much time passed or how long Eris sat holding you in his arms. You felt so incredibly raw and exposed, bordering on feeling shameful and embarrassed by not only your past, but your reaction to it.

You briefly thought about apologizing for your dramatics when the rumble of his voice in his chest made you pause. But it was the words that stopped you cold.

“I’ve been tortured by my father more than I care to admit.”

You stiffened, the words clanging through you with such strength you struggled to make sense of them. Slowly, so incredibly slowly, you pulled out of his arms. His grip loosened as you sat back to look up at him.

His face gave nothing away, the tenderness and concern of earlier completely replaced by cold indifference—distance. His mouth was set in a straight line, jaw tense, eyes devoid of any of the warmth you knew they’d been capable of in the past. Of mere moments before.

“What?”

Your voice absolutely cracked around the word. You couldn’t explain why, but it felt like a fist had reached into your chest and ripped your heart out, straight through your ribs, the pain and panic that flooded you, instantaneous and irrational.

“As you’ve probably gathered, my father isn’t a pleasant person. I’ve long known what sort of creature he is.”

His touch slid from your body, the loss of the comfort and warmth leaving you cold—almost as cold as his confession had. He rubbed his jaw nervously, the first time you’d seen him so ruffled, if you were honest.

“I understand what you’ve endured more than you realize,” Eris finally said, anger flashing in those amber eyes.

You gasped softly as flames sparked to life in his eyes at the first sign of his anger. You’d halfway noticed it and dismissed it earlier, too focused on getting what you needed to say out. But now, you could see the golden flames sizzling in his eyes. His eyes closed and he took a deep breath before opening them again, the flames having vanished as he reined his emotions in.

“I understand because my father is exactly the same kind of male as the one that hurt you.”

You once didn’t think you could take anymore pain, that nothing could hurt worse than the suffering you’d survived. But somehow, this was a new kind of torture. You wanted to scream, cry, howl in reaction to what Eris was telling you, you hurt so deeply for him.

You knew how horrible it was to experience what you had, so to know Eris had far too much experience with similar things—things that nearly broke you—almost shattered you into a million pieces.

“Do you recall how I mentioned Lucien once got along with the lesser faeries of Autumn?”

You merely nodded, still unable to find the words to say.

“Unfortunately, he fell in love with one of them—Jesminda. My father—” he sneered at the word, “—took it upon himself to display just how much he disapproved of his son falling in love with a female not good enough for a High Lord’s son. He had her executed in front of Lucien.”

You gasped, horror making you recoil slightly.

“Beron also delights in putting his hands on my mother—and me.”

His jaw worked as he looked away from you. Your heart pounded, unable to process fully what he was saying.

“Myself? I can deal with that. But my mother?”

Barely restrained fury rippled his body.

“She deserves none of that,” he said, voice so cold you had the good sense to know that one day he would make the High Lord of Autumn pay for his actions.

“Eris.”

His name seemed to rip from your throat. His gaze had gone distant as he’d stared out across the darkened training ring. At the sound of his name on your lips, his eyes slid to yours.

“What do you mean he tortures you?”

His answer was so blunt it made you want to vomit on the ground you sat on.

“He’s been known to dose me with Faebane—to keep me weakened and slow the healing—then inflict pain on me, leaving injuries that take twice as long to heal. The reason why differs between him wanting information from me to pure enjoyment, depending on the day.”

A broken sound escaped you. He must’ve seen how pale you’d turned, how sick you probably looked in response. He ran a hand through his hair—the first time you’d ever seen him do such a thing, his fingers tangling in the lengthy strands. He looked as rattled and off balance as you felt, the emotional maelstrom of the night seemingly taking a toll on both of you.

“I’m sorry. I probably should be more tactful while telling you such things. You’ve already experienced enough of such horrors.”

“There is no nice way to phrase things like this,” you whispered.

“No,” he murmured, eyes meeting yours, “There isn’t.”

“I am so sorry,” you breathed.

It wasn’t pity you were expressing—after all, you knew you’d abhor pity as well—but sheer understanding and empathy you were trying to convey.

“I shared this because I wanted you to know that I understood. Especially the part about not being able to rely on others.”

You opened your mouth—to say what exactly, you didn’t know—but he continued, as if he knew how much at a loss for words you were.

“I learned long ago that relying on others was dangerous.”

Your face tightened with concern, the ache within you spreading. You knew what that was like—the fear and hesitancy that came with putting your trust in someone enough to depend on them. But Eris was also a male positioned to inherit a throne, you could only imagine how much deadlier his circumstances were, in comparison to your own.

“The world I was raised in values power more than anything. Affection becomes leverage. Weakness becomes entertainment. The only person one can count on is oneself. Which was why you came as such a surprise.”

You blinked, surprised. You didn’t miss how Eris appeared like he wished he could take the words back—like he’d said too much.

“Me?”

“Yes,” his voice was rough, gravelly, “I think, with you, I started to learn what trust looks like—what it should look like.”

You realized he had done the exact same thing for you, without you even being aware. Gratitude towards the male in front of you rushed through you like a gentle caress. Your eyes traced the pattern of the splattering of freckles across his cheeks before your eyes returned to his amber gaze—where it was already steady on you.

“I’m sorry for what you had to endure,” Eris murmured, “But I’m very glad I met you.”

You didn’t break his gaze as you answered.

“I am too,” you whispered, not wanting to break the precious moment, but adding, “And I, too, am sorry for what you endure, Eris.”

You knew words wouldn’t be able to soothe the hurts caused. You didn’t even think you had the appropriate words. So you did what he had for you earlier in the night, laying your hand on the ground between the two of you—palm facing the sky—giving him the option to reach out for you if he wanted it.

His eyes dipped to the gesture and a beat later, his warm hand covered yours, fingers lacing through your own. It didn’t make things better, didn’t erase the horror either of you had experienced. But as you leaned into him, your head gently resting against his shoulder, his hand interwoven with yours, you realized just exactly what it was.

It was an, I see you.

•••

ERIS

“Tell me about your bookstore.”

Though life continued on after the night he’d bared his soul to her—after she had to him—he was still shaken after hearing her story.

He watched her differently now during training sessions, understanding the importance of taking back the power, building her strength and resilience after such horrible circumstances had tried to knock her down permanently. It hurt every part of him so much to hear what sort of brutality she had endured—from someone she thought she could trust, too.

He watched her carefully when they were alone up on this rooftop, just as he was tonight.

He hadn’t initially planned on sharing about his own grievances—hadn’t wanted pity. But somehow, the words had come tumbling out. It was odd how she always seemed to put him at a sense of ease without even trying.

She’d offered him no pity though—just mere understanding and her presence. Somehow, that night, a solidarity had formed between them during their shared tales and the quiet moments in between.

Once, a few nights after their conversation, he could tell she had been hesitant to ask what lingered on her mind. They hadn’t spoken much of his own set of circumstances and he’d appreciated that she hadn’t made a big deal of it. But still, she asked.

“You’ll tell me if it happens again, won’t you? I refuse to let you deal with that alone,” she’d said with such determination, her chin titled in defiance, shoulders straight, that he couldn’t refuse her request.

“I will,” he’d promised.

He’d meant it too.

Beron was never one for predictability. There were some periods he went months—even years—without resorting to brutal tactics to keep him in line. Sometimes, it happened more often in a shorter timespan. Currently, it’d been a while since he’d borne the brunt of his father’s wrath.

But Eris knew when the inevitable came, thoughts of her would be the only thing to get him through—and as much as every fiber of him wanted to protect her from such cruelty, he knew he’d keep his promise to her. He’d come to realize she was much stronger than he’d initially assumed.

Now, tonight, under the full moon, he sat, once again playing chess with her.

She moved her knight forward toward the center of the board and his eyes sparked with knowing. His gaze scanned over the chess pieces, spotting the damning move plainly. He wondered if she did, too.

She’d positioned all her pieces in the middle of the board like he’d taught her to and had also prioritized moving only some of her pawns out early—a common strategy as it wasn’t wise to advance them all too quickly. After getting her knights and bishops in play, she’d begun to make the more tactical moves.

His eyes roamed the board and saw all her pieces carefully positioned in a way that had his king trapped. He saw the exact move she could make to checkmate him.

But he hadn’t spoken now in an attempt to distract her, but out of mere curiosity. The little piece of her history that he hadn’t known had stuck with him, intrigued him.

She smiled faintly at the pleasant memories he was sure surfaced.

“It was just a small shop,” she brushed it off with a modest shrug, “It was a place of peace at one point. Then again, I think I’ve always been happiest if I’m surrounded by books.”

He smiled at the sentiment—one he shared wholeheartedly.

“You still have fond memories even with him so entangled in them?”

Her shoulders stiffened and he bit back a curse. It had been careless to ask such a thing—even more so in the tactless way he’d done it. But then he watched her instantly relax again, as if she’d begun realizing that she wouldn’t shatter into pieces every time the horrible male of her past was mentioned. He studied her as she worried at her lip, studying the chess pieces. He wasn’t sure if she was actually focusing on the game or her answer to his question.

“Yes, I do,” she eventually responded, “Because my love for books is something so grand that no one has the power to take that away from me.”

His chest warmed again—it’d been doing that a lot here lately, annoyingly so. The very present bond still very much hidden inside of him had become harder to disassociate from.

“I’m happy to hear that,” he murmured.

“Isn’t it ironic though?”

“Hm?”

She laughed, pushing strands of her long hair over her shoulder and out of her way.

“That even here, I somehow managed to end up surrounded by books.”

He was sure that amusement showed on his face because he’d had the same thought.

“What did you call it?” he asked.

“Don’t laugh,” she pointed at him seriously.

He arched a brow.

“I promise I won’t.”

“Under The Stars Bookshop.”

He blinked at her, the irony enough to make a short burst of disbelieving laughter to escape.

“You said you wouldn’t laugh!” she huffed, exasperated, “I know, it’s a little on the nose, but I liked how it sounded.”

“It’s not that,” he grinned, “It’s just…rather appropriate, don’t you think?”

His gaze tilted upwards to the opening of the training ring, the stars twinkling bright, high above them.

“You know, since you’ve become rather acquainted with the stars, lately,” he quipped.

“Is this your way of calling yourself the moon to my stars?” she teased.

She said it so playfully, but the question settled between them, making him pause. In a way, she had become like the stars, shining in an immortal life—his life—that had become so dark. She, herself, had emerged from darkness with a light that refused to dim, no matter how much the world tried.

It reminded him of the warmth in his chest that had only grown stronger in her presence as of late.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “Something like that, actually.”

“It is rather interesting how the threads of life seem to weave together so seamlessly, isn’t it?”

That internal thread seemed to flutter in response. As he watched her return her gaze to the chessboard—likely contemplating her next move—realization dawned on him slowly. The truth washed over him, undeniable. His eyes followed as fingers tucked loose strands behind her arched ear.

These nights of companionship hadn’t been out of duty or obligation—even if they’d initially been born from that. They had continued because he’d enjoyed them. Because, somewhere along the way, he’d begun to look forward to them. The temporary absence of them had left him at a loss—affecting him far more than he cared to admit.

He pushed the thoughts down, tucking them away. Close—too close to something he couldn’t afford.

Instead of answering her question, he asked one of his own.

“How are you? Has it been a good day today?”

He’d fallen into the habit recently of checking in with her—questioning if it had been a good or bad day for her. It settled something inside of him to know the good days far outweighed the bad.

“It has,” she smiled, “I think it’s about to get even better though.”

His mouth quirked to the side.

“Is that so?”

“Oh, yes,” she answered, nonchalantly, moving her bishop in just the precise move his knowing eyes caught earlier, completely trapping his king.

“Checkmate, Eris.”

She was beaming so brightly that he couldn’t help but smile back at her, pride welling in his chest. She radiated excitement and joy at finally beating him.

“Well deserved, I do believe,” he bent his head in recognition, the smile still lingering on his face.

She was resetting the board, putting the pieces back on their rightful squares when her soft, hesitant comment floated into the air between them.

“What about you?”

He cocked his head in confusion.

“What about me, what?”

“Is it a good day for you?” she bit her lip as she looked back up at him.

He wasn’t stupid. He knew by the look in her eyes, the things she said—and didn’t say—that she was concerned for him. He wasn’t purposely trying to brush her off, but he knew there wasn’t much he could say to soothe any of her worry due to his own circumstances. It was what it was.

“It’s always a good day when I get to see you,” he crooned.

She huffed a laugh, shaking her head. But she was persistent and didn’t give up—not that he expected her to.

“I’m serious, though.”

The smirk tugged at his lips.

“So am I, priestess.”

“Eris,” she gave him an exasperated look.

He didn’t think he’d ever tire of hearing his name on her lips. It was hard to believe not too long ago he didn’t care if he ever did or not. Curious how drastically some things could change.

“You’d let me know if there was anything I could do for you, right? I mean after all you’ve done for me…”

“Your company is more than enough,” he assured, falling serious for a moment.

She didn’t look entirely satisfied with the answer. It was strange, he had to admit, to have someone care so deeply they were offering up more than they even had the capacity to give—all in the name of compassion.

“You know what could make my day better?” he prompted.

“What?”

He jerked his chin towards the wooden pole where the ribbon hung from. He knew she’d been avoiding it. In fact, she hadn’t even attempted to cut it since before that black hole of despair had nearly swallowed her again.

A few more in the class had managed to cut it, though she and a handful of other priestesses were still left. She just scowled at his silent request.

“I hate that thing,” she muttered.

“You’ve never struck me to be a quitter,” he drawled.

Anger sparked in her eyes. Good. Strong emotions were typically the best motivators.

“Because I’m not,” she shot back.

“Then why haven’t you cut the ribbon?”

He sat back, folding his arms across his chest as he studied her. Her lips pressed together as her own arms crossed—more in a defensive and protective way than his change of position had been.

“I can’t do it—I’ve tried.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?” he pressed.

As a result, something in her seemed to snap.

“I’ve failed at too much in my life—protecting myself, ignoring what was right in front of me before it was too late, not being able to heal. This is just another thing I’ve failed at. I can’t even be a good friend to you! At least not in the way you have been to me.”

Her chest heaved, breath fast and uneven, clearly overwhelmed from the torrent of emotions that had just struck her.

“I need you to listen to me,” he said so quietly that her shoulders stiffened in response.

It was the deadly quiet, severe voice he used as a courtier—the one that let others know he meant business.

“You have not failed at anything in your life. You have not failed me. But right now, the only mistake you’re making is not letting yourself have the opportunity to prove yourself—and others—wrong. The tragedy here is you giving up on yourself, nothing else.”

She was quiet, teeth worrying the corner of her bottom lip as her gaze avoided his. He knew well enough that she was processing his words though.

What if I can’t do it?” she asked, voice so small it made his previous stern demeanor soften considerably.

No, she wasn’t a female who gave up easily. But she was also a female that had been beaten down by life far too many times. Even though she had shown remarkable bravery and determination in the time he’d known her, he knew it wasn’t unusual for her to doubt herself and her capabilities too.

“I did this,” she motioned around them to the training ring, “So he wouldn’t win—I can’t let him win. I was so tired of being weak and afraid. But I can’t even do something as simple as cutting a damn ribbon.”

She watched warily as he stood, brushing off the legs of his finely tailored pants. Rounding where the chessboard lay, he slid a hand under her arm and pulled her to her feet—not roughly, but with enough strength and ease that she knew he was serious.

“Come here.”

She followed after him silently as he led her across the ring to in front of the wooden beam. He paused there and pointed to it.

“You are not doing this because of him. You’re not doing it for me. You’re not doing it for Cassian, Azriel, Gwyn, Nesta, Emerie or any of the other priestesses. You are doing it for yourself.”

She stayed quiet, watching him as he spoke to her—to the soul that was still fragile despite the progress she’d made.

“This is only a small part of what you’re facing. It’s a challenge but it’s not impossible—and I know you realize that too.”

Her head turned to peer back at the ribbon—the daunting truth dangling before her. He took in her profile as she did so. His stomach clenched as the dangerous truth that’d struck him earlier once again attempted to claw its way to the forefront of his mind.

Instead, he did something unusual. He didn’t think twice about it as his hand lifted and he gently grasped her chin in his thumb and forefinger, turning her face towards him. He’d rarely been so bold in touching her. Once, he’d been apprehensive of startling her. The last time he’d touched her was that night they sat in the moonlight, their hands connected as their own personal histories tangled in the air between them.

Her eyes met his, her lips parting in surprise at his unexpected gesture, but she did not look afraid.

“He will never win because you’re far stronger than you give yourself credit for,” Eris whispered, “The moment you picked up that sword—the moment you stepped into the training ring—the moment you made the decision to no longer fear, that is when he lost.”

She stared up at him, utterly silent. The look of vulnerability and trust that shone in her eyes was enough to undo him completely.

“You once chose to fight for yourself—to take back your life. I want you to see it through.”

He didn’t intend to do it, but his thumb brushed her jaw lightly—just once—before his touch fell from her face. His gaze remained steady on her even as the corner of his mouth twitched upwards, playful.

“For what it’s worth, I believe in you.”

A beat passed, the air between them taut as their gazes remained locked. She seemed to turn over his words in her mind. He was the first to break the connection, eyes dropping away as he cleared his throat. He stepped away, momentarily, walking to the weapons rack. He pulled a sword free, carrying it back to her. He held it out towards her for her to take.

“Why don’t you try to cut it, and we can walk through it step by step? Maybe then we can figure out—together—what’s holding you back.”

She watched him curiously, newfound determination in her eyes. Still, she reached out and took the blade from his hands. As she settled it in her grasp, she finally responded to him. He didn’t expect the words that followed though.

“It’s okay to believe in yourself too, Eris.”

His eyes met hers once more, quiet acknowledgement in them—letting her see his appreciation for her belief in him, even when they’d been discussing her. A slight dip of his chin was all the response he gave before he stepped backwards, prepared to observe.

“Now, show me what you’ve got, priestess.”

•••

One test remained.

Months ago, you’d left the library for the first time in five years. You’d begun exceeding in your training, you’d even beaten Eris at chess—though that wasn’t something you’d ever expected to do.

Now, you stood in front of the ribbon.

You knew Eris was present—could sense him nearby. But for the moment, all of your focus was trained on the strip of white.

Flashes of all the horrible things that had led you to this moment appeared in your mind. You saw all the times Finneas had struck you, the times you felt you’d never heal from wounds so deep, the female you’d once been.

Never again. You owed it to yourself to leave that version in the past—to thank her for leading you here, all while acknowledging she wasn’t who you were meant to be forever.

It had been a dark place you’d emerged from the day you’d set foot in the training ring—but what you hadn’t realized then was it had marked the beginning of something new. While those experiences would always be a part of your story, that broken version of yourself no longer defined you. New images replaced the ones that flashed in your mind.

The group of females you’d spent countless hours training beside, through rain or shine.

The pride you’d felt when you’d mastered your first combination of sword movements.

The joy on Gwyn’s and Clotho’s faces as your life began to take new shape and you’d begun to thrive.

A male who had once put you on edge, only to become a familiar and welcome presence in your life.

Red hair and a scattering of freckles across a pale face. The way amber eyes brightened ever so slightly when a smile graced his lips. Soft chuckles. Laughter. Encouraging words that had been shared many a night.

Mostly, you remembered the feeling of power that came with each accomplishment, especially when you’d thought it impossible. You’d approached numerous hurdles such a way, healing and training being the two biggest.

But somewhere along the way, you’d learned you could do these things for yourself. Had been encouraged by such an incredible group of individuals—all who were standing and watching you take this step.

Varied encouragements were spoken aloud to you from your sisters, Gwyn included.

“You can do it,” she said to your left.

“You got this,” Nesta added, tone serious but genuine in her own encouragement.

“We believe in you!” Emerie chirped, excitement tinging her voice.

For what it’s worth, I believe in you.

The words floated through you like a phantom wind—as if he were right next to you, speaking the words aloud.

With a deep inhale, you lifted the sword—ready to face the ribbon once and for all.

•••

ERIS

Eris could feel it in his bones that today would be the day.

A few nights ago, they’d run through all of her positionings and movements, and had broken it down to each minute movement. He hadn’t been able to detect anything amiss—she was hitting every mark perfectly.

Deep down, he wondered if it was a mental block and not one stemming from her physical form. He’d noticed in that period, when she’d almost fallen back into the pit of despair, that she’d stopped attempting to cut the ribbon at the beginning and end of training as they all had been doing.

Perhaps mentally she had thought she wasn’t capable of it.

But Eris knew she could. He’d known it before she’d proved it to him that night—when he’d watched the way her movements had flowed as smoothly as silk, as easily as waves of the sea.

In the days since, the rest of the females left had faced the ribbon and cut it. Now, it was her turn.

She stood before the white ribbon, her blade in hand. Concentration was etched deep on her face. Every muscle in her body was taut, primed for the strike. She stared down the ribbon like one would their opponent.

He stood on the edge of the ring with Azriel and Cassian, his arms folded over his chest as he watched. The other females were gathered around her, in solidarity, already figuratively cheering for her as if she’d already cut the ribbon. Clearly they had just as much belief in her as he did.

Similar to the way she’d joined training, she was the last one who’d yet to cut the ribbon. Though she may be last, she wasn’t any less important. Her accomplishment would be just as impactful as everyone else’s—especially to him.

She lifted the sword in both hands, held near her right shoulder as she took in the white ribbon that fluttered before her.

Time seemed to slow as the sword left her shoulder. She stepped forward, her weapon arcing through the air a heartbeat later. As it approached the ribbon, her wrist turned slightly, angling the blade perpendicular to the hanging fabric. In the last second, she twisted her body just slightly, adding power to the cut.

The sharp blade cut cleanly through the middle of the ribbon and Eris watched as the bottom half fluttered to the ground. A symphony of cheers broke out around the training ring as she realized what she’d done.

Overwhelming pride filled him as he watched the way the females ran to hug her—the last sister to finally achieve the title of Valkyrie. Her expression of shock made a smile tug at his lips.

He’d always known she could do it.

It was Gwyn who bent to the ground, picking up the scrap of ribbon, tying it across her brow—just like every other female in this ring had been crowned in their victory. He saw the female’s teal eyes shining with delight even from where he stood.

“Valkyrie,” the red-haired female whispered.

She smiled brightly as fingers touched the silk on her brow. The joy that lit her entire demeanor made something in him sing, glowing so brightly in answer that the words came unbidden to the forefront of his mind.

His mate.

The words clanged through him in a way not unlike the way the mating bond had. It was the first time he’d truly acknowledged who she was to him without any sense of anger, hesitancy or fear.

He was proud to call her his mate. In fact he was even prouder to be her mate. The truth from the other night returned with an undeniable force as he gazed upon her celebration.

He was in love with her.

She finally turned his way, her eyes catching his, a small huff of laughter escaping her—as if she couldn’t believe the reality. Then she did something he didn’t see coming.

His mate rushed from where she’d been across the ring and launched herself into his arms.

She threw hers around him as she hugged him tight. The force of her impact caused him to stumble half a step backwards but he exhaled a small laugh of his own as he wrapped his arms around her body. He knew everyone was staring but he couldn’t be bothered to care as he stood there, holding the female that had been created perfectly for him.

His equal. His mate.

She had done it.

•••

The fire in you lasted for days, to the point you felt like you floated through the world. There was such lightness to your steps—to your entire existence if you were honest.

You hadn’t needed the ribbon test to prove that you were capable or were worth it. You hadn’t needed the validation that you were as much of a warrior as your sisters, but accomplishing it had proven something to you.

Fear no longer gripped you. The empowerment that you’d felt in the months of training—all the friendship and support you’d found along this journey—had gotten you to this point. You’d never imagined you’d be a female that felt so strong, so certain about her place in life, but here you were.

You weren’t completely healed, no, but this had shown you that healing was far more achievable than you’d once thought it to be.

You showed up every morning for training, genuine joy in your heart and an eagerness to learn more—to push yourself harder. It was made even better knowing Eris was there. Often, lately, nightly discussions turned to training—positions and movements—now that your knowledge had expanded enough to have conversations on the matters.

Training didn’t cease simply because everyone had now cut the ribbon, thus earning the title of Valkyrie. Cassian, Azriel and Eris still had much to teach you—throwing everything they had at you. There was still much to learn, they'd said.

And all the females had been eager to learn more.

Life, while remaining busy, seemed to fall into an effortless routine. Training in the mornings, your normal job of assisting Clotho, priestesses services and nightly rendezvous with the heir of Autumn. You had begun seeing your counselor again, eager to utilize the services once more, motivated more than ever to continue the journey of healing. There’d even been some brief talk of one day soon leaving the library, if you chose to.

While your future still seemed to be up in the air, it was comforting to have stability in your every day routine—the privilege of being able to rely on familiar things.

Such as Eris.

It had been odd, recently, how you seemed to light up from within every time your eyes landed on him. When he was around, your heart seemed to sing. A smile would find its way to your lips at the mere thought of him.

So it wasn’t unusual when you had found him on the roof as per usual. But today had been a tad different. You’d felt an unexplainable pull upwards—a desire to ascend the steps a few hours earlier than you usually had. Following that instinct had come with the pleasant surprise of finding Eris already waiting for you.

The two of you had been out here since sunset—Eris having winnowed the both of you to the exact spot he once had for the both of you to watch the sunrise, so long ago. The daylight had softened into hues of pink and orange as nighttime rapidly approached.

As the sun slowly slid beyond the horizon, the sky became painted in vibrant shades of orange that bled into golden yellows, a soft pink blurring the edges where the sunset met the quickly fading blue of day. You and Eris sat in companionable silence as the darkening sky overwhelmed the last of the sunset, the dazzling palette finally surrendering to night.

Late nights with Eris, as of late, had come with more variety than ever. Some involved chess games, others came with sitting and talking as usual. Occasionally, both you and he would grab a sword and you’d get to practice your newfound skills while sparring against him. You’d come to look forward to those instances the most.

The stars were finally winking into existence when you broke the comfortable silence.

“Living doesn’t seem as hard anymore,” you mused aloud.

You hadn’t meant for the sentiment to slip out, but something about the peace that surrounded the two of you—that filled you entirely—left you feeling more honest than normal.

When you looked over at Eris, you found him already studying you, as if digesting your statement.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he eventually responded, earnestly.

“Taking it a day at a time helps, I think.”

You turned back to the starry sky, your eyes full of wonder at the sight. It was strange, yet remarkable, how the world seemed to hold much more beauty and brightness now that you felt lighter. It was as if your eyes had at last opened to all the world had to offer.

When Eris didn’t answer, your gaze slid back to him at your side. You found him still staring at you, as if he hadn’t torn his eyes from you for several minutes. Your heart fluttered at the intensity in those amber eyes. They seemed to swirl with so much emotion that he didn’t know how to convey.

“What?” you breathed, curious about his attention.

He seemed to be turning his answer over in that sharp mind of his, lips pursing slightly as he pondered. Mother help you, your eyes definitely caught that tiny shift, and you quickly dragged your attention away from that particular distraction.

“You look different these days,” he observed, “Calmer. Steadier. Happier.”

“I think I am,” you smiled, feeling that sense of contentment settle in your chest again, “And you? Are you happy?”

For all your happiness, you weren’t exactly sure why you felt such a need to know that he was okay too. He wasn’t one to speak much about his own grievances—nor did he want pity, which you understood well. But you also knew he was aware he could talk to you if he ever needed to. You believed his initial promise to tell you if anything changed.

You took that as a good sign that it hadn’t yet. Mentally, you sent a wish to the Mother, herself, that she protect him. Eris had done so much for you—he deserved peace and happiness as well.

You expected a teasing smile or a snarky comment in response to your question. Instead, his face remained carefully neutral, though you saw softness in his eyes. That intense fluttering sensation returned, stronger this time.

“I think I’m the closest to experiencing happiness that I’ve ever been.”

His normally deep voice, tinged with the smoothness and easy charm of a courtier and heir, was softer now, roughened around the edges. Truth laced his every word. The honesty of the moment surprised you so much that a teasing remark slipped from your lips for a change instead of his.

“Well of course, I’m delightful,” you parroted his teasing remark from a long ago training session.

He laughed, realizing it as well. The smile remained on his lips as he took you in.

“You’re definitely different than the female I first met.”

“You’re different than the male I first encountered,” you teased, smile faltering for a moment, “For a while, initially, I had far too much fear that you were just like…him.”

While you’d acknowledged he’d forever be a part of your history, you no longer felt the desire to say his name. It was a little thing, but not naming him gave you the ability to bury him—leave him behind—like he’d always deserved to be.

“I don’t know whether to be insulted or concerned,” he replied dryly.

You huffed a laugh, shaking your head at your past self.

“Well for one, he was a lord’s son—you’re a High Lord’s son. You both had that same intensity. And it didn’t help that you walked around with such a cold demeanor that one might’ve thought you hailed from the Winter Court. Not to mention, from the moment we met, it seemed like you took an unusual interest in me. It was unsettling at first. It made me think perhaps the same pattern that happened with him was repeating itself.”

His amusement from a moment earlier vanished, face tightening in concern and regret.

“I apologize—as it was never my intention to make you fearful of me.”

But the truth had eventually made itself clear. Eris had never been like him. Eris had been the one to show you what it meant to trust again—something so precious after it had once been ripped from you. The realization hit hard enough that you couldn’t contain it. You knew you needed to tell him.

“You could never be like him, Eris. Or your father for that matter.”

You didn’t regret the last part that slipped out, unvetted. But the surprise that lit his face made your unexpected declaration that much more worth it. You had the feeling very few had ever said such a thing to him. Deciding to push your luck, you made sure he knew the depth of your sincerity.

“You’re a better male than they’ll ever be.”

Eris had never been one to be vulnerable, easily, you’d learned. So it surprised you when he actually responded to the declaration of his character.

“I appreciate you saying that,” he said, quietly.

It wasn’t overly exposed, but you picked up on the sincerity.

You and he had been sitting shoulder to shoulder since he’d winnowed the both of you up here, but now he shifted, stretching his legs out. One booted foot drifted toward yours, nudging it lightly—almost imperceptibly—before speaking again.

“I’m proud of you. You’ve come a long way.”

Your chest warmed at the compliment, one corner of your mouth tilting upwards.

“I’m proud of myself too.”

You turned contemplative, finally deciding to voice something that had been turning over in your mind for weeks now. It had been even more persistent lately—ever since you’d cut the ribbon. Your gaze momentarily turned back to the sparkling night sky.

“It’s strange. It almost feels as if I was always meant to cross paths with you.”

You turned back to him, fully prepared for him to scoff at your silly comment, perhaps even laugh it off. Instead, you discovered he’d shifted closer to you—closer than he’d been a moment ago. Your voice gentled even further as you found the bravery to continue your line of thought.

“Almost like fate or the Mother willed it. I think—” you paused as you gazed up at him, “I think I was always meant to end up here.”

Something flickered in his eyes—perhaps an acknowledgement of sorts. It was there and gone too quickly for you to decipher. You forgot your desire to a heartbeat later when his eyes dipped to your lips.

“Yes,” he whispered, “I believe you were.”

He was close enough that you could count every single freckle that dotted his skin. He was beautiful—you’d always thought so. Even when you’d been unsure of him, it had been something you couldn’t deny, down to your very core.

The pull that tugged you forward felt similar to the one you’d felt earlier when you’d found him on the roof. It was oddly akin to the one you’d subtly felt around him all along. You didn’t spend energy on it as you closed the distance, your lips brushing the warm ones awaiting yours.

Something exploded in your chest, a mixture of happiness and golden light that you couldn’t see but could sense. You felt gentle fingers brush your jaw as hesitancy faded into certainty and the kiss deepened.

A sense of rightness settled over you the moment your lips had connected to his. It came with a sense of belonging—as if you’d truly found where you were meant to be all along. As your hands found his chest, fingers tangling in the ends of his long locks, you felt something tug at your rib—almost like the foreign object wrapped around it—before it settled deeply into your heart.

Much too soon, he was pulling away, but was clearly unable to resist leaning back again as his lips met yours a second time. His hand finally cupped your face in his large palm, touch so tender against it that it made you melt further into the kiss.

You couldn’t stop—didn’t want to stop—as his tongue swept into your mouth, a soft sigh escaping you. One hand slid past the curtain of his hair and curled around the back of his neck. His skin was so soft—as soft as his lips beneath yours.

Your mind was a haze of bliss as lips parted and met repeatedly—a series of kisses tumbling one after another. He tilted your head ever so slightly as he gave you one last lingering kiss, enough to steal the breath from your lungs.

He pulled away so achingly slow—though that may have been due to how you missed his lips already. It took a moment for your eyes to flutter open and you found the familiar amber gaze waiting for you.

Realization slammed into you—as if you’d known all along but was just catching up, your soul just now clueing you in. Your gasp was quiet, though not dramatic, nothing but pure surprise filling you. You weren’t sure what your face conveyed, but it was as if he knew exactly what was happening.

Questions seemed to flood your mind, dangle off the tip of your tongue, but they suddenly seemed less than important. His hand still caressed your face, his thumb moving in the barest hint of a stroke across your cheek.

“You’re right where you belong,” he murmured.

In hindsight, it was so obvious. The ease and comfort he’d always provided you. The protectiveness you’d been feeling towards him. The inexplicable intrigue—that tug. All the pieces fell into place in an instant as your eyes remained on his.

Somewhere along all the nights spent together you’d fallen in love with Eris. All this time, you’d been falling in love with him.

A plethora of small moments, interwoven perfectly, had led you here—led you to the very training ring you sat above right now. An intrinsic part of you had always known—always recognized him, it seemed.

A soft, fond smile spread across his lips as he watched the realization dawn on you fully. For the first time in a long time, you felt whole. As you leaned forward and kissed him again, the thought came to you, unbidden.

Borne out of darkness, you’d found healing, growth and most importantly, your mate.

Tag List: @lomahdu @alexof90s @smol-grandpa @harvest-bunny @less-spice @melsunshine @kittiness12 @garricktavisfanclub @asteria33 @apenasandorinha @knoxic @talesofadragon @watermelomsuger @dakotali @bxm-2121 @idk1027 @chasing-autumns-chill @bookwormysblog @div94 @lilah-asteria @psychiatry-and-poetry @usernamesarelies @wormonthesidewalk @hopalongsworld @potatoheartsyou @tayssauchiha @serenedinosaurdreadnought @somewhere-stuck-in-the-stars @niaixdrew @lokisjmw @potatoplace @frominsidethehouse @langsnscraps @nebarious @argentinemango @hartwyrm @mothraantics @tinysweetmoon @bbyjoshuabassett @thatone16216 @shenix-14 @insomniac-astronomer @officiallyetc @ohthecharacterdevelopment @carolina002 @roseodelle @pickled-alexander-hamilton

[ohmyitsfaith]

I think we're alone now – Chapter 5: Healing More than the Body

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Reader x Lando Norris, Landoscar x Reader, Kimi Antonelli & mentor!Reader

Summary: The truth of seasons past. Or the way three hearts become one.

Word count: 11.2k (!!!)

Warnings: feelings!!

Song of the chapter: paper kings – ain't seen nothin'. Listen to i think we’re alone now

A/n: this chapter... guys, you're not ready (or maybe you are, idk, this will be wild). more on the private life side than the races, but bro, i've been thinking about this since i started writing this fic. enjoy!!!!

─────2023–Christmas───·—̳͟͞͞♡·

There was little to nothing that could stop you. You were basically floating ever since the season ended and that was obvious to everyone around you.

It also helped that you were in a loving environment with Oscar's family, who welcomed you for the holiday. You spent a lot of time with Oscar, who seemed happy enough after your first season together in Formula 1. But you also spent a lot of time with Hattie in particular, who you clicked with the most out of Oscar's sisters.

You were getting ready for the Christmas Eve party that the Piastri family was hosting, decorating with the finishing touches. Christmas songs were blasting through the speaker, the airconditioning was humming on low, fighting against the heat of the Australian summer.

You were just finishing up on some string lights above the door, standing on the ladder, when Oscar came in through the door. He grinned at the way you were reaching up, securing the lights. On a split second decision, he reached out to shake the ladder gently.

"Oh, no, a terrible earthquake is happening!" he teased with a bright grin as you rached out to steady yourself on his shoulders, laughing.

"And it is called Oscar Piastri," you laughed, shaking your head.

"Are you done?" he asked, just looking up at you.

"Yep," you nodded. "I think I've done everything that was assigned to me."

"Good," he nodded and reached up to hold you by the waist, lifting you off of the ladder.

"Oscar!" you chided him, but in reality you didn't mind it one bit.

"Sorry, could not let you fall, should another earthquake strike," he grinned, placing you gently on the floor.

"Idiot," you shook your head with a smile, making him chuckle.

The evening came fast, family and friends filtering in as the evening progressed. You chatted with people, ate great food and laughed loudly at jokes. It was all around a great party.

Then you headed into the kitchen to refill your cup with anything you could find. You were slightly tipsy, feeling the high of a great Christmas Eve.

"Hi there, stranger," Oscar came in after you, his face flushed from the warmth and the drinks he had had. "Haven't seen you much since the start of the party."

"I'm always roped into a different conversation," you nodded, tasting your drink and deciding you needed more juice in it. "I'm so glad I decided to accept your invitation."

"I'm glad too," he agreed and let you mix his drink too. "I love having you here."

"I love being here!" you grinned up at him and offered his cup. "Taste."

"Mm," he hummed as the drink slid down his throat. "Good."

"Just good?" you asked with mock dismay.

"Fine, great," he rolled his eyes. "Let's head back," he encouraged you with a hand on your waist.

You looked back at him with a grin, your eyes catching on his flushed face and shining lips. And maybe it was the tipsiness or some repressed feelings, but you could just imagine leaning in and kissing those lips.

But then there was a sharp whistle and you both snapped your head toward the sound. It was Hattie, grinning so wide, it kind of scared you. Or would've if you hadn't been tipsy.

"Look up, lovebirds," she yelled, phone already in hand.

The words "we aren't lovebirds" was already on your tongue, but then you did glance up. Above you was a mistletoe. Hattie's idea, probably. For chaos, for fun, for a tradition that wasn't even Australian. Still, it was there.

"Oh," was all Oscar said. Well, not said, more like breathed out.

You couldn't help but look at him, the way his eyes were a little hazy from tipsiness, his blush that seemed to deepen as realization dawned on him and... his lips.

"Uh..." was your reply and he finally looked at you.

Your cheeks were flaming and your heart beat faster as his eyes found your lips. It was probably a bad idea. To want to kiss your best friend. But you really really wanted it. Because you've grown even closer during the season and even your slight crush on Lando Norris (his teammate) couldn't stop the fascination that you've had for him. A fascination that you did not dare let turn into the crush it was bordering on.

"You don't have to," he said, but his free hand held your waist tighter.

"It's bad luck..." you told him, putting your hand over his heart and you felt just how fast his heart was beating. It, shockingly, matched your own heart pace. "...to refuse a kiss."

It was only a kiss anyway. One you may have wanted for longer than you realized. And his lips touched yours with surprising softness, making your heart skip a beat. His hold on your waist tightened and you were pulled closer.

Meanwhile, Oscar's brain exploded. Your lips felt amazing against his own, like it was home. He had loved you, quietly, for years now and there in that moment, nothing could stop him from taking the opportunity to taste your lips for as long as you allowed him. It was all he ever wanted and needed. He wanted you to be his.

But then-

"There," you whispered against his lips as you pulled away. "Now we're both going to be lucky next year."

And he had laughed, but deep inside, the feeling soured. Maybe you weren't ever going to be his, but you will always be his best friend.

─────2023–New-Year's-Eve───·—̳͟͞͞♡·

Going from the sunny Australian weather, to the biting cold of Italy was awful. You wished that Imola wasn't as cold as it was, but at least your apartment was warm.

Especially with most of the grid being present at your end of the year party. There was music (mixed by a very enthusiastic Lando) and laughter and dancing and games. It was all you wished for after a good, but tough year.

You, the host, were standing at the table, next to Lando, who was giggling about something, clearly tipsy. You were half watching him, half observing the small crowd in your living room. It was pure chaos, as all things seemed to be where the F1 grid was involved.

"Hey, Y/n," he looked at you then, his eyes half lidded. "Would you... would you give me your new year's kiss?"

Okay, he may had been more than tipsy. Otherwise why would he have said that? And you, because your judgment was clouded by alcohol, you simply said: "I can give you more than a new year's kiss."

"Oooh," he blew out the air in his lungs and you may have noticed that his face brightened. "Can't wait!" (Come morning, he would say differently, claiming it was all the alcohol and you didn't need to feel embarrassed...)

There was a cheer somewhere outside your apartment and you knew it was close to midnight, close to the clock turning to 2024. The TV was switched on by someone and it played the news, the italian subtitles rolling on the bottom of the screen. But you were more interested in the young man next to you, who was also glancing back at you every once in a while.

Because the truth was, he had been instantly attracted to you when you were introduced. And through Oscar, his teammate, he got the chance to get to know you. In that time, his attraction hadn't changed, and instead just got stronger, bordering on a crush.

And so, when the countdown began, Lando turned the music down low and leaned in. At precisely midnight, he finally tasted your lips, the way he wanted to since probably your first podium. And as your hand fisted into his shirt, he thought you may have wanted it for just as long too.

The kiss didn't last long, just a little longer than a peck but he wanted more already. And the only reason he didn't get another taste was Oscar, whose arms suddenly landed on both of your shoulders.

"Happy new year!" he yelled happily, clearly intoxicated, with a bright blush on his cheeks. He had seen the kiss that you shared but instead of jealousy (that he should've felt), he felt the need to be part of your moment.

"Happy new year, Osc!" you yelled back, your hands immediately clutching at his shirt.

And maybe, maybe Lando didn't mind that Oscar was there too, with that endearing blush on his cheeks. Not when he looked at both him and you with a blissful smile.

──────────────────────·—̳͟͞͞♡·

And now... now Oscar panics. Because he sees Lando and he sees the way he looks between him and you. And he remembers that New Year's Eve and the 2024 season and the tension that had grown between him and Lando and all the feelings that he came to terms with.

And so he moves. Before Lando can turn around, or say something, or react in any way that would cause the relationship to break. It's one step after the other and then he gathers Lando in his arms and presses his lips against his.

It's fireworks, it's elation and it's anxiety. Not how he wanted it, not how he planned it, but this year nothing has gone according to plans. But Lando's lips are sweet, tasting of the champagne from the podium and the energy drink that he sipped on before it.

Oscar understands it all now, maybe a little too clearly. But Lando does not. And that's clear by the way his hand comes up to curl around Oscar's fireproof and he pushes him away. Not hard, not far, just barely. And Oscar can see the confusion on Lando's face.

"I..." Lando blinks, his face flushing with embarrassment and exhilaration.

Action has always been easier than words for Lando. He's shit with words especially when he needs to express his own feelings. Because there are just too many of them and he doesn't know how to sort through them. Not as Oscar looks at him with his eyes wide with anxiety and not with you looking at them with something akin to confusion.

"What?" he says instead.

And that has you blinking finally. You're here, finally in the moment that you had been thinking about since Jeddah, since that morning, since that lego race. Still, you're not quite sure how to start explaining everything. Not when Oscar was the one to kiss both of you, one after the other.

"Uh..." Oscar says now, very smartly. "I'm... sorry?"

"For what?" Lando asks then, mainly out of reflex (because Oscar apologizes way too much at times). "I mean- fuck."

The conversation doesn't go as either of you intended, all three parties confused about the other's feelings.

"Okay," Lando shakes his head then, his hand still fisted in Oscar's fireproof. "Hold on. I... what is happening?"

"I'm... not sure either," Oscar mumbles, now confused at the sudden atmosphere change.

"Okay... explain, please," Lando says. "You were just kissing her, then you kissed me and don't get me wrong, it was great if only a little too short–"

"You pushed me away," Oscar reacts immediately.

"–But it's just way too confusing and I may have drunk more champagne than I should've," Lando finishes his sentence despite Oscar's interruption.

"I..." Oscar starts then and looks back at you, who's staring at the floor, trying to process.

"Actually, I was gonna tell you guys that I'm..." you take a deep breath, gathering the courage to say what needs to be said. "That I love you both. In a romantic way. In an I'm in love with you way."

"Oh," Lando breathes.

"And it's something that I had... well I didn't have time to think about but I thought about it nonetheless, that I... love you equally. Like... as in... I don't know," you sigh then, frustrated.

"I love you too," Oscar says then and looks between you and Lando. "Both of you. For... years."

"Oh," Lando says again, though stronger this time.

And it would be his turn then, to say his feelings, but he's still coming to terms with the fact that you're in love with him. That Oscar's in love with him. Like he has been for the past year at least.

"Oh..." he says a third time and finally blinks. "I uh... need to sit down."

So he does. Right there.

He lets go of Oscar's fireproof and sits, pulling his legs closer to his body. He looks genuinely out of it and your heart twists. Without thinking about it, you step closer and with great difficulty (and Lando's help – because he can never be too out of it to not help you) you lower yourself next to him. Then, with a sigh, Oscar joins too.

The three of you sit there, letting Lando process it all. And you're processing too, because you never got this far. You never dared to go this far and actually imagine what it would be like to confess.

"Okay so..." Lando sighs after a little silence. "Let me get this straight... well not straight... well..." he shakes his head and looks at you first. "You're in love with me?" you nod. "And you're in love with Osc?"

"Yep."

"And you're in love with her," he looks at Oscar next, pointing at you. "And with me too?"

"That's... yeah, that's my stance," Oscar agrees. "And you?" he asks then, carefully.

"Fuck, I don't know, mate," Lando whines and puts his head in his hands. "I'm like struggling here. I was so damn attracted to Y/n back in 2023, it was painful really. And then we got closer in 2024 and I swear I was falling for you," he shares, his eyes screwed shut. "But I couldn't let my feelings ruin our friendship, and it's just all confusing..."

"Was?" you mutter, your heart breaking slightly.

"I don't know!" he looks up then. "I mean, how would it even work? I've never even... I've just come to terms with the fact that my old crush is back and that I may be in love with my teammate, who's a guy!"

"I..." Oscar sucks in a big breath then, trying to not jump to conclusions. "It doesn't... nothing has to change between us, if you don't want it."

"But fuck, I think I want it!" Lando rubs his face. "I want things to change, but it's all so messy. With your crash," he points at you, "our trauma, all of our feelings... I don't understand how... what would we be?"

"Us," you say quietly, because you're afraid to say it louder. "It's... we have a lot of therapy to do and..." you swallow, looking at Oscar, then back at Lando. "But we've always had a special friendship... and... we could... it would only change that we'd be... like together."

Lando stays quiet for a moment, trying to wrap his head around it all. His thoughts are at war inside his head and he feels like his brain is gonna explode. But as he looks at you, then at Oscar, he sees that though you've had time to process it all, you're just as unsure about all of this.

"It sounds so easy," he whispers.

"We can take it slow," Oscar reaches out and tentatively takes Lando's hand, then a little more firmly, yours. "Take it a moment at a time. And we can talk about it all..."

There's a shout in the distance. It's for them, for the debrief that was meant to start probably minutes ago. It's time to get going, even if there's weight pressing against all of your chests.

"Later," Lando looks at you then. "Later we will talk about all this. Everything."

"Okay," you nod and offer your hand for him to hold. "I'll text you my hotel room number."

"Good," he nods, then, because he really wants to, he leans in and presses a soft kiss to your lips. Just a peck, but enough to send his stomach (and yours) flipping.

When he pulls back, he sees Oscar's soft smile and can't help his own. You smile too and then they're gathering themselves, standing up and pulling you up with little difficulty.

"See you tonight," Oscar squeezes your hand one last time.

"Be good," you smile at them lightly and with a nod, they leave.

And once you're alone, all the weight that was pressing on you, crashes down. You don't exactly know how to feel or what to do, but at least you have something to look forwards to. So you head toward the Mercedes garage, where you know that your own debrief should start.

"The Relationship Negotiation meeting is now in session," Lando says ceremoniously as he sits down in one of the three armchairs. Right opposite you and Oscar.

"Can you be serious?" Oscar asks, his eyebrows pulling together.

"I'm trying, mate!" Lando throws his head back with a whine. "Do you know how fucking nervous I am? I couldn't even focus on anything since the podium, because my teammate and my old crush are both in love with me! This is the most nerve-wracking thing I've ever done! I've never even done something like this!"

"Well, that makes the three of us," you sigh, biting at your lips. "I mean, I didn't even dare imagine that either of you could feel the same way as I do..."

"Because you're blind!" Lando sits up then and your eyebrows shoot up. "Oscar has been sending you the heart eyes literally since you've known each other!"

"How do you know that?" Oscar asks, a little bewildered.

"Osc, there are so many videos floating around," Lando deadpans. "It's not hard to find them. Plus! I witnessed it firsthand when you came to F1!"

"Pause, you watched videos of us?" you ask him, leaning forward a little.

"Don't act like you didn't watch videos of him," Oscar murmurs and you gasp in betrayal.

"You said you'd never tell! I made you swear it!"

"That was when we were just friends!" Oscar defends himself.

"Aw, you watched videos of me?" Lando smiles, touched by the information.

"Yeah, well you weren't the only one with a crush," you huff, leaning back. Then you remember. "Oh, so you watched videos of us because of your crush on me or your crush on Osc?"

"You," Lando blushes.

"This is ridiculous," you put your head in your hands, but the anxiety that you felt before is finally dissipating. "We are ridiculous!"

"We are," Oscar has to agree.

"Also!" you speak up before he can say more, looking at Lando with an accusatory finger pointed at him. "You say I'm blind to Oscar's heart eyes, but you're just as oblivious!"

"What?!" Lando gasps and you see that Oscar just leans back, like he has given up. "He did not send me heart eyes!"

"Oh my gosh, he literally did!" you groan. "Since like the first day! And fuck, I don't know how I didn't realize that he could be in love with you, but damn, he was talking a lot about you!"

"Y/n!" Oscar scolds. "Stop spilling all my secrets."

"You literally didn't even share it!" you turn your head toward him. "It was all laid out in front of me and I didn't even realize it!" you quiet for a moment. "Maybe I am blind."

"So you've been in love with me since day one?" Lando turns to Oscar as it registers in his head and Oscar blushes.

"Technically no," he shakes his head. "I just–"

"He was just a fanboy," you grin, because finally, he's the one suffering. And Oscar's blush burns brighter at that.

"What?" Lando gasps, a genuine grin making it to his face. "You were?"

"I appreciated your work," Oscar says diplomatically. "And only in like 2024 did I start falling for you."

"Aw," Lando mutters, looking actually touched. He relaxes into the armchair, calmer than before. "Was it before or after... you know."

"Not much time to fall in love before it," Oscar looks down then, because he can't bear to look at you. "And it was... a while after it."

"I'm sorry," you mutter. "To both of you."

"We'll... handle it," Lando sighs. "In time. The same with the relationship."

"So... we are in a relationship?" you look up at him then. "You're... okay with it?"

"Okay with it?" Lando scoffs and shakes his head. "Y/n, I've wanted a relationship with you since New Year's Eve, 2023."

You blink at that and let yourself finally think back to the event. Where you kissed for the first time. And where he inevitably rejected you.

"That's not what you said then," you say quietly.

"I was an idiot," he groans as he is reminded of it. "I got so scared and then... I did something really dumb."

"Yeah..." you agree and then glance at Oscar, who's watching the two of you with warm interest. "I did something really dumb too. Before that."

Oscar meets your eye and you know that he's thinking about it too. The kiss under the mistletoe in his family's home. The one Hattie has a picture of and the one he kept. Just in case.

"I was dumb, I'm sorry Oscar," you say sincerely. "I... was too... I don't even know. I was just not thinking really. I should've let you know what it meant back then."

Oscar is quiet for a moment, thinking about whether he should ask about it. But something in him gnaws.

"What did it mean for you?" he decides.

"I was... falling for you then," you admit. "I wanted to kiss you, but got too scared that our friendship was gonna suffer."

"What happened?" Lando asks gently. "Is this about the Christmas party?"

Oscar nods quietly and just looks at you for a moment. He lets himself really think about it, about that moment.

"We kissed under the mistletoe," he looks at Lando then. "And it's not that dramatic, but..." he doesn't even know how to finish the sentence.

"I get it," Lando smiles gently.

"We got there in the end," Oscar says finally as he looks at you. "I think that's what matters."

You smile then, and as you recall your kiss earlier that day, your face warms. You feel at ease, even though you know there are other things to be discussed about your relationship. But for now, you just sit in silence as you all collect your thoughts.

It's Lando, who speaks up first, maybe because he didn't have as much time to process as either of you did. And you know that he likes to process things while talking it out.

"So..." he starts. "This relationship. We're... what? Lovers? Boyfriends and girlfriend?"

"Whatever you wanna call it," Oscar replies, because he did have the time and he did dare to imagine it. Once. Okay, maybe twice, both times under the influence of alcohol. "I'm okay with anything."

"Me too," you nod and then, because it's kind of in your blood: "As long as I get to call you mine."

Lando groans and then laughs, throwing his head back. But you do see a soft blush making it up on his neck to his face.

"Fuck off," he murmurs.

"Anything else you'd love?" you ask then, partly to tease and partly because you genuinely want him to feel comfortable.

"Nope! Meeting adjourned!" he slaps his hand on his thigh and stands up.

You laugh and grab his hand as he passes you. He looks down at you, his face warm and you look back at him with love in your eyes. Oscar watches the exchange with a warm smile.

"Come on, Lan," you say sweetly. "Anything else you wanted to talk about?"

"I... don't even know," he finally answers and his eyes flick toward Oscar. "I mean... how will we deal with this... after today?"

Oscar tilts his head as he looks at him, understanding what he means. The whole teammates thing, the public thing, the you being in Mercedes thing.

"We'll be careful," he says, though he knows that both you and Lando understand that already. "We'll be as private as we can."

"Yeah," Lando sighs. "Okay. Just... we're technically fighting a championship battle here," he points between him and Oscar.

"Well... there are ways to work out frustration, should there be any," you comment, looking up at him.

Both of them flush immediately and you're acutely aware of the fact, that they haven't been with anyone in a long time, especially not with another man. Plus they kissed once, so there's that too.

"Okay, too soon, got it," you grimace. "Sorry. Should we just kiss?"

"Oh my God, Y/n," it's Oscar who groans then and you chuckle.

"What? Is it so bad that I want to kiss you two? Like... I've been waiting for this and only got one kiss from you, Osc, and a peck from you, Lando," you look between them.

"God, I missed your craziness," Lando murmurs, then finally, finally leans down and presses his lips against yours.

You sigh at the feeling. This was better than the soft peck that you shared after the podium. His lips are soft against yours, warm. He moves with experience, kind of testing to see what you like, what makes you react. And fuck if it makes you love him all the more.

He pulls slightly away, just to lean immediately back in for a peck, before looking at Oscar. You turn to look at him too and you catch him in 4K, his eyes soft and loving as he watches you two.

"This is gonna work," he murmurs as he takes a big breath. "We'll make this all work, because seeing that?" he smirks. "Everything is worth it."

You can't help the smile that tugs at your lips, and you glance up at Lando, who smiles back. There's so much that you want to say, so much that you have to discuss before the next race weekend in Imola, but thankfully you have a week until then.

"Okay, relationship negotiations," you decide. "The most pressing one."

Lando and Oscar share a look before turning their focus on you, interest clear.

"How would you guys feel about spending the next week at mine? Before Imola," you look between them. "And during Imola," you add quickly.

"Isn't that a little fast?" Lando's the first to ask.

"You drive fast cars," you shrug. "It's not faster than that."

"I mean... I'm in," Oscar shrugs. "You still have the spare room, right?"

"Yep," you nod. "Upgraded to two beds thanks to Kimi."

Everyone is quiet for a moment as the boys think about it. Meanwhile, with your heart already settled into the position of your relationship, you can't help but suggest:

"Or you could sleep in my bed."

And to be fair, it's nothing new. Even before Jeddah, when you were racing, you sometimes ended up in a sleepover with the two of them, sharing a bed. Of course that was different, you were only friends then. But now...

Your heart beats a little faster and your whole body warms at the thought of sharing a bed with them again.

"No expectations, nothing, just-"

"Stop spiraling," Oscar says immediately. "I'm in for the week, but we have to check our schedule."

"Of course," you agree. "Sorry, I didn't mean to-"

"Stop," Oscar says again, a small smile on his face and you can't help but smile too. He knows you so well.

"I'm in," Lando's voice is soft, but the way he looks between the two of you is softer. "Ready for anything with you," and just because he can, he leans down to kiss your lips again.

Your heart soars not just at his words, but at the way he kisses you. It feels like you're dreaming and you never wanna wake up. And you can feel Oscar too, as he stands up finally from his place and leans against the other side of your chair.

"In return," he says, reaching for your hand. "You'll stay with us in Monaco, right?"

"Of course!" you beam up at him. "Wouldn't miss getting to see your little apartment!"

"Little, she says," Lando giggles then. "Love, we live in a penthouse."

Your smile drops.

"Wait, really?"

You knew that since they were making so much money and living in Monaco, it may be more than a "little" apartment. But you didn't stop to think just what it could be really.

"Yeah," Oscar agrees. "It... was the best option really. We needed a place, it was perfect for two, close to any place we wanted to go to..."

"So you just decided on a whole penthouse?"

"Well..." Lando shrugs then. "We needed space."

"Baby, I need space," you gesture to your wheelchair. "I'm sure you didn't need as much space."

Lando giggles then, because he can't stop himself.

"All the more reason to come to ours," Oscar says. "You'll be free to move around."

"Oh I'll be there," you scoff, still a little baffled by their living situation.

"We'll make you something special then."

"Maybe I should upgrade my bed," Oscar hums. "No matter," he shakes his head a second later and looks at his phone. "Alright, meeting adjourned, we need to go."

"Aw, you're leaving me?" you pout.

"We'll talk about the plans tomorrow, it's late and we still need to pack," Oscar explains, his voice soft. "You know how it is."

"Do I," you sigh and squeeze both of their hands. "This isn't fair though, you guys get to spend time together while I wallow in sadness over here."

"We'll spend time at your place," Oscar promises and leans down to catch your eyes. "We'll spend so much time, you'll be sick of us."

"No way," you say as you look into his eyes. "I love you too much for that."

And you swear you see Oscar melt. He leans in then, pressing his lips against yours in a sweet kiss. Your heart soars with pure happiness and you squeeze Lando's hand in yours. He squeezes back almost immediately.

Then you let go of their hands and reach for your crutches. They watch as you stand up.

"I'll let you guys out," you hum and lead them toward the door. It's hard to let them go just when it all starts to get real finally, but they're right. It's late and everyone needs a good night's sleep. "Be careful on your way back."

"Always," Oscar nods and reaches for the two of you at the same time.

The hug is soft, their arms around each other and you. It seems to cement the reality of what you agreed to, what your reality just became.

"I love you," Lando whispers and presses a kiss against your temple first, then to Oscar's hair. "I can't wait to be in Imola with you two."

"I'm gonna be counting the minutes," you agree and lean your head against his shoulder. "My loves..."

"Sleep well, Y/n," Oscar adds then and you know it's time to say goodbye. For now.

It's hard and you can see that they're struggling too, but with one last smile, they walk out of your hotel room. You watch as they disappear down the hallway and you close your door, locking it for the night.

It's only a few days. Just a few.

f1gossipgirl

liked by user1, user2, user3 and 231,934 others

f1gossipgirl: spotted! earlier today both lando norris and oscar piastri were seen arriving at the bologna airport! with the emilia-romagna grand prix not starting until next week, we wonder what the two may be doing in bologna!👀

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user1: well we know a certain someone living in bologna!

user2: kimi antonelli?

user3: no you idiot, y/n!!

user2: oh

user4: aw, are the besties gonna hang out?

user5: but they seemed so on edge in miami...

user6: they probably patched things up, if there was any kind of falling out

user7: or maybe there was just general tension because of the grand prix?

user8: i mean, could be!

user9: they arrived seperately? is there beef between lando and oscar?

user10: why do you think so?

user9: i mean why else would they arrive seperately? they both live in monaco. or if they came from the factory, they would've traveled together too!

user10: there are millions of reasons why they could've arrived seperately, it doesn't have to be a beef between the two

user11: i mean they did seem tense last weekend...

user12: again, it could be anything! there could be millions of reasons why they were tense!

user13: actually, they were on the same flight, they just got pictured seperately!

user14: how do you know that?

user13: i was on the same flight

user14: oh

user15: lando looks so disgusted😭

user16: i just think he looks sleep deprived

user17: or like he just woke up

user18: more like he just woke up. he looks so sleepy, cutie🥺

user19: if they were on the same flight, how did they get pictured seperately

user20: my question is, why are there sneaky photos of them?

user21: especially the one of lando! poor guy, he probably just woke up and is immediately bombarded with a picture being taken of him

user22: tbf, he's probably used to it

user23: he shouldn't have to be :(

user24: i'm just gonna put this out there: oscar is very boyfriend coded in this picture

user25: i mean when is he not?

user24: fact

The doorbell rings once and you already know who it is. Then it rings again and you're already up and moving slowly towards the door, a grin on your face. On the third ring, you open the door.

"Y/n!" Lando's face splits into a wide grin, getting off of the doorbell finally. "I thought you'd never open the door!"

"Baby, I'm disabled, I move slower," you sigh, exasperated but can't help the smile either. "Hi."

"Hi baby," Lando's eyes soften and leans in to kiss you on the lips gently. "I was dreaming of this on the plane," he murmurs against your lips.

"Good," you pull away and step to the side with little difficulty. "Because I was dreaming of this too. Hi, Osc."

"Hello, my love," he smiles at you gently, eyes soft and warm. "We missed you," he leans in then and gives your lips a sweet peck.

"I missed you too," you blush a little.

As the two walk into your apartment and put their suitcases to the side, you admire them. It's been only a couple of days since you got together and it still feels a bit like a dream. You can't quite wrap your brain around the fact that they're your boyfriends. That you're together, finally.

"How are you?" Oscar asks then, watching you move slowly towards the sofa.

"Bad, my lower back aches again," you sigh and lower yourself down to sit. "But now that you two are here, I feel better."

He moves from his suitcase to sit next to you, pulling you in gently. You melt into him and his hand moves down your back to rest at your lower back. Right where it hurts the most.

"Does this help?" he asks lowly, fingers moving gently in a massage.

You sigh in response, feeling the ache lift a little. It doesn't usually work, but maybe the cure was him all along. You close your eyes as he massages the spot gently and carefully.

You feel Lando settle on the arm of the sofa, his arm going around your shoulders and head landing in your hair. You smile lightly as you open your eyes. Oscar is watching you, eyes warm and flickering up to Lando every once in a while.

"How was your flight?" you ask then.

"Good, slow," Lando mumbles into your hair.

"You were asleep for all of it," Oscar huffs a laugh.

"That's why it was good," Lando looks up to shoot him a grin. "And because I was asleep on your shoulder."

"My arm fell asleep," Oscar adds and you chuckle gently.

"I'm sure you didn't mind it," you mumble and look at him, seeing as his eyes soften.

"No, I didn't."

You sit there quietly for a couple minutes, enjoying the quiet and just being present. It's everything that you missed and wanted.

"I love you," you whisper, because you can.

"We love you too," Oscar leans in to bury his head in your neck, feeling warmth spreading through him.

"I still can't quite believe that we're here like this," Lando murmurs and you can feel his smile against your head. "I'm so incredibly happy."

"Me too," you smile and squeeze his hand. "It's all I've wanted."

"Me three," Oscar says against your skin and presses a kiss there for good measure. You put your hand on his thigh in return and squeeze it gently.

"So..." you start. "Do you guys want the guest room with the two beds or do you want my bedroom with my big bed?" you ask. "With me in it, of course."

"I didn't think about that yet," Lando sits up and looks at you.

"Liar," Oscar lifts his head to look at him. "You literally told me about how you want us in the same bed."

"Why are you exposing me?" Lando whines.

"I'm just trying to tell the truth," Oscar shrugs with a smirk hiding in the corner of his mouth and you chuckle at them.

"So my bed then," you hum and lift Lando's hand to your mouth, kissing his knuckles. "I want you in the same bed too."

Lando blushes bright at that, but his grin is brighter as he slips his arms around you. He moves gently to sit in your lap, wanting to be close to both you and Oscar.

"Is this okay?" he asks to be sure and you nod into his shoulder.

"More than okay."

Oscar leans in then to press a kiss to Lando's mouth, making the older blush even more. Your heart beats heavily in your chest as you watch them kiss and the butterflies return to your stomach. Lando giggles then and pulls back to look at you.

"I can feel your heart-eyes," he teases.

"I can't exactly help it," you laugh then. "This is all... so great. You guys are hot, for lack of better words."

"Yeah?" Oscar asks, smiling. "You think we're hot?"

"I don't think so, I know so," you squeeze his thigh. "My two hot boyfriends doing hot shit."

Lando laughs and pulls both you and Oscar closer to him. Oscar basically melts into the embrace and you close your eyes, happy to be essentially smothered by them. You could stay like this forever and die happily.

The first few days pass by in a sort of bliss. You aren't doing much, mostly just laze around the apartment, sometimes going out for walks or to grab food when you don't feel like making it yourself.

On Saturday, as the day starts turning into night, you sit around in the living room, feeling a good kind of tired. Lando is once again draped across your lap, comfortably playing a game as you watch him. Oscar is in the armchair, playing with the other controller.

"Osc!" Lando laughs as Oscar's character dies again, leaving them spawning back to the beginning of the level.

"Sorry," Oscar grins. "I didn't mean to."

"I saw you walking off on purpose," you tease him.

"Slander," Oscar scoffs. "I did no such thing."

They start moving again and this time you watch Oscar closely. You see the minute change in his face, right as he decides to die again, knowing it will annoy Lando and also probably make him laugh. You have to admit, that in the past few days, you've learned a lot more about Oscar, things that you didn't previously realize.

Like how eager he is to make either of you laugh, or how he wants to provoke any kind of reaction out of you. And nowadays that reaction is to touch him any way you can. A kiss, a punch to the shoulder, a hug, anything.

And it works today as well. Lando drops the controller to your lap and lunges toward Oscar, who already expects him and catches him with a laugh.

"You're so cheeky!" the older man laughs as he wrestles with him, trying to... you don't even know what he wants to achieve. Tickle him? Or kiss him?

Maybe not the second, because then Oscar successfully grabs his wrists and pulls Lando on top of him, locking his legs around his waist. They're laughing through the whole ordeal, until Oscar finally captures Lando's lips with his own.

You watch them with a warm smile, happy to see them so happy. Then Oscar cracks his eyes open and catches your stare. You see his face warm and his smirk as he kisses Lando. Your stomach flips and you feel yourself blush.

Lando pulls away then, successfully freeing his arms. He follows Oscar's line of sight, though he knows exactly where he is looking. Or who he is looking at. He lays his head on Oscar's chest and locks eyes with you.

"Come here, Y/n," he tells you and you look at him seriously, waiting for the problem to register.

"Why don't you come here?" you ask, opening your arms.

"Oh, right," Lando giggles, then pushes himself off of Oscar, pulling him along to rest with you.

Lando sits first and pulls you on top of him, with Oscar helping him arrange you two. Oscar then envelops both of you in his arms, pulling you close. Before you can lay your head on Lando's chest though, he puts a gentle hand on your jaw and turns your head to kiss you.

You let yourself giggle against his lips, feeling your heart soar. Oscar then moves to press soft kisses against the back of your neck and you feel like you might float off.

Neither of you really pay attention to your surroundings - and why would you, you're at home - until you hear the door slam shut and a loud gasp come from the hallway. All three of you turn toward the sound, your heads peeking out from behind the couch.

There, in the door stands Kimi Antonelli. And he looks shocked. Or maybe horrified. You're not exactly sure which one.

"Oh my God, I didn't want to see that!" he slaps his hands against his eyes, trying to block out the sight.

"Uh..." you huff, not knowing what to say. "This isn't what it looks like?"

You're unsure how to explain... any of it to Kimi. But you know that you kind of have to, because he just caught the three of you in a very intimate position. And he looks horrified by it.

"Really?" he squeaks, his voice jumping to a higher register. "Because it looks like my mentor is having relations with two of my rivals!"

The way he says relations finally breaks the tension between you and the two McLaren drivers, who burst out in a laugh. You chuckle too and push Oscar a little further from you, so that you can slide to the sofa.

"Come here, Kimi," you tell him gently.

"I don't want to!" he whimpers. "Oh my God, I knew it was a bad idea to come visit you without telling you!"

"Just come here," Oscar says then, his voice soft, while Lando still giggles next to you. "We weren't doing anything... hm... naughty."

"You were kissing my mamma! Both of you!" he still squeezes his hands to his eyes and you nudge Lando to move, signaling that he should help the rookie out.

"And there's a perfectly reasonable explanation to it," Oscar says as Lando gets up from the sofa and moves toward the young boy, gently guiding him by his elbow. "If you let us explain."

"I can't with this," Kimi whines but sits down in the armchair as prompted by Lando. "This is not how I wanted my Saturday to go."

"And this is not how I wanted to share my relationship with you, believe me," you sigh, but there's a smile on your face and Lando takes his place next to you, leaning into you.

You wait a moment longer, until Kimi finally dares to look at the three of you. You look back at him with a gentle smile.

"I don't understand..." Kimi murmurs then. "So you're in a relationship? With..."

"With Lando and Oscar," you nod. "The three of us are together."

"Since when?" Kimi asks.

"Since Miami," you answer and look at your boyfriends.

"But it was a long time coming," Lando adds. "Like really long."

"How long?" Kimi looks between the three of you, trying to process the information.

"At least a year and a half," Oscar hums. "Or multiple years, depending on how you look at it."

Kimi sighs then and buries his head in his hands. You look at Lando, then at Oscar, unsure on how to proceed from here. You've clearly exploded a bomb on the young teenager and you feel obligated to do damage control.

"Though the relationship itself is very new, the feelings aren't," you tell him gently. "We've felt strongly about each other since the 2023 season and have come to terms with what that included."

"Yeah," Lando hums. "Just... we didn't think that it would be an open secret so soon."

"I mean," Kimi sighs and looks at you. "I guess I should've... expected it? You've been acting weird around each other."

"Yeah..." Oscar agrees and looks at you and Lando.

"Sorry for just barging in," Kimi says sincerely. "I should've cleared with you if you were okay to have me over."

"Kind of my fault for telling you you could come over whenever without telling me," you laugh awkwardly. "But... it's okay. Just... please don't tell anyone about this yet. We want to... approach this with caution."

"Yeah, no, my lips are sealed," Kimi nods instantly. "I... guess I'll go then."

"I mean, you don't have to?" you watch him stand up. "Why did you come, what did you want to talk about?"

"Just my first home race, but we can talk about it later," he waves his hand dismissively.

"Would Wednesday afternoon be good for you? After school?" you ask. "We could pick you up from school."

"Yeah, sure, it's good," he agrees. "Uh... sorry again and... enjoy your evening."

"Thanks Kimi and sorry for traumatizing you," you wince.

"See you later," Oscar says in parting.

"Yeah, see you guys," Kimi nods then heads toward the door.

As the door closes behind him with a click, you are quiet for a moment. Then a laugh breaks out of you, followed by Lando, then finally Oscar too. You're laughing, because that's all you can do after that ordeal. You hide your face in Oscar's shoulder, who puts an arm around you. Lando wipes at his eyes and leans further into you as he laughs.

In the end, if you wanted to announce your relationship to Kimi, maybe this was the best way for it to happen.

The week passes faster than either of you would like it and soon it's Thursday, media day. And the day of your rookie dinner, where you invited Gabi, Ollie, Isack and Kimi to your apartment to cook for them.

The ducklings arrived with enthusiasm after a long media day and you greeted them warmly.

"Hi, rookies," you smile at them as they all file into your apartment. "Long day?"

"Too long," Gabi groans and leans down to hug you. "Media obligations are so tiring..."

"I know, darling," you coo and ruffle his hair before he stands up to let the others hug you as well. "But it's all part of the f1 dream."

"Wish it wasn't," Isack hums and hugs you tightly. "But glad to be here now, maman."

"I'm glad you all are here too," you smile and hug Ollie too. "I've been excited for this month's dinner."

"Too bad that we didn't have one in april," Ollie agrees.

"Yeah, sorry, too many things happened in april," you hum and hug Kimi next.

"Are Oscar and Lando here yet?" he asks and for a moment your heart stops. But then you pretend it's all just... normal.

"Not yet, they'll be late for the dinner."

"Oscar and Lando?" Gabi's eyes narrow. "Why are they coming to the rookie dinner?"

"They're staying with me," you turn around, trying to act nonchalant. "We've always done this since me and Oscar's rookie year."

Which is not a lie. Even in 2023, when the Imola grand prix was washed away by the excessive raining, the two (already good friends at the time) stayed with you.

Of course, the 2024 season was different. You weren't even home at the time, still recovering at the hospital. That really put a damper on... everything really.

"Ah," is all Gabi replies with and you snap out of your thoughts.

"Yeah, come in ducklings, I have already prepared the ingredients," you look back at the group with a smile.

"I'm a terrible cook," Ollie warns. "I really shouldn't be allowed near the kitchen."

"Then you'll just sit there and look pretty," you joke, gesturing to the kitchen table.

"I can provide music!" he offers.

"I wanna help," Kimi looks at him. "Come on, I know where she keeps her portable speaker."

"On the other hand, I'm quite good cook," Gabi grins as you watch the two disappear. "My specialty is carbonara."

"Ah, you're truly grown up," you smile at him and look toward Isack. "What about you?"

"Yeah, I can help," he shrugs and looks over the ingredients.

"Don't worry, I had something easy and delicious in mind," you pat his hand and wheel toward the counter, the two boys following you.

The late afternoon passes like that, with a bit of chaos, laughter, good music, and the good smell of food filling your apartment. Ollie and Kimi argue over best foods and the music, with Isack sometimes jumping in while Gabi actually proves that he is good in the kitchen.

That's how Oscar and Lando find you guys, while you laugh loudly over something that the rookies have said.

"Hello everyone," Oscar greets and puts his backpack down by the bedroom door.

"Oh, I'm starving, is dinner ready yet?" Lando groans as he passes by Oscar, immediately walking toward you and the stove.

"Almost," you smile, your eyes softening. "You should freshen up a little and then we'll set the table."

"Oh my God, that smells amazing," he sighs as he leans over one of the pots. "I've been thinking about this since lunch."

"Lunch wasn't even that bad," Oscar chuckles and puts a comforting hand on Kimi's shoulder. "You okay?" he asks from him quietly and Kimi nods with a gentle smile on his face.

After the talk yesterday, both Oscar and Lando have warmed up to Kimi in a different way. It was beautiful to see, really.

"No, but I knew that Y/n's cooking will be better," Lando grins as he looks at him.

"Alright, go on, freshen up and I think by then, we'll have dinner ready."

Lando leans down then and kisses the top of your head before heading after Oscar towards the bedroom. You shake your head and turn toward the stove, catching the eyes of both Kimi and Gabi. Kimi's eyes are filled with warmth, but Gabi looks at you like he's suspecting something. The other two rookies are none the wiser, even as you blush under Gabi's gaze.

"Ollie, Kimi, please set the table," you clear your throat. "Isack, could you grab the drinks from the fridge?"

"Of course, maman!" Isack grins and the rookies move to do their assigned work.

Gabi stays by the stove and after one last stir, he shuts the gas down. He glances at you, but says nothing and you try to act as non-suspicious as you can.

Dinner is a loud affair, even though everyone involved is as hungry as one can be. But there's something domestic about the way everyone is conversing over good food, cracking jokes and laughing.

After everyone had their fill, you look at Oscar with a pointed look and he immediately understands your signal. He gets up without a word and steps into the kitchen.

"Ollie," you start gently, earning a look from the boy and successfully diverting his attention from Oscar, who stands with his back to the group, working on something. "I know it's a little late and all, but-"

"Happy birthday," Oscar finishes and brings the cake in, candles ablaze.

You see the shock on his face, as his eyes lock on the 2 and 0 that decorate the cake and see his eyes fill with so much warmth that your heart squeezes in your chest. His eyes tear up when everyone around the table starts singing (horribly off-key) the happy birthday song and he glances around at everyone.

"Oh my God," he sniffles and wipes at his eyes. "Thank you guys so much."

"Happiest of birthdays, mate," Kimi smiles and hugs him sideways as they remain seated.

"Sorry for not celebrating it earlier," you smile. "But we wanted to celebrate it together."

"This is more than I could've asked for, thank you guys," Ollie looks around at everyone and you all smile at him.

Then there's some teasing, some joking around at Ollie's expense, but he just grins widely and takes all the jokes in stride. You look around at everyone then, with genuine love filling every corner of your body.

Because they're like a big family. Your big family.

yourusername

liked by kimiantonelli, oscarpiastri, landonorris and 293,632 others

tagged: kimiantonelli, oscarpiastri and landonorris

yourusername: i've never gotten more love than this weekend! it wasn't easy for the team, for kimi (congrats on 7th!), but i was still blown away by the cheers from all the fans. i was touched by all of you who have still had my merch or my number, and all of you who have asked for a picture or an autograph.

from the bottom of my heart: thank you, thank you, thank you❤️

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kimiantonelli: thankful for you and your guidance! without you i wouldn't have survived the pressure of my home race!

yourusername: thank you!! i was so touched by getting to go with you to the drivers' parade! and you did amazing!

kimiantonelli: it was nothing! i was surprised by how quickly they agreed to letting you come with!

yourusername: still, it was very nice of you to advocate for me! i love you cucciolotto!❤️❤️

kimiantonelli: any time, y/n! glad i could pay you back for what you're doing for me❤️❤️

user26: honestly so glad that kimi had y/n with him, i was worried that the weight of his first home race was going to crush him. good job on p7, hometown hero!

oscarpiastri: cheeky little photo😏

yourusername: only of you two!! plus, you're literally looking into the camera😂😂

oscarpiastri: my spidey senses were tingling😂

landonorris: so you couldn't have told me? :(

yourusername: your back is too good to look at, i had to feed the fans lol

landonorris: well, i won't argue with that😏

oscarpiastri: neither will i

user27: hellooo?? ^^

user28: i'm... not even surprised by anything anymore...

user29: they're literally flirting, i can't😭😭

user30: and that's news to you?? they have been since 2023!

user31: honestly, it's nothing new at this point. i would be more shocked to see them NOT flirting

user30: the things winning does to you...

carlossainz55: so happy for you cariño!❤️❤️ you deserve all the love!!

yourusername: says you!! you're so amazing, i love you!!❤️❤️

alexalbon: you love me too, right?🥺

yourusername: well...

carlossainz55: about that...

alexalbon: :(

yourusername: i guess i tolerate you. but only if you bring me those amazing snacks next race!

alexalbon: i guess i can share it with you🥰

yourusername: ❤️❤️

user32: i can't believe they interviewed her, holy shit, we're being fed!!

user33: exactly!! but also i can't believe this is the first time she was interviewed!! like?? she's a legend?? how is this the first time??

user34: bro you're so right!! we need more interviews with her! i can't keep watching back the ones from her rookie year, i need more!!

user35: omg me too! i keep watching back those videos! plus the compilation someone made where others mention her in their interviews. i can't get enough of her, she's literally so mother😭

this comment was liked by the author

user36: i know they're not on the post, but can we talk about the rookies always crowding around her? like they love her so much😭😭

user37: kimi did talk about her being a grounding force around them, so i imagine just how much she means to them. plus she really loves them too!

user38: didn't she mention it in the interview as well? that they're her little ducklings??

user39: she did! she talked about kimi at length, but also mentioned how she hangs out with the rookies too, who have taken to her. and that they're like little ducklings following her!

user40: honestly, they're such a cute group😭😭

"When you said your apartment is big..." you start as Oscar wheels you into the apartment. "I... underestimated just how much."

Lando chuckles from behind you and closes the door. Then he leans down to press a kiss to your head and you look up at him, smiling.

"It's not even that big," Oscar hums.

"Not that big? My love, my entire apartment could fit here twice at least," you look behind your back to catch his eyes. "But probably three times too, if we take it apart and put it together like a puzzle."

"Look at the bright side, if you decide to move in, you'll have plenty of space," Oscar leans down and presses a soft kiss to your lips.

"No way, you should move to Italy," you scoff, frowning playfully. "I'll live in Imola forever."

"But we have the bigger space!"

"And I have cheaper rent and groceries!"

"We pay less in taxes."

"Yeah, and you pay more on literal food," you narrow your eyes at Lando. "At some point you wonder if it's really worth it."

"Not like we don't make more than enough to cover all of it," Lando scoffs.

"I do believe that it's two against one," Oscar chimes in with Lando nodding along. "So... when are you moving to Monaco?"

"Never," you stick your tongue out at them.

But all three of you know that should your relationship stay like it is at the moment (which you all plan on), there will come a time when you will have to make the choice. For now though, it's all just lighthearted banter.

The first real choice of your relationship comes that night though, when Lando tells you that his family will arrive next morning and he really wants to tell his parents the truth.

"They've always supported me, no matter what," he says over dinner. "They deserve to know the truth."

You and Oscar share a look, trying to decide the best course of action.

"I mean, Kimi already knows..." Lando adds, a bit quieter.

"By accident," you sigh and reach for his hand. "It's not that I wanna hide this forever from the people that matter the most to any of us, I just... worry."

"They're very open minded..."

"I know, and I love Cisca and Adam, they've always been wonderful and it's nothing against them," you look at your hands as you play with his fingers.

"It's not... something that many people encounter," Oscar decides to add, sensing your inability to voice your thoughts. "And I think we're all a little worried how they will react."

"I mean... I understand and if you truly don't feel comfortable, we don't have to tell them," Lando sighs and looks between the two of you. "But shouldn't we give them the choice at least?"

And though worry gnaws at you, you have to agree with him. You know that in his position, you'd want to tell your parents the truth too, especially with how close he is to his parents. And you also know that Oscar feels the same way about his own family.

But you aren't close to your family and Oscar's family lives too far away for that to be a genuine question. Your only real family would be Carlos, but you're not sure that you would want to tell Carlos all of this yet.

And still, as you look at Lando, his watercolor eyes shining with love and pleading, you feel that you can't say no to him. Because you know how much it means to him.

You glance at Oscar, who seems to come to the same conclusion.

"Okay," you whisper.

"Really?" Lando's eyes light up and he looks at Oscar.

"Really," he nods too and Lando grins wide at that.

"I just really hope they don't hate me for what I did to you..."

"No way," Lando shakes his head with a light laugh. "My mom loves you too much for that."

And truly, when the next day you meet them and Lando breaks the news to them, Cisca is overjoyed and pulls you into a hug immediately. And you know that it was the right decision, because all three of you have a steady support now to help you, should anything go off rails.

landonorris

liked by yourusername, oscarpiastri, mclarenracingf1 and 847,082 others

landonorris: monaco babyyy!🥳 amazing finish for an amazing weekend!

view all comments

oscarpiastri: congrats teammate!🎉

landonorris: thank you teammate!🥳

yourusername: where is the photo cred for the last picture?? i'm sure whoever took that is extremely hot!

landonorris: well, you aren't wrong about that😏🧡

user42: ummm ^^

user43: i'm like really curious who took the last photo

user44: do you think it could be y/n??

user45: i mean, it would make sense, she was the one who commented it

user46: plus she really is hot

this comment was liked by the author

user47: okay, so that seals the deal

yourusername: also, those white racing suits are amazing, please get your team to make you wear it to more weekends.

landonorris: oh?😏

yourusername: lando, you're literally glowing in them, you're both so angelic, please wear it more😭

oscarpiastri: honestly, agreed, i loved these suits

landonorris: let's see what we can do then :)

user48: crying at this post, why is oscar in almost every slide?😭 please, lando can't even hide the fact that he's in love with his teammate😭😭

user49: he even asked for him during the race😭😭 they're so down bad😭😭

user50: sad that kimi dnf-d, but at least lando and oscar got on the podium in monaco!!

user51: with charles in second place!! quite the podium🧡❤️🧡

mclarenracingf1: those are our drivers!! always good teammates, scoring amazing points!!🧡

1/3 story replies

user52: is that ollie?? user53: poor ollie olliebearman: i see at least you got a joke out of my spin😂 ↪ yourusername: only because you were unhurt ↪ yourusername: if you had gotten hurt, i wouldn't have posted it!❤️ ↪ olliebearman: i know, 10/10 joke, mum!❤️❤️ ↪ yourusername: ❤️❤️ user54: gotta respect the joke, i see what you're doing y/n!

2/3 story replies

user55: damn, hanging out with the three best looking boys on the grid?? charles_leclerc: why was i not invited?? ↪ yourusername: sorry charlie, you gotta ask carlos about this😬 carlossainz55: damn i look good in this pic ↪ carlossainz55: also, can't believe that you pulled both piastri and lando ↪ yourusername: i fear it was all predestined ↪ yourusername: plus let's face it, it was a long time coming🥰 ↪ carlossainz55: absolutely. thank god that you guys figured your shit out ↪ carlossainz55: happy for you cariño❤️ ↪ yourusername: thank you carlito❤️❤️ user56: i can't, what is that smile from oscar?😭😭 oscarpiastri: 🧡🧡 landonorris: 🧡🧡

3/3 story replies

kimiantonelli: i was in pain too😭😭 ↪ yourusername: i know, darling, i'm so sorry😭😭 ↪ kimiantonelli: this was the second dnf in a row, i'm scared of canada😭 ↪ yourusername: we'll manage, cucciolotto, you'll be alright❤️ user57: gotta respect the game, y/n user58: the holy trinity of "spain" user59: but at least it was a mclaren 1-2? i'm sure you were happy about that! user60: hell of a weekend. let's home canada is better😭

«Previous« [Masterlist] »Next»

Taglist: @thatcrazybooklovergirl , @favourite-regret , @hannahmotors10 , @hellsingalucard18 , @pharmasennapuff , @seawaterbrain , @marywantsttobattle , @six-call , @theonefanatic13 , @mosseetrees , @that-queer-fanbase , @tswizzle19sworld , @lanpastry thank you!💜

[starset21]

Left Turns and Long Distances Masterlist

Pairing: Max Verstappen x NASCAR!Driver Reader

Summery: A reader insert series following Y/N Carter, #95 Spire Motorsports NASCAR driver and Monster Energy athlete, her relationship with Max Verstappen, and her best friend Carson Hocevar.

Standard disclaimer: I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may found is on tumblr or A03 under the same name. This is all fake. It does not reflect real people, real events or their actual actions or relationships. May contain google translated languages.

Oneshot 1 — New Boyfriend Allegations

[starset21]

New Boyfriend Allegations

Pairing: Max Verstappen x NASCAR!Driver Reader

Summery: Six months into their relationship, its a race weekend at Las Vegas. Carson sends you a Reddit thread — a compilation video that has the NASCAR fandom completely convinced she and Carson are dating.

A/N: New one shot series alert! It's gonna jump around but it's going to be fun :)

Standard disclaimer: I do not consent to the posting, translating, or publishing of my work to any 3rd party site, the only place it may found is on tumblr or A03 under the same name. This is all fake. It does not reflect real people, real events or their actual actions or relationships. May contain google translated languages.

Las Vegas Motor Speedway.

Friday morning and the desert was already doing what the desert did in October — bright and sharp and dry in a way that made everything feel slightly more urgent than it needed to be.

She'd been up since six. Scout had been up since five, because Scout did not understand the concept of sleeping in and had expressed this by sitting next to the bed and staring at her with the focused intention of a dog who had somewhere to be. They'd gone for a run before the track got loud, just the two of them in the early morning quiet, Scout covering twice the distance she did by virtue of having four legs and no sense of pace management.

Now Scout was asleep on the floor of the motorhome like she hadn't just dragged her owner through three miles at sunrise, and she was on her second coffee going over the weekend notes from her engineer, and everything was normal.

Her phone buzzed.

From: Carson 🤠 [link]

No caption. Just the link.

She clicked it.

r/NASCAR

📌 Y/N Carter Updates — okay I need someone to validate my shipping CartVar Posted by u/spire95daily • 2 hours ago

Someone made a four minute video and I have watched it six times. I’m convinced they’re dating. I'm going to describe it because you need to understand what's happening here.

It starts with a clip from the media day interview at Darlington back in August. A reporter asks Carson Hocevar who his favorite person on the grid is and without missing a single beat, before the reporter has even finished the sentence, he points at her and says "her." no hesitation. doesn't even think about it.

Then it cuts to HER doing a separate interview, different day, and someone asks her the same question and she laughs before she answers. Not like a polite media laugh. Like a genuine "what kind of question is that" laugh and then says "Carson, obviously" like it's the most boring question she's ever been asked.

Then there's like six clips from their joint Twitch stream. I'm going to need you to understand what this stream was. It was two hours of Carson Hocevar yelling at literally every other driver on the iracing platform while she sat next to him and did not stop him once. She just sat there. She was smiling. She handed him a snack at one point without him asking and he took it without looking and they both just continued on like this was completely normal.

Then there's a clip of him in a post race interview after Kansas where he's talking about her race, not his, and he says "she deserved better than P8 and anyone who watched the race knows that" with the kind of personal investment that is not standard teammate behavior.

Then — and this is the part that got me — there's a tweet from two months ago where she retweeted one of his posts with just "correct" and nothing else and he replied with "thank you finally someone gets it" and she replied with "I always get it" and. I'm just going to let that sit there.

I'm not saying anything. I'm just describing what I see.

↑ 6.2k | 521 comments

u/Monsterorbust • 2h the way she handed him that snack without looking I think about it constantly

u/95ganggang • 2h THE "I ALWAYS GET IT" TWEET. I remember when that was posted and I did not understand its significance at the time

u/spire95daily • 2h none of us were ready

u/monsterpurist04 • 1h okay but to be fair they've been teammates for a year and best friends even longer so some of this could just be— u/lurkingengineer • 1h the snack. explain the snack. u/monsterpurist04 • 1h ...I cannot explain the snack

u/nascarnotes • 1h I went back and watched the full Twitch stream after seeing this compilation and I need everyone to know there's a moment around the 47 minute mark where another driver comes into the chat to defend himself after Carson roasted him and Carson just looks at her and she shakes her head slightly and he drops it immediately. he dropped it IMMEDIATELY. do you understand what kind of power that is

u/f1nascarcrossoverfan • 1h The silent communication. THE SILENT COMMUNICATION u/redbullorbust • 58m they have a whole language and we're only seeing part of it

u/oldschoolnascarfan • 58m y'all said this exact thing about the max verstappen instagram stuff a few months ago and then nothing happened so u/95ganggang • 55m the max thing was different this is different u/oldschoolnascarfan • 54m how is it different u/95ganggang • 53m the SNACK

u/maxshipper_supreme • 45m wait so we're dropping the max theory?? u/spire95daily • 43m I mean he still follows her and likes her photos but he does that with a lot of drivers. The Carson evidence is RIGHT THERE u/maxshipper_supreme • 42m I just think we're being hasty

523 more comments

She read the whole thread.

Then she read it again.

Then she looked at Scout, still asleep on the floor, entirely unbothered by everything, and thought about how nice that must be.

To: Max 💙 Carson sent me a Reddit thread.

Four minutes passed.

From: Max 💙 I know. Lando sent it to me this morning.

She sat up straighter.

To: Max 💙 Lando sent it to you.

From: Max 💙 He thought it was funny.

To: Max 💙 And what do you think?

From: Max 💙 I think they're wrong.

To: Max 💙 That's it? That's your whole response to people on the internet thinking your girlfriend is dating her best friend?

From: Max 💙 You're coming home to me at the end of the season. I'm not worried about a Reddit thread.

She stared at that for a moment.

To: Max 💙 You're infuriating.

From: Max 💙 You're stressed about nothing. Go focus on your briefings and practice session.

She made a noise out loud that Scout opened one eye for, assessed, and decided wasn't worth getting up over.

She called Carson. He picked up laughing, which was not a great start.

"Before you—"

"Five hundred comments, Carson."

"Five hundred and thirty-seven," he said. "It went up while you were reading it."

"That is not the flex you think it is."

"I'm just saying, the engagement is impressive—"

"They think we're dating."

"I know."

"They made a compilation video."

"I watched it," he said. "Honestly pretty well edited. Whoever made it has a future in—"

"Carson."

A pause. Then, with a slightly less grin in it: "What do you want me to say?"

"I want you to say something useful."

"Okay." A pause, the joke mostly gone. "Here's something useful — it doesn't matter."

"It matters to me."

"Why?"

She opened her mouth. Closed it.

"Five hundred people on the internet who don't know you, don't know me, and have never been to a race track, they’re just looking for something to do," Carson said. "That's what this is. That's the whole thing. All they did was compile things that are just — us. That's just what we're like. Best friends. We've always been like that."

"I know that."

"So what are you actually worried about?"

She didn't answer that.

Carson let the silence sit, which was unusual for him. When he spoke again the grin was fully gone. "Hey."

"I'm fine."

"I know you're fine. That's not what I asked."

She looked at Scout, still resolutely asleep on the floor. "I just don't love that the narrative is out there and I can't do anything about it."

"You could do something about it."

"Carson—"

"I'm not saying do anything. I'm saying you could. And you're choosing not to. Which is a decision you made. So own it a little."

She didn't say anything.

"You know how this ends," he said, simpler now. "You're the only one acting like you don't."

A long pause.

"Go look at your setup notes," he said. "we’ve got a race Sunday. You're in the hunt for the championship. Everything else is noise."

"When did you get wise."

"I've always been wise. You just don't listen." The grin was back, faint. 

“Okay mister wiseguy, I'll see you out there.” 

"Yes you will." He said and hung up.

Max landed in Las Vegas on Saturday evening.

Nobody noticed, or if they did, nothing surfaced yet. He came to the motorhome and Scout greeted him with the focused enthusiasm she reserved for people she had decided were worth her time — which was a meaningful list, not a short one — and he crouched down and let her investigate him thoroughly with the patience of someone who had learned the protocol.

"How was the flight," she said from the couch, not looking up from her notes.

"Long," he said. Scout headbutted his hand. He scratched behind her ear without being asked. "How's the car?"

"Better than Friday. Not quite where I want it yet."

He came and sat next to her and looked at the notes without saying anything for a while. Just read. That was the thing about him she still hadn't fully gotten used to after six months — the quality of his quiet. It wasn't empty. It was just comfortable.

"Your rear entry angle," he said eventually, pointing at something on the sheet.

"I know."

"Your engineer knows?"

"He knows."

"Okay," he said, and leaned back.

Scout relocated to lie across both their feet. Outside Las Vegas was being Las Vegas on a Saturday night — loud and lit up and completely indifferent to the two of them sitting in a motorhome going over setup notes like it was the most normal thing in the world.

It was, she thought, a very normal evening.

The Reddit thread had 1,200 comments now. She didn't open it.

She won Las Vegas Motor Speedway on a Sunday afternoon with three laps to go and a move on the bottom that Carson would describe for the rest of the year as "the most calculated thing I have ever watched happen in real time" and she would describe simply as "it was there."

The radio erupted. The crew erupted. She took the checkered flag and let herself be loud about it for a few seconds inside her helmet before everything got very fast — victory burnout, bringing the car in, the noise hitting her all at once the moment she climbed out. Carson got to her first because Carson always got there first, grabbed her by the shoulders and said something completely inaudible over the crowd, and she laughed, the unguarded kind, pure adrenaline. Then there were crew members everywhere, her engineer with his arms around her, someone putting a hat on her head, hurrying through the motions of victory lane, the interviews, the presenting of the trophy, the photos, the hat coming off and going back on, someone asking her to move left for the cameras and then right and then back again, and she was trying to be present in all of it — smiling and here and grateful then she saw him.

He was standing just back from the chaos, slightly removed from it the way he always was in crowds. Cap pulled low, sunglasses on, in the completely futile way that Max Verstappen wore hats and sunglasses as a disguise in public — like it would work if he just believed in it hard enough. He was watching her with that almost-smile, quiet in the middle of all the noise, and for a second the rest of victory lane went a little distant.

She thought about six months of late nights and setup notes and a pigeon on a balcony in Monaco and a Reddit thread sitting at 1,200 comments about entirely the wrong person.

She thought about Carson saying you know how this ends. You're the only one acting like you don't.

She crossed the distance between them with the trophy still in her hand and kissed him, and he caught her like he'd known it was coming — one hand at her jaw, completely unbothered by the cameras and the noise and the very public nature of what was currently happening.

It lasted maybe five seconds.

When she pulled back he looked at her with that same calm expression.

"Good race," he said.

She laughed, still a little breathless, still holding the trophy, still vaguely aware that there were approximately forty cameras pointed at them right now. "That's all you've got."

"You drove well in the second stage," he said. "Your tire management was better than the leader's. I was watching."

"You were watching my tire management."

"I was watching everything." The almost-smile again, closer to the real thing now. "But yes. Specifically the tire management in stage two."

She shook her head. Six months and he could still catch her off guard with it — the way he paid attention, the specific and unhurried way he saw things. She'd stopped being surprised that he'd noticed. She hadn't stopped being glad about it. She was still smiling when Carson appeared at her elbow approximately four seconds later. She watched him look at her, then at Max, then back at her. Something moved across his face — not surprise, more like a man watching something he already knew become real in front of him.

"So," he said.

"Don't," she said.

"I'm not saying anything."

"Good."

"I'm just standing here."

"Carson."

"Observing," he said. He looked at Max. Max looked back at him. Something passed between them — brief and unspoken, the kind of acknowledgment that didn't need words. Carson nodded once, slow, like something had been confirmed. "Nice to finally meet you properly," he said.

"You too," Max said.

She looked between them and felt something settle — quiet and certain and a little overwhelming — underneath all the noise of a race win on a Sunday afternoon in October.

r/NASCAR

📌 Y/N Carter Updates — VICTORY LANE. LAS VEGAS. I NEED EVERYONE TO LOOK AT THIS VIDEO RIGHT NOW Posted by u/spire95daily • 6 minutes ago

I don't have words. I literally do not have words. She won the race which is already — but then in victory lane she — I can't.

[video link]

I'm going to go lie down. Someone else take over.

↑ 18.4k | 1,249 comments — sorted by: new

u/Monsterorbust • 5m IS THAT MAX VERSTAPPEN

u/95ganggang • 5m IT'S MAX VERSTAPPEN

u/lurkingengineer • 4m THE RIVAL SPONSORS AGENDA WAS REAL THIS WHOLE TIME

u/monsterpurist04 • 4m I need to sit down I genuinely need to sit down

u/f1nascarcrossoverfan • 3m OUR OWN REDDIT THREAD. WE WERE SO WRONG. WE WERE SO EMBARRASSINGLY WRONG.

u/oldschoolnascarfan • 3m okay. FINE. I'll admit it.

u/95ganggang • 3m TOLD YOU IT WASN'T THE SNACK

u/maxshipper_supreme • 2m I NEVER DOUBTED THIS FOR A SINGLE SECOND

u/nascarnotes • 2m wait where's Carson in this video u/redbullorbust • 1m HE'S RIGHT THERE. HE'S WATCHING IT HAPPEN IN REAL TIME u/lurkingengineer • 1m his FACE. someone gif his face immediately

u/95ganggang • 58s Carson Hocevar watched his best friend kiss Max Verstappen in victory lane in Las Vegas and I think that's the most Carson thing that has ever happened

u/monsterpurist04 • 45s the rival sponsors agenda was real the whole time and we almost missed it because of a SNACK

u/nascarnotes • 30s I am not going to be normal about this for a very long time u/spire95daily • 15s none of us are

1,251 more comments

[rr-after-dark]

“Body, Mind, and Soul” - Rabbot x Reader

Chapter One: Whatever a Moon Has Always Meant

Series Summary: It’s definitely not conventional for two alphas to spend their lives together, but Jack and Robby have never been particularly conventional in the first place. They don’t need an omega – but, fuck, do they want you.

 Chapter Summary: Long-married alphas Jack and Robby have accepted their strange but comfortable life together -- until you come into the ED with a scent that makes them wonder if fate may have something else in mind.

Tags/Notes: omegaverse, alpha!jack, alpha!robby, omega!reader, first meeting, jack and robby's love story uwu

Content Warning: child in the emergency room (fever, not ultimately serious)

Author’s Note: let’s all collaboratively agree not to project the way i write omegaverse in this one onto the regular human spectrum of sexuality okay? because EYE like it

Word Count: 3.3k

They’d gotten together before they presented. Both late bloomers. Very late. Med school. Assumed to be betas because, well, they were twenty-one and that was more than a little late to be anything else. Robby, bitingly sarcastic, rakishly and boyishly handsome, too cocky for his own good as he flirted with anything with a pulse. Jack, a squirrely redhead fresh off a tour in Kuwait with darkness in his eyes and an amputation that needed six more weeks before he could be fitted for his prosthesis. An unlikely pair connected by one thing: Being not quite enough. Not quite at the top of their class. Not quite harsh enough to attract omegas or soft enough to attract alpha. Just enough for each other.

Morning workouts where Robby pretended he wanted to get fit as an excuse to come to Jack’s physical therapy sessions, encouraging him and watching him with barely controlled lust as he fought his way out of the wheelchair and onto his prosthetic, going from wobbly to sure over weeks and weeks of hard work. Midday lunches where they could complain about professors who lived behind the times and other students who just plain sucked. Study sessions where they savored shortbread cookies from the cafe attached to the library, those shared moments of late-night sweetness enough to fuel them through days of harsh salt and sour.

So they bonded – not in the traditional sense of the word with bites and pheromones, but something else. Something that went deep. Deep enough that when they were both hit by their first rut, they collided into each other full force. Lips that broke against teeth, sweat that mingled as they lost themselves, knots that rubbed against each other as they tangled up in Jack’s army-issue sheets. After that first rut together, they locked eyes – hazel and brown, a sunlit creek – and knew. It would be a hard road for them in a society where two alphas together was well outside the norm, but this was it. This was lust and love and laughter and light and everything all merged into one relationship.

They decided to figure it out together.

Wedding bands and attending positions and fifteen years of figuring it out later, there’s only one thing missing: A family of their own. Every alpha has that deep urge at the base of their gut to have pups – to breed, yes, but also to raise children, to grow with them, to be a parent. That was the one thing they couldn’t give each other. There are plenty of options these days for non-A/O couples, of course, but none of them felt like a fit for Jack and Robby.

They could only agree on one option: If the right omega came along, someone they could both spend their lives with, they’d have pups of their own. If it happened, it happened. They could be happy and fulfilled without it, but the option was open.

There’s been a handful of omegas over the years, but never anything serious. Friends they helped out during heats, brief flings, one boyfriend of a couple months. In the last five years, though, it’s just been the two of them. Nowadays, creeping into their forties together, they’re pretty damn sure that dream is no longer possible. Countless friends who understand them most have told them to wait, it’s fate, that biology wants alphas to find omegas. But, really, no matter how much they nod along or laugh it off, they’ve made peace with their simple life together, refusing to admit that there’s still a tiny spark at the backs of their minds every once in a while. That want. That ache.

Jack can smell you from the hub.

Through the clear semi-perforated patch over his nostrils that usually keeps omega pheromones off his mind.

His chin snaps up as you sit down at regular triage. As a nurse does your intake, you cradle a pup who can’t be more than two wailing in your arms. Your eyes are as red-rimmed as his, clearly affected deeply by him being so upset. You soothe the poor baby with gentle bouncing and intentionally flaring that scent of yours. Jack’s body moves before his brain catches up, taking long strides until he’s next to the nurse receptionist, hand on her shoulder, mouth already opening to say, “I’ll take them back and handle everything now. Thank you.”

It takes him by surprise as much as the nurse, who gives him a curious, amused sort of glance. Sure, theoretically, he’s more than welcome to take a patient back in whatever order he wants as an attending. But she can see right through any real reasoning. The stern and sarcastic Dr. Abbot fawning tenderly because of a crying pup and a sniffling omega? It’s…endearing, if strange.

After more than a decade in emergency medicine, he’s very rarely affected by the presence of omegas in distress. He even chuckles when his younger, less experienced coworkers trip over themselves to focus on anything when a sweet, soft thing like you needs immediate help. But now here he is, hand on your lower back as you introduce yourself and the toddler to him, taking sturdy steps across the ED like he’s trying to shield you from any other doctors who might poach your presence.

Guiding you into the closest open room equipped with pediatric supplies, Jack moves like he’s your marionette. As he gets the room and chart ready, his every motion is an unconscious response to you, his body instinctively trying to comfort and assure and take control the way an alpha should. It’s all instinct buried in medicine. While he tries to keep his head on straight, Jack sits on his stool opposite you and the toddler on the hospital bed and gently says, “Tell me all about what’s going on.”

You offer up a small smile and explain as you fuss over the toddler’s messy hair and tear-streaked cheeks and rumpled pajamas, “Benny’s felt yucky all day – really sleepy and fussy, not wanting to eat, running kinda warm – but we had it under control until a few hours ago. Sips of clear fluids, nice cooling bath, resting with some Bluey.” Your eyes go misty again as you look up from Ben and find Jack’s gaze resting tenderly on you. With your lower lip wobbling and your voice thick with tears, you tell him, “But then his fever just kept climbing up starting after dinner. I didn’t feel good about going to sleep not knowing if it would break or not, so we’ve been up for hours. Now he doesn’t want to drink anything and- and he’s never upset and clingy like this; he’s so curious and polite and-” You fall into tears again. “Sorry, I just- I just-”

Jack can’t stand seeing you upset. It hurts as much as any real heartbreak. And he’s never even met you before. He can’t help wondering what it would be like if he took the scent blocking patch off his nose and let himself inhale the fullness of you. Clearly your pheromones are strong enough to be a problem for him without even knowing that.

Swallowing hard, Jack scoots closer and takes your free hand in his. It’s not professional, but you don’t mind. You lean into the touch, clutching his hand close, taking his strength to be your own. Jack squeezes your hand and assures, “It’s alright; you did the right thing bringing him in. We’ll get this figured out in no time. Is it okay if I pick him up and do my exam now?”

With a reluctant nod, you help Jack move Ben onto the exam bed, where he looks so small and so hurt that your tears keep falling despite how often you wipe them away. Ben’s immediately reaching for you, trying to get to your side, and you look to Jack with the most innocent, pained eyes. He touches his stethoscope to Ben’s chest and tells you, “You can stay over here; don’t worry. Are you his mom?”

“Oh, no, not anyone’s mom,” you reply softly, always taken aback by the question no matter how many times it’s asked. Stroking Ben’s wispy hair like he’s your own, you go on, “I’m his nanny. Shoot, his au pair. His mom gets so mad when I forget to call myself that. Anyway, yeah, um, I just take care of him when they’re away, which is a lot of the time.”

He commits that to memory, hating himself for being relieved to know that you don’t already have a mate and pups of your own. It’s a strange swirling feeling in his stomach. Something similar to what he feels when he’s alone with Robby after a fresh batch of students has moved on – a yearning, quiet, needy thing. He swallows hard, swipes a forehead thermometer over Ben’s skin, and tuts, “103.8. That’s no good, little man.” Subtly dropping his hand, he pages for a nurse and tells you, “We’re going to go ahead and start IV fluids since he hasn’t been drinking enough and add some fever reducers to try to get his temperature down so he’s more comfortable. Once he settles some, he’s due for a whole bunch of fun tests. We’re gonna have to admit him tonight to make sure that fever breaks and he can sleep here under observation.”

Ben’s eyes slam up to yours, understanding as much as his tiny brain can as he latches onto ‘sleep here.’ Trying to snuggle closer to you while you fight to keep him on the exam bed, he wriggles and worries fearfully, “Nini stay?”

“He can’t say ‘nanny’ yet,” you tell Jack with the softest smile. You gently run your fingers through Ben’s hair, the gesture clearly to calm you both, and ask Jack, “That’s okay, right? If I stay in the room with him? His parents are in Europe until next week.”

Glancing at your chart to make sure all your paperwork is in order, he replies, “Of course. I’ll have them bring up a cot so you don’t have to deal with the loveseat. They’re awful.”

“That’s sweet; thank you. I know it’s not your job to deal with stuff like that.”

“Don’t worry about it.” As a resident pushes an IV and takes cultures, Ben finally starts to quiet and soften as the fluids hit his system, his sleepiness beginning to take over. Jack tells you sternly, his eyes paternal and warm, “I want you to be extra diligent about keeping yourself healthy the next couple days. Can’t have a lovely thing like you coming down with whatever the little guy has.” Your eyes widen in response to the way the compliment slips from his tongue so earnestly and simply. His face blanches and his neck goes blotchy. Quickly, he stammers out, “Oh, god. I’m so sorry; I have no idea why I just said that. I mean, you are lovely, of course, but-”

“It’s alright, Dr. Abbot,” you giggle, happy to smile for the first time since you’ve been at the hospital. You give Jack a playful nudge and add, “I don’t mind being called lovely by a silver fox such as yourself.”

As his cheeks tinge bright pink, Jack nods courteously, grateful that you’ve given him an out. “Thank you. That’s, ah, that’s very nice of you.”

You snicker and shake your head. “Please; I’m sure patients hit on you all the time.”

The junior doctor who’s tending to Ben snorts, “You have no idea.” Her mischievous eyes flick up to yours with a conspiratorial sort of energy. “Usually it doesn’t fluster him so much.”

Abbot releases a harsh breath and bites back, “Ellis, please.”

“I’m just saying,” she teases lightly, making big amused faces to amuse Ben while drawing his blood and praising him for being brave, “the big bad night shift attending doesn’t usually take care of sweet toddlers with fevers himself.”

Abbot hisses, “Parker.”

She just chuckles to herself and stands up with her collection of swabs and vials. Practically skipping past with amusement, she leans in close to him and teases, “We can smell it on you, gramps.”

You let out a squeak, something like a laugh, and avert your eyes. You hadn’t mentioned it because you’re unendingly polite and would rather die than embarrass a doctor, but, yes, Dr. Abbot is scenting all over you like a teenager with a crush, all raspberry and brunch. It’s not necessarily uncommon for an alpha to stink up a room when they’re with a particularly cute omega, but for an older professional it’s a bit juvenile, maybe. Like laughing a little too loud at every joke or staring at someone’s lips while they talk.

To Jack, though, the realization is like being shoved in the chest. As Dr. Ellis takes a reluctant-but-too-sleepy-to-protest Ben off for some imaging, Jack puts his hand over his face and groans, “Oh my god, I’m so sorry. For the compliment and then for this and- God. I haven’t- I’m not even- I’m sorry. That’s the point. Sincerely.”

After biting your lip so adorably it makes Jack’s stomach turn, you sheepishly admit, “It’s really alright, doctor. I’m probably a little too close to my heat to be running around in public; I’m sure it’s affecting you more than it normally would. Don’t worry about it.”

Jack’s brows furrow. You’re affecting him that strongly when he has his nostrils covered and he’s nowhere near being in rut? That’s ridiculous. He must be, like, sick, surely. Or you’re some super omega with magic seduction hormone powers.

Or, worse than it all, you’re something special.

His mind races a bit as he turns away from you, reaches up, and carefully peels off the scent-blocking patch over his nose.

And it’s you.

Shift change can’t come soon enough. Jack’s thrumming his fingers against countertops, clicking his pen enough to make Dana snatch it from his hand, and checking on you and Ben so often it could probably count as an addiction. He tries to be subtle about it but fails miserably, not even realizing how pathetic he’s being until Ellis makes fun of him for it – over and over, at that.

Finally, though, fucking finally, his husband slinks through the doors with his sunglasses on and his earbuds still blasting. He walked to work, which means he woke up early, couldn’t get back to sleep, and stayed antsy until he could justify leaving early. The moment he can smell Jack, his face softens, the morning’s anxiety easing because he knows Jack will have already done everything he can to set the day shift up for success.

This morning, though, Jack walks up to Robby with hurried, serious steps unlike the exhausted, unsteady ones he’s usually met with. He doesn’t skip tilting his chin up to meet Robby’s quick kiss – he never misses that – but he does drop his voice low right away to say, “You need to come with me.”

As he meets Jack’s eager pace, Robby hustles up, catches Jack by his lower back, and chuckles against his ear, “Shit, where’s the fire?”

But Jack doesn’t answer, too possessed with leading Robby up to the pediatric room where you and Ben are still both sleeping. The heavy blinds keep out the early morning light and Jack’s hand hesitates on the door handle. You look so peaceful with your lips gently parted, curled up, totally calm now that Ben’s fever’s come down and the antibiotics are working their magic. During morning rounds, he’s the first doctor to punch the lights on and wake a patient to keep the hospital going and free up beds.

But you?

He hates the idea of waking you.

With a shaky breath, Jack meets his own husband’s eyes, tells him all about last night, that moment really just a few hours ago now, and then says, “It’s time for his morning workup. You’ll understand if- I need you to- I don’t even know how to explain myself right now. Just come in here with me, okay? You’ll know. I’m sure you’ll know.”

Tentative, soft, he nods. “Alright, of course. No problem.” Early in a relationship, this kind of intense behavior would be met with suspicion, concern, confusion. But now, with more than a decade of expertise in the strange field of Jack Abbot, Robby knows better than to do anything but what he asks without question. He tucks one of Jack’s too-grown-in curls behind his ear and prods quietly, “Just give me a quick heads up on what I’m in on, though, would you? Because, from here, it looks like a pedes case getting ready for discharge.”

Jack cracks a stupid sort of smile. “I know I’m being nuts, alright? But just take a deep breath when we’re through the door, okay? Because I think she’s- I think she’s supposed to be ours, Michael. I’ve never felt anything like it – and I need you to feel it too.”

Robby tilts his head to the side, any thoughts rushed away. Ours. Conceptually, he knows what Jack means. They’ve discussed it before. But Jack’s never looked so goddamn serious about it. Like there’s not a single question in his mind. If you’re not theirs, then you must at least be his. That makes Robby’s heart rate spike a bit, but he decides not to entertain the thought. He decides, as he has ten thousand times, to trust Jack with the fragile stitched-up thing of his heart.

As Jack pushes open the door and carefully slides the dimmer lights on, you stir to consciousness and so does Ben. When you realize the two of you have actually managed to sleep soundly after such an awful evening, your scent flares happily.

Robby’s world shifts just like Jack’s had.

His breath catches in his throat when you smile at him.

Shortbread.

Butter and vanilla and sugar.

Flooding from your skin, so thick and delicious it makes their heads spin.

Jack and Robby’s scents have always fought one another. Robby – black coffee, no cream, roasted so dark it’s past bitter. Jack – raspberry, bright, effervescent, tongue-coating sour. They don’t make sense together. Every kiss a clash. But with your scent mingled in, something gentle that matches them each individually and meets in the middle, it all blends into something that clicks into place. It’s not just Robby’s rough winter night and Jack’s bright spring sunrise. It’s a summer evening that lingers on and on, warm, ripe, rich. Fireflies in cupped palms and laughter on whiskey tongues and homemade thumbprint cookies dipped in swirling hazelnut heat until they’re perfectly soft. A complicated mouthful finally balanced.

Immediately after they leave the treatment room, Robby drags Jack down a hall and corners him against a wall with a borderline heaving chest. Voice raspy and needy, he presses his forehead to his husband’s and checks, “You feel this- this crazy? Like nothing makes sense anymore?”

Jack swallows hard and tries to focus on the rough scent from Robby’s neck. Usually it calms him, but his head is still spinning from the way your presence mixed with theirs into something so much more simple and true. He reaches up and twines his fingers in the short hair at the back of Robby’s neck and replies slowly, “Yeah. Yeah, of course I do. Fuck. What are we supposed to do? Should we-”

“We shouldn’t,” Robby whispers. Harsh. Lying. “We really shouldn’t.”

“We shouldn’t,” Jack agrees as he nods like he means it. Sparing a glance over his shoulder, he sees you in the hall, away from Ben’s inquisitive eyes, questioning a nurse with serious concerned eyes. He melts all over again. Looking back at Robby, he sighs, accepting it, “But what if we did anyway?”

In lieu of my ko-fi, please consider donating to my mother's long-term dementia care fund

[bluetimeombre]

softer, harder, in-between

synopsis you and Jack have always been two pees in a pod, working the ER together, on the field together, no wonder you started to search for those dark eyes and damning smirk. and you thought for a second, just for a second, he might be searching for you too, until you hear the man you're crushing on airing out everything he hates about you

warningstypical medical drama stuff, in-accurate medical terms. miscommunication. angst. insecure reader. language, jack says things he doesn't mean about reader. angry love confession in the rain. this is not proof-read

authornotei really really really loved this idea and tried so hard to do it justice, I hope you like anon. I tried to stay close to the SWAT idea but I'll be honest I know nothing about American army stuff (i'm british) so I sort of set it as much in the Pitt as I could. I also couldn't find ANYTHING for Jack's military background so I made up some SWAT guys

pitt masterlist. another Jack fic!

Just when you thought the rest of your day was going to be boring, Jack Abbot and his crew of SWAT pushed through the ambulance bay doors, yelling off stats, applying pressure where needed and clearing the way around them.

Which was a welcome change from trying to sell Robby your hypothetical first born child in exchange for a lunch break.

“Intubated neck wound, stats are going down. Got a room?” said Jack.

You were at the gurney in an instance, Robby joining the herd in the pushing of the bed. It took you less than a second to see through the bag in the neck and the blood and the uniform to recognise the one on the gurney. “Hiro? What happened?”

“Warehouse robbery gone wrong,” said Jack with almost absent of mind. He said the words and promptly seemed to realise who he was talking to and looked up- at you- again. “You're working today?”

“Oh no, I just hang around in hopes of seeing you in unfiorm.”

Next to you, Robby chuckled and beyond Jack you gave quick greeting to your laughing buddies, clad in SWAT uniform.

You were what could be called, a floater.

By all educational means you were a doctor and a damn good one too. You had every certificate you needed and all the flying colours you could get. You just didn't have a permanent job. You were a sub. You worked mainly at PTMC and on the field but had been known to go to the dark side, a.k.a, Presby.

“Okay, on my count,” you begin. “One, two, three-”

You helped lift him over to the bed.

“Did you intubate him?” you asked,

“Yeah, under active fire,” said Jack.

You looked at Jack. Sweat on his forehead, flecks of grey hair sticking to him and the shirt under his army vest hung lose. He was dishevelled in away romance characters presented on books covers. To lure you in. “You were shot?”

“Shot at.”

“You need to be looked at?”

“No. I'm fine.” His lips were pursed, focus on Hiro.

“Did you see the chords when you intubated?” asked Robby, floating around the two of you as Jack refused to leave Hiro's side and you stayed by Abbot. He'd seen it a dozen times before. A disaster where there was one, there was the other.

There was the occasions he'd hand over to Jack, go home, sleep and come back to find Jack had called in you. You who was always ready to go at the first buzz of your pager. Wherever it was, whatever you had to do. And Robby would look through the patients that night, check the board and understand they hadn't really needed your help all that much.

Jack had.

Now, Robby saw the way you looked at Jack and had seen the gap that existed between the two of you.

“Yeah, I did but it was hard to miss when I cleared them.”

Jack reached and you watched as he stretched, wincing at the pull in his shoulder.

“You should get that looked at,” you told him.

“I'm fine.”

“No, you're not.”

There was a small roll of the eyes as Jack's gaze rose to meet yours through his goggles. There was almost a tiny hint of a smirk- your favourite kind but it disappeared as soon as it appeared.

“Yeah, c'mon Abbot!” said Charlie, calling from the back of his room where he stood with Diaz, two of the SWAT officers you were most frequent with. “Let doc work you up.”

You chuckled low to yourself, trying to catch Jack's eyes to share the joke but he looked away, his jaw clenching.

So, he wasn't in the joking mood.

“Alright, fellas, out!” leaving the wounded's side you ushered them out in spite of their protests and their giddy, hopeful optimism that Officer Hiro would pull through. “We'll let you know any changes, out!”

You pulled on a gown and cleared a way over.

“Demanding,” said Robby.

“You should hear me in the bedroom,” you teased with a wink.

Over on the other side you caught a small click from Jack's tongue. A disapproval voiced loud enough for others to hear.

You grasped the ultrasound wand from the nurse, circling it around the wound at Hiro's neck while Jack pulled away the gauze he'd packed, carefully minding you. “Good lung sliding, no pneumo-”

The last gauze peeled away in a bloody mess and a rope of blood shot out directly at you for vengeance.

“Geez- woah!”

“Pumper!” you announced, clamping your hand over the wound.

The streak of red cut through the skin on your neck, your gown and the doctors coat you liked to wear just like they did in tv shows. You had a draw full of them at home for instances like that.

“Hey, hey,” Jack was at your side quick as you loomed over the body. “Move back, get yourself cleaned up.”

“I can handle a little blood, Abbot.”

“I know that but-”

“- this is a transected trachea now-”

There was little else time to worry about blood on your gown and coat when the intubation was pulled out, the hole in his throat open.

There was a lot people said about you, with words and looks alike but none of which passed you or bothered you. You knew some thought you abrash and loud, you were, you knew it true. On the field the teams you worked with always thought you as one of them, 'one of the guys' but damn it- you were a good doctor.

You ordered everything correctly, you took them and worked them without so much as a blink and Robby stood behind you approving of everything you did.

It was one of the reasons he always called you in.

“Well done, good breaths sounds, stats are up: in the nineties,” approved Robby.

Jack hummed, pulling off his gloves as you all backed away. “Not bad.”

Your carried your smirk with you and over to him. “Is that the great Jack Abbot stamp of approval?”

“You know I think you're good at you're job,” he said, plainly.

You did know that. You knew that Jack admired your skills. He was one of the only ones who'd seen your skills on the field when sometimes all you had left in your kit was the dregs from other procedures or in the hospital when everything was pristine. He'd worked closest to you, probably out of everyone in either one of your jobs.

But there was always something about Jack that kept him far away. He was always a man that was so calm, which in the the face of conflict wasn't a bad call. Yet, it was the quiet moments in between- the way his footfall would slow to match yours, or the glances he'd steal at you half way across the ward, or the extra snacks he'd pack that had you searching rooms for him, checking shifts to see if you'd be around him.

Then when you were, Jack pursed his lips, clenched his jaw, acted like he wanted to be anywhere else sometimes than at your side.

He was a complicated man. Annoyingly that's what added to your attraction- and everyone knew it.

Once the two of you told Officer Charlie and Diaz that Hiro was stable enough to be taken to surgery you followed after Jack.

“You sure you don't want me to look at that shoulder for you?”

“Hmm? Oh, no, it's fine,” he excused.

“Don't want the paperwork?”

“Something like that,” said Jack, still shifting around in pain as he tried to roll his shoulder out.

“Okay, okay, but get it looked at!” you called off, ready to shed your coat or at least try and rub off some of Hiro's blood.

There was a mutter from Jack before he went another way.

You looked back to him once, watching as he walked off with a small limp that probably wasn't detectable to anyone that didn't analyse him like you did. It was a brutal sort of thing, SWAT, and with Abbot's sleep schedule you knew it was only worse. Eight- maybe ten hour shifts for so little sleep to get thrown back into the fire- literally. You wondered how he did it.

And, why.

Jack flexed out his shoulder at the press of the q-tip to his back.

He meant it, the wound really wasn't that bad. It had grazed through his clothes and vest but still hit just enough to leave an angry welt and bruising. He was content to hide away and sort it himself if it weren't for the fact he couldn't reach.

Then Samira Mohan walked by and offered her help. He was already tired, annoyed that those punks had thought it a good idea to rob a warehouse in the middle of the day, already worried about Hiro and his recovery. Then- there was you, with your snarky comments while saving his life, not batting a lash at the blood that got splattered on you in the mean time and still having time to flirt with Robby.

And prancing around in this scrub pants that were surely just a bit too tight.

Jack was wound up, which was why he admitted surrender and allowed Mohan to clean out his wound.

“Why do you do this?” she'd asked.

Jack had folded his arms over his chest, suddenly very aware he was shirtless in front of her. “My therapist says I need a hobby. I suck at golf.”

She hummed. “Funny.”

“Thank you.”

He made conversation to be polite, asking about the fellowships he knew others were already applying for. Crus had been telling him about them and he knew Mohan was searching to.

They were chatting was all when Robby walked by, looking in to check.

He frowned when he saw Mohan and Abbot, pausing in his fly by with a hand in the door way.

Jack watched as Robby looked around again at the ward, undoubtedly searching for you.

“We're almost finished up here,” said Mohan.

Robby held up his hands. “I didn't say anything,” he said, leaning in the doorway. He passed Jack a nod. “You good?”

“Getting there, thanks to Doctor Mohan's capable hands.” Jack kept his eyes averted from Robby as if he'd done something wrong. He hadn't. He'd told you the wound didn't need looking at because he was going to handle it.

Robby looked at him the sort of way he looked at patients when he knew they were lying about their scale of pain. “Can you give us a second?”

Just as Jack was about to push himself up Samira moved behind him.

“Er, yeah, sure. No problem,” she said, pulling off her gloves and listing off post-care instructions from instinct. “Keep it clean and the dressing fresh.”

“Can do, Doctor Mohan. Thank you.”

Robby stepped out of the way for Mohan before walking in, staring at Jack with his hands in his pockets.

Jack found his shirt discarded on the floor and pulled it over him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing? Clearly,” said Jack.

“Are you avoiding her, now?”

Jack didn't need to ask who he was talking about and Robby didn't need to specify. “Course not.”

“Did she do something?”

“No.”

“So what was all that? Back in trauma?” asked Robby. His eyes were beady, waiting to pick up on any shift in Jack or anything that might betray him. But Robby wore his heart on his sleeve. He might think he doesn't or thinks he's good at hiding such emotions away but Jack and everyone else sees them anyhow.

Jack had his heart buried deep down. “I dunno, man,” he huffed, ignoring the burning sensation as he pulled his shirt back over him. “Maybe I just didn't feel like joking around when my buddy was bleeding out on the table.”

Robby shook his head, eyes creasing. “People bleed out all the time.”

Jacks lips pursed as he worked on tucking his shirt back into his pants. Anything to keep him occupied and averted from Robby’s knowing gaze.

“I haven’t seen you this worked up since you first met her,” he teased.

“Now I really don’t know what you’re talking about,” Abbot grumbled.

Robby chuckled low in his throat, leaning back on the wall comfortable like he was watching his favourite show. “When two consenting adults like each other very much-”

“I don’t,” said Jack, abrupt. “I don’t… like her.”

“Jack, c’mon-”

Jack turned to Robby. He considered his confusion. Sure, you were a great doctor and even better on the field. Something about the chaos seemed to focus you, bringing out your best self. You were funny, even at the worse times.

“She’s not it for me,” he said, trying to mean those words.

Your smile first thing in the morning didn’t warm him. The fact you knew his coffee order after only two days of working together didn’t make him feel special. You were incredibly intelligent. Beautiful.

Jack twisted and turned around his wedding band.

Robby watched, heaving a sigh. “Brother…”

Jack couldn’t keep you in his heart when his dead wife still held a place there. It wasn’t fair to you.

“She’s not it, Robby.”

“And why not?” He asked, pushing and prodding against his bag of lies like he knew he was carrying it.

“She’s different- we’re two different. You know with my- with my wife we worked. She wasn’t a doctor, she didn’t throw her life away on field missions. She wasn’t… she wasn’t ruthless, she was soft. Perfect for me.”

He pressed down against the metal band branding him.

“You’re not gonna give yourself a chance to be happy because she’s not like your wife?” Asked Robby.

Jack glanced back at him. “I know what works for me. I can’t be with someone as loud or… bash. She’s-she’s brutal, you know.”

Robby nodded but there was a furrow between his brows. “We all have our own ways of dealing with things.”

“Her way is drinking every weekend, out with the guys, there’s no healthy habits there,” argued Jack. Why he was arguing about you with Robby he didn’t know. Why he was defending himself with words that fell like led on his tongue he had no idea.

“Okay,” said Robby in a way that marked defeat.

But Jack didn’t believe what he was saying. He heard himself and frowned. “And I don’t even think she’s a person who could settle down. Hmm, I mean look at her job? She’s constantly in between them.”

“She’s a sub, that’s what she does-”

“- scared of commitment,” corrected Jack.

Robby scoffed out a laugh of disbelief. “Okay, you’re in a mood or something.” He pushed himself from the wall.

“No, I’m not,” he argued a little too quick and a little too harsh to be okay with what he was saying. “She’s a good person she’s just not my person. You know she-she doesn’t even like flowers, who doesn’t like flowers?”

“She’s more than a good person, Jack,” said Robby with an air of defeat about him. With one last look back to Jack he left, closing the door gently behind him.

In the seconds the door was open Jack sort a peek out. You were at the nurses desk, leaning over a tablet, the blue glow illuminating you. There was a troubled look to your face, scrunching your brows and marring your usual unflappable gaze. Jack almost wanted to see the chart himself and ask what was bothering you, but he knew you never told him, only ever let it be yourself that saw your problems.

Another thing he couldn’t stand. You’d never ask for help.

Even if, Jack couldn’t admit it out loud, he’d help without an invitation too.

You suppose you shouldn’t have been surprised, yet doctors ran on hope. Without hope trauma rooms became morgues and body’s became empty vessels. You’d built hope into your system, kept somewhere between your heart and stomach.

That’s why you felt it plummet.

She’s not it for me.

There was no intention to listen in on a conversation that clearly you weren’t supposed to know about. You'd just been passing by when you heard your name from Jacks mouth. That was enough to stop you in place. If your feet weren't frozen you would have moved, made yourself busy or call up to surgery to check on Hiro.

But as Jack went on your heart plummeted.

She's brutal.

It wasn't until you heard Robby defend you that you moved away, hiding with your back to the exam room and hunching over a tablet that held no chart.

You'd always assumed Jack was just harder to crack then some of the other SWAT guys. You could read most of them within days, know their moods from a glance. You'd never been able to read Jack and maybe it was because he didn't want to be known by you.

You thought seeing Hiro with a hole in his neck would be the worst thing of the day but you caught your reflection in the black screen of the tablet and resented the way things blurred around you.

She's not it for me.

“Hey-” Robby was behind you and you tucked your head into your chest. His hand squeezed your shoulder. “Central twelve when you have a chance.”

“You got it, boss.” Luckily your voice remained steady despite the waver in your throat.

Robby gave a nod and left you to it.

Had Jack had hatred for you since you knew him and just never said a word? Did you do something for him to harbour these feelings?

Besides from not being his wife.

The door closed again and on instinct you looked over your shoulder, catching Jack adjusting his belt. He looked up and found your gaze, offering you a pulled smile.

It was like every other smile he'd ever given you.

You'd been so blind with affection to not see it. What a fool.

You couldn't even pull your lips back up, you just walked away.

Weeks went by in flashes of sleepless nights and lonely days.

The sick and injured didn't wait for you to get over yourself, instead they helped.

You offered yourself like a lamb to the slaughter in Presby and even Westbridge. You pulled doubles, catching small naps in any empty exam room or on-call room you could find. You started to learn staff names when you'd never cared before.

A group of nurses at Westbridge even invited you out for drinks.

“Drinking every weekend, out with the guys, there's no healthy habits there” you remembered Jack's voice and declined their invitation.

When SWAT called you had an excuse. A plumber was coming around... you were re-modelling; suddenly your apartment was going through half a dozen makeovers and all your childhood friends were visiting.

“You know you're not a very good liar,” Diaz had said when he called you for a drink and you declined. That day you were taking your mom's dog to the vet (your mom was a cat person and in another state)

Your apartment became a cave and you became a shell of yourself, un-ironically listening to the high school musical soundtrack and crying.

And still you couldn't find it in yourself to be angry at Jack. Of course he wouldn't want you- he had a wife. And a memory of that wife to keep him walm. What could he do with you? If you weren't his type, you weren't his type. If it was just that maybe you could have moved on.

But he didn't like you as a person and that stung more.

You didn't know how long it had been since you were last at PTMC, only long enough that you started to scramble corridors in your mind and forget what some of the nurses sounded like.

“We have a mass casualty event,” said Robby on the phone one Sunday morning. His voice sounded different, but you supposed time played tricks on your memory. “School bus incident. You in?”

You were in pyjamas at home, some crappy tv on low. “I'll have to check, Presby might need me.”

Robby scoffed down the line. “Have they called yet?”

“Well, no-”

“Then get your ass over here.”

“Robby-”

“Please, please get your ass over here,” he said down the line, sighing heavily. “I.... I could really use another set of hands.”

Robby didn't say please. Ever. So how could you say no.

Within the hour you were dressed an,d thrown into the anarchy.

You got through the ambulance doors, was thrown a gown and got to work. You didn't even see Robby to let him know you were there, you just found Langdon and worked beside him.

“I need some help over here!” yelled out a paramedic.

At once you and Langdon were at her side, pushing along the gurney.

“Kid, fracted tib-fib, pupils mid range and sluggish- couldn't get a line we had to intubate.”

“Dana what's open?” called out Langdon.

“Room in trauma one!”

Mass casualty meant trauma rooms doubled up, pushed up against either wall. Mass casualty meant extra hands called in- like you. Still, when you pushed through the door and found Jack's eyes look up you spared half a second in apprehension.

“You're here,” was all he said.

You didn't know what to say. There was some snarky comment on the tip of your tongue as you settled the boy in the corner but you remembered you weren't supposed to be that person.

Jack didn't like that person.

“Yeah, in the flesh,” replied Frank instead.

“Chest trauma on the right!” you assessed. “We need an X-ray in here.”

“X-ray's backed up,” Jack called from where he hovered over another patient.

“Then get me an ultrasound!” you called out. “Push five migs of epi down the tube and hang a unit of O-neg on the rapid infuser.”

“BP'S eighty over fifty, pulse is at one-twelve!” called out Princess.

You felt someone bump in your shoulder and knew by inhale it was Jack. He was close at your side, pulling off and on another pair of gloves.

“What have you got?” he asked.

It wasn't instinct to move away from him. It was practised control that had you swapping sides with Frank, practically pushing him into Jack.

“Chest trauma to the right, he's tacky,” he explained quickly.

You pulled out your stethoscope, listening closely. “His breathing's stridor, I need a thoracotomy tray!”

“A thoracotomy?” asked Jack, voice oddly quiet in the trauma as if it was whispered just next to you. “You sure you can handle that?”

“I'm a good doctor, if I'm nothing else,” you bit out, swinging your stethoscope back around your neck. You weren't going to allow yourself to fall back into old habits, of questioning what Jack didn't like so much about you. You focused on the un-conscious boy under the mercy of your hands. You ordered the right tools, made the cut neat and precise, pushing more pain relief.

“Any tamponade?” asked Jack.

You checked the boys blood pressure. “No, pericardium's dry.”

“Okay, start an-”

“- start an internal massage-”

You and Jack said at the same time.

Frank seemed stuck in headlights before he reached through the incision in the boys chest and slowly started to work the heart.

“Pulse?”

“Barely.”

Jack frowned, looking over at your work. “Cross clamp the aorta, and push another mig of antropine.”

“I need suction!”

“Got anything for surgery?” asked a new voice, Doctor Walsh checking between the patients in the room.

“Oh no, we've brought the OR down to us,” said Jack.

Doctor Walsh rounded, catching the suction and the message of the heart. “Are you doing a thoracotomy right now?”

“Don't look at me,” said Jack, surrendering.

Before anyone could argue with you, question your capability you snapped out. “I know what I'm doing!”

Jack was silent, Frank smirked and Walsh rose a brow.

“Clamped,” said Princess.

“Someone push in another of antropine and get another unit of blood in,” you ordered.

There was a sudden buzzing as all eyes averted to the monitor.

“He's going into V-fib!”

You wiped your bloody and gloved hands down your gown. “Okay, I need internal panels!”

They were handed to you and Jack rushed to your side.

“You want me to-” he started but you already had the panels in hand and were ordering their charge.

“Charge to thirty! Clear!”

Like you were cupping the heart with your own hands you nudged the panels on either side and shocked. There were little miracles sometimes in the ED and with a bus full of school children you needed miracles.

“There! He's stable!” said Princess.

“We've got a girl coming in, needs stabalising and an ortho consult!” said Lena, throwing the door open. It seemed everyone had been called in.

“I'll take this guy, don't want you getting all the credit,” smirked Walsh as she and the team wheeled out the boy. She looked back at you, almost waiting for you to say more- some funny joke or flirtatious tease.

You only waved past her to get the young girl into the room.

Everyone in the room looked at you as you honed in on the next casualty, ignoring the pang in your heart at Jack's gaze.

When the girl for ortho came in you could only work on stabilising her before Park the Shark descended and took her up, assuring the bag was on ice. He gave you a less ten friendly look. Seemingly Jack wasn't the only one who couldn't stand you.

The hours ticked by in bodies of different kids, in shades of blood and traumas. By the time you got outside for some fresh air it was night and one lonely ambulance sat with you.

You were catching your breath when you heard the doors slide open and shut again. You imagined it was someone else wanting some peace and air, or a paramedic heading back out on the road.

“You were impressive in there,” said Jack, coming to stand next to you. There was a large enough gap that another body could have fit there.

“Thank you.”

He gave one short nod. “Robby call you in?”

“Yeah.”

“Same here,” he said, not that you'd asked. “You know, Hiro's doing well.”

You paled in the night. Lost in your own self-loathing you hadn't even asked about Hiro, or gone to see him. You'd heard he was okay when he dropped a message from the ICU but that was as far as it got. “Oh yeah, I know, I heard.”

“What, from the guys?”

You nodded, lips pursing as you crossed your arms over your chest in the light chill.

“You know they told me you haven't been around much,” said Abbot. “I've noticed it too. We all went to Larry's the other night, your invitation get lost?”

Was it a test? Was it a joke to him?

“No, I just didn't want to drink. Trying to cut down, it's not so healthy,” you said, kicking one foot in front of the other.

“One or two's not bad,” he said. “Couple of us are gonna grab a beer once this is all over. You joining us? Usual spot.”

She's brutal, you know.

You looked to him first. He was already looking at you, eyes creased like he was trying to see through you. It was real and earnest and making his words from weeks ago hurt even more.

“No thanks, Jack.” You almost reached to his shoulder but thought better of it.

Heading back in seemed the safer option.

Jack turned when you did. “Noody's seen you for weeks-”

“- I've been busy-”

“- except those nurses in Presby, they see you all the time apparently-”

“- they've been busy, they've called me in-”

“- I called you three times last week, you didn't answer-”

“- I didn't think you'd want me.” It was about the only honest thing you'd said in weeks. Your trainers squeaked on the ground just before the hospital, the automatic doors ready to welcome you back.

Jack was at your side, close enough you could see the lines of confusion in his face. “Why would you think that?”

You tried to think of a quick excuse but every word died prematurely in your throat. You chocked on them.

“Hey-hey-” Jacks hand fell to your back, soothing it in calming rubs.

You allowed yourself to bask in one circular motion of his hand and your back before you stepped away, backing up from the doors that slid shut again on instant.

“What’s going on?” Asked Jack, following in your steps.

“Nothing, nothing.”

Jack made a disgruntled noise. “C’mon, talk to me.”

He let you think about what to say, stewing in silence where your mind became alive with everything he’d said, with every terrible thing you’d already thought about yourself. You imagined every time you’d cracked a joke that was maybe too perverse. You tried to picture Jacks face but came out blank. Was it loathing? Contempt?

Your voice betrayed you with a shake as you spoke again. “I do like flowers.”

“Huh?”

You wiped at your eyes and turned to him. “I like flowers,” you said, stronger. “Nobody’s ever brought me flowers but I- I like them.”

For anyone else it would’ve took time to click. They’d have stood there, looking at you like you’d gone mad, spewing out words that out of context meant nothing.

But Jack was not just any other clueless guy. He was the guy who always packed left overs and left them in the fridge, he always cooked enough to make sure he’d have left overs. He was the sort that always checked in on pedes patients and made sure they had enough colourful bandages for them.

Jack knew what you were saying immediately. His jaw tensed. “I- I shouldn't have said that.”

“You said a lot of things,” you said, holding yourself tighter. “Sounded like you meant them.”

He gulped. “I didn't mean-”

“-what, for me to hear it?”

“No, I didn't mean for what I said to come out as- as bad,” he said.

“Well it didn't come out as shining praise either.” You turned from him, looking out to the building and lights. Somewhere n the distance a siren wailed.

“Robby- Robby was saying things, teasing, I just waned to shut him up.”

You chuckled with loathing. “No you didn't. It's okay, Jack, you don't have to like me, I just wish you didn't make it seem like you did.”

“Hey!” he said, coming to stand in front of you. He was without a scrub top and his t-shirt clad to his biceps, his muscles flexing as his jaw worked. “I do like you.”

You rolled your eyes. “No you don't.”

“I do-I do-” Jack grabbed the top of your arms, stopping you from walking away. His grip was tight, not enough to bruise but enough to beg you not to leave. “I do like you.”

“It doesn't matter.”

“It does, it does.” Jack crouched enough in his knees to get a look at your face that you kept trying to turn away from him.

“You know the worst thing is? It's that I know,” you uttered, voice quiet. You didn't trust yourself to shout- even if you really wanted to- in fear your voice cracked, humiliatingly.

Jack's eyes softened, his thumb drawing up and down in comfort. “Know what?”

“I know that I can be a lot. I go out with the guys, I drink, I make jokes when things get bad because what else am I supposed to do? Cry? Let the grief of the job swallow me up?”

“No. No, of course not,” he said, lips pulled down.

You hated that you still wanted to make him smile. “I could keep a job if I wanted to but I like meeting the people-”

“- I know, I know you do-”

“- and now I'm here defending myself to a guy who probably doesn't even want to hear it!” Trying to turn in Jack's hold was feeble, his grip was strong and he moved with you.

“You don't have to defend yourself, you have nothing to defend!”

“You know what the worst part is?”

Jack shook his head, waiting.

“It's the guy you liked and admired the most seeing everything you hate about yourself and hating you for it too.”

Jack flinched as of you'd slapped him. The chill in the air grew colder around you and all the light from the dim glow of the lamps shrunk away, leaving you and Jack in a self-made darkness. You felt his grip weaken and savoured the feel of him a moment longer.

It was only when you couldn't stomach it anymore that you retreated back into work.

Jack had fucked up.

There was no easy way of putting it. There was no clinical way of looking at it, no diagnosis to give other than he had fucked up.

He'd never heard himself speak and hated the sound of his own voice. Never caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror with tired eyes and a pale expression and loath to see the sight. When he looked at himself, all he saw was your own face heart-broken. When he heard himself talking he remembered everything he'd said.

He could have blamed it on the pain in his shoulder, the worry over Hiro, the lack of sleep he'd been struggling with for days but he had a therapist for all that. You didn't deserve that burden.

He was un-focused the following week in work. Patient satisfaction was at an all time low with him. He'd opened up to his SWAT buddies over a self-pitying pint and had been shunned.

“What's your problem?” Charlie had said, two beers deep and a haze over his eyes. “She's a fucking saint. She'd lay down her life for any one of us- what the fuck man?”

“She won't return my calls,” Jack told them. “Can you just... just call her?”

They'd refused, with good reason.

He'd tried texting his apology. He'd tried calling you in but he found from a contact at Westbridge you'd been covering nights while their attending was on holiday.

It was a brash decision to call in to PTMC and tell them he'd be late, he was running an errand. Nobody questioned him.

Westbridge was darker than the hospital he was used t, built up on top of each other but they were no less busy than himself. Patients were lined up in corridors and there was hardly a seat left in chairs when he walked through.

“Can I help you?” asked the nurse at reception, eyeing Jack and the bouquet of flowers he held.

He said he was looking for you.

“She's in a trauma right now, can I take a message?”

“Can you tell her Ja-Jack's here.” For a moment he debated lying, saying it was Robby wanting to see you, or maybe you didn't want to see Robby either. Deceit wasn't going to be his friend.

Jack waited and tried not to look around, tried not to let himself get caught in the heavy bustle of another hospital as he waited for you. He ignored the coughing from the waiting room that definitely sounded like it would require a chest CT.

There was a crash of doors and he caught sight of you rushing out, protective goggles over your eyes and bloodied gown clad to you.

“Jack, what is it? Are you okay?” your eyes were frantic, searching him.

Ah. Of course you'd think something had happened. When you hear someone's in the hospital it's very rarely to just say hi. “I realise I should've specified,” said Jack, rubbing the back of his knuckle against his brow. “I just- I wanted to see you. And give you these.”

Sensing this was a conversation she definitely wanted to be around for yet probably wouldn't be allowed to, the nurse at reception left the two of you to it and Jack sat the flowers down on the counter in-between you.

You eyed the shades of red roses, of yellow tulips, the violet of the iris and the pink of the peony.

“I didn't know what you liked so, I kind of got one of everything,” he said, sighing to himself. He should have got two of every flower the florist had on hand. “I didn't get Lilies, the lady at the shop said it's a show of death and sunflowers aren't in season, apparently.”

“They're very nice, thank you,” you said.

“They come with an I'm sorry:” said Jack. “I'm sorry.”

You wet your lips and pursed them, nodding slowly. “Okay.”

Jack looked down to his boots. “It's not, I know it's not, nothing I said is okay and I didn't mean it.”

You didn't say anything at that, only taking in a quivering breath.

He ignored the irritation in his prosthetic as he crouched to catch your gaze. Jack wasn't used to having to search for your gaze, usually he always found it already on him. He only realised how much he valued finding you in the middle of the storm when you wouldn't look at him.

“I didn't mean it,” he enunciated every word, begging you to hear them.

Your gaze studied around Westbridge, hoping for a distraction.

“I messed up, it's on me. It's not you.”

“The classic it's not you, it's me?” you dismissed.

Jack winced. It was cliché, damn him. “Yeah, I guess so.”

He watched as your fingers brushed over a flower petal, picking it off like plucking a string on a guitar. He felt his heart pound in his chest.

“Can I get back to work now?” you asked, gently.

What was he thinking? Turning up to where you were tying to do some good. Where you were doing good- it was what you did. Did he expect the flowers to fix everything? No. Only he could. But he'd grovel, he'd beg, he'd crawl after you for the rest of his miserable life and do it all while building you a rose garden.

He'd do all of that for one minute of your eyes on his.

“Just promise you'll come back. To the Pitt. Whole place is going to crap without you.” He tried to joke but it was a pathetic thing.

“Okay. Yeah.” Your shoulders lifted in in-difference.

“And don't ignore the guys. They're going out for drinks tomorrow night. I won't be there. They all pretty much think I'm a dick anyway.”

There was a glimpse of a smile.

Jack played on. “I'm a total, total dick, a jerk!”

An elderly lady being escorted by with a nurse and an IV trailing her paused and glanced his way.

“Sorry,” he uttered.

You hid your chuckled behind your mouth but he caught a second of it.

It was enough for now.

Your name was called down the corridor.

“He's in V-tach!” a nurse announced before disappearing again.

“Go,” said Jack, taking himself out of the equation. “Just, please. Don't be a stranger.”

Jack wasn't lying when he said the place was going to crap without you. How they managed on shifts without your charm to work fretting family and friends down, or your terrible singing in between exams he didn't know.

Walking through the ambulance doors for his shift there was already paramedics pushing an empty and slightly blood stained gurney back into their rig. There was a crowd of elderly patients in beds and gowns left at the side and phones were ringing, drilling into his eardrums.

“Where the hell is she?” barked Robby, spotting Jack and no you.

Jack dumped his bag at the counter. “What happened here?”

“Nursing home caught fire, now where is she? We're swamped her, I thought you were going to get her and bring her back?”

Jack grumbled, frowning at the counter. “She's busy at West.”

“West? God-” Robby groaned, looking around the place and cursing. “Listen, I don't care what you have to do to make it up to her, buy her a florist, give her a ring, get down on your knees, I don't fucking care- I need her here.”

“You think I don't?” Jack snapped.

Robby eyed him, hand clenched on the counter. “Tell her the truth-”

“-Robby-”

“-no, you tell her you didn't mean a damn thing you said. That you were scared loving someone that isn't your wife.”

Glass. Jack was made of glass. If Robby could see through him so clearly why couldn't you? Why couldn't you see the truth? That Jack liked you, liked you more than he'd liked anyone. That loving you meant leaving the life he lived with his wife behind, yet carrying a part of her with him always. He didn't want to do that to you. He didn't want to make you live with a ghost or carry his grief. There were days where it was too hard for him to handle.

Robby sighed. “You think she'd want you to be happy?”

A muscle in Jack's neck tensed as he went to nod but was held back by himself.

“Talk to her,” said Robby clamping him on the shoulder quickly before disappearing.

Hiding away wasn't going to solve anything. That's what Robby said to you in a desperate plea to get you back to helping him out with shifts.

Truth was you weren't hiding away... as much.

Drinks with the guys had been hours of them telling you Jack was wrong, after Jack had exposed himself to them, laying the situation on the table. As promised, he wasn't there but every conversation revolved around him so much so it felt like he was at your side. You defended Jack when they argued against him. You told them you knew you were loud at times, maybe you shouldn't joke around as much as you did.

They'd laughed, thinking it was a joke itself.

They told you not to change.

It was hard not to. Every time you heard yourself get loud or get a look from people at the other table your instinct was to shrink. When Diaz tripped on the curb out the bar you laughed instead of helping him and was left with your own guilt when you got home.

Un-learning habits was hard. Learning to live with them was harder.

You started with baby steps. A day shift here, a day shift there, by hand-offs you were always gone. Yet, in the staff lounge there sat a fresh bouquet of flowers every morning. As soon as they started to wilt another fresh bunch was placed over night.

Nothing was said. Nothing ever had to be.

“Shen's out, food poisoning,” said Robby over the phone another day. “You know I wouldn't ask if there was no otherway.”

Which was how you ended up working a night shift. The first in months.

Jack's eyes lit up as you walked in, it was impossible not to notice. The only eyes to rival his sparkle was Lena's when she saw you.

It was the sort of night that held your attention. That roped you in and demanded you listened. Not overly busy but not quiet enough to cause you and Jack to be held captive in the same room. Only seconds passed in hallways when he looked like he was going to say something before being called away, taunt in the neck and gripping his stethoscope for the life of him.

“Am I going to need surgery?” asked the young boy in five who you were examining. A nasty accident in his dad's garage ended up with a laceration to the foot.

“Not surgery but a couple stitches to bring the skin back together, and you're gonna have to stay off your feet for a while,” you said.

The boys eyes grew wide in joy. “So, no school?”

You chuckled as his mom pinched his shoulder playfully. “Well, I can't be the deciding factor on that, I'm afraid.”

You put in the orders for stitches.

“Is it gonna hurt?” asked the boy, shrinking back in his bed.

“We're gonna numb you up so you don't feel anything,” you assured. “Tell you what, I have a secret stash of candy that I only share with my favourite patients, how's that sound, you want something?”

The boy tried not to be too eager in his nodding but it took less than two second for him to grin.

You didn't expect anyone in the lounge when you went in search for candy usually lying around.

Jack was hunched over the table, pulling out the dying flowers and arranging fresh ones. He stopped when you walked in, the door closing gently behind you. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

“I was just... maintenance,” he mumbled.

You nodded along, a thick awkwardness engulfing the two of you. “Maintenance... yeah... sure...”

You moved around him, keeping a good distance around the space of him like he was a poisonous snake. The cabinet was high up, the tin an old sewing one where you hid your most precious protein bars and sugar packed candy.

“Here, I can-”

His body was sturdy against the back of you as he reached up for the tin. Few select people were allowed to know about its contents and Jack was on of the first ones you trusted. He raised his arm and you watched the freckles along his arm move and ripple. Upon inhale you took a deep breath of lingering cologne, mixed with the hearty sterile hand wash of the ED.

Jack's own head tilted down and your heard him inhale, deeply.

The tin fell into your hand.

Jack stared down. “Oh- er, there.”

“Thanks.”

It was about all the conversation you got with Jack your shift was over. The morning was just breaking through the clouds at six, bringing with it a down pour. You'd already punched out, handed off your patients to McKay and was left standing under the small awning of the ambulance bay, trying to out wait the rain.

It took ten minutes for Jack to follow you out.

“You heading out?” he asked, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Yeah. I'm just waiting for my uber.”

Jack frowned. “What happened to your car?”

“It's in the garage.”

“Well... I can give you a lift,” he suggested.

The rain hammered down harder above you, steady streams falling from the awning to at your feet. As discreet as possible you checked the location on you uber. Just around the corner. In the rain it had taken longer.

“No, it's okay, you don't have to.”

“I'd like to,” said Jack, stepping closer. “I'd like a chance to talk to you. To tell you everything that I meant by my words.”

You'd almost hoped you could carry on as you were: extremely avoidant.

“You don't have to, Jack.”

“I do- I do!” he insisted, hands out in front of him as if desperate to grasp you. He held himself back. “Please let me.”

Stomaching more of his words, whether it be excuses as to what he meant to say or just doubling down and insisting what he said was true. You didn't think you were strong enough for either.

Your phone buzzed in hand as a slick back black car pulled up, window rolling down and calling your name.

“No, wait-wait!” said Jack, holding a hand up to you with all the authority of an attending still on duty.

“Jack, what are you-” You were struck in place, watching him lean through the window, rain dampening his shirt as he un-folded a few bills and handed them to the driver.

“We don't need you know, sorry man,” Jack mumbled.

Your jaw hung open as you stepped out into the rain, bottom of your scrub pants dampening at once. “What?”

The driver tutted. “I still want me five star review!” He drove off quickly, splashing the two of you as he went.

“Oh- serious?” Jack gritted. “Now I wish I hadn't given him such a tip.”

The puddles of rain were seeping into your trainers as you walked off, out of the way of ambulances and cars, pulling your jacket tighter around you.

“Wait! Wait!” Jack called after you, boots slapping in the water. He all but jumped in front of you, stumbling lightly at the shift in his bad leg. “Wait.”

“I don't know what else you want to say to me, Jack?”

“Nothing I say can excuse what I said-”

“-so why try?”

“Because it's killing me being like this!” he snapped. The rain was pouring down, falling down his cheeks and nose. “It's killing me to look for your smile and not see it. It's killing me to hear a joke and you not laugh. Everything I said, it-it re-plays in my head and I'm sorry.”

“I know you are, Jack, I just need time!”

“I'll give you time,” he said. “I'll give you anything you need. But just let me say one thing. You owe me nothing, I'm begging you.”

To prove a point Jack crouched, starting to get down on his knees, hands already clenched together. To spare you the embarrassment and him the ache in his leg you tugged him back up.

He stared at you, breathless. He was as drenched as you, the both of your scrubs stuck to you.

“I haven't loved anyone since my wife,” said Jack. “I haven't tried, I didn't want to try. I was... not happy, but content to just carry on with her here-” he curled a fist at his chest. “And then you... and I couldn't not feel anything for you. I tried- I really tried.”

“Okay. You tried. I get it,” you mumbled.

“But I started to love you and I hated myself for it. It felt like I was betraying her by wanting someone else. By wanting you. And I did- I do want you. Every terrible joke you made, Jesus, I couldn't laugh in front of patients and their families. When you go out drinking with us and the guys in our team and you sing karaoke badly-”

“Excuse me?”

Jack winced. “I mean great, great karaoke.”

You chuckled.

“I can't take back the fact you're different from my wife, you are, but I don't think that's a bad thing- it's not. Because I still love you. I love that you're loud, I love that you draw attention to yourself as soon as you walk into a room, my attention is always on you anyway,” he smiled, sadly. It was the kind of smile a lover would give as they watched the love of their life leave them. “I shouldn't have made my grief your problem. I shouldn't have hated myself for feeling love again and I shouldn't have tried to convince myself hating you. I mean, that was just- just impossible.”

You looked down to your trainers, seeing the darkening colour where the water soaked in. “I've loved you for so long now, Jack.”

He waited, catching his breath, for more.

You looked up at him. “I'm sorry. About your wife. I can't imagine how hard it is for you. But I don't want to fall in love with a man who constantly advertises me next to his wife.”

Jack nodded, looking down.

The rain was probably helpful, hiding any tears you'd give away.

“I love you, separate to how I love my wife. And I loved her, I did. But I don't want to spend the rest of my life dead inside. Be on my death bed when I'm eighty looking back at all the times I should've kissed you.”

His words pulled at your heart, your feelings that you'd been burying deep inside clashing together inside of you.

“By the time you're eighty, I'll be like, in my sixties?” you said.

“Yeah, something like that.”

“And looking to settle down.”

Jack laughed, and you laughed and for a second that was almost enough. The rain had made the grey in his hair darker, almost making him look younger. “I'm not saying I won't fuck up, I probably will, I have a therapist for a reason.”

“Therapy is good,” you said.

Jack's eyes were lighting up slowly with every teasing comment you made. Something akin to hope flickered between the two of you. “But I will never draw comparison to you and my wife. I'll never make you feel like second choice. I'll never dump my grief onto you. If you just give me one chance, just one chance at making this right.”

As sorry's went... as love confessions went.

“I'm scared what it means to love you, Jack,” you said, slowly, feeling the words around your mouth.

“I know, I know,” Jack reached over, clumsily brushing back your damp hair from your cheeks. In spite of the rain, his skin was still soft and hot on you. “I am too.”

You searched his eyes before whispering. “Can I kiss you?”

He smirked a little. “No.”

Your heart dropped.

Jack's hands tilted your head back before you could tuck yourself away. “Can I kiss you?”

His lips were slick and wet from rain but no less sort after from you. He didn't push or prod for more, he just laid his lips against yours with enough pressure for you to know he was there. For you to always remember he was there.

You could have stayed like that for hours, practically standing on each others toes as your own hands came up to clutch his biceps, fingertips digging into his freckles.

You pulled away only when you needed to catch your breath.

Jack's lips chased yours, body tumbling into you slightly as his eyes took seconds to open like coming out from a dream.

You ran your hands up his shoulders. “I love you.”

He closed his eyes and soaked in the words.

“Will you let me?” you asked.

“Always,” he promised.

thank you to anon for requesting, and thank you to @oldbaddies and @mafercita101 who wanted to be tagged :)

[moonlightproblems]

The Bet They Never Lost

Max Verstappen x Schumacher!reader

Synopsis: Childhood friends turned F1 royalty, Max and Ciara finally realise the love everyone else saw coming — and now he’ll burn the world down before he lets anything touch her.

Moonlight Radio: A video popped up on my 'for you page' of little Max and Michael having a hug and I just couldn’t resist writing this one. I’ve had the character Ciara Schumacher in the bank for awhile, so I thought this is the perfect time to use her. (And keep her in mind as I’ve got big plans for her and max in the future!)

PATREON: Exclusive Content

ʙᴇ ɴɪᴄᴇ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ɪɴᴛᴇʀɴᴇᴛ. ᴛʜᴇ ɪᴍᴘᴀᴄᴛ ɪꜱ ʙɪɢɢᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ♡

The paddock had always been loud, but nothing compared to the noise that followed Max Verstappen and Ciara Schumacher when they walked in together.

It wasn’t just attention - it was orbit. Cameras swung, heads turned, and even seasoned journalists straightened up like schoolchildren. They were the couple everyone watched, the one every tabloid tried to decode, the one every fan adored. The golden boy of Red Bull and the daughter of the greatest driver the sport had ever seen. The legacy pair. The inevitable duo.

But to them, it was just… them.

Max’s hand rested on the small of her back as they walked toward the garage, thumb tracing slow, absent‑minded circles. He always did that - grounding himself, grounding her, reminding the world she was his without ever needing to say it.

“You’re staring,” Ciara murmured, not looking up from her tablet.

“I’m allowed,” Max replied, not even pretending to deny it.

“You’re supposed to be focusing on FP3.”

“I am. I’m focusing on the most important part of FP3.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile betrayed her. “I’m not part of FP3.”

“You’re part of everything.”

He said it so casually, like it was a fact of physics. Like gravity.

—

They had known each other since they were six - two tiny kids running around the karting track while their fathers watched with crossed arms and identical smirks. Jos and Michael had been rivals, friends, and co‑conspirators in equal measure. And nothing delighted them more than the way their children gravitated toward each other.

There were photos - hundreds of them - of Max and Ciara sitting on tyre stacks, sharing juice boxes, falling asleep on each other’s shoulders during long race weekends. There were videos of them racing each other in karts far too big for them, screaming with laughter, shouting accusations of cheating.

And there were the bets.

Their fathers had started making them before Max and Ciara even understood what romance was.

“Five euros says they’ll start dating at sixteen,” Jos had said once, arms crossed as he watched the two kids bicker over who got the last packet of crisps.

Michael had laughed. “Sixteen? Please. They’ll be too busy racing. Twenty-one.”

“Eighteen.”

“Twenty.”

“Fine. Twenty.”

They shook on it.

Neither of them won.

Because Max and Ciara didn’t get together at sixteen, or eighteen, or twenty. They didn’t even realise what they were to each other until they were twenty‑three, sitting on the roof of Max’s Monaco apartment, legs dangling over the edge as the city glittered below them.

She had leaned her head on his shoulder. He had kissed the top of her hair. And suddenly everything made sense.

They didn’t fall in love. They grew into it.

—

“Ciara, can I get a quick interview?”

A reporter stepped in front of her now, mic raised, smile too eager. Max stiffened beside her instantly, shoulders squaring, jaw tightening. He didn’t like when people swarmed her. He didn’t like when they pushed too close. He didn’t like when they forgot she was a person, not a headline.

He didn’t like anything that made her uncomfortable.

But Ciara touched his arm lightly - a silent I’m fine - and he exhaled.

“Sure,” she said politely.

The reporter beamed. “How does it feel being part of the biggest power couple in Formula 1?”

Ciara laughed softly. “I don’t think about it like that. We’re just… us.”

“And your father — the legend himself — did he ever imagine you’d end up with Max?”

“Oh, he absolutely did,” she said, eyes sparkling. “He and Jos used to make bets about it.”

The reporter’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Really,” Max cut in, voice warm but firm, stepping closer so their arms brushed. “And for the record, they were both wrong.”

The reporter laughed, thanked them, and moved on.

As soon as they were alone again, Max leaned down, murmuring, “You okay?”

“Perfect.”

He kissed her temple. “Good.”

—

Later, after FP3, after debriefs, after the chaos of the paddock settled into its usual hum, Ciara found Max sitting on the pit wall, helmet beside him, staring out at the empty track.

She slid in beside him. “You’re quiet.”

“Thinking.”

“About?”

He hesitated. Max Verstappen didn’t hesitate often. “You.”

She nudged him. “That’s not thinking. That’s your default setting.”

He huffed a laugh, but his eyes stayed serious. “I saw the way that cameraman shoved past you earlier. You almost tripped.”

“Max—”

“I should’ve been there.”

“You were in the car.”

“I still should’ve been there.”

She turned fully toward him. “You can’t protect me from everything.”

“I can try.”

“And I love that you try,” she said softly. “But I’m okay. I’ve been in this world my whole life.”

“That’s exactly why I worry,” he muttered. “You grew up in the spotlight. You grew up with pressure. You grew up with expectations. I just… I want to make it easier for you.”

“You do,” she whispered. “Every day.”

He looked at her then - really looked - and she saw it all in his eyes. The devotion. The fear. The love that ran so deep it scared him sometimes.

“Max,” she said gently, “I’m not going anywhere.”

He swallowed. “Good.”

—

That night, they returned to their hotel, exhausted but buzzing with the familiar pre‑qualifying adrenaline. Ciara curled up on the bed while Max paced, still wired.

“You’re going to wear a hole in the carpet,” she teased.

“I’m thinking.”

“You think a lot.”

“Only about you.”

She threw a pillow at him. He caught it easily, smirking, then crossed the room and sat beside her.

“You know,” he said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, “I used to get jealous.”

“Used to?”

“Okay, still do.”

“Of what?”

“Anyone who gets to be near you. Anyone who gets to talk to you. Anyone who looks at you like they have a chance.”

She laughed. “Max—”

“I’m serious,” he said, voice low. “I’ve loved you since we were kids. Since you beat me in that stupid kart race and stuck your tongue out at me.”

“I remember.”

“I knew then,” he said. “I knew you were it for me.”

Her heart squeezed. “I knew too. I just didn’t know I knew.”

He leaned his forehead against hers. “We were always going to end up here.”

“Always.”

—

The next morning, as they walked into the paddock again - hand in hand, sunlight catching on their matching bracelets - a photographer muttered to another, “They’re the it couple, aren’t they?”

Max heard it.

He didn’t care.

He leaned down, kissed Ciara’s cheek, and whispered, “They have no idea.”

Because the world saw glamour, legacy, perfection.

But Max saw the girl who shared juice boxes with him at six.

The girl who held his hand during his first kart crash.

The girl who sat beside him on rooftops and made the world quiet.

The girl he would protect with every breath he had.

The girl he loved long before either of them understood what love was.

And as they stepped into the garage, fingers intertwined, he knew one thing with absolute certainty:

Their fathers hadn’t lost the bet.

They’d just underestimated how inevitable it really was.

ᴘᴀᴛʀᴇᴏɴ: ᴇᴀʀʟʏ ᴀᴄᴄᴇꜱꜱ, ᴇxᴛᴇɴᴅᴇᴅ ꜱᴄᴇɴᴇꜱ, ᴇxᴄʟᴜꜱɪᴠᴇ ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ: ʀᴀɴɢɪɴɢ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ꜰʀᴏᴍ ꜱᴏᴄɪᴀʟ ᴍᴇᴅɪᴀ ᴀᴜ’ꜱ ᴛᴏ ꜰᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇꜱꜱᴀɢᴇ ᴀᴜ’ꜱ - ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴘʀɪᴏʀɪᴛʏ ʀᴇϙᴜᴇꜱᴛꜱ

ᴀʟʟ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇꜱᴇ ᴡᴏʀᴋꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴍʏ ᴏᴡɴ - ɪ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴀʟʟᴏᴡ ᴀɴʏᴏɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴏᴘʏ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ.

ɪᴛ’ꜱ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀʀᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴᴅ, ᴛʜɪɴᴋ ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴄᴏᴍᴍᴇɴᴛɪɴɢ.

[hockeylover25]

Stitched Together

Eris Vanserra x BestFriend!Reader

Summary: when you get home and find your friend bleeding out on your bathroom floor, you clean him up and tension raises when he begins to heal.

Warnings: bleeding out, sexual comments, Beron (gosh I hate this man), talks of abuse, … I can’t say more because it will spoil it…

Authors note: okay… I promise I am working on the arrangement part 2, I am just so busy😭. I have a second part of this story as well which you’ll understand why when you’re finished reading buttttt this second part will probably come out before the arrangement because these two parts have been in my drafts for a while. BUTTT as always hope yall enjoy 🫶🏻

Main Masterlist:

Part II

❦ ───────── 🍁 ───────── ❦

The memory of the Autumn Court is a mosaic of flickering torchlight and the sharp, metallic tang of blood—not just from the war, but from the very beginning of your story. You never knew the touch of your mother, she perished bringing you into a world that demanded so much, leaving you to be raised by a father whose life was tethered to the whims of the Baron.

Your father was a man carved from iron and duty, the Baron's most trusted second-in-command.

You spent your childhood watching him return from the front lines, his armor scarred and his eyes weary, always smelling of soot and woodsmoke.

He treated you like a soldier in training, teaching you how to move silently through the forest and how to keep your back to the wall, even in your own home.

When the war finally claimed him, it didn't feel like a surprise, it felt like the final, inevitable closing of a chapter. With his death, the last thread connecting you to the suffocating hierarchy of the Court snapped.

You took what was yours and vanished, finding sanctuary in this hidden cabin—a place Eris, your only anchor, had kept tucked away from the prying eyes of the world.

The crisp air of the woods always clings to your clothes by the time you hike back up to that sanctuary now, but today it feels heavier, thick with the scent of pine and that same familiar, metallic tang that used to follow your father home from the front.

You push the heavy oak door open, the floorboards groaning in that familiar, welcoming way.

The cabin is exactly as you left it: the scent of dried herbs hanging from the rafters, Eris's collection of old, leather-bound books stacked precariously on the table, and the quiet, comforting dust motes dancing in the afternoon light.

You set the heavy paper bags of groceries on the counter, the clinking of glass bottles the only sound in the stillness. You are just reaching for the flour jar when you feel it, the distinct, rough brush of fur against your shins.

Smokey is weaving between your legs, his golden eyes wide and unusually urgent. He lets out a low, vibrating whine, turning his head toward the staircase before trotting a few steps in that direction, then glancing back at you.

He does it again, his tail tucked low, his movements jittery. He isn't begging for his evening feed; he is insisting.

"What is it, boy?" you murmur, kneeling down to run a hand over his thick coat. He flinches away from your touch, nudging your hand toward the stairs again with a forceful, wet nose.

Your heart does a slow, heavy thud against your ribs. You live here for the solitude, for the safety away from the politics and the blood-soaked history of the Autumn Court. This cabin is supposed to be a ghost, a myth known only to Eris and you.

You stand up slowly, wiping your hands on your apron. The silence of the cabin, usually peaceful, suddenly feels like a held breath. You take a tentative step toward the staircase, your hand drifting instinctively to the small iron dagger you keep strapped to your thigh—a habit you've never quite been able to shake, even here.

Smokey lets out a soft, warning growl, his hackles rising as he presses himself against your leg, shielding you as you take the first step upward.

"Eris?" you call out, your voice sounding thin and small against the vast, dark wood of the ceiling.

There is no answer, but as you reach the landing, you hear it—the faint, unmistakable sound of someone breathing upstairs. Not the rhythmic, sleeping breath of a friend, but the sharp, jagged intake of someone trying, and failing, to stay silent.

The groan that drifts down the staircase is thin, ragged, and undeniably pained. It slices through the heavy silence of the cabin, making your pulse hammer against your throat.

"Eris?" you hiss again, the whisper-shout barely escaping your lips. You don't wait for a response, your hand tightening around the hilt of your iron dagger until your knuckles turn white.

Smokey is a blur of protective muscle in front of you. He doesn't trot anymore, he stalks, his head held low, his entire body coiled like a spring. He moves with a deliberate, rhythmic precision that mirrors the training your father once drilled into you—the instinctual need to place himself between you and the threat. He reaches the landing first, his ears pinned back, his low, vibrating growl serving as the only sound in the hallway.

You follow him, your boots barely making a sound on the creaking floorboards. You push open the door to what was once Eris's room—the space you claimed for yourself after the war, the one place where you finally allowed yourself to stop looking over your shoulder.

The room is dim, the late afternoon sun casting long, skewed shadows across the unmade bed. Everything seems undisturbed, but the air here is heavy, thick with the sharp, coppery scent of fresh blood.

You take a step forward, your eyes scanning the corners, until your gaze locks onto the door leading to the en-suite bathroom. You freeze, the breath leaving your lungs in a sharp, involuntary gasp.

Sprawled across the pale wood of the bathroom door is a stark, crimson smear—a bloody handprint, still wet, as if someone had reached out to steady themselves and lost their footing. It is a violent, jagged signature against the wood, a stark reminder that the sanctuary you built has been breached.

Smokey lets out a low, mournful bark, his nose pressed to the sliver of space beneath the bathroom door, his tail stiff and vibrating with tension. Your hand trembles, but you force your feet to move, the iron in your palm feeling heavier than it ever has before.

"Eris?" you breathe, your voice now barely a tremor. You step toward the bathroom, terrified of what you'll find on the other side of that stained wood.

Smokey stops dead at the threshold of the bathroom, his ears flattening against his skull. He lets out one last, low whine of distress, but he doesn't cross the line. He understands the gravity of the situation better than you do, his instincts forcing him to hold his ground at the bedroom door to keep the rest of the hounds from charging up the stairs after him.

You don't wait. You slip past him into the bathroom, your heart shattering into pieces at the sight before you.

Eris is slumped against the cold tile of the far wall, his knees drawn up to his chest. His shirt—a fine garment that looks entirely out of place in your rustic home—is ruined, soaked through with a deep, encroaching red that seems to be everywhere. He is heaving, his chest hitching with every shallow, pained breath he tries to draw, his face drained of all color.

"Eris!" you choke out, the sound half-sob, half-command.

At the sound of your voice, his head lolls back. His eyes, usually bright with mischief or amusement, are glassy and unfocused, fluttering behind heavy lids. When he finally manages to drag them upward to meet yours, his mouth twists into a painful, fragile shape.

"...You," he whimpers, his voice barely a rasp. "You... shouldn't be here."

You don't let him finish. You scramble backward just long enough to reach for the bedroom door, pulling it shut with a firm click and sliding the heavy bolt into place. You can hear the confused scratching of the other hounds against the wood on the other side, but they are contained. They are safe.

You turn back to him, dropping to your knees on the cold tile. Your hands are shaking, but you force them to be steady as you reach out, cupping his face in your palms. His skin is clammy, deathly cold against yours. He lets out a sharp, shuddering breath as your touch grounds him, his eyes fluttering shut again.

"Look at me," you insist, your voice firm, anchoring him to the present as you tilt his chin up. "Eris, look at me. Stay awake. You're going to open your eyes for me, okay? Right now."

His lashes quiver, and with a monumental effort, he forces his eyes to crack open, meeting your gaze. The agony in them is raw, but there is a flicker of relief behind the haze—a recognition that he finally made it to the only place in the world where he knew he would be found.

"Tell me what happened," you demand, your thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, trying to impart some warmth into his freezing skin. "Who did this to you?"

Eris tries to move away as he shakes his head, being the stubborn male he normally is.

"Eris, stop it," you plead, your voice cracking. "Let me help you, please."

He shakes his head, a weak, sluggish movement that seems to cost him every ounce of his remaining strength. He doesn't look at the wound, and he doesn't look at the blood pooling around him. Instead, he reaches up, his fingers weakly latching onto your forearms, pinning your hands against his cheeks. His grip is trembling, fading fast.

"Leave me, little fox," he whispers, the words barely audible over the sound of his own labored breathing.

You feel a hot, stinging prickle behind your eyes. Your thumbs brush away the silver tracks of tears tracing paths through the grime on his face. "I am not leaving," you say, your tone fierce, stubborn, and terrified. "I'm not going anywhere until you're safe, do you hear me?"

He lets out a shuddering, fragile breath. Slowly, he turns his head, pressing a soft, lingering kiss into the center of your palm. His lips are cold, but the contact sends a jolt through you. "I'm safe... with you," he murmurs, his voice barely a ghost of a sound.

You furrow your brows, a sudden, sharp fear piercing your chest. Why is he talking like this? Why does he sound like he's already saying goodbye?

Eris's hand, slick and warm with his own blood, drifts upward. He gently brushes a stray lock of hair back from your face, his touch lingering against your temple. A ghost of a smile touches his lips. "It's... so nice... seeing you... not in my dreams."

His eyelids begin to flutter, the weight of them too much to bear. The light in his eyes is dimming, retreating into some dark, unreachable place.

"Eris?" you cry, your heart dropping into your stomach. You reach out, bracing his head in your hands, trying to force his focus back to yours. "Eris, look at me! Keep your eyes open, damn you."

His head lolls back against your hands, heavy and unresponsive. His breathing hitches once, then smooths out into a terrifying, shallow silence. He's gone—not dead, but lost to the darkness of shock and blood loss.

You freeze, your hands hovering over him, stained crimson. You look around the small, cramped bathroom, the walls suddenly feeling like they're closing in. You are miles from the court, miles from any healer, and you have no idea who is hunting him or how far behind they might be.

"What in the mother..." you whisper, your voice trembling as you stare at the man who was supposed to be your sanctuary, now broken in your arms.

You carefully lower Eris's head, his body limp and dead-weight in your arms as you finally ease him onto the cold bathroom tile. The moment his head clears the threshold, the door swings open to reveal Smokey, who has been pacing the hallway in a frenzy of anxiety.

As soon as the hound sees Eris—unconscious and stained with red—his posture shifts instantly. His whine stops, replaced by a low, guttural alertness. He doesn't need to be told the severity of the situation; he can smell the iron in the air just as clearly as you can.

"Raise, Smokey," you command, your voice tight with forced composure. "Help me."

Smokey moves with incredible grace, tucking his powerful shoulder under Eris's dead weight. You grip Eris under the arms, and together, with a strained grunt, you hoist him up. It is a grueling, awkward shuffle across the landing. Smokey takes the brunt of the burden, his muscles bunching as he keeps Eris upright, guiding him through the doorway and into the bedroom.

You maneuver him toward the bed, the mattress groaning under the sudden weight as you slide him onto it. You turn him carefully, positioning him face down as you've seen your father do for soldiers in the field—a position that keeps the airways clear and allows you to inspect the damage to his back and shoulders without jostling his lungs.

Once he is settled, the silence of the room feels deafening. Eris looks small, stripped of the bravado he usually carried when he visited you from the Court.

Smokey stands at the foot of the bed, his hackles still raised, his golden eyes darting between Eris's still form and the bedroom door, as if expecting the shadows to lunge for you both at any second.

You scramble to the side table, tearing through your supplies for clean bandages, thread, and the jar of willow-bark salve you keep for emergencies. Your hands are slick with Eris's blood, making the latch on your medical kit difficult to grip.

"Stay with him," you whisper to Smokey, your voice trembling as you turn back to the bed.

You peel back the ruined fabric of Eris's shirt, your breath hitching in your throat at the sight of the jagged, blackened gash across his shoulder blades. This wasn't a sword wound, it was something else, something jagged and cold.

The water in the basin turns a sickening shade of pink as you dab at the jagged edges of the wound. With every brush of the cloth, the reality of the situation settles deeper into your marrow. You realize, with a sharp, terrifying clarity, that you were inches away from losing him. If he hadn't made it to your doorstep, if he hadn't found the strength to hold on just long enough, Eris would be nothing more than a memory—another ghost in the woods, just like your father.

The thought hits you with the force of a physical blow. You close your eyes tightly, a jagged sob escaping your lips. You aren't just a soldier's daughter; in this moment, you are a terrified friend. You lean down, pressing your forehead against his uninjured shoulder, your tears falling hot and fast onto his skin.

"I'm sorry," you whisper, the words barely audible in the quiet room. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there."

He doesn't stir. He remains deathly still, his life force tethered to this room by your steady hands and the salve you've labored over. Once the final bandage is secured, you pull the quilt up to his waist, tucking it gently around him. You glance back at the bed; Smokey has already hopped up, curling himself into a protective circle around Eris's side, his nose resting against Eris's hand. He isn't going anywhere.

You stand, your legs feeling like lead. You leave the room, the heavy scent of blood and medicinal herbs clinging to your clothes. As you reach the bottom of the staircase, the rest of the hounds are there, waiting in the dim light of the living room. They don't bark, and they don't jump; they sense the gravity in your posture, their ears low and their eyes tracking you with a mournful, intuitive intelligence.

You collapse onto the couch, your energy completely spent, the adrenaline finally abandoning you. You don't even have the strength to check the door locks again or pour a drink. You simply curl up, pulling a throw blanket over your shivering frame, and almost immediately, the world goes dark.

Exhaustion swallows you whole, dragging you down into a deep, dreamless sleep, the silence of the cabin broken only by the steady, rhythmic breathing of the hounds surrounding you, keeping watch over the home you thought was hidden, but which now holds the weight of the war you tried so hard to leave behind.

❦ ───────── 🍁 ───────── ❦

The morning light filters through the dust motes, casting a pale, cold glow over the room. Eris wakes to the sensation of something rough and warm dragging across his skin. He groans, his head pounding as if it were being split open by an axe.

"Smokey, no," he rasps, his voice a gravelly shadow of his usual tone. He tries to shove the offending face away, but the movement sends a jolt of white-hot agony radiating from his shoulder down to his fingertips. He gasps, his breath hitching, and he collapses back into the mattress, blinking against the blur of the ceiling.

Where is he? This isn't the Court. The scent of drying herbs and old books replaces the stench of iron and ozone.

"Fox?" he croaks out, his throat burning. "Fox, where are you?"

Down the hall, you are just turning toward the bedroom with a tray of water and broth, your heart still heavy from the night before. You freeze when you hear his voice—a weak, confused call that sounds so desperately like the friend you thought you'd lost.

As you push the door open, you see him trying to push himself up, his face twisted in a mask of pain. The sheer shock of seeing him conscious, of seeing him move after the stillness of the night, makes your hands go numb. The plate slips through your fingers, hitting the floorboards with a violent, shattering crack. Porcelain shards spray across the room, and the bowl of broth spills in a widening puddle.

Eris flinches at the sound, his eyes widening in alarm. He tries to reach toward you, his expression shifting from his own pain to pure, frantic concern for you. "Fox? Are you okay? Didy you—"

He doesn't finish the sentence. You are already across the room, ignoring the broken ceramic under your boots, and you collapse onto your knees beside the bed. You don't care about the mess; you don't care about anything except the fact that his eyes are open.

You reach out, your hands cupping his face, his skin now warmer than it was the night before. You lean in close, your thumbs tracing the line of his jaw as you search his gaze for the strength he usually carries.

"Are you okay?" he whispers again, his voice trembling as he reaches up, his shaky fingers finding your wrists. "Did the glass get you? Did you get hurt?

You let out a wet, shaky laugh that's half-sob, shaking your head so hard your hair falls into your eyes. "I'm fine," you breathe, leaning your forehead against his. "I'm safe. You're the one who needs to be worried about. Don't you ever try to move like that again, you idiot."

Eris offers a faint, lopsided smile, his eyes sparkling despite the exhaustion etched into his features. "You were worried about me," he whispers, a touch of his characteristic smugness threading through the words.

You roll your eyes, though the motion is dampened by the sheen of tears still clinging to your lashes. "Eris," you huff, your voice catching as the playfulness in his tone reminds you of everything he's risked.

As he watches you, the light in his expression shifts. He sees the way your eyes sadden, the way the weight of the last twenty-four hours finally drags your shoulders down. With a soft, pained groan, he carefully shifts his body to turn toward you. He reaches out, his hand sliding to the back of your neck to cradle you gently, drawing you closer. The dam breaks, and you finally let the tears fall, a soft, broken sound escaping you as you tuck your head against him.

His eyes widen, panic momentarily clouding his gaze at the sight of you unravelling. He doesn't hesitate; he tugs gently at your arm, pulling you upward until you're forced to climb onto the bed beside him. He wraps his good arm around you, holding you firm against his side, his voice dropping to a soothing, urgent murmur. "What, my fox? What is wrong? Tell me."

You lean back just enough to look at him, your voice barely a ragged whisper. "I thought I lost you, Eris. I thought that was it."

Eris nods slowly, his gaze softening until it's almost painful to look at. "I'm okay," he promises, his voice low and grounding. "I'm alive. I'm right here."

You nod, but the reassurance only makes the sobs come harder, the relief and the fear tangling together in your chest. He doesn't pull away. Instead, he takes your hand, his fingers warm against yours, and guides it firmly onto his chest. He presses your palm flat against his heart, letting you feel the steady, rhythmic thump-thump beneath the fabric of his shirt.

He leans his forehead against yours, closing his eyes as he holds your hand against that steady beat. "You saved me," he whispers, his voice thick with a raw, uncharacteristic vulnerability. "Thank you."

You stay curled against him for what feels like an eternity, the silence of the cabin wrapping around you both like a heavy shroud. Your palm stays pressed to the steady, rhythmic drum of his heart, a cadence that was almost silenced yesterday. With every slow, deliberate rub of his hand against your back, the terror that had been coiled in your stomach begins to loosen, replaced by a dull, aching ache of relief.

He leans down, pressing a lingering, soft kiss to your forehead. When he pulls back just an inch, you look up into his eyes, searching for the truth.

"What happened, Eris?" you whisper, your voice barely audible.

Eris freezes. The warmth in his expression shifts, a shadow passing behind his eyes as he shakes his head slowly. He nudges the tip of his nose against yours—a gesture of affection that used to make you smile, but now just feels like a distraction. "It doesn't matter," he murmurs against your skin.

You let out an unconvincing, dry laugh, furrowing your brows. "I think it does," you counter, pulling back slightly to give him a sharp look. "It matters quite a bit when you're bleeding out on my bathroom floor."

Eris winces, the effort of the conversation and the memory of the struggle clearly taking its toll. He shifts, and a sharp groan of pain escapes him, his entire body tensing as the movement pulls at the wounds on his back. He lets out a shaky breath, his eyes searching yours with a mix of plea and exhaustion. "Can I tell you... after I heal?"

You stare at him, wanting to demand the truth right now, wanting to know exactly what kind of monster could do this to someone as capable as Eris. But seeing the tremor in his hands and the way his breath hitches, you know you're right—he's in no condition to relive it yet.

You give a slow, reluctant nod and begin to shift away from him, intending to slide off the mattress.

Eris immediately lets out a low, needy whine, his fingers curling into your shirt to keep you close.

You gently untangle his fingers, offering him a small, reassuring smile as you reach for his shoulder. "I'm not leaving, you dramatic fool," you whisper softly. "I'm just checking your back to make sure the stitches haven't pulled."

❦ ───────── 🍁 ───────── ❦

The evening light has deepened into a bruised purple, casting long, somber shadows across the bedroom. With Eris leaning heavily on your shoulder—his weight a constant, grounding reminder that he is still breathing—you managed to get him down the stairs. You settled him onto the couch, surrounding him with cushions, and finally, for the first time in twenty-four hours, felt the tension in your own muscles begin to fray at the edges.

"Stay," you had commanded softly, and he had nodded, too exhausted to argue.

You turn back toward the stairs, your intention to finally wash the remnants of this nightmare from your skin. But as you step into the bathroom, the breath catches in your throat.

The light catches the dark, crusty stains on the floorboards where he had collapsed. It is a stark, gruesome map of his struggle—a vivid reminder of exactly how close he had come to slipping away. The sight hits you with a fresh wave of vertigo, your stomach turning. You raise a trembling hand to your face, pressing your palm against your mouth to stifle a whimper.

"Eris is alive," you whisper to the empty room, your voice cracked and desperate. "He is downstairs. He is safe."

You repeat the words like a mantra, trying to override the image of his limp, blood-soaked body. It takes several deep, shaky breaths to force your heart rate to slow. You don't want the smell of dried blood to linger in the place where you sleep; you need to purge the evidence of the violence that breached your sanctuary.

You spend the next hour in a trance of labor, scrubbing the floorboards until your knuckles are raw and the wood is clean. Only when the last of the crimson stains has vanished do you finally turn on the shower.

The hot water feels like a benediction against your skin. You stand under the spray for a long time, watching the water swirl down the drain, clear and untainted. You wash away the grime, the herbs, and the lingering copper scent of his blood, trying to wash away the fear, too. But as you step out and wrap a towel around yourself, you know that the cabin feels different now. The barrier between your quiet, hidden life and the chaos of the Court has been shattered.

You dry off, your movements slow and deliberate, and prepare to go back downstairs to the man who brought the war to your doorstep—but who you would fight a thousand wars to protect.

You freeze in the doorway, your heart leaping into your throat. There he is, moving about your kitchen as if he hadn't been fighting for his life on your bathroom floor only hours ago. "Eris!" you yell, the sharp sound echoing against the wood. "What in the hell do you think you're doing? Get back on the couch!"

He turns slowly, his movements cautious but deliberate. That familiar, infuriatingly charming smile tugs at his lips. His gaze drops, lingering pointedly on the oversized shirt you're wearing—one of his old ones that you've claimed as sleepwear. The heat flares in your cheeks instantly, turning your skin a deep shade of crimson.

He doesn't even have the decency to look guilty; he just turns back to the stove, humming a low, steady tune.

You march over to the kitchen island, ready to give him the most thorough scolding of his life. "I am serious, Eris. You're supposed to be recovering, not playing chef. You are bleeding internally, probably, and—"

He turns to face you, a look of faux-innocent concentration on his face. He holds up a finger coated in a rich, dark sauce. Just as you draw breath to continue your lecture, he leans in and deftly presses the finger to your lips, sliding it into your mouth.

Your protest dies in your throat, replaced by a low, involuntary moan. The sauce is incredible—savory, earthy, and perfectly spiced. Your eyes flutter shut for a split second, caught off guard by both the flavor and his audacity.

He pulls back, a wicked smirk playing on his lips as he watches your reaction. "Do you just need to suck on something to shut you up, little fox?" he whispers, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that always gets under your skin.

"You—!" You smack his shoulder, frustrated by how easily he can derail you.

He winces immediately, his face paling, and the playful spark in his eyes vanishes as he grips his side. Your anger evaporates instantly, replaced by sheer panic. "Oh my god, Eris, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to—I wasn't thinking—"

He lets out a soft, wheezing laugh, his hand relaxing. "I'm messing with you, love," he whispers, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

You roll your eyes, though your hands are still trembling as you inspect his shoulder to ensure you didn't do any real damage. "That is not funny, Eris. Not even a little bit."

He laughs, a genuine, hearty sound that fills the cabin, chasing away some of the lingering shadows. "I thought it was," he teases, turning back to the stove. "And besides, it worked, didn't it? You're quiet."

"You are nothing but trouble," you grumble, shaking your head as you cross your arms over your chest. "Stubborn, reckless, and absolutely impossible to keep under house arrest."

Eris just offers you that infuriatingly smug smirk again, the one that makes your heart stutter even when you're annoyed with him. He finishes plating the spaghetti, his movements careful and measured to avoid straining his back. He hands you your plate with a wink before slowly, painfully making his way to the dining table.

You take your seat, resting your chin on your hand as you watch him. Even in his weakened state, there's an elegance to the way he moves—a remnant of the Court nobility he tries so hard to pretend he's left behind. You watch the way the candlelight catches the hollows of his cheeks and the slow, deliberate way he lifts his fork. It's hard to reconcile the man sitting here eating pasta with the broken, bleeding stranger you pulled off your bathroom floor.

He doesn't look up, his fork pausing mid-air as a faint, knowing grin touches his lips. "I'm flattered that you can't stop staring at me, little fox," he murmurs, his voice smooth and teasing. "But I'm afraid you'll find the view much more appetizing if you actually eat. Your food is going to get cold."

You feel the heat rise to your cheeks again, caught red-handed. You let out a soft, exasperated huff, shaking your head to clear the heaviness from your mind.

"Just eat, Eris," you mutter, though your tone lacks any real bite.

You pick up your own fork, the simple task of dinner feeling like an monumental victory against everything that happened yesterday. You start to eat, the silence between you no longer heavy with dread, but settling into a familiar, quiet companionship. For now, the war is outside, the danger is at bay, and the only thing that matters is the two of you in this hidden, mountain-bound world.

When dinner was finished, the clatter of the dishes is the only sound in the kitchen, a domestic rhythm that feels almost surreal against the backdrop of the last twenty-four hours. You set the last plate in the drying rack and turn off the faucet. The silence that follows is heavy, punctuated only by the soft scrape of Eris's chair as he shifts.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. It's not the playful tone from earlier; it's raw, stripped of its edge.

You turn around, drying your hands on a towel, and he speaks again, his voice lower. "I'm sorry for worrying you."

Your irritation, which had been your armor all evening, crumbles. Your eyes soften, and you drift toward him without realizing your feet are moving. He watches you approach, then shifts his weight, opening his legs to give you space to stand between them. You step into that space, your knees brushing against his thighs, and you look down at him.

"I always worry about you, Eris," you whisper, the admission feeling like a confession.

He looks up at you, his brow furrowed in genuine surprise. "You do?"

You let out a soft, self-deprecating scoff. "I worry all the time. Especially when I know you aren't under the Baron's protection in Autumn anymore. Every time you leave, all I think about is never seeing you again. Because if something happened... no one would even tell me. If you just... didn't come back, I'd be left here, waiting for a ghost."

Eris stands up, moving with a wince of pain, but he doesn't pull away. He cups your cheek, his thumb tracing the curve of your jaw with a tenderness that makes your breath hitch.

"They would," he promises, his voice firm.

You tilt your head, confused. "Who would tell me?"

Eris smiles, a slow, knowing expression. "The Night Court. They know everything about you, my little fox." He chuckles, though it's a quiet sound. "They've always wondered why I smell of something sweet—like pine needles and home—every time I show up for meetings. I couldn't help it. The scent of your cabin always lingers on my coat, no matter how hard I try to scrub it off."

A bubble of genuine, startled laughter escapes you, turning into a light, airy giggle. The idea of the most powerful, intimidating figures in the world gossiping about the scent Eris brings back from his secret visits is absurd, and it finally breaks the remaining tension in your chest.

Eris smiles, his eyes lighting up as he watches you laugh, his hand still warm against your skin. "You think that's funny?" he murmurs, his thumb stroking your cheek. "I've had to invent a dozen excuses for the Court just to keep them from sniffing out where I hide."

"I believe it's very funny, princely," you tease, the nickname slipping out with a playful smirk.

Eris tilts his head back, letting out a genuine, throaty laugh that seems to vibrate right through your chest. As he leans back down, the playfulness in his gaze shifts into something far more intense, something that makes your skin hum. Your noses nudge, a familiar, grounding contact, and his voice drops to a ragged, desperate whisper. "I never want to leave this... I never want to leave you."

You pause, your pulse quickening, and instinctively lick your lips. You see his gaze dart down to the movement, his pupils dilating. You lean in just a fraction, your voice barely a breath. "Then don't."

For a second, his expression fractures, a flash of agony crossing his features—not from his wounds, but from something deeper, something heavy with the weight of the life he leads beyond these walls. He closes his eyes, his chest hitching as he whispers, "One day."

The weight of those two words hangs in the air, thick and suffocating. You nod, forcing yourself to break the spell before it tears you both apart. You glance toward the living room, where the hounds are watching you with their watchful, golden eyes, and you take a steadying breath.

"I need to change your bandages," you say, your voice firm, anchoring yourself back in the reality of his recovery. "And get you to bed. You've done enough for one night."

You turn on your heel and start for the stairs, your heart hammering against your ribs. You don't see the way he reaches out toward you, his fingers curling in the empty air where you stood just a moment ago, a silent, desperate urge to pull you back into his orbit.

He stands there for a beat, his hand still suspended in the space you vacated, his expression raw with a longing he rarely lets you see. He takes a long, ragged breath, composing himself, and then he starts to follow you up the stairs, the slow, heavy thud of his boots echoing against your own.

❦ ───────── 🍁 ───────── ❦

Over the next couple of days, Eris heals slowly but also in a way that makes you confused over his powers.

But today, the silence in the room is heavy, save for the rhythmic clicking of the hounds' claws on the floorboards downstairs. You stand in the doorway, unnoticed for a heartbeat, watching Eris. He is standing before the tall, antique mirror you kept in the corner, his shirt discarded on the floor.

He isn't looking at his face. He is twisted slightly, peering over his shoulder at the pale, jagged map of scars that have replaced the angry, weeping wounds of a few days ago. The skin, once torn and ruined, has knitted itself back together with his innate healing—but the cost is permanently written on his flesh. He lets out a sharp, cynical scoff, a sound devoid of any humor, as he traces the longest, deepest ridge of white tissue near his shoulder blade. It is a grim, familiar tally—the work of a hand he once looked up to, a hand that turned into a weapon against him.

Just as he lets his shirt fall from his hands to hide the canvas of his past, he hears you move. He begins to turn, but you are already there. You don't hesitate, you place your hands against his chest, firm and steady, and push.

Eris stumbles, the surprise flashing in his amber eyes as he falls back onto the mattress. The bedsprings groan under his weight. Before he can recover his princely composure, you are there, climbing onto the edge of the bed and hovering over him. You don't let him look away. You reach out, your fingers hovering over the newly healed scars on his back, and your voice is a jagged whisper that cuts through the quiet.

"What happened, Eris?" you ask, your eyes burning into his. "I cleaned those wounds. I stitched you up. I know the shape of that damage—it wasn't a sword, and it wasn't a soldier's work. You were being hunted... by something."

Eris goes deathly still beneath you, his breath hitching. He looks up at you, his gaze searching yours, looking for a way to deflect, a way to spin a lie that will keep you safe. But he sees the steel in your expression, the stubborn refusal to be kept in the dark any longer. He knows you recognize the pattern; you grew up in the shadow of the Court, you know exactly how his father operates when he's displeased.

"Tell me," you insist, your hand trembling slightly as you trace the edge of a scar. "You said 'when you're healed' we would talk about it. Well, that day is today. Why were you so terrified he would find me? Why did you come here to bleed out, of all places?"

Eris looks at you, his throat bobbing as he swallows, the mask he usually wears for the rest of the world finally shattering. He reaches up, his hand catching yours, his fingers cold against your skin.

"Because he owns me, fox," he rasps, his voice breaking. "And when he realizes I've defied him—when he realizes I chose to hide here, in the home of the one person he's always wanted me to destroy—he won't stop until he breaks us both. By saving me, you didn't just heal my wounds. You've marked yourself as his enemy. And that... that was the one thing I promised myself I would never let happen to you."

You shake your head, the confusion swirling into a cold, sickening dread. "What do you mean, Eris?" you whisper, your voice barely audible over the sudden rush of blood in your ears. "Why would he want me destroyed? I'm just... I'm just a ghost from your past. I have nothing left for him to take."

Eris lets out a harsh, jagged groan, the frustration boiling over. He pushes himself up from the bed, his movements stiff and pained, and begins to pace the narrow room. "You don't understand how his mind works," he snaps, his voice laced with a bitterness that makes you flinch. "I never wanted him to know where you were. I never wanted him to know what you are to me—because the moment he figures out that I have something to lose, he won't just come for me. He'll come for the thing I value most."

You scramble to your feet, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Eris, stop!" you demand, taking a step toward him. "Stop pacing and look at me!"

He doesn't stop. He continues to stalk the length of the room, his eyes wild and unfocused. "He'll know my weakness," he rants, his voice rising in panic. "He'll realize that the easiest way to break me isn't by scarring my back—it's by hurting you. He'll take you, he'll use you, and I... I can't let him hurt you. I'd rather be dead on your floor than be the reason you suffer."

He abruptly stops, his chest heaving as he spins toward you. In three strides, he crosses the distance, his hands finding your face and cupping your cheeks with an intensity that borders on desperation. He looks into your eyes, his own shimmering with a fierce, terrifying protectiveness.

"I won't let him," he vows, his voice a low, gravelly promise that shakes your very core. "I swear it on my life, fox. I will burn the world down before I let him lay a single finger on you."

You reach up, wrapping your fingers over his, gripping his wrists to keep him anchored to you. You stare into his eyes, searching for the truth beneath the chaos of his fear.

"Who, Eris?" you whisper, your voice trembling but firm. "Who is he? Who am I supposed to be afraid of?"

Eris freezes. The name seems to hang in the air between you, heavy and tainted, like smoke after a fire. He lets out a long, shuddering sigh, his shoulders slumping as the fight finally drains out of him.

"Beron," he says, the name barely more than a jagged breath.

The word hits you like a physical blow. You recoil slightly, your eyes widening in sudden, sharp clarity. "Your father," you whisper, the shock freezing the blood in your veins. You had heard the rumors, the stories that drifted even into your quiet corner of the world about the cruelty of the Autumn High Lord, but hearing Eris speak it—seeing the way he flinched at the mere mention—brought the horror into your living room.

Eris doesn't say anything else. He just looks at you, his amber eyes guarded and full of a weary, ancient pain, waiting for you to pull away, waiting for you to realize exactly what kind of monster he is tied to.

But you don't pull away. Instead, you move forward, closing the distance he tried so hard to maintain. You wrap your arms around him, pulling him into a tight, fierce hug, burying your face against his chest. You feel the tension in his frame, the way he holds his breath as if he's expecting you to push him away, to tell him that his father's darkness is too much for you to bear.

"Oh, Eris..." you whisper, your voice thick with tears. You hold him tighter, feeling the steady thrum of his heart—the same heart you had listened to, desperate for a sign of life, only days ago. "I am so sorry. I am so, so sorry."

You feel him let out a broken, shaky breath, and slowly, hesitantly, his arms come up to wrap around you, anchoring himself to you as if you are the only thing keeping him from falling apart. He hides his face in the crook of your neck, his grip tightening as he finally, for the first time in his life, lets the weight of his reality rest on someone else's shoulders.

The soft press of his lips against the sensitive skin of your neck sends a jolt through you that has nothing to do with the trauma of the last few days and everything to do with a sudden, overwhelming clarity. It is as if a heavy, rusted bolt has finally slid back, opening a door in your mind you hadn't realized was locked.

You freeze, your breath catching in your throat as the pieces of a thousand half-memories click into place—the way his eyes always held that specific shade of amber, the way he seemed to know the scent of your home before you even spoke of it, the way he has been drawn to you across years and borders, regardless of the danger.

Slowly, you lean back, your hands sliding from his shoulders to frame his face. You search his eyes, not for the soldier or the prince, but for the boy you once knew in a lifetime that feels both a heartbeat away and an eternity ago.

"Oh my gods..." you whisper, your voice trembling with the weight of the revelation. "It's you."

Eris doesn't try to pull away or hide behind his usual mask of cynicism. He holds your gaze with a raw, piercing intensity, his throat moving as he swallows. A slow, sad, beautiful smile touches his lips as he nods. He reaches up, leaning in until your foreheads rest against each other, the proximity grounding you both in the only truth that matters in this chaotic world.

"It's me," he breathes, his voice thick with the same realization. "It's always been me, fox."

The realization crashes over you, not like a storm, but like a tide—inevitable, rising, and impossible to turn back.

The pieces that had been scattered for so long suddenly lock together with a resonance that vibrates in your very marrow. The protective instinct that led you to pull him from the brink, the magnetic pull that always brought him back to this cabin, the way his heartbeat felt like the only anchor in your world—it all makes sense now.

Eris Vanserra. The boy you grew up with, the soldier who survived a tyrant's wrath, the man who would burn the world down to keep you from harm. Your best friend.

Your mate.

The air in the room seems to shift, growing thick and electric. You look at him—really look at him—and see the depth of the bond that has been quietly humming between you for years, hidden beneath the layers of friendship, secrecy, and survival. It wasn't just shared history or proximity; it was the tether of your souls, pulling you together despite the distance, despite his father, despite everything.

Eris seems to feel the shift, too. His eyes darken, the amber irises swirling with a sudden, sharp recognition as he watches your face. He doesn't move, afraid that even a breath might break the fragile, newfound clarity.

"You know," he whispers, the words barely audible, yet they fill the entire room with a weight that leaves you breathless.

You can't even speak, you just nod, the tears finally spilling over as the sheer gravity of it settles in. The fear of his father is still there, lingering in the shadows of the cabin, but it is eclipsed by the terrifying, beautiful certainty of the bond between you. You realize that this is why he was so desperate to keep you away, and why he came here when he had nowhere else to go—because in a world of monsters and cruelty, you are the only place in the universe where he was ever meant to be.

You lean into him, closing the final inch between your foreheads, and wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him down until he is holding you with everything he has.

"My mate," you breathe into his skin, the truth of it blooming in your chest, hot and bright.

Eris lets out a sound that is half-sob, half-laugh, and buries his face against your shoulder. He holds you as if you are the only thing in the world that is real, his grip tight, possessive, and broken all at once. "I'm so sorry," he murmurs against your neck, his voice trembling. "I tried to fight it. I tried to stay away so I wouldn't drag you into this. But I couldn't. I could never stay away from you."

You hold him back, feeling the hum of his magic finally aligning with your own, and for the first time since he collapsed on your floor, the world outside ceases to exist. There is only him. There is only this. And now, there is no going back.

You cup his cheeks, his skin warm beneath your fingertips, and you pull him down to you. The kiss starts soft, a tentative exploration of this new, undeniable truth, but it quickly deepens, fueled by everything you've both been holding back. You pour every ounce of your devotion, your fear, and your love into it.

Eris lets out a low, ragged moan, his hands tangling in your hair and pulling you flush against his chest, as if he's trying to merge your two souls into one. He kisses you back with a desperate, hungry intensity, his movements echoing the promise of a lifetime spent waiting for this moment.

When you finally pull away, needing air, Eris immediately follows your lips, chasing the contact with a soft, lingering pressure. He rests his forehead against yours, his breath hitching.

"I'm never leaving again," he whispers, his voice thick with a fierce, iron-clad vow. "I'm never leaving you. Damn the Court and damn my father—all I need is you. That's all I've ever needed."

You shake your head slowly, a sad smile touching your lips as you gently trace the line of his jaw. "You can't do that, Eris, and you know it. If you abandon your position, Beron would hunt you to the ends of the earth. He'd force you back, and that would mean losing you forever."

Eris goes still, his gaze dropping to the floor. The shadow of his father looms large, even here in the sanctuary of your cabin. He looks pained, his knuckles white where they grip your waist.

"One day, my fox," he says, his voice a jagged promise. "I will find a way to break his hold. One day, we can be together—truly, forever, without looking over our shoulders."

You reach up, pressing your palm to his heart, feeling the beat that belongs to you. "This is enough for now, Eris," you whisper. "We have today. And we have here."

He looks up at you, the amber of his eyes softened by a profound, aching love. He leans in once more, pressing a final, gentle kiss to your lips.

As you hold him, you focus entirely on the warmth of his skin and the steady, rhythmic promise of his heartbeat. You feel the heavy, jagged thoughts of the Court, and the danger outside beginning to fray and dissolve. With every kiss, you push away the fear, trading the darkness of the past for the quiet, fierce serenity of being with your mate, right here, where you both finally belong.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

hey so. don’t do this.

“coming from a place of respect” there is nothing respectful about a comment like this. this is exactly why I say witch hunt, speculations and accusations harm the writing community as much as ai does, if not more.

I am not saying “you’re an asshole if you think a fic is ai”. I have come across fics that I believe were ai-generated. but instead of asking (accusing) the authors, I make my own decisions whether I’ll continue reading for the benefit of the doubt or quietly exit the fics and look for something else to read.

because with every accusation like this, there’s always a chance of a genuine, innocent writer getting wrongly accused.

last but not least, fanfic writers do NOT owe you anything. they write for themselves and their own enjoyment. their ao3 accounts are their houses and they were kind enough to let you in their houses. for free. (you get to read things for free.) you don’t go into other people’s houses and tell them “actually I think the way you decorate your room is sus. did you actually do it yourself or did you ask a robot to do it for you?”. THEY 👏🏻 DON’T 👏🏻 OWE 👏🏻 YOU 👏🏻 ANYTHING. and I say this as someone who is not a fan of ai fics. if you don’t like what you’re seeing, quietly leave.

*the following is not about the fic in this specific post. in general, I still strongly believe people who let ai write for them should tag their works as ai accordingly. but if we want more people to be honest about it, we’ll have to stop shaming and harassing people who actually tag their ai-generated fics accordingly. harassment is never justified. not to mention, it will only make “ai writers” refrain from tagging their ai-generated works as such. and then there’s no way for anyone to know for absolute certainty if it’s ai. therefore the raise of witch hunt.

[boxbox81babygirl]

No Panic – OP81  

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Reader 

Part 39 to Let the Light in

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 1:21

“Come to Belgium with me.” 

“I would love to, but I literally can’t,” you sighed softly, finally looking up from your laptop screen. 

Oscar was stretched out across your couch, one arm tucked behind his head, completely at ease—like your apartment had quietly stopped being somewhere he visited and had simply become somewhere he existed. 

The only reason you were sitting at the dining table instead of hiding away in your well-equipped home office was him. You'd migrated out without really thinking about it, laptop open in front of you, coffee slowly going cold beside it. You'd told yourself it was for the natural light. It was not for the natural light.

Half working. Half simply existing in the same room as him.

"I'm already behind on my tasks," you added more quietly, another email sliding into your inbox before you'd even finished reading the last one. Another issue. Another thing not working the way it was supposed to for one of your clients.

Your shoulders dropped slightly as you read it, the tension settling back in almost instantly—familiar, automatic. The particular brand of tired that came not from too little sleep but from too many things requiring your brain at the same time.

Oscar didn’t speak right away. 

Didn't tell you to ignore it. 

Didn't tell you to relax, which you appreciated, because the fastest way to make someone stop relaxing was to instruct them to relax.

He just watched you. Steady. Present. Like he was trying to understand what weighed on you without making you explain it. 

“I know,” he said eventually. Quiet. Simple. No pressure in it. 

That was the thing about him. He rarely tried to argue you out of your reality. He just stepped into it with you. 

You let out a small breath, fingers hovering over your keyboard without actually typing anything. 

"It's just this new client…" you started slowly, eyes still on the screen, half-reading, half-talking. "As soon as this settles, I'll stop feeling like I'm drowning and maybe upgrade to... barely surviving."

That earned the smallest laugh from the couch. 

"I think I need another two weeks," you guessed, eyes moving across your project timeline instead. Campaign rollout. Product launch. Brand approvals. Content calendars. 

It all blurred together eventually. 

Oscar thought for a moment. 

You went back to work. 

Your inbox kept refreshing like it had its own agenda. One client wanting luxury but understated but also viral, another asking for timeless branding with TikTok relevance, which in your professional opinion was basically asking for a unicorn with a LinkedIn account. 

You loved your job, and you were good at it—fast, precise, efficient. But onboarding a client this large always meant weeks of deep water. Luxury consulting came with impossible expectations, and when a client specifically requested you, it was flattering—but a responsibility that didn't ease until everything was running smoothly. 

And with this one, it had been weeks already. 

The Austrian and British GPs hadn't helped either. You'd known that even before they started. You'd gone anyway.

Of course you had.

“Then a summer vacation together.” 

His voice suddenly sounded much closer than before. 

Before you even looked up, you felt him. The warmth of him crossing the room. A familiar hand brushing lightly over your shoulder as he leaned down to press an absentminded kiss against your cheek — the kind that wasn't asking for anything, just leaving something behind.

Your eyes closed for half a second on instinct.

Then he pulled out the chair beside yours. The metal legs scraped softly across the floor as he sat down, close enough that your knees almost brushed. Close enough that his arm nearly touched yours, close enough that if he leaned even slightly, he could read your screen.

Not that it would mean anything to him. 

You blinked, slightly caught off guard by the proximity. By how easily he filled the space next to you, like he'd calculated exactly how much room to take up and chosen all of it.

“Okay,” you nodded slowly. 

“But like a proper vacation,” he said. 

You turned your head a little toward him. 

“Define proper.” 

His mouth curved faintly, like he’d already thought about this more than he was admitting. 

“Two weeks,” he said. “Just you and me. No work. No phones. No schedules.” 

A beat. 

"No one asking me about tyre degradation." 

The corner of your mouth twitched. 

"And no one emailing you because somebody suddenly decided beige is no longer the right shade of beige."

You laughed. Actually laughed. The sound escaped before you could stop it — easy and sudden, the kind that loosened something in your chest you hadn't realized was wound tight.

Oscar smiled immediately. Like that was all he'd been working toward for the last twenty minutes.

"There she is," he murmured, looking almost unfairly pleased with himself.

"That sounds illegal," you said, still smiling.

“It should be,” he replied, completely serious. 

That earned a real smile from you this time. 

You leaned back slightly in your chair, finally letting your hands fall away from the keyboard. 

“No phones at all?” you asked, narrowing your eyes slightly. “That’s not realistic.” 

Oscar tilted his head. 

"You say that like you're addicted to your phone."

"I am not—"

He raised a brow.

You stopped mid-sentence.

A pause during which you made several faces that did not help your case.

"…okay, I am mildly dependent on communication for survival, yes."

"Exactly," he said, satisfied in the way only someone who had been right and could prove it was ever satisfied.

You shook your head, but there was no real resistance in it anymore. 

“And where would we even go?” you asked. 

Oscar didn’t answer immediately. 

His gaze dropped briefly to your laptop, then back to you. 

“Somewhere quiet,” he said. “Where no one needs anything from you.” 

That landed differently. Not heavy—just soft. Like something inside your chest quietly loosened. 

You looked at him for a moment. Actually looked at him.

“You’re really serious about this,” you said quietly. 

Oscar nodded once. 

"Yeah."

No performance. No persuasion. Just certainty — calm and complete, like he'd already decided and was simply waiting for you to arrive at the same place.

You exhaled slowly, turning back toward your screen. But not really seeing it anymore.

Two weeks. No work. No demands. No client who considered a slightly off-shade beige a five-alarm emergency. Just life, uninterrupted. Just you, uninterrupted.

It sounded impossible.

Which meant, in a way, it also sounded necessary.

"I can't just disappear for two weeks," you said automatically.

“Yes you can,” Oscar replied simply. 

You glanced at him. 

He was watching you like this wasn’t a debate he was trying to win. Like it had already been decided in his head—you just hadn't caught up yet. 

“You’re looking at me like I’ve already agreed,” you muttered. 

“Have you?” he asked. 

You huffed a small laugh. 

“I haven’t even checked my calendar.” 

"Then check." He gestured toward the laptop with the calm authority of someone who had done the math and already knew the answer.

You rolled your eyes and reached for your laptop anyway — because that was easier than admitting he was right — and Oscar leaned back slightly in his chair, content to watch you now instead of the screen. Patient in the particular way he was patient. Not restless. Not waiting for you to hurry. Just there.

You opened your calendar. 

Scrolled. 

Paused. 

Two weeks right now while on-boarding a new client was insane. Logistically messy. Work-wise irresponsible. 

And yet— 

Nothing was actually on those exact dates that couldn't be moved.

That realization irritated you more than it should have. You'd been so prepared to have a very reasonable objection.

You glanced sideways at him.

He looked entirely too pleased for someone who hadn't said a single word since you started scrolling. He had the specific expression of a man who had done absolutely nothing and was somehow still winning.

“You planned this already,” you accused lightly. 

“I suggested it,” he corrected. 

“You suggested it with intent.” 

“I always have intent.” 

"That's either romantic or alarming."

"Can't it be both?"

That made you snort.

You closed the laptop halfway, exhaling.

"You're dangerous," you said.

"Because I want to take you on holiday?" he asked, eyebrows lifting like the concept was entirely innocent.

"Because you make it sound reasonable."

Oscar smiled faintly, then reached out, gently taking your hand off the table. His fingers slid between yours easily, familiar now in a way that still sometimes surprised you. 

He shrugged, like it was the simplest thing in the world. 

"I just want time with you." he said quietly. 

Just that.

The joke disappeared from the room, replaced by something quieter and harder to deflect. No punchline coming. No follow-up. Just the truth of it, sitting there between you.

You looked down at your joined hands for a moment.

Your thumb brushed against his.

Somewhere on the screen beside you, another email arrived. 

Another problem. 

Another deadline. 

Another thing waiting to be solved. 

And for the first time in weeks, you found yourself not caring quite as much. 

Oscar watched you patiently. No pressure. No expectation. Just waiting — and somehow that was more persuasive than any argument he could have made.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, practical objections immediately began lining up. Work. Clients. Responsibilities. Every reason to say later. 

But hadn't you spent enough years doing that already? 

Waiting until things were calmer. Easier. Waiting until you'd earned rest. Waiting until you'd earned happiness. 

Oscar squeezed your hand once.

Warm. Familiar. Real.

And before you could talk yourself out of it—

"Okay."

The word left your mouth so easily it almost surprised you. 

Oscar blinked. 

"Okay?" 

You nodded once, a smile slowly appearing despite yourself. 

"Okay."

For a second, he just stared. Then he broke into such an immediate, boyish grin that you actually laughed — the kind of grin that had nothing composed about it, that he absolutely would have tried to control if he'd had any warning.

"Don't look so shocked."

"I'm not shocked."

"Oscar."

"I'm a little shocked."

"Rude."

"You usually require at least three business days and a risk assessment."

"That's called being responsible."

"That's called opening Excel before making a personal decision." 

"Excuse you. I have never done that." 

Oscar looked at you with an expression that said, very clearly and without a single word: I have watched you do exactly that.

Before you could mount a defense — which would have been compelling and well-structured, for the record — his hand settled at your waist.

You narrowed your eyes immediately.

"Oscar—"

Too late.

With an ease that suggested he had been planning this since approximately the moment he sat down, he stood from his chair and pulled you with him. A surprised laugh escaped you as your hands landed automatically on his shoulders, and then he dropped back into the chair a second later — this time with you securely in his lap.

Your protest dissolved somewhere between the standing and the sitting.

Mostly because it was comfortable. Unreasonably comfortable. And because Oscar's arms settled around your waist like they were designed for exactly this purpose, which, increasingly, you suspected they were.

"There," he said, satisfied.

"That's not a solution."

"It is for me."

"I was in the middle of—"

"Being stressed," he supplied helpfully.

"Working."

"Both of those things, yes."

You shook your head, but the smile wouldn't leave. It had made itself at home on your face without asking permission, which was very on-brand for the situation.

The laptop sat forgotten on the table. Your inbox continued collecting problems somewhere behind you, each one patiently waiting its turn. For once, neither of you paid it any attention.

Oscar rested his chin against your shoulder. Then he turned his head slightly and pressed a soft kiss against your temple — not dramatic, not performed. Just warm lips against your skin, affection so natural it felt almost unconscious. The kind of thing you didn't brace for. The kind of thing that landed before your defenses could catch up.

Then another.

Lingering a fraction longer this time.

You felt his smile there.

"Thank you," he murmured.

Your chest did something complicated and quiet.

"For agreeing?"

"Mhm."

You turned your head slightly, finding him already looking at you. 

The excitement was still there. 

Not loud. Not childish. Just genuine. Like the thought of two uninterrupted weeks with you was simply enough. No condition attached. No bigger reason needed.

A simple thing.

A dangerous thing.

The kind of thing you still weren't entirely used to — someone being this straightforwardly, unhurriedly happy because of you.

Your fingers slid into the hair at the back of his neck.

"You know," you said softly, "most people would be excited about Belgium."

"I am excited about Belgium," he said.

A beat. 

“I’m more excited about the vacation.” 

You laughed quietly. “That’s objectively the wrong answer.” 

“I stand by it.” 

His arms tightened briefly around your waist, pulling you a little closer. 

Oscar didn't say anything else. 

He didn't need to. 

His chin settled against your shoulder again, his breathing evening out little by little as the excitement gave way to something quieter. 

Home.

Not a place.

Just this.

Just you.

For someone who spent most of his year living out of suitcases and hotel rooms, maybe that was why two weeks mattered so much. Not because of where you'd go or what you'd see. But because he'd get to wake up beside you every morning, and go to sleep knowing you'd still be there, and have nothing else that needed his attention in between.

And for a moment — surrounded by unanswered emails and half-finished tasks and every responsibility that would still be waiting for you later — you let yourself lean into him completely.

Not planning.

Not calculating.

Not preparing for what came next.

Just staying exactly where you were.

And judging by the way Oscar immediately settled his cheek against your shoulder like he had nowhere else to be and no intention of being anywhere else, he seemed perfectly content with that outcome too.

❁✿❀❁✿❀ 

And Oscar truly was excited for Belgium. 

With good reason. 

Notification after notification lit up your phone over the course of the weekend. 

P1 in FP1. 

Then again in FP2. 

FP3 wasn't any different. 

Every session seemed to fall into place almost effortlessly — the McLaren looking planted through Eau Rouge, Oscar somehow finding another few hundredths each time it mattered, like the car had simply decided to agree with him this weekend and was doing its absolute best to cooperate.

By Saturday afternoon your phone barely stopped vibrating, and your eyes stayed glued to the TV screen far more than your project timeline appreciated.

POLE POSITION. 

A small, helpless laugh escaped you. 

“Of course he’s on pole,” you muttered under your breath, shaking your head as you tried—unsuccessfully—to refocus on the laptop balanced on your knees. 

On track, he looked like he belonged there. 

His race suit was unzipped just slightly to below his collarbone, white fireproofs visible underneath, damp with heat and effort. Sweat still clung to his temples and disappeared beneath the papaya collar, the late afternoon sun catching the faint flush across his cheeks. His hair was a mess under the team cap he’d already shoved back on, and his breathing was still just slightly uneven from the final flying lap. 

Like the car hadn’t just obeyed him. Like it had responded. 

Like it always did when he got it right. 

"So far," Nico Rosberg smiled, beginning the post-qualifying interview with the easy warmth of someone who had been in exactly that car, in exactly that headspace, a long time ago and remembered it clearly. "I'd say this has probably been your strongest weekend of the season."

Oscar nodded immediately, a small smile still lingering as he lifted the mic. 

“Yeah,” he agreed. “You could say that.” 

Nico hummed. “Anything you changed this weekend?” 

“Not really,” Oscar shook his head. “Everything’s just… working, I guess.” 

A pause. 

“Car feels good. Confidence is there. It’s all coming together.” 

"So no lucky charm then?" Nico teased lightly, in the tone of a man who absolutely already thought there was a lucky charm.

Oscar almost answered too quickly. Almost shrugged it off with the kind of reflexive deflection he was very good at. Almost let the truth slip past his better judgment on a wave of adrenaline.

Instead, he tilted his head slightly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said, with the exact measured evenness of someone who knew exactly what was being talked about.

Nico laughed. "Oh come on."

Oscar let out a short breath, already sensing where this was heading with the accuracy of someone who had been interviewed enough times to recognize a setup from the first sentence.

"I've seen the photos," Nico continued, in the tone of a prosecuting attorney who had already won. "So have about four million other people."

A faint smile broke through Oscar's attempt at neutrality.

"Right."

"So?" Nico leaned in just slightly, clearly enjoying himself. "Is she your lucky charm?"

There it was.

The question — simple, direct, sitting in the air between them with nowhere to go.

Oscar laughed softly, not because it was funny, but because laughing was easier than the three seconds he needed to decide what came next.

Did he want to say your name? Absolutely.

Did he want to tell the world, plainly, without hesitation, that you were his? Without question.

But not like this. Not here. Not in a post-qualifying interview with the cameras still rolling and you watching alone at home, without any warning, without the conversation you'd quietly agreed you'd have together first. Saying your name here would be taking something private and handing it to an audience before you'd even decided you were ready for one.

He wasn't careless with you.

Wasn't going to start now.

So instead, he chose the closest honest version of the truth — the one that didn't need a name to land.

"Yeah."

One word.

Simple. 

Honest. 

Nico's grin widened instantly. 

“I knew it.” 

Oscar huffed a laugh, rubbing briefly at the back of his neck. 

“She’s here this weekend?” Nico pressed immediately. 

Oscar shook his head once. 

"No."

A pause — brief, considered.

"But…" His shoulders lifted in a loose shrug, the look of a man calculating how much trouble he was about to cause for himself on live television and deciding the answer was a manageable amount. "I've definitely got her luck with me."

A beat.

Then he looked directly into the camera and winked.

Casual. Infuriatingly unbothered. 

Like he hadn’t just said something that would immediately set half the paddock on fire. 

On your end of the screen, your cheeks burned immediately. Because that wink had a very specific address. You were the only person in this interaction who knew exactly where it was going, and somehow that made it worse. Or better. You were still deciding.

Nico’s expression shifted instantly—interest sharpening, already preparing to dig deeper—but before he could fire off another question, the segment timing cut in like a saving grace for Oscar. 

“Alright, that’s all we’ve got time for!” 

Relief, disguised as professionalism. 

Oscar handed the microphone back with a polite nod, the faintest satisfied smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he stepped away from the interview spot. 

If Nico looked mildly betrayed by unfinished business, Oscar looked like a man who had narrowly escaped a trap. 

But before Oscar could even properly breathe—before his mind could fully shift out of the tunnel-vision of the race and into whatever came next—Kimi was already there. 

Grinning. 

Too wide. Too knowing. The grin of someone who had been watching the interview from five meters away and had taken notes.

Oscar stepped back toward the parc fermé area where the other front-row qualifiers still lingered: Kimi in P2, Charles in P3, both of them still carrying that post-session electricity that made paddock conversations slightly louder and less filtered than usual.

Kimi tilted his head, eyes gleaming with the energy of someone who considered himself investigatively gifted.

"You almost said her name," he said.

He was wrong. 

Oscar didn’t even need a second to know that. The adrenaline was still buzzing through his system, heart rate not quite back to baseline, thoughts still half in the car, half in the podium run—but he wouldn’t have said your name. Not here. Not like that. Not in a way that turned something private into paddock currency. 

But Kimi looked far too pleased with himself to care about accuracy. 

Charles only shook his head beside him, laughing under his breath at the younger driver’s confidence. 

“You did go a bit red at the mention of her, though,” he pointed out, in the tone of someone contributing a fair and balanced observation.

Kimi’s head snapped toward him immediately. 

“You know her?” he asked, eyes widening. 

“Her?” Charles echoed, amusement flickering across his face. 

Kimi gestured vaguely, as if the entire concept of subtlety was optional. 

“His girl. The one he hid in Monaco,” he clarified, still not letting go of the near-miss from earlier in the season like it was a personal unfinished investigation. 

Charles’ gaze drifted back toward Oscar now, eyebrows lifting slightly in silent question. 

Oscar exhaled through his nose, the faintest hint of resignation slipping in. 

“Yeah,” he said simply. “He almost caught us during the Monaco GP.” 

That made Charles laugh outright—because of course it did. 

To him, it was funny in that detached, slightly chaotic way only someone who had lived through Monaco too many times could manage. But there was something else in it too: understanding. Not intrusive, not judgmental. Just awareness. 

He knew exactly what it meant for you two to keep things quiet. Not as a game. Not as secrecy for drama. But as something carefully held back while you figured out how to exist properly before the world got involved. 

Kimi, meanwhile, looked personally offended by how little scandal there actually was. 

“So you’re just all pretending I didn’t almost solve it,” he muttered. 

“You didn’t solve anything,” Charles said lightly. 

“I was close.” 

“You were guessing.” 

"I was investigating," Kimi corrected, with the emphasis of someone who felt the distinction was important and underappreciated.

Oscar let out a short laugh at that, shaking his head as he finally started walking toward the garage. 

"Keep investigating," he said over his shoulder. "Just maybe leave my personal life out of it."

And behind him, Kimi immediately followed. 

“I’m very good at investigations.” 

Charles sighed. 

“I’m watching a child argue with a wall.” 

Oscar didn't look back. But for the first time since stepping out of the car, something in his chest fully eased. Not the result of the session. Not the pole. Just the ordinary, grounding thought of you — still at home, still knee-deep in different colour palettes and impossible briefs, and completely untouched by all of this noise.

That, more than anything, stayed with him.

❁✿❀❁✿❀ 

oscarpiastri 

Cirquit de Spa-Francorchamps • Fun (feat. Roses Gabor)

oscarpiastri Did I mention I like Spa? 

Liked by f1fan300, op81, yourusername and 388’993 Other’s 

f1updates 🚨 OSCAR PIASTRI POLE POSITION SPA-FRANCORCHAMPS 🚨

verstappendefender yeah yeah but did you see the WINK in the interview user4829174 okay but can we talk about the wink. THE WINK. he looked directly into the camera and WINKED. that wink had a recipient. that wink had an address. that wink had a ZIP CODE piastriobsessed THE ZIP CODE SENT ME mclarengirlboss that wink was point-to-point delivery. tracked shipping. signature required upon arrival.

f1wags_updates wait wait wait is oscar piastri in a relationship???? asking for 4 million people

oscarpiastri @.f1wags_updates I don't know what you're talking about f1wags_updates SIR. user9918273 HE REPLIED WITH THE EXACT SAME THING HE SAID TO NICO papayastan consistent king. he has ONE answer and he's sticking to it kimianthonisen he absolutely has a girlfriend @.f1wags_updates I was standing right there

formulafemme "I've definitely got her luck with me" and then the wink. and then "I don't know what you're talking about." this man is performing plausible deniability while simultaneously CONFIRMING EVERYTHING

piastrifan2025 he's doing both things at once. he's confirmed it and denied it in the same breath. quantum girlfriend. mclarenaccount the quantum girlfriend era of oscar piastri's career user0019283 this is the funniest thing i've ever read in a formula 1 comment section

f1gossip why is no one trying to figure out who the girlfriend is. we have had TWO photos of oscar with a blonde girl in the last two months and nobody has done anything with this information

user8827364 wait what photos f1gossip the one from the after ones during and after the monaco GP. blurry but it's there. smoothoperatorf1 and lets not forget the pictures where he himself soft launched!!!

user8123 what if it's Lily. they dated. it was serious. things ended quietly. oscar never spoke about it publicly. what if they reconnected?

user0019283 oh we're doing this user8827364 also lando would NOT be able to keep that secret. lando cannot keep any secret. if it were lily, lando would have accidentally confirmed it in a stream six months ago. landnorris @.user8827364 I keep secrets f1detective let's be for real, it's not her. lily is brunette. the girl in both photos is clearly blonde. user8123 she could have dyed it

op81fan I'm going to sound nuts, but what if it's @.yourusername? he's been in her likes recently

mclarengirlboss it's not, be realistic op81fan i mean, she's often in the paddock with Alex, maybe they've run into each other once and hit it off? user9901827 wasn't she rumoured to be with kimi like three months ago though op81fan that's exactly why it could make sense now! kimi confirmed his girlfriend last month and it's not her, so Y/N L/N was clearly available this whole time user4829174 LMAOOO smoothoperatorf1 okay I'll bite. Y/N IS blonde. the timeline does work. oscar has been in monaco basically all season between races. mclarengirlboss she's a practical princess of monaco dating a formula 1 driver who grew up in melbourne. be serious. formulafemme I mean he literally lives in monaco?? the overlap isn't that crazy?? mclarengirlboss ...okay fair but still

see all comments...

❁✿❀❁✿❀ 

"So," Nicole said, with the particular warmth of a woman who had been waiting patiently to ask this question for several weeks and had earned it, "when am I going to meet the beautiful Sol?"

Oscar paused mid-movement.

He had, genuinely, completely forgotten that he'd given his mother a paddock pass for the Spa weekend. In his defence, his brain had been occupied — mostly by you, and the holiday idea that kept surfacing at inconvenient moments, and the quiet, ongoing effort of being a Formula 1 driver at what was becoming a genuinely complicated point of a championship. So when Nicole had appeared in the McLaren motorhome on Thursday morning, perfectly composed and already greeting the engineers by name like she'd been there all season, his surprise had been immediate and very visible.

Slightly embarrassing for someone who drove a car at three hundred kilometres an hour for a living.

How do you forget your own mother? He'd asked himself this. He didn't have a satisfying answer.

He shrugged now, towel still in hand, drying his hair in the absent way of someone whose mind was only partially in the room. Freshly showered, back in a black T-shirt and loose shorts, the particular post-race quiet settling into his limbs — the kind that came after the adrenaline finally ran out and left everything feeling slightly slower and softer than usual.

"I was hoping she'd be here this weekend," Nicole admitted, more quietly. "It would've been nice to finally meet her properly."

Oscar's posture shifted — not defensive, just attentive. The way it always did when you came up in conversation.

"She's got a lot of work right now," he said easily. “End of quarter stuff. Deadlines. Meetings. You know how it is.”

Nicole nodded, though her eyes stayed on him. 

She studied him properly then. 

Not casually anymore. 

Like a mother who had watched her child long enough to notice when something had shifted. 

"And still," she added, voice lighter again, "you've been smiling at your phone like it personally delivered good news every twenty minutes all weekend."

Oscar let out a short laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Of course you don't," she replied smoothly, in the tone of a woman who knew exactly what she meant.

That earned her a reluctant smile. He dropped onto the couch next to her then, stretching his legs out in front of him, finally letting the adrenaline of the race weekend drain out of his system. Spa still lingered behind his eyes— heat, pressure, podium champagne, interviews—but underneath all of it, there was something else now. 

Something softer. 

Something that kept pulling his thoughts away mid-sentence. 

Nicole tilted her head slightly. 

“So?” she asked again, quieter this time. “What is she like?” 

Oscar didn’t answer immediately. 

Not because he didn't know. He knew. He could have answered in any number of ways — practical, chronological, efficient. But everything that came to mind when he thought of you didn't quite fit those shapes.

His gaze drifted briefly toward the window of the motorhome, where the paddock buzzed on outside—busy, loud, relentless. 

Then back to his mother. 

“She’s calm,” he said finally. “But not in a quiet way. More like… steady. Like she makes everything feel less rushed without actually slowing anything down.” 

Nicole nodded slightly, encouraging him without interrupting. 

“And she notices everything,” he added. “Like things you don’t even realise you’re showing. It’s annoying sometimes.” 

That made Nicole’s mouth twitch. 

"But also good," he added quickly, because it was. Genuinely, unexpectedly good.

A beat.

“She remembers things people forget they said. And she listens like she actually wants to understand, not just reply.” 

His voice softened a fraction without him noticing. 

Nicole's expression changed subtly — not surprised. Just quietly noting something.

"That sounds like someone who makes you think," she said.

Oscar huffed a quiet laugh. 

“She makes me stop thinking, actually.” 

Nicole smiled — the warm, genuine kind that had nothing performative about it.

“Even better.” 

Oscar glanced at her. 

“You’re enjoying this.” 

"I am," she admitted, without an ounce of apology. "It's nice hearing you talk like this."

“Like what?” 

“Like you’re not trying to control how it sounds.” 

That landed a little deeper than expected. 

Oscar looked away again, this time more thoughtful. 

Outside, a mechanic laughed loudly somewhere down the corridor. A door slammed. Life continuing at full pace. 

Inside, everything felt slightly slower. 

Nicole leaned forward slightly, studying him again. 

"I'm really proud of you," she said.

Oscar smiled, reflexive and small. "Thanks."

"I'm not talking about the weekend."

That made him look at her properly.

Nicole’s expression stayed gentle, but firm in the way only mothers could manage. 

“I’m talking about her.” 

A pause. 

“She sounds good for you, Oz,” she said. “And I don’t just mean nice. I mean… good. Like she doesn’t make you smaller or louder. Just more yourself.” 

Oscar didn’t answer straight away. 

His thumb rubbed once against his own palm. 

Then, quieter: 

“Yeah,” he said. “She does that.” 

Nicole’s smile softened. 

“Then don’t mess it up.” 

That finally made him laugh—properly this time, shaking his head. 

“I’m trying not to.” 

“I know,” she said simply. “That’s why I like her already.” 

❁✿❀❁✿❀ 

Chat between Oscar and Sol 

✿❀ Let the Light in ❁✿

soooooo, Nicole?

what do you thing will happen?

taglist: @teamnovalak @anamiad00msday @engelsmoment @madd1115 @frankiejo04 @aerangi @dakotapaigelove @azldee @dazaisdogsblog @yumarkie @jennibahng @suns3treading @sassyangel16 @alwaysclassyeagle @moons-v @disappointednotsuprised24 @okcurran @esw1012 @okayarkay @sltwins @bhagyashreeghuge @mysteriousduckprincess @kay-bello @vinylphwoar @mclarensnumberone @taetae-armyyyyy @woninabillion04 @cherryhazee @shawnscurlz @csceclairs @daddyrafeslittleslut @theladybiers @piastripastry81 @be4rnellis @princessria127 @phosphen3-s @wiggly-yrath @artyyjia @chloclo @nilletellsstories @sunshinevansh @cherryniyaah @lora21 @marinasblogs-posts @blablabla2242 @dustyinkpages @applejackrootbeerhollis @pharmasennapuff @astrrlily @melissa66orion @dutchlionforev @gold66loveblog @bruhitsmoose @iceceweam9 @whistlef0rthechoir @omniandscared @vintageroses10 @eclipsiieevsx @br1adna @lagrandeourse @xyrillekl @sen-nes @fasterthanyous @noope306 @llicsa @liv1209 @houseoftwistedspirits @girlypoop123 @martzensvault @thefalseapp @dead-boys-stuff @itzrachel04 @hannahbananababybanana @katlyric @icewing22 @bia-n-t-d @melanie-15 @eugene-emt-roe @kakorrhaphiphobia @rubyybabyy

[jes12321]

pretty boy

partial smau

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

content: NASCAR!reader, she/her reader, reader wears a dress (not described), down bad lando, background oscar/reader friendship, y/n not used outside of username, other drivers mentioned

fc: pinterest girlies and susie wolff bc i love her

a/n: let's pretend for two seconds that the any of these races line up whatsoever :) also let me know if you want a pt ii this was a lot of fun to make

symbols from @gotiqes and @webgrave

the pictures in the posts are placeholders! reader is not physically described! imagine whoever you like!

[yn_ln54] can't wait to get back in the car this weekend 💪

[view comments]

[user0] not the casinos! we talked abt this

⤿ [yn_ln54] you know your girl left with the exact same amount of cash she walked in with 💅

[user1] @/ynuser54 have you seen the post??

⤿ [user2] no way she has

[user3] is this the girl lando was talking abt? mid

⤿ [user4] who even are you???

⤿ [user5] get outta here with that shit

⤿ [user6] booo

⤿ [user7] boooo

⤿ [yn_ln54] booo

[yn_ln54] what the hell y'all talking about??

　⁺ 　﹒⋆ 　 ﹒ 　⁺ 　﹒

Las Vegas, baby! What? Did you expect him to stay in the hotel and sleep through the night? After a podium finish? When he could be getting drunk and/or laid. Well, the plan had been for and, but you changed things. Because he saw you before he even ordered his first drink. Stepping away from a group and moving toward the bar. And that dress. If you look this good in it, Lando desperately needs to know what you look like out of it. So he approaches. 

It’s subtle. Cool. Totally normal. Lando just slides into the seat next to you. And on most nights, that’s all it takes. People either know who he is or they see his face and decide his name doesn’t really matter. But you don’t even blink, waiting somewhat impatiently for the bartender to notice you. It’s kind of adorable, how you tap your foot against the sticky floor. 

“Can I buy you a drink?” He finally says, loud enough for you to hear over the thumping bass. You don’t flinch, and Lando suddenly realizes you knew he was here. You were just ignoring him. The thought makes a traitorous smile begin to grow on his face. 

You turn to look at him slowly, squinting a little as your eyes move up and down. Then your face settles into something smug and you grin. 

When you open your mouth, he expects it to be a response. Something snarky, he can already tell. Except, you’re turning toward the bartender and ordering “the most expensive drink you can make” from the bartender who seems to have finally noticed your existence. 

“And put it on his tab.” You point a thumb back at Lando, making that stupid grin on his face grow wider. The bartender pauses before holding out his hand for the card. Lando slides it over with a grin.

“Anything for you.” He whispers. You roll your eyes, clearly unmoved. “Come on? Nothing?”

“I make it a point not to be impressed by pretty little Formula drivers.” Your voice is smooth. The bartender returns, large glass in hand. It looks suspiciously like he poured every top shelf liquor into one glass and gave it a lazy stir, but you don’t even hesitate before taking a sip. You nod slowly, reaching out to grab the bartender’s hand. Lando is honestly a little surprised he doesn’t pull away. “Wonderful. Thank you again, Danny.”

“Wait, you know him?” He pauses, then, in the same exact tone. “Wait, you think I’m pretty?”

It shouldn’t be a shock. Not really. Lando knows he’s pretty. And handsome. And hot. It’s not narcissism. He just has eyes. But you haven’t reacted to him at all, so to hear you say it out loud. He wants to hear it again. Just a little. 

Danny walks away and you grin, winking once before sliding off the booth. “He’s my cousin. I get free drinks.” 

“You didn’t answer my other question.”

You pause, huffing a little as he has absolutely no reaction to your little reveal. As if any drink you bought could be enough to dent his bank account. He grins, hopping off of his stool to land right in front of you. But nothing. No reaction. Just a stare from your beautiful eyes.

“Sure.” You shrug. Like it’s a fact you know and are very unimpressed by. Sure, the sky is blue. So what? Big whoop. 

And Lando…Lando grins. Smiles so wide his cheeks hurt a little. And he hasn’t even had a single drink yet. Because you showed up and thoroughly derailed every single plan and thought he’d ever had. It’s fun. 

“Alright, alright.” Lando raises his hands in surrender and takes half a step back. He thinks your shoulders drop just a millimeter. He doesn’t mention it. “Can I at least get a name? You clearly already know mine and that feels quite unfair.”

You study him less like a man and more like a bug beneath a microscope. He’s being cut open under your gaze and he never wants you to look away.

“Try watching some racing other than yours, pretty boy.” You say, smirking around your straw. He can’t even respond before you’re disappearing into the crowd.

[lando] anyone know where i can find @/yn_ln54, she's not answering my dms 🥺

[view comments]

[charles_leclerc] delete this right now

[user8] lando norris interested in nascar??? what is the world coming to?

⤿ [user9] we are living in the best timeline

⤿ [user 3] we are living in the worst timeline

[georgerussel63] do you hate me? be honest

⤿ [lando] :)

[user10] lmao not lando trying and failing to get into her dms

⤿ [ynuser54] what a nerddd

⤿ [lando] @/ynuser54 why are you so mean to me

[yn_ln54] check ur dms now comment deleted

[user11] lol yn deleting her comment right away

⤿ [user12] we saw that, girl!

⤿ [user13] guys they might just be friends

The car pulls to a stop in front of your hotel and you both sit there for a minute, breathing in the silence. Lando speaks first, palms sweaty against his jeans. He really shouldn’t be so nervous. This exact scenario has happened with lots of other women. But he doesn’t want it to end the same. So he switches it up a bit.

“Mind if I walk you to your door?” He grins, trying to look cheeky. He only manages to look so horribly in love that you actually laugh. A bright, sharp thing. 

“Just to my door?”

“Just to your door.”

You pause like you’re considering it. Like you have anything to lose from letting Lando follow you through the hotel like a lost puppy. Then you shrug, kicking open your door. “I guess chivalry isn’t dead.” But you say it with a grin so sharp Lando wonders if you really mean it at all. He’ll take what he can get. 

“Milady,” He says, loudly, obviously, playing into the part of a chivalrous suitor. You roll your eyes but take his arm (after an honestly embarrassing scramble around the hood of the car to reach your door before you can fully climb out). You also laugh. 

The walk through the lobby is slow and Lando can’t help the way his chest puffs out just a little. Because he has you on his arm. Literally. A few patrons still milling around in the lobby seem to look twice at him. Recognizing him from somewhere. But they either can’t quite place Lando’s face or they don’t care enough to pull out their phones and take a picture. So the journey across the open lobby to the elevator is a success. Lando absently pats your hand where you hold his arm. 

He watches, perhaps with a bit too rapt of attention as you push the fourth floor button. Lando’s eyes study the curve of your fingers, memorizing the motion and the number. He does the same as you dig into your purse for your keycard, committing the room number to memory. Just in case. Not tonight, though. He was serious about just walking you to your door. He wants to do this right. Not just a hookup. Maybe something more. 

The door beeps as you swipe your card. You turn the handle, pushing it open. Then, you look back. Over your shoulder. You turn. And suddenly you’re kissing him. Hand gripping the collar of his silk shirt, probably wrinkling and pulling at the fabric. Lando couldn’t care less, melting into the kiss. It’s a clash of mouths. Lips pressing together, moving in tandem. Teeth clacking every other second, a symphony of need that Lando has to consciously ignore. And tongues. Your tongue marrying his in a sinful dance. He wants to swallow you whole. 

Lando pushes you back, just enough to press his forehead to yours, breathing quick. “Just to your door.” He says, low and careful. 

“Well, thank you for walking me.” You step back but you’re grinning. Lando is almost sure he looks twice as wrecked as you. At least. But he lets you go, clearing his throat for something to do. And then, because you hate him, you lean in and press a kiss to his cheek. Just a brush of lips against skin. It makes Lando’s heart beat twice as fast, somehow more intimate than the full-on makeout session. 

“You’re welcome.” Lando’s voice comes out breathless and a little shaky. Your grin turns into a satisfied smirk and you wave one more time before shutting the door between you two.

[yn_ln54] first formula 1 race, wasn’t bad. this idiot didn’t win tho, so only a 7/10 (and i suppose a congrats to @/maxverstappen1)

[view comments]

[lando] where did you even get those pictures!!

⤿ [yn_ln54] i never reveal my sources 🤐

[user13] um. so i was wrong

[oscarpiastri] you didn't post the picture with me :(

⤿ [yn_ln54] pls forgive me for this grave sin 🙏

[maxverstappen1] wow i feel truly honored ♡ liked by author

[mclarenf1] glad to host you this weekend! ♡ liked by author

[lando] alright when's my turn

⤿ [yn_ln54] for what exactly???

⤿ [lando] to watch one of your races

⤿ [yn_ln54] oh have you not checked your email lately?

⤿ [user15] lmao

“I thought it was the Indy 500.” Lando says and it immediately earns him a sharp elbow right in his ribs. You glare at him so sharply he thinks it might actually cut him open. He probably wouldn’t mind. 

“Daytona 500, idiot. Indy 500 is open wheel. Like your car.”

“I know what open wheel means.” He huffs, but you’re grinning again. And your hand is wrapped in his. Like it belongs there. It kinda does. Because anytime you’re close enough, Lando grabs you. Has to hold onto you like you’ll disappear if he looks away for too long. If he’s not holding you, his knuckles are brushing against yours. Or his knee bumps you under the table. Max says it’s embarrassing how much Lando likes you. Lando thinks he’s fine with that as long as you’re still standing within reach. 

The track is hot. Lando has been to Florida before. He’s sat in his hot McLaren and driven entire races through the Florida heat and humidity. But he usually has on his cooling vest. And about a bazillion fans. And he’s not trying to squeeze through a crowd that doesn’t seem to recognize or care who he is. You just drag him along, seemingly unaffected. 

You pull and pull until you stop and Lando’s chest slams right into your back, making you stumble. A few mechanics chuckle around him as you jab your elbow into his ribs. Again. 

“Here she is.” You say grandly, like you’re revealing your prized possession to him. Allowing him to see something so special to you. And you are. Because your car sits there, bright and covered in a myriad of sponsors. Lando is suddenly glad his car has so little surface space. Then he sees your number. 54 in bold, slanted numbers. The paint sparkles a little and Lando can’t help his smile. God, you like glitter. He wants to kiss you so bad. So he settles for kissing your knuckles and leaning in close to speak low to only you.

“She’s beautiful.”

Your cheeks darken just enough for him to notice and it hits him in the chest at first. He made you blush. You. All confidence and teasing. He made you blush. Lando can feel the words on his tongue, just sitting there. He desperately wants to say them. Wants to prove this moment is real. And then you’re laughing. Soft and bright and god Lando needs to kiss you right now or he’ll actually die. Just wither away on the asphalt and blow away like a pile of dust. He doesn’t settle this time. He leans down and presses his lips to yours. It’s quick. Soft. Chaste, even. But Lando has no idea how open you are about displays of affection. About how much you want to make out with your not-quite-boyfriend in front of your coworkers. He pulls back before he can’t anymore. 

It still earns a couple whistles from around the garage. Lando blushes. You don’t. You smile and squeeze his hand one last time. Because you are promptly dragged away for pre-race meetings and interviews and prep and Lando understands. It just feels odd to be the one waiting.

But when you finally return for longer than a half-second glance from across the garage, the wait is worth it. You’re in your race suit, balaclava pulled on, helmet under your arm. You look like a racer. That focused glint in your eye. He almost doesn’t want to disturb you. Break that steely focus. You’re the one that waves first and Lando decides that’s as much as an invitation as he needs to step closer. Close enough to tug on the balaclava gently, straightening it. Close enough to let his fingers trace the edge where your cheeks puff out. Somebody yells something and you step back. Lando lets you. Because you have a race. 

“What? No good luck kiss?” You tease, voice muffled by the helmet. Lando smiles. Not a cheeky grin or a smirk. Just a smile stretched across his face as he leans in and kisses the helmet, right over your lips. He’s always thought it was cute when the other drivers’ girlfriends did that. And now here he is, apparently fulfilling a fantasy he didn’t think applied to him. When he pulls back, he can see the smile in your eyes.

“Wait, why didn’t I get a good luck kiss?”

“You didn’t ask?” You shrug, but you’re grinning. He can hear it. 

“Next time.” He says, a little petulant and a little pouty before leaning in and kissing your helmet again. “Promise?”

“Promise.” And your voice is so soft Lando can hardly believe you’re real. And almost his. “Maybe you’ll actually win.”

“Oi!” Lando tries to sound indignant, but you’re both laughing, leaned into each other like flowers to the sun. 

When someone finally calls you away, the moment doesn’t shatter. It softens just enough to be gently separated. The emotion split cleanly in half, still warm. It melts slowly as you climb in the car. It dissolves into one last look out your window at Lando before you pull out of the garage.

[yn_ln54] third place!!! first podium, baby! let’s gooooo

[view comments]

[lando] congratulations! you did brilliant ♡ liked by author

⤿ [yn_ln54] omg ur so british

⤿ [lando] what does that mean???

[oscarpiastri] congrats!! 🎉 ♡ liked by author

[user9] lando 👀

⤿ [user16] lol professional landoyn shipper

[user17] yes!!! so proud of you girl!

[yn_ln54] they let me drive the car 🙂‍↕️

[view comments]

[lando] heyyyyy

⤿ [yn_ln54] i'm a professional driver, so its okay for me

⤿ [lando] ???

[oscarpiastri] wanna join mclaren we could use a driver

⤿ [lando] im literally right here

⤿ [yn_ln54] @/oscarpiastri i appreciate the offer, but nascar is my one true love

⤿ [lando] once again, right here ♡ liked by author

[nascar] wowww and i thought we were exclusive

⤿ [yn_ln54] no wait come back baby i didn't mean it

⤿ [lando] still here ♡ liked by author

[ohtobeleah]

The best friend thing!!!! Ahhhhhhh! Abbot couldn’t save his wife but he can help save you from whatever you have going on.

He hasn’t seen you in like three years. Maybe the last time he actually saw you was her funeral or something? Bonus points if there’s also some slight resentment towards him because you hold him personally responsible for her death.

So when he’s locking eyes with you from across the ED like he genuinely sees a fucking ghost, he knows whatever the situation is must be life or death or something terribly wrong…you wouldn’t come to him if you weren’t desperate. He knows you hold him partially responsible even if that’s just not true. Grief does different things to different people.

[harrysfolklore]

princess - mv3

summary: max dating a royal princess is the craziest rumor ever. right?

folkie radio: okay sooo i almost scrapped this entire fic bc i lost inspo mid writing it but i decided to finish it. nit rlly my best but i hope you like it !

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, charles_leclerc and 2,340,534 others

yourinstagram Life lately 🌺☀️

view all comments

user1 your feed is literally what pinterest wishes it was

user2 monaco's princess and she's still cooler than everyone i know

user3 i need your wardrobe immediately

user4 the way she's a princess but acts like a normal 26 year old 😭

user5 mother has posted

user6 i'm convinced she has the best life on earth

user7 not me forgetting she's actual royalty

user8 imagine being able to say "sorry i can't come i'm busy being a princess"

user9 she's the people's princess fr

user10 one thing about yn is she's gonna serve

user11 COOLEST PRINCESS EVER

alexandrasaintmleux excuse me why are you prettier than the sunset

└ yourinstagram Because i learned from you

└ alexandrasaintmleux liar ❤️

charles_leclerc Where is the photo i took

└ yourinstagram Not good enough for the feed

└ charles_leclerc Unbelievable

└ alexandrasaintmleux She's been bullying him for years don't worry

└ charles_leclerc THANK YOU

└ yourinstagram i am literally the victim here

user12 charles and yn bickering under every post is my favorite genre

user13 the monaco trio is back 😭

user14 yn and charles friendship content when

user15 if i lived in monaco i'd be outside hoping to run into her

user16 i just know she's funny in real life

user17 not actual royalty being friends with charles leclerc 😭

user18 i love how her account is just vibes and occasionally remembering she's a princess

└ user19 still obsessed with the fact she has a tiktok

user20 i wonder if she's dating anyone

└ user21 didn't people say she was dating max verstappen a while ago 😭

└ user22 PLEASE not this rumor again

└ user23 as if max verstappen is pulling a princess be serious

└ user24 the funniest part is some people genuinely believed it

user25 max verstappen dating a princess sounds like wattpad

└ user26 charles would have exposed it by now let's be real

user27 if yn had a boyfriend i feel like alex would accidentally reveal it

liked by lando, charles_leclerc and 2,019,394 others

maxverstappen1 🇲🇨☀️

view all comments

lando wow guys he posted

└ maxverstappen1 Unfortunately

alex_albon Who stole your phone

└ maxverstappen1 I posted this myself

└ alex_albon that's exactly what someone who didn't post it themselves would say

charles_leclerc Slide 2 looks familiar

└ maxverstappen1 It's coffee

└ charles_leclerc Sure

user1 charles knows something

user2 charles is being weird again

user3 why is charles always lurking under max's posts

user4 monaco content from max?? that's new

└ user5 he's been in monaco so much lately

└ user6 isn't he literally living there

user7 MY MANNN

user8 guys don't start

└ user9 i'm starting

└ user10 no because wasn't there that rumor—

└ user11 STOP

└ user12 the princess rumor 😭😭😭

user13 i can't believe people genuinely thought max was dating princess yn

└ user14 that was the funniest rumor ever

└ user15 imagine explaining that sentence out loud

user16 "formula one driver max verstappen is secretly dating the princess of monaco"

└ user17 sounds like a hallmark movie

user18 why yall talking about princess yn under his posts

└ user19 this is why nobody takes f1 fans seriously

└ user20 max would never date a princess

└ user21 and a princess would never date max 😭

liked by user1, user2 and 18,958 others

f1gossip Max Verstappen was spotted having dinner in Monaco last night with an unidentified woman.

The pair were seen leaving a restaurant near the harbor and walking together before getting into a car.

view all comments

user1 MAX???? ON A DATE????

user2 hold on hold on hold on

user3 WHO IS THAT

user4 max fans we ride at dawn

user5 this man has a GIRLFRIEND???

user6 why am i shocked like he's not a normal human being

user7 WHO IS THISSS

user8 the way this is how i'm finding out max leaves his house

user9 i need better photos immediately

user10 that picture was taken with a microwave

user11 zoom in

user12 ENHANCE

user13 BROOO I DONT BELIEVE THIS

user14 max verstappen has a girlfriend ??

user15 don't say it

user16 i'm gonna say it

user17 DON'T

user18 princess yn—

user19 GET OUT

user20 we're not doing this again 😭

user21 y'all think every woman in monaco is the princess

user22 why do yall randomly bring the princess up every single time

user23 if max was dating royalty we'd know

user24 "world champion dates princess" 😭😭😭

user25 if max was dating the princess charles would never be able to keep that secret

user26 this is probably just some rich monaco girl

user27 max pulling up with a mystery woman was not on my 2026 bingo card

liked by yourinstagram, charles_leclerc and 1,093,583 others

alexandrasaintmleux Thanks to our chauffeurs ❤️

comments

charles_leclerc Thank you for your support

└ alexandrasaintmleux Thank you for your service

└ yourinstagram 5 stars on uber

└ charles_leclerc That's all i get???

user1 WAIT

user2 CHAUFFEURS?????

user3 plural???

user4 THERE WERE TWO MEN???

user5 hold on because charles is obviously one of them

└ user6 WHO IS THE OTHER ONE

user7 OH MY GOD

user8 IS YN NOT SINGLE???

└ user9 THIS IS HOW WE FIND OUT???

user10 no because why did my stomach DROP

user11 i've never considered the possibility that princess yn has a boyfriend

└ user12 i thought she just existed independently from society

└ user13 same 😭

user14 WHO IS THAT

└ user15 zooming in immediately

└ user16 ENHANCE

└ user17 ENHANCE MORE

user18 all i can tell is that he's a man

└ user19 groundbreaking information

user20 charles is one chauffeur

└ user21 which means the other chauffeur was there specifically for yn

user22 PRINCESS YN HAS A BOYFRIEND

user23 OH MY GOD

user24 this lore

user25 ALEXANDRA WHAT HAVE YOU DONE

user26 there's literally no reason for a second guy to be there 😭

└ user27 unless they called an uber

└ user28 do you genuinely think alexandra saint mleux and princess yn of monaco take ubers

└ user29 fair point

user30 okay i'm being serious who is dating the princess of monaco

└ user31 some billionaire probably

└ user32 some prince maybe

└ user33 imagine if it's a normal guy

user34 imagine explaining to your parents that you're dating a princess

└ user35 "what does your girlfriend do?"

└ user36 "she's royalty"

└ user37 😭😭😭

user38 wait wasn't there that max verstappen rumor

└ user39 SHUT UP

└ user40 we're not doing this

└ user41 literally every mystery man becomes max verstappen

└ user42 that man could be 70 years old and y'all would still say max

user43 the funniest part is that if yn had a boyfriend she'd keep it private

└ user44 exactly we'll never find out who it is

user45 alex just accidentally caused an international investigation

user46 i know the palace PR team is SWEATING

liked by maxverstappen1, alexandrasaintmleux and 2,094,549 others

yourinstagram Last night's Princess Grace Foundation Gala 🤍 An evening dedicated to supporting young artists and celebrating creativity. Thank you to everyone who made it possible.

view all comments

alexandrasaintmleux absolutely stunning ❤️

└ yourinstagram Love you

charles_leclerc I was told there would be free food

└ yourinstagram There was

└ charles_leclerc Then I have no complaints

user1 i genuinely forget she's royalty until she posts things like this

└ user2 and then i'm like oh right she's a princess 😭

user3 the gown??? hello???

user4 whoever styled her deserves a raise

user5 imagine looking like this while attending a gala

└ user6 imagine attending a gala

└ user7 fair point

user8 no because she's living in a completely different reality than the rest of us

└ user9 princess by day, pinterest girl by night

└ user10 that's literally her brand

user11 i need to know what her life is actually like

└ user12 same

user13 imagine her boyfriend scrolling through these photos

└ user14 STOP

└ user15 i'm still processing the boyfriend thing

└ user16 every time someone mentions it i get surprised all over again

└ user17 because she feels above dating somehow 😭

└ user18 exactly

└ user19 not above dating 😭😭😭

user20 SHES SO ICONIC

user21 whoever the boyfriend is, he definitely saw these photos first

user22 i know she's a princess but she's really so iconic

user23 THAT SHOULD BE ME

user24 imagine your girlfriend casually sending you gala photos before posting them

└ user25 meanwhile i'm sending blurry selfies

└ user26 imagine getting a text like "how does this speech sound?"

└ user27 imagine proofreading a princess's speech

└ user28 that's actually insane

user29 imagine being introduced as "the princess's boyfriend"

└ user30 i'd immediately pass out

└ user31 i wonder if he's royal too

└ user32 probably

└ user33 i don't know, yn seems like the type to date someone normal

└ user34 define normal 😭

└ user35 not another royal

user36 imagine if her boyfriend an athlete

└ user37 wait

└ user38 don't

└ user39 DON'T

user40 every road leads back to max verstappen somehow

└ user41 this fandom has one joke

└ user42 and it's not even a good one anymore 😭

user43 if she was dating max we'd know

└ user44 exactly

└ user45 there's no way they could keep that secret

└ user46 absolutely impossible

liked by user1, user2 and 10,948 others

f1paddockupdates Max Verstappen attended the Princess Grace Foundation Gala in Monaco last night. The four-time World Champion was photographed arriving at the event and spending the evening with fellow guests.

view all comments

user1 max at a gala feels wrong somehow 😭

user2 OH WHAT IS THISSS

user3 WAIT wasn't princess yn there too

└ user4 she literally hosted it

user5 okay the rumors are about to start again

└ user6 as if they ever stopped

user7 i'm sorry but max verstappen dating the princess of monaco still sounds fake

└ user8 because it IS fake 😭

user9 i genuinely think she's dating some billionaire we've never heard of

└ user10 same

user11 people see max in monaco once and lose their minds

└ user12 he lives there 😭

user13 PRINCE MAX SO TRUE

user14 imagine if they've been together this whole time and everyone keeps dismissing it

└ user15 that would be the funniest thing ever

user16 there's no way they could keep that secret

└ user17 especially with charles involved

└ user18 now THAT is a good argument

└ user19 charles would accidentally leak it in under a week

└ user20 poor charles catching strays for being incapable of keeping secrets

user21 MAX AND PRINCESS YN??

user22 okay but WHAT is he doing there

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liked by yourinstagram, charles_leclerc and 1,984,430 others

maxverstappen1 Solid weekend. Thanks everyone for the support. 👊

view all comments

redbullracing 👏👏

charles_leclerc Decent weekend

└ maxverstappen1 Thanks charles

yourinstagram Told you it'd be a good weekend 🤍

└ maxverstappen1 You were right ❤️

└ user1 WAIT???

└ user2 "TOLD YOU"??????

user3 okay i'm listening

user4 HOLD ON

user5 why does that comment sound so...

└ user6 boyfriend girlfriend coded 😭

└ user7 no literally

user8 wait because how would she told him

└ user9 she probably wished him luck before the race??

user10 why would princess yn be texting max verstappen before a race 😭

└ user11 because they're FRIENDS

└ user12 exactly thank you

user13 and he replied with "you were right" ❤️

└ user14 IT'S THE HEART FOR ME

└ user15 he doesn't reply to everyone with hearts

user16 i think y'all are reading too much into this

└ user17 maybe

└ user18 but i'm choosing delusion

user19 every week these two accidentally feed the allegations 😭

└ user20 i'm still saying there's absolutely no way they're dating

user21 and i'm still saying if they ever announce it i'm deleting my account

└ user22 deal 🤝

liked by user1, user2 and 12,094 others

f1updates Max Verstappen was asked in today's press conference:

Interviewer: "What's the craziest rumor you've ever heard about yourself?"

Max: "Probably that I'm dating the Princess of Monaco."

view all comments

user1 HE KNOWS ABOUT THE RUMOR 😭

user2 I'M CRYING

user3 the way he started laughing immediately

user4 okay that pretty much settles it 💀

└ user5 exactly 😭

user6 imagine if he was actually dating her and just said this

└ user7 that would be the funniest thing ever

user8 no because imagine lying straight to everyone's face

└ user9 max would never 😭

└ user10 he looked way too amused

user11 honestly he's probably just tired of hearing it

user12 i still don't know where that rumor even came from

└ user13 literally because they're friends with charles???

└ user14 and they both live in monaco

└ user15 people ran with it for no reason

user16 wait because if i WAS secretly dating the princess i'd answer exactly like this

└ user17 😭😭😭

└ user18 stop feeding the delusions

user19 i'm sorry but this somehow convinced me more

└ user20 HOW

└ user19 because why did he laugh first

└ user21 because the rumor is ridiculous 😭

└ user22 exactly

user23 imagine princess yn watching this interview

└ user24 she's probably laughing too

└ user25 honestly i need her reaction

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, user1 and 234,948 others

charles_leclerc Recently.

view all comments

user1 CHARLES?????

user2 THAT IS LITERALLY MAX AND PRINCESS YN

user3 NO WAY 😭

user4 WAIT A DAMN MINUTE

user5 max just said dating her was the craziest rumor he's ever heard

└ user6 AND NOW THIS???

└ user7 HELLO???

user8 zooming in immediately

user9 THAT'S THEM

user10 THAT IS ACTUALLY THEM

user11 charles accidentally hard launching his friends 😭

user12 I'M CRYING

user13 somebody save slide 4 before he notices

└ user14 TOO LATE I ALREADY DID

user15 MAX YOU LIAR

user16 😭😭😭

THIS POST HAS BEEN DELETED

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replies:

user1 OH THEY'RE COOKED

user2 if it was innocent why delete it 😭

user3 exactly

user4 CHARLES LECLERC YOU HAVE CHANGED THE COURSE OF HISTORY

user5 max is currently on his way to charles' apartment as we speak

user6 charles is never beating the allegations that he can't keep a secret

user7 i'm sorry but deleting it made this ten times worse

user8 way worse 😭

user9 all he had to do was leave the post up

user10 now i'm convinced

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liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc and 2,094,958 others

yourinstagram A few moments lately 🤍

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alexandrasaintmleux The first point is important

└ charles_leclerc I don't appreciate this slander

└ yourinstagram And yet

└ charles_leclerc 😐

user1 OH MY GOD

user2 SHE KNOWS

user3 "do not trust charles with secrets" 😭😭😭

user4 YOUR HIGHNESS PLEASE

user5 THERE IS NO WAY THIS IS A COINCIDENCE

user6 charles accidentally exposing people and then getting called out publicly is killing me

user7 "monaco is surprisingly small"

user8 OH SHE'S EVIL

user9 SHE'S READING THE TWEETS

user10 i know she and max are somewhere laughing at us

└ user11 don't start

user12 no because that notes app screenshot feels targeted 😭

user13 charles is never recovering from this

└ user14 honestly? deserved

user15 i need to know what happened in the group chat after that post got deleted

user16 MAX LIKED THIS BYEEEE

user17 this is way too funny specially when you remember that she's a ROYAL PRINCESS

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, carmenmmundt and 1,938,439 others

f1 Royal visit. 👑🇲🇨 Princess YN of Monaco arrives at the paddock ahead of the Monaco Grand Prix.

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user1 THE PRINCESS HAS ARRIVED

user2 monaco gp weekend officially started 😭

user3 she looks so good omg

user4 home race for charles and the princess

user5 every year she somehow steals the show

user6 watch the cameras find her every five seconds 😭

user7 monaco's favorite daughter

user8 can't wait for the annual princess yn paddock content

user9 somewhere charles is already looking for her

user10 the real question is how long until she gets photographed talking to max

└ user11 DON'T START

└ user12 i'm serious 😭

└ user13 after this week every photo is getting investigated

user14 if max appears in the background i'm deleting my account

└ user15 see you tomorrow

└ user16 😭😭😭

user17 OH THIS IS ABOUT TO GET INTERESTING

user18 coolest princess ever fr

user19 charles deleting that post made everything worse

└ user20 WAY WORSE

└ user21 i still can't believe he actually deleted it

user22 charles leclerc the man that accidentally launched a thousand conspiracy theories

liked by user1, user2 and 65,948 others

f1gossip MAX VERSTAPPEN AND PRINCESS YN OF MONACO. WE REPEAT. MAX VERSTAPPEN AND PRINCESS YN OF MONACO.

After months of rumors, fan theories, deleted Instagram posts, suspicious comments, mysterious appearances, and one very unfortunate Charles Leclerc photo dump...

It appears the internet may have been right.

view all comments

user1 OH MY GOD OH MY GOD OH MY GOD

user2 EVERYBODY STAY CALM

user3 I AM NOT CALM

user4 CHARLES LECLERC YOU ARE NEVER SEEING HEAVEN

user5 i can't believe my eyes are actually seeing this

user6 oh god he's really dating a PRINCESS

user7 i just fell to my knees at walmart

user8 I SPENT SIX MONTHS DEFENDING THIS RELATIONSHIP TO PEOPLE WHO CALLED ME DELUSIONAL

user9 APOLOGIZE TO THE CONSPIRACY THEORISTS RIGHT NOW

user10 max looked us in the eyes and said it was the craziest rumor he'd ever heard

user11 they must be dating for like a year now

user12 THEY WERE LAUGHING AT US THE WHOLE TIME

user13 of course the rumors were real

user14 MAX VERSTAPPEN DATING A PRINCESS??A

user15 this is not real

user16 but HOW

user17 i love this bye

user18 THEY WEREN'T EVEN TRYING TO HIDE IT

user19 NO BECAUSE WE ALL THOUGHT THEY WERE JUST FRIENDS

user20 oh i know charles is livinggg

user21 CHARLES ACCIDENTALLY HARD LAUNCHED THEM WEEKS AGO

user22 i manifested this

user23 i've been staring at this for hours and i still can't believe it's real

user24 THIS IS THE FUNNIEST POSSIBLE WAY THIS COULD HAVE BEEN CONFIRMED

user25 THE FOUR-TIME WORLD CHAMPION IS DATING A PRINCESS

user26 THIS SOUNDS LIKE FANFICTION

user27 ACTUALLY IT SOUNDS EXACTLY LIKE FANFICTION

user28 SOMEBODY CHECK ON CHARLES

user29 no. fucking. way

user30 charles is currently turning off his pone

user31 IMAGINE BEING MAX VERSTAPPEN

user32 IMAGINE BEING PRINCESS YN

user33 IMAGINE BEING THE PERSON WHO TWEETED "WHAT IF IT'S ACTUALLY MAX"

user34 THEY WON

user35 THEY WON SO HARD

user36 MONACO GRAND PRIX WEEKEND HAS PEAKED

user37 THIS IS BIGGER THAN THE RACE

liked by yourinstagram, charles_leclerc and 4,093,240 others

maxverstappen1 P3 in Monaco and the best part of the weeknd

view all comments

ser1 wait HE posted it???

user2 oh my god 😭

user3 NO WAY

user4 i'm sorry but this is actually insane

user5 the princess of monaco and max verstappen was not on my 2026 bingo card

user6 remember when everyone said the rumors were ridiculous

└ user7 and then it turned out every single rumor was true 😭

user8 I STILL CAN'T BELIEVE THIS

user9 max and a princess. WHAT

user10 i know charles is somewhere relieved this is public now

user11 max saying it was the craziest rumor he'd ever heard about himself is taking me OUT

└ user12 meanwhile he was dating her the whole time

user13 THIS IS JUST INSANE

user14 they were laughing at all of us

user15 the fact that the conspiracy theorists got everything right

└ user16 every. single. thing.

user17 wait because wasn't she commenting on his posts this entire time?

└ user18 yes 😭

user19 "told you it'd be a good weekend 🤍"

└ user20 don't remind me

user21 i genuinely thought they were just friends

└ user22 same

user23 not max hard launching with a kissing picture

user24 not max hard launching with a PRINCESS

user25 honestly good for them

user26 they look really happy

user27 this has to be one of the wildest f1 relationship reveals ever

user28 a world champion dating a princess sounds fake

user29 it literally sounds like a wattpad story

charles_leclerc Thank God finally

└ user30 FINALLY???

└ user31 charles has been waiting for this day 😭

└ user32 he's free from keeping the secret

alexandrasaintmleux ❤️

└ user33 alex knew EVERYTHING

└ user34 of course she did

yourinstagram ❤️🤍

└ user35 your highness that is NOT enough information

user36 we're going to need a statement, a timeline, and the group chat screenshots

└ user37 respectfully 😭

[russianblush]

no ai usage over here. you’re gonna get my shitty authentic writing whether you like it or not