°˖✧˚ SYNOPSIS — ❝Lando has always had a weakness for Y/N's strawberry shampoo. Her hair that constantly stuck out in all directions. Her smiling eyes that sparkled at the sight of chocolate ice cream. Her short height that prevented her from reaching her favorite snacks spitefully placed on the highest shelf by Mrs. Williams. He couldn't pinpoint when his infatuation with the woman turned into a need to be around her, a need to be the only person she would need. However, Y/N preferred Oscar and even Lando wasn't able to change that.❞
°˖✧˚ PAIRING — Y/N && Lando Norris.
°˖✧˚ WARNINGS — none.
°˖✧˚ A/N — just a short introduction to the story (date of the publication? unknown). please remember that english is not my first language! errors and weird senteces might appear.
She was his Sun. The light that guided him, even if it had to disappear just beyond the horizon. It was thanks to her that he could continue to exist, trying to soar as high as possible and shine in this world.
He was her Icarus. The direction she longed to follow to feel alive. It was thanks to him that she could finally feel wanted and loved for everything she was.
A story about two people, where the first loved the second too much, and the second couldn't love the first.
°˖✧˚ SYNOPSIS — ❝She used to talk about him as if he placed the stars in the sky. Now, she couldn't even look at him. She only saw a stranger who once meant everything to her.❞
°˖✧˚ PAIRING — HUNGERGAMES!au. LIBRARIAN!Y/N && Carlos Sainz.
°˖✧˚ WARNINGS — mentions of death.
°˖✧˚ A/N — please remember that english is not my first language! errors and weird senteces might appear.
Life in New York was monotonous.
Y/N never liked the city's crowds and the exhaust fumes that escaped from cars' exhaust pipes every day, slowly seeping into the atmosphere in incomprehensible quantities.
People, always busy, never paid attention to the problems of the society around them. They could only pull out their latest cell phones to capture a fleeting moment and laugh at the created memories for the next couple of weeks with their limited friends who saw the world the same way. No one was exceptional. Each was just a white spot on the canvas of the same color.
Being different was ridiculed, after all.
The backward society couldn't understand how someone could create something unique and go against common sense. For the inhabitants of New York, following the prescribed path and repeating established patterns was the only acceptable course of action. They believed that this created a peace that didn't exist.
People mistakenly embraced the propaganda, a cursed mantra repeated on the radio. Every individual had to rid themselves of uniqueness and blend into the gray crowd. To lead a wonderful life, one had to heed the government's voice.
Fortunately, it was just propaganda.
Unfortunately, the society believed in it.
Y/N saw it as brainwashing, something that even her closest ones began to interpret differently.
Power became a friend, ready to exploit the gullibility of individual social groups. The process of taming individuals was childishly simple. Offering a few benefits was enough for the mindless crowd to follow the leader.
A leader pursuing their goals ruthlessly.
The family still constituted the closest environment. However, now it was made up of hidden enemies, ready to thrust a sharp knife in the back at the least expected moment.
Love had ceased to have any meaning in this circle.
Nature existed, exists, and will exist. So, no one paid attention to scorched forests, polluted oceans, and battered planets. They had all forgotten how much they needed it.
They had forgotten how much their dark hearts longed for it.
Society preferred to become like a flower, growing, going through a period of bloom, and then dying, leaving nothing behind. Their bodies were to be buried eight feet underground, then forgotten.
In those moments, she regretted ever appearing in this world in human form.
Animals were free, unrestricted, instilling fear.
Humans were the opposite, limited and terrified.
Wet branches, scattered all along the path, cracked under the pressure of her tall boots, which at that moment shielded her feet from the cold and the sharp objects she encountered on her way.
She fled into the forest, seeking refuge with Mother Nature.
The only sounds that echoed within a few meters were the murmurs of nearby streams and the rustle of branches. Nothing drowned them out here. No cars, no radio broadcasts.
She didn't know why she ended up here. Alone and lost in her thoughts.
But she felt like she could confide her darkest secrets to the nature surrounding her, and it would still accept her like a prodigal daughter. Mother Nature would never regard her with disgust. She could just be herself around her. Mother Nature would understand and make everything look different.
Surveying surroundings, her eyes met a familiar figure. Dark strands of hair danced freely in the wind, and a quiet melody filled the air around the trees.
"I didn't think I'd meet you on the trail, Carlos."
If the man had the non-existent ability to selectively turn his hearing off, he probably would have chosen to become deaf and mute, immersing himself in his thoughts. A tangled web reminiscent of a harlequinade. He would forget the world, allowing himself to drift into the infinite space of his fantasies.
Unfortunately, evolution hadn't endowed their species with such capabilities. It gave them speech, a tool proud to be the source of misunderstandings.
Y/N's voice reached him as if through a fog, somewhere between the lines of the song flowing from his lips. With sparks dancing in his eyes, he turned toward the source of the sound.
The woman was different from most of the population. She wasn't unbelievably exaggerated and soulless, like everyone else in his opinion.
"I could say the same, Y/N.", he said mockingly perhaps, but knowing deep down that he could never harm such a fragile being.
The woman he was talking to gave him a resigned look that met his forced inquiring expression.
He didn't like what was pretty. He liked what had a soul. She seemed out of place, like a figure pulled from a painting. A work of art he'd like to adorn with his name.
"Is the library closed today, or are you playing the rebel?"
"Playing the rebel would be appropriate if I found any amusement in it.", she said in quiet, calm tone. "My mom took over duties today. I needed to disconnect from the city for a moment."
Carlos knew why.
The concept of freedom was relative.
Written in the Constitution? Indeed.
In the law? Of course.
In the mindset of the rulers? There was only an arena. A place of worship to a god for whom thirty people were sacrificed.
Thirty people out of thousands, millions, or billions in the world.
The chosen ones.
Statistically? Nothing changed. Some greeted the day, others bid farewell to the world. Without tears, without reminiscing. Individuals were erased from the registry without any reaction. People were soap bubbles.
"Are you scared?", he asked.
"I'm not afraid of death, Sainz. I'm afraid of life without it."
One didn't have to be particularly brilliant to realize that each of them felt fear associated with the possibility that they might find themselves in the arena. In an arena where everything would want them dead.
"I'm not sure if this meeting isn't our last.", he said after a moment, sending his companion a sad smile. "I hope I'll see you again, that it's not the end. Hope dies last, but it's also the mother of fools."
"I can't believe I once thought you were different. From the beginning, you were cruel. You laughed at me, and because you were older, I couldn't retort because it hit me several times harder. But now I see that your irony made you unique. Your character is an art I love, so I was convinced that eventually I'd see you in a different light. That at some point, you'd become the object of my desires. Too bad it happened so late. Within the next forty-eight hours, we might be dead."
"Your presence lingers in my memory with simple words, although it seems to me that you don't do it deliberately, Y/N. Your being makes me want to keep you in my mind."
It was thanks to her that he was who he was.
They hated showing weakness or displaying any complex emotions to the external world.
Together, they shed the sea of tears, perhaps for the last time, leaving butterfly kisses on their skin, whispering countless 'I love you's and making promises they couldn't keep.
The next day the sky seemed different than usual. The city around her was the same. Only the society, dripping with hatred, still bestowed upon her the most beautiful smile, because false smiles are the most beautiful.
She bid farewell to her family and the love of her life with calm on her face.
With tranquility, she watched as her mother cried into her father's sleeve, who struggled to hold back tears, smearing the image in front of him.
Perhaps the last image of his daughter. His only child.
A child heading toward certain death. Calmly.
As soon as she disappeared from Carlos' sight, the entire house filled with his quiet sobbing. If it were up to him, he would erase their silent farewell from his memory and pretend it was just a bad dream.
She used to talk about him as if he placed the stars in the sky. Now, she couldn't even look at him. She saw only a stranger, someone who once meant everything to her.
Carlos Sainz was just a dream now, and sometimes, dreams should remain in the realm of sleep.
"I'm calling you for the twentieth time!", Charles shouted as soon as he spotted his teammate. "Where have you been?"
"Doesn't matter. What happened?"
"Y/N was here about an hour ago."
"What?", the Spaniard inquired.
"I was surprised too. She seemed off, but left something for you. A letter."
That's when he realized that the fuse had been lit. Y/N was the spark leading to his ignition. Now it was a matter of whether the Spaniard could prevent the disaster from happening in time.
When his fingers touched the paper, he knew what he was about to read would irreversibly change his life. For a brief moment, he even had the urge to tear the envelope into pieces and deny himself the chance of knowing its contents.
Dear Carlos,
Is this how I should start this letter? I have no idea. The last letter I wrote was about seven years ago. I addressed it to Santa Claus. But I figured you deserve more than two sentences, more than just a regular text or email.
My plane has probably already taken off, so stay where you are. Don't throw everything away trying to catch me. It's too late for that.
Maybe I'm acting selfish, giving only one of us a chance to explain, but I'm sure that whatever would come out of your mouth wouldn't change anything.
I'm learning not to dwell on our parting. I'm learning the way one learns to walk. I might stumble a few times, but then you won't even notice, and I'll cover that distance with a run.
We're too different. If I decided to stay and try, it wouldn't be healthy. This poison spreads too fast. It's unstoppable. And the antidote? It doesn't exist.
Someone once said that life is like a puzzle. The picture can be complete and perfect when all the pieces are in place. Why do we try to force a piece into a space when it doesn't fit? Don't look for me. Don't try to force me back into your life.
I understand you want to explain a lot to me, but keep it to yourself. It's the only way I won't start hating you.
Goodbye Carlos."
Carlos stood still. His muscles were relaxed, his head slightly lowered. The Spaniard was one of the indestructible. Of course, someone had chipped away at his fortress a few times, but never enough to make his castle crumble. The foundations were strong enough that despite many attacks, his body didn't resemble ruins. But that day, everything indicated that Carlos Sainz had given up.
He stood like that for a while. The letter and the white envelope slipped from his fingers, and he watched as the white sheets turned gray from the still-wet soil.
Finally, he twitched. He turned around and started walking toward the garage, not even glancing at his teammate standing there. But Charles observed him very closely.
His face was stone-like, hot and salty drops flowing down his face, leaving a trail of sorrow in their wake.
"Where are you going?", Charles finally managed to utter a question as Sainz was about to pass him.
He put his hand in his pocket, pulled something out, and moments later released pieces of paper from his hand, immediately snatched by the wind.
Sainz heard the sounds of engines. He looked up. Among the clouds, a plane soared, leaving behind a white trail.
"To hell,", Carlos exclaimed, still walking in the chosen direction, his pace quickening. "Because without her, there's no heaven."
Doctor Raynor closed her notebook and focused all of her attention on the man who couldn't tear his eyes away from his beloved.
Leclerc didn't want to participate in the weekly sessions, claiming they only exhausted him. They yielded no results. Time spent there could be easily used for long conversations with Y/N about their shared future.
Charles had fallen in love at first sight when he saw Y/N at the garage. She was so delicate, so beautiful, so sensitive. He couldn't imagine life without her. It would be like someone took away his oxygen. Without her smile, without her voice, without her, he would suffocate. He wanted to shield her from the world's evils. He needed to hold her tightly in his arms. He wanted to dance with her and promise that the dance floor belonged to them alone. He wanted to start a family, get married, forget about everything and everyone.
But to do that, Charles had to complete his therapy, and she was there to make sure he didn't miss his appointments.
"Do you still have nightmares, Charles?"
"No.", he said, averting his gaze from Y/N.
He had promised not to hurt her with his words. She had allowed herself to believe that superficial promise. Now she was suffering. How could he do this to her? Leclerc had broken his given word, but this time around, he wouldn't make it up to her. Never again.
"Oh, you're such a liar!"
"I'm not a liar, Y/N."
"You had a nightmare yesterday, Charles."
The therapist looked at Leclerc and tapped her fingers on the notebook's hardcover. She wanted him to confess the truth. She didn't want to force him, though.
"Fine, fine! I had a nightmare, but Y/N was there, and she calmed me down."
"How did she do that?", asked Dr. Raynor.
"She started talking about the wedding we recently attended. How much she liked it, how much better ours will be."
"I still remember that beautiful blue suit I told you to wear."
"You said it would match your dress."
"And it did!"
Charles laughed, but then he stopped suddenly. He looked at Y/N with tears in his eyes because he could swear he saw a red mark on her cheek for a moment. After all these days, he still remembered that moment.
Y/N saw his hand approaching her face. She saw everything and had time to dodge, but fear paralyzed her so much that she could only move her eyes. She even held her breath. At first, there was shock. She felt nothing. It was when she grabbed her cheek that she felt the pain. As if someone was pressing something hot into her cheek, simultaneously pricking her with a needle.
The man seemed to snap out of his frenzy. First, he looked at his right hand. Then he grabbed his hair as he fell to the floor. He shook himself, and she heard his sobs.
"I don't deserve forgiveness. I truly don't. Yet I want to hear you say that you forgive me."
"I forgave you, sweetheart. I did it a long time ago."
"But then I remind myself…", he said, looking sadly at his fiancée, who was still sitting beside him. He held her hand so tightly. He was afraid to let her go, to let her vanish. Even after all these years, he still couldn't break free from her perfect illusion that haunted him every minute, every hour, every day. "That you're just a shadow. You left, and I'm responsible for that."
He clenched the hand that held the engagement ring, pressing it where his heart used to be. He would gladly die for her. He would give up everything to be in her place. Tears dripped onto the carpet. Slowly, quietly. He cried like a child, repeating words he had said a million times to the tombstone under which his beloved was lying. 'I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry.' How many times had he uttered those words into emptiness? A thousand? A million? It had become his motto, his life, of which little remained. Y/N took it all with her, his heart and soul, leaving behind a tortured mind and a broken body.
He could stare at his phone screen all day, pleading for someone to see the messages he sent to her number. Of course, it didn't matter how many tears he shed over the screen. Nothing was the same anymore, and it was slowly killing him.
"My girl is gone, and I'm slowly dying each day she's not around."
And so, in the room, there were only two people left - Charles and the therapist sitting in front of him.
°˖✧˚ SYNOPSIS — ❝Y/N understood quantum physics, but Charles Leclerc was a true mystery to her.❞
°˖✧˚ PAIRING — Y/N && Charles Leclerc.
°˖✧˚ WARNINGS — mentions of guns and drastic interrogation methods.
°˖✧˚ A/N — i might turn this into something (full fic maybe?), but for now, enjoy whatever the hell this au! is. please remember that english is not my first language! errors and weird senteces might appear.
The chilling silence hung in the air, freezing blood in their veins. The room was consumed by an eerie stillness, broken only by the muffled sound of a shooter's boot hitting the floor. It shattered the tangible silence, disrupted by uneven breaths tainted with nervousness. Nothing was disturbing the lethargy, driven by the desperate determination to succeed in the operation. Not even the urge to reach for the rifle slung over the shoulder. Clouds of smoke accompanied the men, dispersed by the retreating night and replaced by the pinkish hue of the rising sun on the horizon. The exhaled air left behind only a fleeting, foggy memory, devoid of any imagery.
"Clear.", came the slightly distorted voice, illuminated by the red glow of the dashboard. A makeshift map with blood-colored markers denoting soldiers from his unit, was displayed on a small screen, about a dozen inches in size. All eyes in the vehicle turned to him, a gaze he could feel even without acknowledging anyone. Without hesitation, he nodded, opening the side doors and pushing his hair away from his forehead.
"Get inside and make sure the target doesn't call for help.", he replied coolly, extending his leg out of the black van. Its makeshift ordinariness was merely a cover, a tiny detail in the grand scheme of the clandestine operation. He felt no scent of doubt, no impulse of weakness that could shake his unwavering confidence in his abilities. After all, infiltrating the enemy's capital to abduct a few local geniuses was not extraordinary, right?
Just a few swift, measured steps brought them to the emotionally charged house, practically a mansion, bestowed upon another nerd by the state in exchange for silence and obedience to the law. The thought of all these geniuses devoid of any values, selfishly envisioning a future tainted by the state's poison, filled him with pure disgust. The morality instilled in him by growing up among revolutionaries could never comprehend such behavior. This community was dying at the monarchy's behest, and those who could help traded their skills for a comfortable and prosperous life. They had indeed set an interesting price for human life.
He slipped his hands into the pockets of his trousers, which bore no resemblance to the navy blue uniform adorned with badges. In a moment, he crossed the threshold of the building. It wasn't his first time intercepting a 'genius,' so the exclusivity failed to impress him. Besides, the Empire sent enough money to silence their power, balancing the environment he moved in. Soon, he heard the hurried footsteps of one of his subordinates, which turned out to be accompanied by others. Female, he noted after a while. The only thing that amused him was shooter's glove in the hostage's mouth.
He measured her with a stern look, leaning in and grimacing in displeasure.
"Year after year, they make less of an impression, Ms. Y/S.", he remarked, referring to the mediocrity of the woman . "I hope your mind isn't as dull as your face."
His forearms unconsciously crossed over his chest, while his index finger, supported by his elbow, rubbed the space between his brows, expressing his dissatisfaction with the current situation. It was so straightforward yet convoluted that his desire to be here vanished faster than ever before, if one didn't classify the obvious reluctance that emerged beforehand.
"Mr. Leclerc, you are in serious trouble. My father won't be pleased when he finds out about everything.", Y/N said.
"I'll blow your brains out and damage your organs so severely that no doctor will be able to help you before he does anything."
"I'd like to see you try to pull the trigger, Charles."
Y/N knew him too well. How could he shoot his first love? His beloved who, after breaking his heart, made his whole life feel like he was inhaling flowers that had no scent?
It wasn't her first visit to Velencester. The first time she had been here was almost seven years ago; back then, it felt like stepping into a three-dimensional fairy tale. The garden adorned with beautiful flowers, baskets brimming with ripe fruits, and the palace inhabited by the Sainz family took her breath away. Now, she was older, though not necessarily wiser. She had stopped believing in fairy tales. They were for the young, the naive, and the happy.
Y/N, after all, hadn't come to Velencester for pleasure. She came on business to talk to Carlos, who only thought about duties, homeland, and family. She was no longer a young, easily blushing girl, bothered by the presence of an aristocrat and hurt by his indifference. Moreover, Carlos never directly criticized anyone; he was too well-bred for that, but few could express disapproval with just a glance.
However, her heart skipped a beat when the rough voice of the oldest son of the Sainz family echoed through the small room. Carlos looked as she remembered: tall, handsome, with thick dark hair. His face was stern, impenetrable; he rarely smiled. This man exuded strength and power. He resembled his ancestors, whose portraits hung in the palace gallery: tanned skin, hazel eyes, almost as black as his hair, beautifully sculpted lips, but firmly clenched. He was always impeccably dressed.
"You've came back.", he said.
He observed her closely. Over these seven years, since he had seen her for the first time, she had transformed from a young, naive girl into a confident, attractive woman. Moreover, prettier than before. He often wondered how he would feel holding her in his arms. Even when she was angry, when she struggled to control her emotions, and spoke slowly, with the typical accent of her background, Carlos shivered. Her voice enveloped him like a summer breeze, giving him goosebumps. Trying not to show anything, he crushed the cigarette in the ashtray.
"And was I supposed to miss your wedding?", she asked in return.
Because of her, he felt like an idiot. He was behaving like an idiot. He always scorned men who used their physical strength to intimidate a woman or force her into submission. In his opinion, it showed a lack of intelligence or a vile character. Now Carlos wanted to act the same way. Unbelievable! This woman made him do the very thing he internally rebelled against.
Everything started with Y/N, so she bore the blame for everything. However, Carlos was a logical thinker; he saw the flaw in his reasoning. The woman didn't twist his arm. She didn't force him into anything. The blame rested on him. Damn it all.
Had he ever behaved like this before? No. Had he ever been tempted to take a woman to bed, disregarding her consent? No. Had he ever desired someone so much that he couldn't focus on anything else? No.
His thoughts were racing. Damn… What would happen if he kissed you? What would happen if he just moved his head a little bit closer to yours and kissed you?
If only you knew how many rules he was breaking right now, how badly his mind was messing with him, how badly he was considering acting on those desires.
But you didn't know, and he prayed to whatever god he could think of that it would stay this way.
He continued walking beside you, his eyes still fixed on you as if trying to absorb every little feature, every little detail. If he could paint you with his eyes, the painting would end up a masterpiece. He was sure of it.
"God dammit.", he whispered under his breath.
"What?"
"Nothing, just thought about something, mi hermosa."
