Latest Posts by widow-cevans - Page 2

Beneath the Bloodlines (Franco Colapinto) .𖥔 ݁ ˖.

“I don’t know. You seem... different, when no one’s watching.” ✶⋆.˚

Synopsis: You’re a privileged witch from a prestigious wizarding family, and you fall in love with Franco, a Muggle-born student. Forced to end your relationship to protect him, you’re torn between family duty and your own heart, struggling with the pain of your sacrifice as you can’t forget the love you lost.

Genre: Slowburn, Angst, Fluff

AU: Hogwarts!au

Pairing: Muggle!Franco x Pure-Blood!Reader

Warnings: Reader isn't a good person, but she means well. I gave them a good ending here because they lowkey weren't supposed to end up together, but I'm not that cruel I promise.

Note: Back to the Harry Potter fics while I try to figure out the ending to 'Cruising in Papaya' because I have so many things I wanna publish and have so many other fics planned. Anyways, I had fun writing this (aka breaking my own part), I hope you guys enjoy! Don't forget to like + reblog.

You sit at the end of a long dining table, the polished mahogany gleaming under the flickering light of enchanted chandeliers.

The walls of your family’s grand dining hall are lined with portraits of your ancestors—each one draped in regal wizarding robes, their eyes following you as if judging every breath you take.

Outside the frost-laced windows, the grounds of your estate stretch endlessly, blanketed by a soft mist that only adds to the manor’s imposing grandeur.

The clinking of silverware against fine china breaks the silence, but no amount of opulence can dull the sharpness in your father’s voice.

“Y/n, I trust you’ve been behaving appropriately at Hogwarts,” he says, his tone a mix of warning and expectation. His hawkish gaze fixes on you, and you feel the weight of the family name pressing down like the heavy pendant around your neck.

“Yes, Father,” you reply, keeping your tone neutral. It’s easier that way.

Your mother, seated to your left, places her wine glass down with a delicate hand. Her sharp eyes, so like yours, glint with something cold.

“Good. Because we’ve been receiving concerning reports about the school’s... lax attitudes. Headmaster’s leniency has allowed Muggle-borns to overstep their place.”

The word “Muggle-born” rolls off her tongue like a curse, and you’ve heard it too many times to flinch anymore. You’ve memorized the lectures, the justifications, the family’s obsessive need to uphold purity in the wizarding world. To them, tradition is everything.

“We’ve raised you to understand the importance of your bloodline,” she continues, her voice smooth but firm. “It’s not just your legacy—it’s your duty. And to ensure that you fulfill it, we’ve made arrangements.”

Your stomach tightens. You’ve been expecting this conversation, but the confirmation still twists something inside you.

“Arrangements?” you ask, keeping your voice steady, though you already know the answer.

Your father nods, a thin smile tugging at his lips.

“Charles Leclerc. A fine match. His family has the same values as ours, and their standing in the wizarding world is impeccable. He’s talented, from a distinguished bloodline, and will make a suitable husband.”

The room feels colder, despite the roaring fire in the hearth. You’ve met Charles a few times—at banquets, galas, and other events you’ve been forced to attend. He’s everything your parents want: charismatic, handsome, and firmly rooted in the beliefs that bind families like yours together. But to you, he’s a gilded cage waiting to snap shut.

Your mother’s voice cuts through your thoughts. “You’ll have plenty of time to get to know him better when he visits over the holidays. His family is eager to solidify this bond.”

They’ve decided your future, just as they’ve decided everything else. You nod, the weight of your family’s expectations sinking into your chest. You’re the perfect daughter in their eyes, but that perfection comes at a cost.

As the conversation shifts to other topics—affairs of the wizarding world, the latest scandals, and more disdain for Muggle-borns—you retreat into your thoughts. Outside, the mist deepens, cloaking the estate in an eerie quiet.

You wonder what it would be like to escape this life. To be free of the portraits’ judging eyes and your parents’ endless demands.

But then you think of him—the boy with a kind smile, who sees you as more than a name or a bloodline. Franco Colapinto, the one who’s already starting to unravel the carefully built walls around your heart.

Your mother’s voice interrupts again, crisp and demanding. “Y/n, are you listening?”

You straighten in your chair, the mask of obedience slipping easily back into place. “Yes, Mother,” you reply.

But in your heart and in your mind, the storm is already brewing. 

The first time you notice him, you’re standing in the middle of the Charms corridor, your wand clenched tightly in your hand. Around you, students bustle between classes, their chatter echoing off the high stone walls. But you’re stuck—utterly frustrated as the spell you’ve been practicing for weeks refuses to cooperate.

“Wingardium Leviosa!” you mutter again, flicking your wand in the precise motion Professor Flitwick demonstrated. The feather in front of you quivers but stubbornly refuses to rise.

You glance around, hoping no one’s paying attention. A member of your family struggling with such a simple spell? It’s mortifying.

“Try loosening your grip,” a voice says from behind you.

You turn sharply, surprised. Standing there is a boy you don’t recognize—dark hair slightly tousled, his tie a little crooked. He’s carrying a stack of books nearly as tall as he is, but there’s a kind smile on his face that somehow makes the intrusion feel less insulting.

“And why would I take advice from you?” you reply, your tone sharper than intended.

The boy’s smile doesn’t falter. “Because I’ve been watching you try for five minutes, and you’re gripping your wand like it’s about to run off.”

You blink, caught off guard by his straightforwardness. He doesn’t sound mocking—if anything, there’s a genuine attempt to help.

“Fine,” you mutter, adjusting your hold slightly. “Happy?”

“Not quite,” he says, stepping closer. He sets his books down and takes out his own wand. “It’s more of a swish and flick, like this.” He demonstrates the movement with practiced ease, and his feather floats gracefully into the air.

You mimic his motion, this time feeling the spell click into place. Your feather rises, bobbing gently in the air. Relief washes over you, but it’s quickly replaced by a mix of irritation and embarrassment.

“See? Told you,” he says, grinning.

You narrow your eyes. “Who are you, anyway?”

“Franco Colapinto,” he replies, extending a hand. “I’m new this year. Muggle-born.”

There’s a beat of silence as the word sinks in. Muggle-born. Normally, it’s the kind of thing your parents would scoff at, the kind of thing you’ve been taught to look down on. But standing here, looking at his easy smile and his confidence, you can’t summon the disdain they’d expect from you.

“Y/n,” you say finally, ignoring his hand and raising an eyebrow instead. “You’re awfully bold for someone who doesn’t even know their way around the castle yet.”

“I know enough,” he counters. “Like how to help someone who’s too proud to ask.”

For a moment, you’re stunned into silence. Then, before you can think better of it, a smile tugs at the corner of your lips.

“Thank you,” you say, though the words feel strange coming out of your mouth.

Franco shrugs, picking up his books again. “Anytime.”

As he walks away, disappearing into the crowd of students, you can’t help but watch him go. There’s something about him—something different.

You turn back to your feather, still floating in the air. For the first time, the corridors feel a little less cold, the walls a little less confining.

You don’t know it yet, but that moment will change everything.

The library is quiet, the only sounds being the rustle of parchment and the occasional whisper between students.

You sit at a corner table, your usual spot tucked away from prying eyes. Your open textbook blurs before you as your mind wanders to the task at hand—a complex potion formula that refuses to make sense.

“Stuck again?”

You glance up, startled. Franco stands there, a playful grin on his face, a quill tucked behind his ear.

“I’m not stuck,” you say quickly, closing the book as though that will prove your point.

He raises an eyebrow and slides into the chair across from you without waiting for an invitation. “Let me guess. Amortentia?”

You freeze. “How did you—”

“You were muttering ingredients under your breath.” He leans forward, resting his arms on the table. “The trick is to focus on the timing, not the amount. Most people get it wrong because they think adding powdered moonstone too early will speed things up.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you know that?”

Franco shrugs. “Reading ahead. You should try it sometime.”

The corner of your mouth twitches. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”

“And yet, here I am, helping you.”

Despite yourself, you laugh softly. It’s strange how easy it feels—this banter, this warmth. With him, there’s no need for the polished facade your family expects.

The next time you run into him, the evening air is crisp as the last of the Quidditch practice wraps up. The field is littered with players still chatting and laughing, broomsticks slung over their shoulders. 

The sound of footsteps echoes as they move toward the changing rooms, leaving the pitch growing quieter with each passing second.

You remain where you are, perched on the edge of the Quidditch stands, watching the fading light of the day paint the sky in streaks of pink and gold.

You’re not one of the players—never have been—but something about the energy of the game draws you in. There’s a certain freedom in watching, in being part of something without actually belonging to it.

The seat next to you creaks, and you glance to your left. Franco is there, his broom tucked under his arm, hair slightly disheveled from practice. He’s out of breath, cheeks flushed with the excitement of the game.

“Not heading back to the castle?” he asks, his voice low but amused.

You shake your head. “I like the quiet up here.”

“Yeah, me too,” he says, dropping into the seat next to you, his gaze scanning the empty field. “Sometimes, I just need to get away from the noise.”

You don’t respond at first, but the silence is comfortable, more comfortable than you expected. The hum of the breeze around you seems to fill in the gaps.

You glance at him, noticing the way the fading light makes his eyes seem lighter, warmer. He catches your gaze and gives you a small, knowing smile.

“What?” you ask, unable to hide the curiosity in your voice.

“Just thinking,” he replies, his voice quiet. “You’re not what I expected.”

You raise an eyebrow, not quite sure how to take that. “How so?”

“I don’t know. You seem... different, when no one’s watching.”

Your heart stutters for a moment, unsure how to respond to such an honest observation. The words hang between you, vulnerable and real, and you’re suddenly acutely aware of the way his presence fills the space beside you.

“Maybe I don’t like being watched,” you say after a beat, looking away, your fingers nervously tracing the edge of the bench.

He nods slowly, his expression softening. “I get that.”

For a while, neither of you says anything. You sit in the quiet together, the sounds of the castle now distant and muted. The only company is the soft rustle of the wind, the fading warmth of the sun, and the faint whispers of the past few hours of Quidditch practice.

Finally, Franco speaks again. “You know, it’s funny... I thought being on the team would be the thing that made me feel like I belonged here.” He laughs softly, almost to himself. “But it’s actually the opposite. I feel more myself when I’m not trying to be anything else.”

You turn your head to look at him, and the sincerity in his voice catches you off guard. There’s a rawness to his words, something that feels utterly honest, something you never expected from someone like him—someone who comes from the exact world your family would call “unworthy.”

“Do you ever feel like you’re just playing a part?” you ask, your voice quieter now.

Franco turns toward you, his gaze steady and searching. “All the time,” he says, but there’s no bitterness in his tone, just an acceptance that feels almost freeing. “But the trick is not to let it swallow you whole.”

His words settle over you, making your heart beat a little faster. It’s strange, how easy it feels to talk to him, to let down your guard in a way you’ve never allowed yourself to do before.

For a long while, neither of you moves. The field below you is empty now, the stands quiet except for the occasional gust of wind.

And just for a moment, you wonder what it might be like to live like him—to exist without constantly measuring every move, every word, every expectation. To simply be.

But that life isn’t for you. Not in the world you were born into.

Still, you sit there, side by side, feeling the weight of the world shift ever so slightly in his presence.

Finally, as the last light fades from the sky, you stand, reluctant to break the stillness between you.

“Guess I should go,” you murmur, your voice barely a whisper.

Franco looks up at you, a small smile playing on his lips. “I’ll walk you back.”

You hesitate but nod. “Alright.”

As you walk side by side toward the castle, his presence beside you is somehow both grounding and unsettling, like a constant reminder of a world you don’t fully belong to, but can’t quite let go of.

The castle is eerily quiet at night, the only light coming from the torches lining the stone walls.

You walk beside Franco, your steps muffled by the thick rugs underfoot, the soft glow from the torches casting flickering shadows on the ancient stone. There’s something almost magical about the stillness, a sense that the world beyond these walls is far away.

“If we get caught, this is your fault,” you whisper, though there’s no real annoyance in your voice. You can’t quite suppress the thrill of sneaking through the halls at night, the usual sense of duty and expectation left behind for a while.

Franco smirks, holding up a folded piece of parchment. “Relax. I’ve got the map. We’re fine.”

The Marauder’s Map. You could never have imagined him holding something so rebellious, yet somehow it seems to suit him perfectly.

“You’re entirely too comfortable breaking the rules,” you tease, a playful edge to your voice.

“And you’re entirely too afraid to.”

The words sting, but only because they’re true. You’ve spent your entire life obeying rules, living in the confines of expectations that you never questioned. His way, though, it’s reckless—and yet, it feels free.

You glance at him, his face lit by the faint glow of the torches, and for a moment, you wonder how he can walk so easily in a world that constantly tries to push him down. How does he stand tall with so much weight on his shoulders?

“How do you do it?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

“Do what?”

“Stay... you. When everything’s against you.”

Franco stops, his expression shifting from lighthearted to something deeper. His gaze locks with yours, the soft glow from the torches flickering across his features, making his eyes seem even more intense than usual. There’s no sarcasm, no teasing. Just quiet, raw honesty.

“Because I don’t let them decide who I am.”

It’s such a simple answer, but it hits you harder than any lecture or reprimand your family has ever given you. In that moment, you feel something shift—like a door cracking open, letting in light where there had only been shadows.

Your heart beats a little faster. You think of your family’s expectations, the path they’ve paved for you, how every step feels like it’s already been written.

You’re expected to be a perfect daughter, the ideal pure-blood witch, but... you’ve never really known what it means to be just you.

Franco watches you, his gaze steady, almost knowing.

“You should try it sometime,” he says with a small smile, echoing his words from the library.

For the first time, you wonder if he’s right. If you should try it.

You swallow hard, feeling the weight of his words and the stirrings of something deep inside you. You don’t answer him right away. Instead, you keep walking, each step feeling heavier now, as though the weight of his question is lingering in the air between you.

Finally, you reach a narrow, quiet hallway—a place where the shadows seem to swallow sound, where no one would dare to pass at this hour. You glance around, feeling the pulse of adrenaline in your veins, the rush of doing something forbidden, yet exhilarating.

Franco leans against the stone wall, his posture casual, but there’s an intensity to him now, something quieter, almost waiting.

“What happens if we get caught?” you ask, your voice a little quieter than before.

Franco shrugs, his gaze lingering on you in a way that makes your heart race a little faster. “Then we deal with it. Together.”

The simplicity of his words sends a strange warmth through you. The way he says it—as though it’s nothing, as though the consequences don’t matter as long as you're not facing them alone. It’s almost enough to make you forget the fears that have been so carefully instilled in you.

You stand there, just looking at him for a moment, the quiet intimacy of the moment settling over you. And in that silence, you feel something shift between you—something more than friendship, more than mere companionship.

“You never answered me,” you say softly, breaking the tension. “How do you stay so... sure of yourself?”

Franco’s eyes soften, and for the briefest moment, he doesn’t look like the boy who defies every expectation placed on him. He looks like someone who’s seen the world in all its unfairness but still chooses to walk his own path.

“I don’t know if I’m sure,” he says quietly, “but I’m not going to live my life pretending to be something I’m not.”

His words hang in the air, heavy and honest, and you realize you don’t want to pretend anymore either.

But as your gaze locks with his, you feel the pull of your own truth, the truth you’ve been avoiding—the weight of your family, the future they’ve mapped out for you. The truth that, despite everything, still clings to you, no matter how far you try to run from it.

“I should get back,” you say, your voice a little breathless.

Franco straightens, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, he nods, offering you a small, understanding smile.

“Yeah, probably,” he says, but there’s something in his tone—something like a promise, unspoken but felt all the same. “But you don’t have to walk alone.”

You hesitate, the words hanging between you, and for a brief moment, it feels like the entire world might shift in this hallway, in the quiet between you.

But you turn away, your heart pounding, the decision already made.

You may not be able to live your life like Franco yet, but you know one thing for certain.

You don’t want to live it alone.

The days following your late-night walk with Franco seem to blur together in a strange mixture of tension and yearning.

Every glance you steal at him, every stolen word, feels like a rebellion against the life your family has set out for you. But you know better than to make any rash decisions. Your family’s hold on you is too tight—your future already mapped out, carefully planned like the stones in a wall.

Your parents intensify their efforts to push you toward Charles in the following weeks. They invite him to every possible Hogwarts event—dinners in the Great Hall, late-night study sessions in the library where you’re expected to assist him with his work, and even casual strolls around the grounds, as if the whole school should be able to see you together.

“You know, darling,” your mother says one evening, as she surveys you carefully while adjusting your robes, “Charles is such a fine young man. I’m sure you two will have so much in common.”

You give her a tight smile, nodding just enough to appease her. “Of course, Mother.”

She beams at you, oblivious to the knot tightening in your chest.

Charles is everything your family could hope for—polished, handsome, and above all, pure-blood in every sense of the word. He carries himself with the air of someone who has never known a life without wealth or privilege, his polished smile a constant reminder of his family’s legacy.

But as you spend more time with him, you begin to see the cracks in his carefully constructed façade. The charming exterior begins to falter when no one is watching.

At dinner one evening, he’s seated next to you, as always, his elbow resting casually on the table as he talks about his summer. 

“I can’t believe my parents are pushing me to spend my time on all these charity events,” he complains, swirling his wine idly.

“It’s all so tedious. I’d rather be at the Manor, relaxing. But no, they’ve got me running errands for other families who don’t even matter in the end.”

You glance at him, surprised by the bitterness in his voice. “You’re not happy to help?” you ask, genuinely curious.

Charles laughs, but there’s no warmth in it. “I’m not happy to do anything that doesn’t benefit me. You should know that by now.”

The words sting, but you brush them off, feeling the weight of your family’s expectations pressing down on you. Still, there’s something in his words—something that feels more human than the polished image he likes to present.

Later that night, you find yourself alone with him in the courtyard, where the moonlight casts long shadows over the cobblestones. The cool air settles over you, and Charles’ voice breaks the silence once more.

“You know,” he starts, his voice quieter now, “Sometimes I feel like I’m trapped in all this.” He gestures to the grounds, the towering spires of Hogwarts in the distance. “Everything is decided for me. My future, my connections. My parents won’t even listen to my opinions anymore.”

You study him carefully, surprised by the vulnerability he’s showing. It’s not the Charles you’re used to—the charming, confident heir to a prestigious family. This Charles seems... lost.

“I thought you wanted this,” you say softly.

“I thought I did, too,” he admits, his tone tinged with something like regret. “But now... it’s like I’m drowning in it.”

For a moment, you see the young man behind the title, the boy who is also a prisoner of his bloodline. He’s not just the golden child of a pure-blood family. He’s a person—a person who feels the weight of his own inheritance, who feels the chains that bind him as much as you do.

“Do you ever wonder what it would be like to be free?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Charles doesn’t answer right away. He looks away, his gaze distant. For a brief moment, you wonder if you’ve pushed him too far, but then he turns back to you, his smile weak but genuine.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” he says quietly, “to be the perfect heir, always expected to be more than you can be. It’s... it’s suffocating.”

You don’t know how to respond. You’ve never really thought about it that way—how Charles, too, is a puppet to his family’s expectations, bound by the same invisible strings that have always held you back.

“I think we’re both in the same boat,” you finally say.

He looks at you, his eyes searching yours as if looking for something—maybe understanding, maybe a shared truth. “Maybe,” he says slowly.

You don’t know what to make of it. The conversation lingers in your mind, like an unfinished spell.

The reality of it all—Charles’ struggles, his insecurities, his desperation to break free—sits uneasily with you. But even as you understand him a little more, the thought of your future with him feels colder, more distant.

And all you can think about is Franco—the boy who, despite everything stacked against him, dares to be himself.

The more you try to ignore it, the more it becomes impossible to resist. Every stolen glance, every whisper exchanged, feels like a forbidden secret pulsing between you and Franco. 

You’ve come to realize that the rules that once held your life together now feel more like chains—chains that, when broken, give you a taste of something real.

It starts innocently enough, these secret meetings—passing notes between classes, lingering after hours to talk in quiet corners. But soon, it’s not enough. You crave something more, something deeper. Something that, no matter how hard you try, won’t be denied.

One night, after the last bell has rung and the students disperse to their common rooms, you find yourself slipping out of your dormitory, the darkened hallways a comforting refuge. You glance over your shoulder, making sure no one sees, and move quickly through the castle’s winding corridors.

Franco’s waiting for you at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the shadows dancing on his face as he leans casually against a tree. He’s always been good at making danger feel like a challenge, not a threat.

“You’re late,” he teases, his voice low.

“Had to lose a few people,” you reply, your breath coming in short bursts. It’s exhilarating, this secret life you’ve carved out for yourself.

He smiles, but there’s a softness in it—one that you’ve come to recognize as his true self, the one he only shows when it’s just the two of you.

“You’re always running away,” he says quietly, stepping closer. “What if you stopped? What if you just stayed?”

The words hang between you, fragile and tentative. You look at him, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, and something inside you shifts. The walls that have always surrounded you seem to falter, crumbling little by little.

“I don’t know how to stay,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

“You don’t have to figure it all out now,” Franco says, his hand brushing against yours in a brief, electric touch. “But you can start by being here. With me. Right now.”

You let out a slow breath, as if the very idea of staying—of being truly present in this moment with him—terrifies you. But as his hand lingers in the space between you, you feel the weight of your family’s expectations start to slip away, replaced by something lighter, freer.

And so, you do stay.

The days that follow are a blur of stolen moments—hidden meetings beneath the Astronomy Tower, quiet conversations in the Library’s darkest corners, and long walks through the castle grounds. 

Each time, you feel the world around you get a little bit smaller, the only thing that matters being Franco and the connection that is growing between you.

One evening, after the last of the evening students have gone to bed, you find yourself walking alongside Franco through the Forbidden Forest. The moon casts long, eerie shadows over the path, but it’s beautiful in its silence, away from the eyes that have always watched you.

Franco glances at you, a question in his eyes. “Do you ever think about what we could have... if the world didn’t get in the way?”

You hesitate, your heart pounding. It’s the question that’s been sitting in the back of your mind for weeks now. What if? What if there was a life beyond the walls of Hogwarts, beyond the blood status, beyond the endless expectations of your family?

“I think about it every day,” you admit, the words flowing out before you can stop them.

Franco stops, turning to face you. His eyes are filled with something deeper now—something that goes beyond mere affection. “What would you do?”

The question catches you off guard. What would you do? The possibilities feel endless, like an open sky, but they’re also terrifying.

“I would...” You pause, feeling the weight of it all.

You’ve spent your entire life living for others, living for a future you didn’t choose. But with Franco, it’s different. He makes the world feel like it could be your own.

“I would want to be free,” you say quietly, your gaze meeting his. “Free to choose. To be with you, without anyone telling me I can’t.”

Franco steps closer, his voice low, his hand brushing your cheek as he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted, too.”

His lips find yours then, and for a moment, it feels like the world falls away entirely. There are no expectations, no rules, no family legacy to uphold. There’s just the two of you—two people bound by something deeper than blood status or societal expectations.

You pull back, breathless, your heart racing. “What if we could?”

Franco’s smile is soft, filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. “We could. We just have to believe we can.”

The idea of a life outside the confines of your family’s control lingers in the air, both thrilling and terrifying. You don’t know what the future holds, but with Franco by your side, for the first time, you’re not afraid to find out.

The silence in your dormitory is heavy, punctuated only by the quiet rustling of parchment as you prepare for your next set of classes. The world outside seems calm—everything still seems... normal. But there’s a coldness settling in your chest, a chill that hasn’t been there before.

The weight of your secret feels unbearable now. The hours you’ve spent sneaking around, the stolen moments with Franco—they’ve all led to this point.

And you know it’s only a matter of time before someone catches on.

You’ve been doing your best to keep your distance from Charles, to avoid the forced meetings and the long, drawn-out conversations that always seem to circle back to expectations you can’t bear. But despite your best efforts, your family seems to be closing in on you.

They’re beginning to notice your absences, the way you’re always slipping away from social gatherings, your eyes distracted when you should be focused on Charles.

It’s Charles who finally puts the pieces together.

You hadn’t expected him to notice so quickly, but he’s been watching you—perhaps more carefully than you ever realized. His charm has always been a mask, one that’s cracked in moments when he’s felt threatened. And now, the mask slips, revealing something sharp underneath.

One evening, after dinner in the Great Hall, he finds you alone, standing near the entrance. He approaches with his usual confident air, but this time, there’s a tension in his posture that sends a shiver down your spine.

“You’ve been acting strange,” he says, his voice quiet but piercing. “I thought we had an understanding.”

You look at him, heart pounding. “What do you mean?”

His gaze narrows. “Don’t play dumb. I know what’s been going on.”

You feel your breath catch in your throat. He knows. How long has he suspected?

“You’re seeing him, aren’t you?” Charles’s words hang in the air, and for a second, it feels like the entire Hall goes silent around you.

Franco.

Your heart races, and the ground beneath your feet seems to shift. How did he find out?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady, but the cracks are already forming.

Charles steps closer, his gaze intense. “I’m not stupid. I saw the two of you in the courtyard last week. You thought no one was watching, but I was. You’re spending time with a Muggle-born—Franco Colapinto, of all people.” He spits the name out as though it’s poison, his distaste clear in every syllable.

Your heart sinks. He’s caught you. The secret you’ve worked so hard to protect is now laid bare.

“I told you it wasn’t just about us,” Charles says, his voice laced with bitterness. “You’re betraying everything. You’re betraying your family.”

Before you can respond, a cold, firm voice cuts through the air.

“You’re right, Charles. She’s betraying the family.”

Your head snaps to the side, and there, standing at the edge of the hall, is your mother, her expression stern and unforgiving. Behind her, your father stands like a looming shadow, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.

The walls of your family’s quarters in Hogwarts feel suffocating as your parents stand before you, their cold eyes locked onto yours.

The flickering torchlight casts harsh shadows across the stone walls, accentuating the severity of their expressions. You can hardly breathe in the heavy silence that follows their ultimatum.

"You have no idea what you've done, Y/N," your father’s voice is low, sharp like a knife. "Do you truly think you can live with the consequences of your actions?"

You stand before them, heart racing, as though you’re caught in some impossible dream—a nightmare where every word they speak strikes harder than the last. The weight of your family’s expectations presses down on you like an unshakable force.

"Do you think the pure-blood wizarding world will stand for this?" your mother adds, her voice betraying a quiet fury. "You’ve sullied your name. You’ve betrayed everything we’ve worked for."

They’re trying to break you, you realize. Trying to make you see the gravity of your mistake.

But it’s too late.

The truth has already made its way into your heart—the truth of your love for Franco. The truth of the bond you share has become more important than the expectations of your family, more important than anything.

But the sting of their words lingers in your chest, tightening with every passing second. You try to steady yourself, to push back against the storm building inside. You can’t let them see how much they’ve shaken you.

You can’t let them win.

"You’ll do what’s right," your father continues, his gaze icy and unforgiving.

"You’ll break ties with that Muggle-born and you’ll marry Charles, as we have planned. You’ll uphold your duty and restore honor to this family."

The air feels too thick. You can hardly think straight. The weight of your family’s demands threatens to crush you, but a single voice cuts through the chaos in your mind.

Franco. The warmth of his hand in yours, the feel of his presence beside you, comforting you, grounding you.

"You have no choice in the matter," your mother presses, her voice growing colder with each passing word.

"If you refuse, we will ensure that he—Franco Colapinto—never sets foot in this castle again. We’ll make sure his reputation is ruined. You don’t understand the power we hold."

The finality of her words hits you like a punch to the stomach. The thought of Franco, the boy you love, being torn apart by the very same people who have always controlled your life—it feels like a weight too great to bear. You can feel your chest tighten, your breath coming faster.

"We can make him a pariah, Y/N," your father adds, his voice dark and cold. "It would be easy. His time at Hogwarts, his future as a wizard—it could all be destroyed with a single whisper."

You feel your knees weaken beneath you. The pressure in your chest is unbearable. 

This isn’t just about your future anymore—it’s about his. Franco, who never asked for this. Franco, who fought for a life in a world that never accepted him, only to have it ripped away by the people who are supposed to be your family.

"You can’t—" Your voice cracks, and you quickly swallow the knot in your throat. "You can’t do that. You can’t hurt him."

The coldness in your father’s gaze sharpens.

"We will. And don’t think for a moment that your connection with him is a secret. The whole school will know what’s going on if you continue down this path. We will destroy him, Y/N. We will make sure his name is mud."

The walls close in on you. You glance between your parents, their hardened faces staring back at you with ruthless certainty. You know they will do it—know they will pull every string they have to ruin Franco’s life.

They’ve always had the power to control things, to bend people to their will. But this time, it’s different. This time, it’s him.

"I—I can’t do it," you whisper, your voice shaking, your heart breaking. "I can’t choose between you and him. I can’t."

Your mother’s expression softens, just slightly, before hardening again. "You will make a choice, Y/N. A choice between your bloodline and some fleeting relationship with a boy who can never give you the life you deserve." She steps closer, her eyes never leaving yours. "You’re not a child anymore. You know what’s at stake."

A part of you wants to scream, to reject their demands. But the weight of their words, of their promises to ruin Franco, keeps you rooted in place.

You want to fight, but the image of Franco devastated and broken by their wrath, stops you in your tracks. You’ve spent your whole life running from this moment, but now it’s here—and there’s no easy way out.

“You’ll end this,” your father insists. “Or you will never see this family again.”

You stagger back, your heart racing, a thousand thoughts swirling in your mind. Your world is crashing down around you, the pieces of everything you thought you knew about loyalty, family, and love shattering one by one.

The ultimatum hangs in the air, heavy and suffocating.

"Choose," your mother says softly, her voice final, her gaze unwavering. "Choose now, before it’s too late."

The wind is biting tonight, sharp and unforgiving as it sweeps through the trees. You walk through the darkened grounds of Hogwarts, your heart in your throat.

Every step feels heavier than the last, the weight of the decision you’ve made pulling you down, making it harder to breathe.

You reach the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the familiar shadows of the trees looming ahead. This is where you promised Franco you’d meet him. This was supposed to be a moment of peace, a place where the world couldn’t touch you. But tonight, everything is different.

Tonight, you’re about to shatter both of your worlds.

You spot him standing by the edge of the trees, his dark hair disheveled, his usual bright eyes now searching the horizon for you. When he sees you, his face lights up in a way that makes your chest tighten.

For a brief moment, you almost forget. Forget why you’re here. Forget the ultimatum.

“Y/N,” Franco calls softly, his voice warm despite the chill in the air. He steps toward you, and you almost lose your resolve. 

You want to reach out to him, to tell him that you’ve changed your mind, that everything will be okay. But you know it won’t be.

You stop a few feet away from him, taking a deep breath as you fight to steady your racing heart. This is the hardest thing you’ve ever done.

Franco frowns, noticing the distance in your gaze. “What’s wrong?” he asks, his voice laced with concern. He takes a step forward, but you hold up a hand to stop him.

“No,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “I can’t… I can’t do this anymore, Franco.”

His eyes widen in disbelief, his brows furrowing. “What do you mean? What’s going on?”

You swallow hard, biting back the wave of emotion threatening to overtake you. “This—it’s not going to work. I can’t be with you anymore.”

Franco stares at you, as though he doesn’t understand the words coming out of your mouth. His face falls, and the light in his eyes flickers for just a moment. 

“What are you talking about?” he asks again, his voice quieter now, almost pleading.

You close your eyes, willing yourself to hold it together. “I don’t want to hurt you, Franco,” you say, the words feeling like acid in your mouth. “I never wanted to hurt you. But I have to let you go. It’s over.”

There’s a long silence between you, and the air feels suffocating, thick with everything unsaid. His face crumbles, the pain evident in every line of his expression. His hand reaches out toward you, but you take a step back, your heart breaking all over again.

“I don’t understand,” he whispers, his voice cracking. “I thought we... we were in this together. You told me you loved me.”

“I do,” you say quickly, your voice breaking. You want to say more.

You want to tell him everything—about the threats, about your family’s cruelty, about how you’re terrified for his safety. But you can’t. You can’t drag him further into this world, into this mess you’ve created. It’s too dangerous.

“I love you, Franco,” you whisper, the words barely audible, “but this isn’t safe. For you. For both of us.”

Franco takes a shaky step toward you. “So, what? Just like that, you’re giving up on us? You’re going to pretend like none of it meant anything?”

You shake your head, tears threatening to spill. “It’s not like that. It’s just...” The words catch in your throat, and you fight to keep your composure. 

“I can’t lose you. And I can’t lose everything else, too. I don’t have a choice. You don’t understand how dangerous this is.”

His eyes widen as he steps back, the realization dawning on him. 

“You’re doing this for me? For my safety?” He takes a sharp breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re willing to let go of us because you think they’ll hurt me?”

You nod, feeling your chest tighten even more, the pain of this decision almost unbearable. “Yes,” you whisper. “Yes, Franco. They’ll ruin you. I can’t let that happen.”

Franco’s expression hardens, a mixture of anger and hurt flashing in his eyes.

“So, what? You’re just going to walk away from everything we’ve built? Everything we’ve shared?” His voice is rising now, but it’s not in anger—it’s in pain, the raw emotion cutting through him.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out, your voice barely a whisper. “I’m sorry, but it’s for the best. You have to forget about me.”

He stands there, frozen, staring at you with disbelief and sorrow in his eyes. For a long moment, he doesn’t say anything, his gaze searching yours as though looking for some sign that this isn’t real—that you aren’t really telling him this. But deep down, you know it’s too late.

Finally, he takes a step back, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I can’t believe this,” he mutters, his voice barely audible.

“I thought you were different. I thought... we were different.”

Tears blur your vision as you turn away from him, not trusting yourself to say anything else. The words you wanted to say—the truth about why you’re doing this, about how much you still love him—are stuck in your throat, choking you.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, more softly this time, your voice breaking. “I’m sorry, Franco.”

You turn and walk away, your steps unsteady. You hear him call your name once, and it feels like a knife twisting in your chest. But you don’t turn back. You can’t.

The world feels empty now, a hollow place where everything you thought was real is gone. And the love you had for Franco—your love for him—feels like a wound that will never heal.

The castle felt colder than usual ever since that night, as though the very walls of Hogwarts had turned against you.

Every corner seems to echo with the absence of Franco’s presence. His laughter, his warm smile—things that used to fill the space between you now feel like distant memories. You still feel his absence deep in your chest, the hollow ache where his love used to reside.

You’ve become a stranger to him now, and the worst part is that you’ve chosen to be that stranger.

You avoid him in the halls, in the library, even during meals in the Great Hall. You keep your gaze fixed on your plate, pretending you can’t hear the soft murmur of his voice when he calls your name, the way it wavers with hope and confusion. 

You won’t look at him. You can’t.

You’ve made your choice. You can’t let him know the truth, can’t let him see how much this is killing you. So you keep walking past him, your heart shattering with every step.

But Franco—he doesn’t understand.

Every day, he tries to reach out to you. It starts with tentative glances across the room, his eyes filled with questions he’s afraid to ask. When you’re alone in the library, he’ll approach, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Y/N, what’s going on? Why are you acting like this? Did I do something wrong?”

The desperation in his voice cuts you deeper than any words could. But you remain cold, detached, hiding behind a wall of indifference that you’ve built around yourself.

“No,” you say quietly, not meeting his gaze. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just... I need space.”

And that’s all you give him. Space. Silence. Distance. Because that’s all you can offer him now.

Franco’s confusion grows with every passing day. He watches you closely now, like he’s waiting for something, for any sign that you’ll come back to him. But you don’t. The days stretch on, and the weight of his loss begins to crush him from the inside out.

His grades start to slip. The assignments that once came easily now seem impossible. He’s distracted in class, his mind wandering to the painful silence between you two, the way you refuse to acknowledge him.

His friends notice the change. Lando, his roommate and the one person who’s always had his back, raises an eyebrow when Franco stumbles through their shared dorm room late one evening, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

“Mate, what’s going on?” Lando asks, concern creeping into his voice. “You’ve been off for days now. You’re barely eating, you’re not showing up to practice. Is it about... her?”

Franco looks at him, his eyes empty, the spark that once burned brightly in them now gone.

“I don’t know what happened,” he mutters, running a hand through his hair. “She won’t talk to me. She... she just shut me out, Lando. I don’t understand why.”

Lando sighs, his expression softening. “Look, I know you care about her, but if she’s pushing you away, maybe... maybe it’s for a reason. Maybe you need to give her space, yeah?”

But Franco can’t give up. Not like this. He can’t accept that she’s just... gone. He spends hours in the library, researching everything he can about the things that might have driven her to act this way. But nothing makes sense.

The silence between you two feels louder than anything he’s ever experienced. And the more time passes, the more he feels like he’s losing control of everything. His world, once so steady and clear, has become a series of questions with no answers.

He starts to drift away from his usual circles. He no longer joins in the conversations during meals or laughs with his friends like he used to. His social life is unraveling, slipping through his fingers as though everything he once held dear was slipping away without him even realizing it.

The other students start to notice too. The once confident Muggle-born who had so effortlessly carved his place at Hogwarts now seems distant, withdrawn, and hollow.

One evening, you see him sitting alone on the steps of the castle, his shoulders slumped and his face turned away from the bustling students. His robes are disheveled, and his normally neat hair is messy, as though he’s forgotten to care about his appearance.

It hurts to see him like this, but you force yourself to look away, to continue walking with your head held high, as though you don’t feel the weight of his gaze on your back.

That’s the moment you know he’s spiraling.

But you can’t reach out. Not now. You can’t risk it. You can’t risk him.

As the days pass, Franco’s presence in your life feels more like a memory than a reality. His messages go unanswered. His attempts to meet you in secret—like the ones you once shared with him—are now nothing more than painful reminders of what you’ve lost.

And yet, even as his world unravels, he doesn’t stop trying. He doesn’t stop believing that somehow, one day, things will return to how they were.

But you know better. You’ve made your choice.

Franco’s heart is breaking, but you can’t save him. You can’t save either of you.

The days blur together in a haze of politeness, forced smiles, and the constant hum of expectations. You’ve slipped back into the life your family always envisioned for you, a world where appearances matter more than anything.

Charles is always there now—by your side during meals, accompanying you to events, and constantly appearing in places you never asked for him to be.

His presence is a comfort in some ways, a reliable and steady force that you can count on when you need to act the part. He’s charming, and he knows exactly how to behave in front of your parents—how to make them smile and nod approvingly at every word that leaves his lips. He’s the perfect candidate for the future they’ve planned for you.

But every time you glance at him, you feel something missing. A hollow spot deep inside that no matter how much you try to fill with your duties, your smiles, or even his touch—nothing works.

The void only grows larger, and you can’t ignore it.

Charles is polite, of course. He never forces himself into your space, but his attentiveness is constant. 

He notices the little things—like how you’ve become quiet during dinner, how you retreat into your own thoughts during conversations. He never pushes, never demands more than what you’re willing to give, but he’s beginning to see the distance between you.

One evening, as you walk side-by-side down the grand staircase of Hogwarts after dinner, your fingers brushing lightly against Charles’s, you feel the emptiness that comes from the space between you two. You look at him, and while he smiles warmly at you, his smile doesn’t reach his eyes.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he observes, his voice steady but with an edge of concern.

You force a smile, one you’ve perfected over the years, one that convinces even yourself, at least for a moment.

“Just tired,” you say, but the words feel foreign coming out of your mouth. The truth is, you’re not tired. You’re aching, though you can’t explain why.

You both stop at the top of the Astronomy Tower, where Charles often accompanies you to discuss future plans—plans that your family has already laid out in meticulous detail. He’s standing close to you now, his hand lightly grazing your arm, the faintest sign of affection.

You don’t pull away. But you don’t reach out either.

“You know, we’ve got the gala in a few weeks. I’m sure your parents are expecting us to make an appearance,” Charles says, trying to pull you into the moment. His hand slips into yours, and you don’t resist.

You’re so used to this, to him. But it doesn’t feel right.

In the back of your mind, you picture Franco, standing alone by the edge of the Forbidden Forest, his eyes full of confusion and sadness.

You haven’t seen him in weeks, but every time you close your eyes, you see him—his hair falling messily into his face, the warmth in his voice when he used to call your name. And every time that memory resurfaces, it hurts more than it did the last time.

You blink, forcing yourself back to the present. “I’ll be there,” you say, your voice lacking the enthusiasm it once had.

Charles doesn’t seem to notice. He squeezes your hand. “Good. I’m looking forward to it.”

But in the back of your mind, all you can hear is the silence between you and Franco—the unspoken words, the moments of warmth that now feel like they belong to someone else.

The following day, you find yourself walking down the same corridor where you and Franco used to sneak away for late-night conversations. The walls seem to close in around you as you walk, each step bringing you closer to memories you’re trying to forget. But you can’t help it.

You reach the library, and you see a flicker of movement by one of the tables. For a split second, you think it’s him. Your heart skips in your chest, but when you look more closely, you see it’s just another student. But the brief hope is enough to pull you in.

You stand in the doorway, staring at the empty seat you once shared with Franco. Your fingers twitch, aching to reach for the familiar book you’d always shared between the two of you. A letter, an old note—anything that might bring him back to you.

But instead, you close your eyes and walk away, the sharp pang of regret tightening in your chest. You keep your head down, you keep walking.

The rest of the day is a blur. You smile when you’re supposed to, laugh when it’s expected of you, but nothing feels real.

When you look at Charles, you don’t see the person you’ve convinced yourself you should love. You see a placeholder, a piece in a puzzle that doesn’t fit, and the guilt washes over you like a wave you can’t escape.

You promised yourself you wouldn’t look back, that you’d leave the past behind. But no matter how many times you remind yourself that you made the right choice, Franco’s presence lingers, a shadow you can’t escape.

You lie in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, and for the first time since you ended things with him, you let yourself think about him. You wonder if he’s okay. You wonder if he’s moved on.

But most of all, you wonder if you ever will.

Franco’s world has become quieter since you walked away. The weight of your absence presses against him every moment of every day, yet somehow, he forces himself to move forward.

His mornings are filled with the rhythm of textbooks, his nights consumed by late-night study sessions in the library. The constant hum of activity has become his refuge, an attempt to drown out the emptiness that lingers in the corners of his mind.

He’s not sure when it happened—when his academic focus shifted from just surviving his classes to something deeper, something more personal. But now, his studies aren’t just about passing.

They’ve become a way to make sense of the chaos that has overtaken his life. They’re his lifeline.

It’s a late evening when Franco sits at the library table, his eyes scanning the pages of a book on Transfiguration, but his mind drifts. It always drifts. Every time he looks down at his notes, he sees your face. Every time he hears a whisper in the halls, he expects to turn around and find you there. But you’re not.

He rubs his eyes, exhaling sharply. It’s getting harder, the constant ache of not knowing what went wrong. But despite everything, he’s determined not to let it consume him.

He begins a project—an ambitious one. It’s part of his Independent Study in Charms, a project designed to create a charm that allows the user to manipulate their surroundings.

At first, it’s just a distraction—a way to pour his heartache into something productive. But as the days pass, Franco becomes obsessed with it.

It’s not just any charm now. It’s something that represents his fight against the heaviness in his chest. Something to prove that he can move forward, no matter what.

The project starts to take shape, the pieces of magic intertwining in ways that surprise him. He works tirelessly in the small hours of the night, testing each spell and modification until it feels like a part of him is infused into it.

With every flick of his wand, with every calculated movement, Franco feels like he’s peeling back the layers of his grief.

But even amid his work, he can’t escape the haunting reminder of what he’s lost. It’s in the moments when he’s walking to class when he passes the Astronomy Tower—the place where you once laughed together under the stars. It’s in the quiet spaces when the world stops moving, and the only thing left is the echo of your absence.

And yet, despite the ache, Franco presses on. His charm begins to take form—a small, glowing orb of light, suspended in midair, its glow flickering like a heartbeat. It’s nothing extraordinary in the magical world, but to him, it feels like everything. It’s a piece of himself, a mark of his resilience. The ability to create something new, to move through the pain and still build something beautiful.

As the charm comes to life before him, Franco can’t help but feel a mixture of pride and sorrow. His heart still aches for you, the connection between you two that now feels like a ghost he can never reach.

But at least, for a moment, he has this. His project. His proof that he can keep going, even without you.

He sits back in his chair, watching the charm flicker softly in the dim light of the library. It’s not perfect, but it’s something. And in that something, Franco finds a small shred of peace.

For the first time in weeks, he allows himself to think about the future—not the one he thought he’d have with you, but the one he’ll have on his own terms.

It’s a future that doesn’t revolve around your love, but one where he is strong enough to stand on his own.

It’s an ordinary morning at Hogwarts—students fill the halls, the sound of chatter and footsteps echoing off the stone walls.

You walk down the corridor, Charles by your side, his presence a comfortable, almost too-familiar weight. The warmth of the sun filters through the windows, casting long shadows across the polished floors.

You’ve gotten used to this life. The life where you smile at the right moments, laugh at the right times and live a life that looks perfect on paper. But every time your thoughts slip to Franco, the warmth fades. The ache never truly leaves.

Today is no different, until you round the corner and see him.

Franco is standing by the wall, his head tilted slightly as he talks to a younger student. The words are too muffled to hear, but you don’t need to. The sight of him—so near yet so far—sends a jolt through your chest.

The hair that once fell in his face now pushed back, and the determined look in his eyes never seemed to fade, even when everything fell apart between you two.

You freeze for just a moment, your heart stuttering.

Franco’s gaze shifts, and in that instant, his eyes lock with yours. The world seems to slow around you.

For a second, everything is silent—every sound, every movement, erased by the weight of the unspoken history between you. The loss. The heartbreak. The love that you both buried.

His expression is unreadable—almost distant—but there’s something in his eyes. A flicker of recognition, a flicker of pain, that mirrors your own. He doesn’t smile, and neither do you. There’s nothing left to smile about. There’s no comfort in seeing him again, not after everything that’s passed between you.

And yet, you don’t look away. Neither does he.

Charles steps closer to you, his presence a reminder of the life you’ve chosen, the life you’ve settled into. You force yourself to tear your eyes from Franco’s, the knot in your stomach tightening. You take a breath, as if bracing for something you can’t name, and look ahead, your steps quickening.

Franco doesn’t move, doesn’t make any attempt to stop you, even though you can feel the weight of the moment between you.

As you pass him, you hear his voice—just a whisper in the air. “Goodbye, Y/N.”

The words hit you harder than you expect. A finality to it, a goodbye that wasn’t really said before, a goodbye that wasn’t really chosen.

You don’t turn back.

Charles speaks beside you, but you don’t hear him. The world feels distant again, the ache of what could have been pressing against your ribs.

Franco’s gaze follows you for a moment longer, then he turns, disappearing down the corridor. His figure melts into the crowd of students, and just like that, he’s gone.

You know you’ll never be the same. Neither of you will.

The months have passed, and graduation looms closer. The corridors of Hogwarts seem emptier now, less filled with the excitement of possibility and more with the weight of your decisions.

The choices you’ve made weigh heavily on your chest, like a stone that never quite sinks to the bottom.

The life you live now isn’t one you ever envisioned for yourself. You’ve kept your head down, followed the rules, and embraced the expectations your family placed on you without question. Or at least, without the kind of question that would lead to a different path.

Your relationship with Charles is… well, it’s functional. There are no sparks, no passion, no fireworks. Just a quiet, cold companionship that mirrors the distance between you and your family. They’ve made their peace with this future for you—Charles is everything they wanted for you, the perfect match of blood status, status, and reputation.

But that doesn’t make it easier. The weight of it presses in every time you look at him and see nothing more than a reminder of what you’ve lost—what you’ve chosen to lose. And the guilt gnaws at you.

You sit beside him sometimes, as you’re supposed to, and you kiss him because it’s expected, but your thoughts drift to Franco. Always. And that gnawing ache never fades, never quiets.

You find yourself walking the halls at night, sometimes alone, sometimes with Charles, but always feeling like there’s an emptiness in your heart that no one else can fill.

The world around you feels like a distant echo of what could have been, and every time you glance at the stars or walk past the Astronomy Tower, your heart tightens in your chest.

You can’t shake the feeling that there’s a piece of yourself you’ve lost—one that will never be found again. You wonder if this is what you were meant to have all along. If your future was set in stone before you even realized it.

But sometimes, in the quiet moments, you let yourself ask: Did I make the right choice?

And the answer is never clear.

Graduation arrives, and Franco stands at the threshold of the next chapter.

The weight of the past is a constant companion, but so is the fire that’s been building inside him since that fateful moment. He knows he can never go back to who he was, and he knows there’s no turning back for you either.

But he’s not going to let the ghosts of the past define him. Not anymore.

Franco steps into the future with resolve, ready to carve out a name for himself in the wizarding world. His reputation as a Muggle-born, an outsider, will not hold him back.

He’ll prove to everyone who ever doubted him—especially those who hurt him—that he is worth something. That he’s capable of greatness, even without the privileges of a pure-blood family.

In the quiet moments, when he’s alone with his thoughts, Franco still thinks about you. He wonders where you are, what your life is like now.

Sometimes, he imagines a different world—one where things didn’t end the way they did, where the two of you could have been together. But those thoughts are fleeting.

Franco’s learned to keep his heart locked up tight, to put his energy into building a life that’s his. He’s spent too long grieving what’s gone, and now he’s focused on what’s ahead.

And yet, as he walks across the grounds for the last time, Franco can’t help but steal one final glance back at the castle—the place where you once walked beside him.

A small part of him will always wonder what could have been.

But he knows better now. Some things are never meant to be.

And so, he moves forward, silently vowing to never forget you, even though he knows that you will never be his again.

Epilogue:

Years have passed, and time has done its work. The world has shifted, as it always does, but for you, something has changed in a way that feels too good to be true.

You’ve finally broken free.

No longer confined by your family’s expectations or the cold, distant relationship with Charles, you’ve stepped into a world where you’re free to make your own choices.

The life that once felt like a cage has crumbled, piece by piece, and now, for the first time, you stand on your own.

Your family, too, has learned the hard way that you were never meant to be a part of their perfectly polished world. You don’t fit the mold they tried to force you into—and you won’t let them control you any longer. The weight of their expectations no longer hangs heavy on your shoulders.

And Charles? He’s just a shadow now—someone who never truly understood you, never truly saw you.

But the past still lingers in the corners of your heart, as memories do. And then, on a quiet afternoon in Diagon Alley, fate steps in.

You’re walking down the cobbled street, the vibrant shops filled with the usual bustle, but your heart feels light—unburdened for the first time in ages.

You’re with a friend, laughing at something trivial, when you hear it. That voice. That sound. It’s not supposed to be here, not after all this time.

You freeze.

And there he is.

Franco. Standing in front of you, just as you remember him—older, wiser, but the same spark in his eyes. He’s no longer the boy you once knew, but somehow, in this moment, he is.

It’s as if time has folded, and you’re back at Hogwarts, the world falling away until it’s just the two of you, standing in the middle of Diagon Alley.

Franco hesitates for a beat, as if unsure of what to say, or maybe afraid of what he might feel. You’re both strangers now, in a way—so much has changed, and yet, so little.

The years of separation, of silence, have built walls between you, but the pull of what was once there, what was always there, can’t be denied.

“Y/N…” he whispers, the sound of your name almost breaking something inside of you. His voice is steady, but there’s a tenderness in it that makes your chest ache.

For a moment, you both stand there, the weight of the past heavy between you. Neither of you speaks for what feels like an eternity.

And then, without thinking, without words or plans, you take a step forward. Your heart races as you close the distance between you, until there’s nothing but the familiar warmth of him in front of you.

Before either of you can stop it, your hands find each other, fingers intertwining in a way that feels like coming home.

It’s like the years vanish. All the pain, all the grief, all the distance fades away in an instant, leaving only the two of you. No words are needed, because you both know.

“Do you remember…” Franco begins, his voice softer now, the question unfinished, but the meaning clear.

You smile, the old, familiar spark of mischief glinting in your eyes. “Of course I do.”

Without another word, you both turn, slipping away from the crowd and into the quiet alley, the same sense of adventure and secrecy that once defined your relationship taking hold of you again.

You walk side by side, as if time had never passed, as if you’re still those young, reckless students sneaking off into the Forbidden Forest.

In the distance, the setting sun casts a golden glow over the cobblestones, but it’s the warmth of Franco’s hand in yours that makes everything feel right. The world seems to open up around you as you step into a future that, this time, is yours to create—together.

For the first time in years, you’re not afraid. You’re not held back by anything or anyone. And neither is he.

Together, you slip into the shadows, disappearing into the night, as if time hadn’t passed at all.

© soleilpinto 25’ -. no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any manner without the permission from the publisher.

This is my Series' Masterlist

full fic masterlist here

One of the Boys (the Paddock Bunny series)

Pt 1: Hungary - Fastest Laps (Max Logan George, ft Charles & Lando) Pt 2: Zandvoort - Lando's treat (Lando ft Charles & Max) Pt 3: Monza - Invasive questions (Lando & Oscar) Pt 4: Baku - Out in Q1 (Lando) Pt 5: Singapore - Thank you Daniel (Max & Daniel) Pt 6: COTA, Mexico, Brazil - Triple Header (Pierresteban & Max ft Carlos Lando & Charles) Pt 7: Las Vegas - Sin City (George & Lewis ft Max) Pt 8: Qatar - What the hell is a Lestapstri (Max Charles & Oscar) Pt 9: And with that, the 2024 season comes to an end (Whole grid) Pt 10: Epilogue (2025 rookies)

The Monaco Trilogy (lestappen x reader)

Pt 1 - Car sex (Max x reader) Pt 2 - What happened in Monaco? (Charles x reader ft. Max) Pt 3 - (Coming soon)

The Newlyweds (Carlos x reader)

Pt 1 - The Day After ~ 1.3k Pt 2 - The Day Before ~ 1.8k Pt 3 - The Day (coming soon)

The way to a man's heart (Landoscar x reader)

Pt 1 - The Bet (Lando's first win) Pt 2 - What happens in Budapest... (Oscar's first win) Pt 3 - coming soon

THE NEW AMERICAN

F1 Driver Reader Masterlist

Summary: You join the F1 paddock mid-season alongside fellow rookie Franco Colapinto, stepping in for Lance Stroll after a season-ending injury. This journey is far from sunshine and rainbows, but you’re ready to take on the challenges—and the deep-rooted misogyny of the sport—to prove everyone wrong. Determined to make your mark, you’ll fight to win over the skeptics and earn the respect of the F1 world.

The Debut

The Debut part 2

Azerbaijan GP

Azerbaijan GP part 2

Singapore GP

Singapore GP part 2

Autumn Break

Autumn Break part 2

USA TEXAS GP

USA TEXAS GP part 2

Post Maiden Home Win

Mexican GP

Mexican GP part 2

Brazilian GP

Brazilian GP part 2

Las Vegas GP

Las Vegas GP part 2

Qatar GP

Qatar GP part 2

Abu Dhabi GP

Abu Dhabi GP part 2

End of the Season

I took a month-ish break to help me make sure I had the rest of the story's timeline figured out. Plus I wasn't on my adhd meds during winter break leading to a lot more procrastinating. But now I am back to full focus and time management with classes starting again. I have written about 3 different versions of these, depending on how this one goes, I may edit and finish the other two f1driver reader series stories.

THE NEW AMERICAN

F1 Driver Reader Masterlist

Summary: You join the F1 paddock mid-season alongside fellow rookie Franco Colapinto, stepping in for Lance Stroll after a season-ending injury. This journey is far from sunshine and rainbows, but you’re ready to take on the challenges—and the deep-rooted misogyny of the sport—to prove everyone wrong. Determined to make your mark, you’ll fight to win over the skeptics and earn the respect of the F1 world.

The Debut

The Debut part 2

Azerbaijan GP

Azerbaijan GP part 2

Singapore GP

Singapore GP part 2

Autumn Break

Autumn Break part 2

USA TEXAS GP

USA TEXAS GP part 2

Post Maiden Home Win

Mexican GP

Mexican GP part 2

Brazilian GP

Brazilian GP part 2

Las Vegas GP

Las Vegas GP part 2

Qatar GP

Qatar GP part 2

Abu Dhabi GP

Abu Dhabi GP part 2

End of the Season

I will try to write ate least 1 update per week but bare with me as I am a College student. I took a month-ish break to help me make sure I had the rest of the story's timeline figured out. Plus I wasn't on my adhd meds during winter break leading to a lot more procrastinating. But now I am back to full focus and time management with classes starting again. I have written about 3 different versions of these, depending on how this one goes, I may edit and finish the other two f1driver reader series stories.

Confessional (gr63) —MASTERLIST

Status: Ongoing

Dark!Pastor's Son!George Russell x Innocent!Fem!Reader ↳ Summary: George is the golden boy of the congregation and can do no wrong as the pastor’s son and purest of heart, body, and soul. After an unexpected fess up in the confessional booth, you soon come to realize that he is not as innocent as meets the eye. Yet, he is gracious enough to help be your guide to truly connect with the Word of the Lord and, of course, to help you to uphold your penance.

Thanks to all of your interest in the original fic, Confessional, I have decided to open this universe up into becoming an ongoing 'series'! You are more than welcome to send asks, questions, ideas, concepts, and anything of the sort to help bring depth to this universe and explore more of its characters. Here is a cup of Holy Water for you as you peruse this masterlist:🥤you're going to need it.

Track everything to do with this universe on my blog under the tag #⛪

Series Warnings: This universe is 18+, is very sacrilegious (although branch of religion is unspecified), and deals with very dark themes including corruption, manipulation, and using God/religious threats as a manipulation tactic. George is not a nice guy in this. PLEASE read the warnings on each piece of writing for specific warnings. This fic universe is not for everyone. Do not read if you are not comfortable with dark sexual themes.

Fics ♡ - includes smut

Confessional ♡ ↳ George is the golden boy of the congregation and can do no wrong as the pastor’s son and purest of heart, body, and soul. You find yourself fantasizing about ruining each other's purity more than anything, although little do you know, after an unexpected fess up in the confessional booth, he’s not as innocent as meets the eye

In the Eyes of God ♡ ↳ After your salacious rendezvous with George that led to you praying away your sins for a week, you find yourself unintentionally avoiding him at the church’s pancake breakfast. But the truth always comes out one way or another when God is in the picture, and you just so happen to be so lucky as to have a generous guide into the world of sin and forgiveness.

Blurbs etc. ♡ - includes smut

Proverbs 27:4

The Highest

Their Future (ramble of thoughts)

♡ Enjoying my content? Support my writing here :)

♡ None of the original writing on this blog may be reproduced, reposted, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author.

♡ If It Weren't For The Baby | MV1

Series Masterlist

Summary: How exactly is a girl supposed to tell their brother that she got knocked up by his current archnemesis? Especially when said brother is George Russell?

PART 1: The Girls Are Fighting

PART 2: Max "If It Weren't For The Baby" Verstappen

PART 3: You're Doing Amazing Sweetie

PART 4: Two Lattes and a Truce, Please

tamed - max verstappen (3/4)

୨ৎ : pairing : max verstappen x fem!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : a viral pr blunder transforms your tense relationship with max verstappen into unexpected camaraderie and playful banter

୨ৎ : genre : romance, angst, humor ୨ৎ : tws : workplace stress, social media anxiety, mentions of conflict, light teasing ୨ৎ : wc : 990

part one | part two | part three | part four | epilogue

a/n: a rare wednesday post ...

You burst into Max's office, a whirlwind of apologies and self-recrimination ready to tumble out of your mouth. You'd planned for a tough conversation, a verbal lashing, maybe even a resignation letter slapped on his desk. But the scene that greets you is far from the anticipated storm.

Max isn't a raging bull, red-faced and furious. Instead, he's leaning back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips, and the sound of his laughter echoes through the room. It's a rich, genuine sound that you haven't heard from him before, and it throws you completely off balance.

"I can't believe you actually did it," he manages to say between chuckles, shaking his head in amusement. "You actually posted that photo."

You stand frozen, your carefully rehearsed apologies dissolving on your tongue. "You're not… mad?" you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper.

He shrugs, still fighting back a grin. "At first, I was. But then…" He trails off, tapping his phone screen and turning it towards you.

Your stomach clenches as you see the offending photo – the one of him mid-sneeze, looking like he'd just been startled by a ghost – plastered across his Instagram feed. But then you notice the caption: "Thanks to my amazing PR team for capturing my best side. 😂 #SneezyMax #Blessed."

Below the photo, a torrent of comments has erupted. You scroll through them, your initial horror giving way to surprised laughter. The internet has, as it often does, taken your epic PR fail and turned it into a meme-worthy masterpiece.

Daniel Ricciardo: "Mate, you look like you just smelled a dirty diaper! 😂"

Charles Leclerc: "This is my new phone wallpaper. Merci, Y/n!"

Lando Norris: "Sneezy Max is my new favorite superhero. 🤧💪"

George Russell: "I'm framing this and putting it in my living room."

Lewis Hamilton: "This is the best thing I've seen all week. 😂"

Pierre Gasly: "I knew I should have taken that photo when I had the chance!"

Even your own colleagues have joined in on the fun.

Sergio Perez: "Hey Max, next time you sneeze, try to aim it at Hamilton! 😉"

Christian Horner: "Y/n, you're a legend. 😂 (But please don't do it again.)"

You're laughing so hard tears prick your eyes. You can't believe that this PR disaster has turned into a viral sensation.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised," Max says, his grin widening. "You always did have a terrible sense of humor."

You manage a sheepish smile. "I thought it was funny."

"It was," he admits, his eyes twinkling. "But I'm still going to get you back for this. Just so you know, this isn't over."

The playful threat hangs in the air, a silent agreement that this is far from the end of your unexpected feud.

The following weeks see a noticeable shift in your dynamic with Max. The icy glares melt into amused smirks, the sarcastic jabs morph into playful banter. You find yourself looking forward to your meetings, even the ones where he inevitably grumbles about the "stupid PR stuff" you make him do. You start noticing things you hadn't before – the way his eyes crinkle when he genuinely smiles, the surprisingly deep dimples that appear when he laughs, the way his voice softens when he talks about his family.

One afternoon, he surprises you by inviting you to join him in the paddock during a practice session.

"Come on," he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I'll introduce you to the guys. They're dying to meet the person who turned me into a meme."

You hesitate, a flicker of nervousness in your chest. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

He shrugs, a playful smirk on his lips. "Why not? It'll be fun. Besides," he adds, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "they won't stop asking about you."

Intrigued, you follow him into the bustling heart of the Formula 1 world. The paddock is a sensory overload – the roar of engines, the smell of burnt rubber, the sight of mechanics swarming around cars like worker bees.

Max leads you through the maze of garages, introducing you to the other drivers with a casual ease that surprises you. Daniel Ricciardo greets you with a bone-crushing hug and a booming "G'day, mate!" Charles Leclerc, with his charming accent and impeccable manners, compliments your "excellent taste in humor." Lando Norris, ever the prankster, tries to take a selfie with you and Max, only to have Max swat his phone away with a playful scowl.

"Don't you have a simulator to be messing around with?" Max grumbles, earning a chorus of laughter from the other drivers.

As you navigate the paddock, you notice the curious glances and whispered comments. You can't help but feel a sense of pride. You've not only tamed the beast, but you've also earned the respect of his peers.

Later that evening, as you're reviewing some social media analytics, Max walks into your office.

"Hey," he says, leaning against the doorframe. "I just wanted to say thanks."

You look up, surprised. "For what?"

"For everything," he says, a rare sincerity in his voice. "For putting up with me, for making me look good, for… well, for being you."

He hesitates, then adds, "You know, you're not so bad for a PR person."

You laugh, a genuine warmth spreading through you. "And you're not so bad for a driver."

He smirks. "I know."

He turns to leave, then pauses. "Oh, and one more thing," he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "I'm still going to get you back for that photo."

You smile, a playful challenge in your voice. "I'd expect nothing less."

As he walks away, you can't help but feel a flutter in your stomach. You're not sure what the future holds for you and Max, but you know one thing for sure: this is just the beginning of a very interesting ride.

taglist: @residentdemonhunter , @nctislifue , @kqliie , @loveitwhenhelies , @edgyficuselastica , @chirasama , comment to be added

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

Any Kind of Guy

Pairing: Logan Sargeant x Reader

Summary: Logan Sargeant has a huge crush on his next door neighbor and will practically do anything to get close to her

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors

A/N: based off the Big Time Rush song of the same name, Oscar Piastri and Logan are roommates in this and Logan is still in F1.

It all started when Logan and Oscar were coming back from playing golf with Alex and Lando and they a moving van parked in front of their building.

“Is someone moving in?” Oscar asked.

“Looks like it, but who moved out? Oh please be the cat lady from upstairs.” Logan said, crossing his fingers and Oscar hit his arm.

“Well let’s check who is our new neighbor.” Oscar said before they parked their car in their parking space. They walked out and saw someone carrying a box but the box was blocking their face.

“Excuse me, do you need help?” Logan asked and the person put the box down, revealing their face. Logan was in awe by the beauty of the girl.

“Oh yes please, this shit weighs a ton.” Y/N said.

“Oh, you’re a American too?” Logan asked,

“Yeah I am, I’m Y/N, I live in the apartment 13B.” Y/N introduced herself.

“I’m Logan, this is my friend Oscar, we live in 13C.” Logan said,

“Well looks like we’re neighbors.” Y/N said.

And they have been neighbors for months now. Over those few months, Logan has become good friends with Y/N and so has Oscar. Right now, Logan and Oscar decided to go out to Nando's with Y/N after the Singapore Grand Prix. When the waitress served their food, Y/N just stared at her food.

"You have lived here for months now, one would think you'd stop making faces at your food." Oscar said, eating a "chip".

"One would also think i'd start calling them chips, but they are fucking fries, my Aussie friend." Y/N said "What do y'all plan on doing during your break?"

"Why, you need help with something?" Logan asked, always eager to help Y/N in whatever she needs.

"Kinda. I have to get my fucking wisdom teeth removed tomorrow and I obviously don’t have a lot of friends here, I need someone to take me a pick me up because there’s no way I’m fucking driving when I’m on anesthesia. Do you think one of you can take me?" Y/N asked.

"Yeah, i can take you." Logan said and Oscar just stared at him.

"Are you sure, mate?” Oscar asked.

“Yeah, are you sure you’re not busy?” Y/N asked.

“Of course I’m sure. Besides, we’re neighbors, it will definitely be easier for me to take you after your wisdom teeth removal.” Logan said.

“Thanks, you’re the best. I have to go back to work, I’ll see you guys later.” Y/N salud, waving goodbye. Once Y/N was out of earshot, Oscar spoke.

“Mate, how whipped Can you be? You’re going to take her to the oral surgeon?” Oscar asked.

“I’ll do whatever she needs me to do. Now I gotta look up what you can eat after wisdom teeth removal.” Logan said and Oscar sighed.

“You’re doing husband things on a best friend budget, you’re actually crazy about her.” Oscar said.

“You bet I am, bitch.” Logan said.

“Why are you calling me a bitch?” Oscar asked.

“Dude, we’ve been watching supernatural together, you’re supposed to call me a jerk.” Logan.

“Fine, jerk.” Oscar said.

“Nope, moments gone. We need to do some grocery shopping after lunch.” Logan said.

“Y/N?” Oscar asked.

“Yeah, want to make sure she has everything for tomorrow.” Logan said.

Oscar sighed but ultimately accompanied Logan to do some grocery shopping, stocking up on gauze, her favorite yogurt, premade tomato bisque, ice cream, potatoes so Logan can make (either mashed potatoes or potato soup, I prefer potato soup), and whatever else she needs to eat after a wisdom teeth extraction. After Logan paid for groceries, he used his spare key to open Y/N’s apartment and place everything her brought in the fridge, pantry and medicine cabinet with Oscar’s help. He also left a note of what he did.

When Y/N got out of work, she saw the note Logan left and smiled. She then knocked on his door and was greeted by a shirtless Logan, who just got out of the shower.

“Oops, sorry, I should have called. But I wanted to thank you for buying groceries, you didn’t have to do that, you know.” Y/N said.

“Of course I do, I know the dentist provides some gauze but we have no idea how often you’ll need to change yours.” Logan said,

“Thank you. Since I can’t eat anything before my appointment, I’m going to eat so much tonight, enjoy my last regular meal for the next week. My appointment is in the morning so I’ll see you then.” Y/N said and kissed Logan’s cheek before going back to her apartment. Oscar observed the whole interaction.

“Ooh, she kissed you, how do you feel, mate?” Oscar asked, behind Logan. Logan jumped at the sound of his voice.

“How long were you there?” Logan asked,

“When you were explaining to her why you bought gauze. You should ask her out already, she clearly likes you if she kissed your cheek, you don’t have to do her all these favors.” Oscar said.

“My love language is acts of service, sue me.” Logan said.

It’s the next morning and Oscar was woken up by someone knocking on the door. He threw a pillow at Logan and he wakes up.

“What was that for?” Logan asked.

“Someone is knocking on the door, go get it.” Oscar mumbled, trying to get back to sleep. Logan rolled his eyes and walked to the front door, he opened it to reveal Y/N wearing jeans, sneakers, and a juicy couture sweater.

“Morning, my appointment is in an hour and I’m nervous as fuck.” Y/N said walking in as Logan opened the door wider. “I mean the last time I got my teeth taken out was when I was a kid so my braces would fit better and that shit was painful, they just numbed the area, what if this happens again?”

“Y/N, they’ll put you under anesthesia, you’ll be asleep the whole time, you won’t feel a thing, okay? Let me get dressed and we can leave, I’ll buy myself breakfast on the way.” Logan said and Y/N nodded, feeling a little better after Logan’s words. Once he was dressed, he said goodbye to Oscar before coming out, telling Y/N they can go.

Logan drove to a McDonald’s drive thru to get a breakfast sandwich and coffee before driving to the oral surgeon for Y/N. They waited 25 minutes before Y/N was called to get her teeth out. After what seems like forever, a doctor came out saying “Y/N’s friend” and Logan stood up to talk to him.

“She did really well, she can’t really eat anything right now, so just clear liquids like chicken broth. Make sure she doesn’t change the gauze for another hour, she’s a bit groggy from the anesthesia but all good. Here’s the list of foods she can eat and also the rules that follow this procedure.” The doctor said.

“Okay, can she walk?” Logan asked.

“I think it’s better for you to escort her out. The medication that she needs to take should be in her pharmacy by now.” The doctors said,

“Thanks, doc. Okay, let’s go, Y/N,” Logan said, getting closer to Y/N and grabbing her hand to pull her off the waiting chair.

“Mah fah hah.” Y/N mumbled.

“Canta understand you babe, you have gauze in your mouth.” Logan said and Y/N was about to move it but Logan moved her hand away, “you can’t take of the gauze, not yet.” And Y/N whined. “I know, I know, let’s go to the car.” Logan said.

They walked to the car and Logan drove to the pharmacy to pick up her medication and drove home. Y/N was touching her face and Logan opened her door.

“Mah chuh eh nuh.” Y/N said. Logan opened the door and walked Y/N in.

“Alright, just sleep on the couch, okay? It says here that your head needs to be elevated so…” Logan started ‘arranging’ Y/N so she can sleep comfortably on the couch and he can keep an eye on her and he heats up the chicken broth he bought yesterday. Can’t be too hot though, could cause more swelling. Y/N fell asleep and within 2 hours, she’s awake and her face no longer feels numb. “Great, you’re up, change the gauze in your mouth, yeah?” Logan asked, Y/N walked in the bathroom and changed the gauze, walking back out.

“That was nasty.” Y/N said, sounding a little muffled.

“Yeah, do you want to eat now or when you stop bleeding?” Logan asked, Y/N raised 2 fingers. “Second option? Okay, you’ll eat later then.” Logan said, grabbing an ice pack from the freezer to hold it gently against her face. “Minimize the swelling for tomorrow. Today you’re good, but tomorrow is when the pain truly kicks in” and Y/N stared at him. “Right, sorry, you won’t be in that much pain though, scout’s honor. Next time you change the gauze, take your pills before applying the new ones.

“Yes nurse Logan.” Y/N mumble in a teasing tone, making him laugh.

Next morning, Y/N woke up to the sound of Logan cooking.

“Morning Y/N, how do you feel?” Logan asked.

“The back of my mouth hurts like a mother but I am so glad I don’t need gauze anymore.” Y/N said and Logan pulled out the ice pack from the freezer for Y/N, wrapped it in a paper towel, and handed it to her, she smiles. “Thank you for being my home nurse.” Placing the ice pack against her cheek.

“No problem. Are you up for eating yogurt for breakfast?” Logan asked.

“Yeah, I can settle for yogurt. I would much rather have those eggs and bacon you’re cooking though.” Y/N said.

“No can do, princess, strictly soft food for you until next week.” Logan said.

“Yes nurse Logan.” Y/N teased.

“Anyway, I’ll be making you mashed potatoes/potato soup.” Logan said

“Wow, I get nurse Logan and chef Logan, what other titles do you have?” Y/N asked.

“Any kind of guy you want, princess, that’s the kind I’ll be.” Logan said.

“That was incredibly cheesy, but thank you.” Y/N said.

“Yeah. I was wondering when you’re feeling better, if you wanted to go out with me. Like the 2 of us.” Logan said, wiping his hands on his jeans from nervousness.

“Like a date? Yeah, I’d love to.” Y/N said.

“Cool, cool, it’s not because of this, right?” Logan gesturing to where he’s cooking. “I don’t want you to feel like you owe me.”

“Logan, I’ve liked you for a while now. Since you helped me move in, actually. I just didn’t think you’d be into me since you’re a F1 driver and all.” Y/N said.

“You’re beautiful, I would be stupidest if I weren’t into you.” Logan said. Unbeknownst to both of them, Oscar was standing outside Y/N’s apartment, listening in on their conversation, using a glass cup.

“Finally.” Oscar whispered in relief, happy that his 2 friends are now going to date. He went back to his apartment to make himself breakfast, grinning at the fact Logan finally confessed.

The End

The original idea was totally different but since I got my wisdom teeth out on Wednesday, I figured why not make my character go through the same thing. I have been living on yogurt, milkshakes, potato soup, and rice noodles. I’m at work now and I am hungry

★ MASTERLIST

it's nice to have a friend lando is one of your closest friends… until he sleeps with you and ghosts you. part one ★ part two ★ part three ★ part four ★ part five ★ part six ★ part seven ★ part eight ★ part nine ★ part ten ★ part eleven ★ part twelve ★ part thirteen ★ part fourteen ★ part fifteen ★ part sixteen ★ part seventeen

Marvel Rivals Bucky, but with Seb's face completed, now with more manspreading

.

Schrodinger's... Girlfriend? - Chapter 3: Of Messages and Meetings

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Original Character

Summary:

Oscar Piastri’s love life is the talk of the F1 world—mainly because no one’s ever seen his girlfriend. Does she exist? Or is she just a figment of his imagination? Detective Lando Norris to the rescue!

Warnings: 

I don't think there are any?

Such a Mystery - Masterlist

Summary:

Max Verstappen fell in love at the ripe old age of 12 and never looked back.

Colette Leclerc really regrets posting that particular Taylor Swift Lyric to her private Instagram account, because it made George Russell go insane.  

The rest of the world has absolutely no idea that the Dutch Lion and Charles Leclerc’s twin sister have been a couple for 15 years and are expecting a baby. 

Links:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

GRIEF ASIDE (1/4) | MV33

summary : You fancied your fiancé, you realized with horror. Oh, God. You fancied your fiancé.

wc : 13k

an : this took.. a while ☹️ anyway

For as long as you could remember, you had been engaged to Max Emilian, scion of House Verstappen.

On paper, it was a triumphant match, a union to secure your house's fortunes for generations. To be betrothed to the son of a duke was a dream most could only aspire to.

Yet, no one envied House Button’s lovely heiress.

Instead, the court pitied you.

Jos Verstappen, your future father-in-law and Duke of the North, was a name steeped in infamy. Known as the Butcher of the North, his reputation was as frigid and cruel as the land he ruled. Whispers of his war crimes haunted corridors, and songs of lament cursed his name in taverns.

To marry into such a legacy meant tying yourself to shadows you could never escape.

But duty had bound you to this path as tightly as the chill of the northern wind now clung to your skin.

Raised to bridge alliances and strengthen bonds, you had no illusions about the weight of your role.

Now, you stood before the towering iron gates of the Verstappen estate, carriage behind you, your wool cloak and one of your knight’s heavy coats offered little respite from the North’s unforgiving cold.

“Keep your chin up, my lady,” Lily murmured beside you, adjusting the trunk she carried, her voice nearly drowned by the howling wind. Her cheeks were flushed from the frost, and her attempts at reassurance felt as thin as your cloak.

You nodded mutely, clenching your chattering teeth. Complaining about her poor preparation, or your shared underestimation of the northern winter, would achieve little.

The gates groaned open, revealing the sprawling estate beyond.

The fortress-like walls loomed high, their grey stone stark against the snow-laden landscape. Narrow windows glinted like ice shards under the weak winter sun.

Smoke curled lazily from the distant stables, a muted sign of life in an otherwise bleak expanse.

“Cheerful place,” Lando muttered behind you, his voice dry. He pulled his hood lower, trying to shield his face from the biting wind.

“More like a tomb,” Oscar replied, tone low. His eyes scanned the walls warily, hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

Crossing the threshold of the estate, you were greeted by a cavernous main hall that carried little more warmth than the outdoors. Though a fire crackled at one end, its heat barely touched the far corners of the room.

The scent of pine mingled with the cold tang of iron, likely from the spiked chandelier that loomed overhead, casting jagged shadows across the floor.

“Presenting Lady (Y/N) of House Button,” the steward announced, his voice echoing up the vaulted ceilings.

The words washed over you, irrelevant compared to your struggle to stop trembling. The knight closest to you, Oscar, shifted closer, his presence a silent bulwark, but you scarcely noticed.

A figure descended the grand staircase, drawing your attention despite the icy haze clouding your mind.

Max Emilian Verstappen.

He moved with a grace that could only be borne from years of court presence, strides measured and deliberate yet still managing to not look stiff.

Pale hair neatly combed, save for a few strands that fell across his forehead, softening the otherwise hard edges of his face. His broad shoulders were draped in a heavy black coat lined with fur, swallowing what little light the room offered.

You had heard tales of him: a skilled warrior, an even better horseman, and a temper so fierce people began claiming the Verstappen rage was a hereditary trait.

His eyes fell on you then, surprise flickering across his face before being quickly replaced by a furrowed brow and the unmistakable air of annoyance.

“Gods,” he muttered under his breath, his tone cold enough to make you flinch.

You stiffened, unsure whether to speak or remain silent.

Was that usually how the Northern Lords greeted their betrothed?

Max’s eyes roved over you, taking in your trembling form, pale cheeks, and the inadequate cloak clutched around your shoulders.

His frown deepened, and he turned sharply toward your knights, his expression hardening.

“Why in the seven hells is she dressed like this?” he demanded.

Sir Lando bristled but maintained his composure. “My lady insisted, Lord Verstappen, that we keep ourselves alive. We offered additional layers-”

“She’s half-frozen. Who cares if you're alive if your Lady is dead?” Max cut him off, already shrugging out of his own coat.

You opened your mouth to protest, to insist you were fine, but before you could utter a word, he was draping the fur-lined garment over your shoulders.

The residual warmth from his body enveloped you, burying you under the scent of pine and leather.

“Your stubbornness will kill you,” he muttered, crouching slightly to adjust the coat. His tone was still sharp, but his hands were steady and careful as they brushed over you.

You glanced at Lily, who hovered nearby, her eyes darting between you and Max. “Fetch tea,” Max ordered, voice brooking no argument.

She hesitated, clearly unsure whether to take orders from a person who was decidedly not her Lady, but a sharp look from him sent her scurrying away.

Max turned back to you, his expression unreadable as his hand brushed over your elbow, guiding you forward. “Sit,” he gestured to the high-backed chair closest to the hearth.

You sank into the seat gratefully, abandoning the appearance of grace in lieu of the warmth of the fire and the heavy coat easing the worst of your shivers.

Max crouched before you, his face illuminated by the flickering light. “You were standing in the cold far too long,” he said, softer now as though talking to an injured bird.

“I didn’t realize…” you started, but your voice faltered.

Max’s lips quirked in a faint, reluctant smile. “Not even when you were shivering like a leaf?”

He leaned back, regarding you for a moment before adding, “The North will swallow you whole.”

His words should have stung, but you found it hard to be insulted for there was no malice in them, only a hint of amusement.

The tea arrived swiftly, Lily handing it to you with a pinched expression, steam curling from the delicate porcelain as if reluctant to break the stillness of the hall.

You wrapped your frozen fingers around the cup, savoring the way the heat kissed your skin, thawing the numbness in your fingers.

Max walked to stand a few paces away, matching your knight and maid's distance, watching you with a detached sort of interest, his arms still crossed over his chest.

The flickering firelight carved sharp angles along his face, illuminating the high cut of his cheekbones and the stern set of his jaw.

“You look better now.” His voice was quieter this time. “At least you have some color in you.”

You weren’t sure if that was meant to be a kindness or merely an observation, but you offered a polite nod regardless.

“Thank you, my Lord.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. “Max will do.”

The correction startled you. Men of his station, sons of dukes especially, rarely made such allowances. Betrothed or not.

“As you wish… Max.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but it vanished just as quickly.

“I imagine you have questions.”

Of course, you did.

Too many, and yet none seemed appropriate to ask.

You had spent years preparing for this union in theory, but now that you were standing on the threshold of it, the rehearsed words died in your throat.

“Only a few,” you said carefully.

He hummed, a noncommittal sound. “Then ask.”

You hesitated. “Your father… the Duke… is he here?”

Max’s expression cooled.

“No. My father is at the border fortresses, inspecting the garrisons. He will return before the winter feast to welcome you.”

Relief and dread tangled in your chest. It was a reprieve not to face Duke Jos immediately, but you knew it was temporary at best.

“And your father will be joining us soon enough as well, won’t he?” Max’s tone was unreadable, though something sharp glinted beneath it.

You nodded. “Yes. My father will come north after his duties are finished. To meet with the Duke and… formalize the engagement.”

The words felt heavy on your tongue. This visit wasn’t just a quiet retreat to adjust to your future home. It was a public commitment. Before long, the entire North would know you belonged to him.

You dreaded what that would do to your public image.

Max’s jaw tightened although his expression remained carefully distant. “Of course.”

He turned slightly, gaze sweeping the cold stone hall.

“You’ll find the North is not like the South. Comfort is scarce, and the people scarcer. They will not warm to you easily.”

His words felt more like a warning than a courtesy.

“I don’t expect them to.”

That seemed to surprise him. Perhaps he had been expecting you to be one of those Southern ladies that demanded everyone to bend over backwards for their comfort.

His eyes flicked back to you, studying you in a way that made you want to shrink under his coat.

“Good.”

The fire cracked loudly, sending a shower of sparks upward. Max tilted his head toward it, the flicker of light catching in his pale hair.

“You’ll need to adjust quickly. My father won’t tolerate weakness in his house.”

“And you?” The question slipped out before you could stop it.

Max’s expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes hardened.

“I won’t coddle you, if that’s what you’re asking.”

It wasn’t. But the way he said it made your stomach twist.

Still, you straightened your spine. “I wouldn’t ask for that.”

A tense silence settled again, though this time, it felt more contemplative than cold.

Max’s gaze drifted from you to the door behind you.

“You must be tired from the journey. I’ll have your rooms prepared.”

“I thought we would stay in the west wing,” you said, recalling the arrangements made in the letters exchanged between your families.

Max’s lips pressed into a thin line.

“The west wing is being repaired. Storm damage. You’ll stay closer to the main hall until it’s finished.”

It was a small thing, perhaps, yet it unsettled you.

The west wing was meant to be yours. A space to adjust quietly, away from the imposing grandeur of the estate.

Now, you were being denied that distance.

But what could you do? Refuse? Argue?

“Very well,” you said softly.

Max nodded once then turned to the waiting steward.

“Have the rooms near the library prepared. And make sure the fires are lit.”

“Yes, my lord.”

Oscar and Lando approached then, boots scuffing against the stone floor as they stopped just shy of your side.

Their eyes darted toward you, assessing your posture, searching for some silent confirmation that you were unharmed.

You gave them a small nod, and the tension in Oscar’s broad shoulders seemed to ease, though Lando’s hand remained near the hilt of his sword, his body coiled like a spring.

Max’s sharp gaze swept over the two knights, his expression unreadable but undoubtedly calculating.

“Your people will stay nearby,” he said, his voice firm but unhurried. “Your maid is not to wander without escort. Your men may walk around but not too far from the fortress. I'd rather not deal with the politics of a Southern knight dying in my land.”

Lily bristled at the casual remark, her cheeks coloring with indignation. “We Southerners aren't as fragile as you seem to think,” she said sharply, her words cutting the silence like a knife.

“Lily,” Oscar said quietly, catching her arm before she could step forward. His grip was gentle but firm, head shaking in a silent plea for restraint.

Max didn’t even flinch at her outburst, his cool demeanor unwavering as his gaze flicked back to you.

“Your people are bold.” His tone was tinged with something akin to amusement. “Let’s hope they’re wise enough to temper it.”

“They’re loyal,” you replied evenly, meeting his eyes without faltering. “I wouldn’t have brought them otherwise.”

“Loyalty is admirable but it doesn’t mean much if it gets you killed.”

Lando shifted beside you, jaw tight. “With all due respect, my lord,” he began without much respect at all. “We’re more than capable of keeping her safe.”

“I’m sure you believe that.” Max’s gaze settled on Lando. “But I’ve seen capable men bleed out on these stones for lesser causes. My rules are for your protection as much as mine.”

Lando’s grip on his sword tightened, but Oscar’s hand on his shoulder stilled him.

“We’ll abide by your rules,” Oscar confirmed, voice calm.

“Good.” Max turned back to you. “Come. I’ll show you the library. You should know where it is if you’re to live here.”

The offer caught you off guard. The scion of House Verstappen switched conversations so casually he seemed to slap you with his casualness.

“The library?”

“You can’t spend all your time staring at the snow,” Max replied evenly, though there was a faint lilt to his words.

Was that… humor? It was hard to tell with him.

“Well..” You tugged your coat tighter. “It is very captivating snow.”

Max’s brow arched. “And yet, I think you’ll survive without it for an hour.”

You blinked, taken aback by the dry remark.

Was he… teasing you?

Shaking off the ridiculous thought, you rose from your chair, trailing behind as he turned and strode toward the door.

You glanced at your companions, giving them a small and, hopefully, reassuring smile before stepping forward to follow Max.

Max’s pace was long, purposeful, and you found yourself scrambling to keep up without looking breathless.

(You decidedly ignored Sir Lando's small snort of laughter.)

The manor was a labyrinth of cold stone and dim corridors, the walls lined with tapestries dulled by age.

Shadows flickered where sparse torches burned, giving the place a haunted sort of stillness.

You found it hard to ever imagine yourself calling this place home.

Max moved through the halls like someone who had been shaped by this place, his presence carved into the very bones of the estate.

His stride was confident, measured, purposeful.

You, on the other hand, felt like an outsider, a stranger, each step heavy on the cold stone floor.

Finally, Max stopped before a pair of massive oak doors, their wood darkened with age. He didn’t look back at you as he spoke, his voice low, but managing to carry through the quiet hall.

“Your men stay outside. Your maid may enter,” he said, the command clear.

Your knights exchanged a brief look.

Lando’s lips curled into a smirk, clearly less than thrilled with the command. He let out a sigh, posture straightening with a resigned huff.

With a dramatic roll of his eyes, he moved to one side of the door, giving a theatrical bow as though he were playing a part in some grand performance.

Oscar shook his head but followed suit, taking his place at the other side, hands clasped with a more restrained expression.

Lando’s voice broke the silence, dripping with mock sweetness. “Enjoy the library, my Lady. Try not to get too lost in there.”

You laughed, unable to contain yourself and bid them a silent goodbye.

Without another word, he pushed the doors open, the hinges groaning in protest, and led you and Lily inside.

The library was vast and dim, lined wall-to-wall with shelves that stretched high into the shadows above.

Dust motes floated lazily in the beams of light filtering through the narrow, arched windows, painting the room in shades of gold and gray.

You inhaled deeply, the scent of aged paper and polished wood filling your senses.

“It’s beautiful…” you breathed, the words slipping out unbidden.

“It is,” Max replied, stepping farther into the room. “And it’s yours to use as I allow while you’re here.”

You followed him in, your fingers brushing the spines of the books closest to you. They were thick and heavy, their titles embossed in faded gold.

“Are these… first editions?” you asked, your voice hushed, as if speaking too loudly might awaken some slumbering beast.

“Many of them, yes,” Max said, his gaze sweeping the shelves as if cataloging them in his mind. “You’ll find original prints of histories, poetry, philosophy. Most of it quite rare. Some of the works were commissioned specifically for this collection.”

“Commissioned?” you echoed, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

He nodded. “Yes. House Verstappen has always valued knowledge. There are some volumes here you won’t find anywhere else.”

You let your hand fall from the books and turned to face him. “You must spend a lot of time here then.”

“Not as much as I should,” he admitted, his tone crisp. “But I’m familiar with the layout. If you’re planning to lose yourself, I can point you in the right direction.”

The corner of your mouth quirked up at his phrasing. “Lose myself?”

“It happens.” He shrugged, glancing away.

You laughed softly. “Is that your way of warning me?”

“A mere suggestion,” he corrected, his lips twitching in what might have been the hint of a smile. “Start with the poetry under the windows. It’s a good place for… wandering minds.”

“Poetry under the windows,” you repeated the words under your breath, glancing toward the far end of the room where a faint glow spilled across the shelves. “Any other recommendations?”

“The histories on the east wall are worth your time.” He gestured briefly. “And if you’re feeling adventurous, there’s a collection of letters on the upper mezzanine. They’re in French, though.”

“I can manage French,” you said with a small smile.

His eyebrow arched faintly. “Good. Then you’ll also find some rather colorful accounts of court scandals tucked in the back corner. A few are probably embellished, but they’re entertaining nonetheless.”

Your laughter came easier this time. “Court scandals? I didn’t expect you to recommend something so… frivolous.”

“Frivolity has its place,” he said dryly. “Just don’t let the staff catch you reading them. They might talk.”

“Noted.” You attempted to suppress your grin.

For a moment, the two of you stood in companionable silence, the quiet weight of the library wrapping around you like a cloak. You turned back to the shelves, running your fingertips lightly over the spines once more.

“This is incredible,” you murmured.

You glanced over your shoulder at his lack of a response, catching a faint glimmer of something softer in his eyes, though it vanished almost as quickly as it appeared.

Max seemed to compose himself, clearing his throat. “You will be fetched come dinner time.”

The heavy doors of the library groaned shut behind him, leaving you and Lily in the cavernous stillness.

As soon as the sound of his footsteps faded, Lily let out a sharp exhale, breaking the silence. “I thought he’d never leave,” she muttered, her voice pitched low but urgent.

You turned to her, startled by her tone. “Lily-”

“He’s impossible to read!” she interrupted, her hands gesturing animatedly as she paced a small circle near the door.

“One moment, he’s scowling like the world owes him something, and the next, he’s… he’s practically pointing you toward the best books for a cozy evening! What am I supposed to make of that?”

You blinked, caught between amusement and exasperation. “I don’t think it’s meant to be deciphered, Lily.”

“But it should be!” she shot back, stopping abruptly to face you. “You’re supposed to marry him. How are you supposed to live with someone who switches moods faster than the weather?”

“I don’t think he’s as unpredictable as you think,” you said cautiously, though you weren’t entirely convinced of your own words. “He’s… reserved.”

“Reserved?” Lily snorted. “He looks like he’s trying not to bite anyone’s head off half the time.” She softened slightly, adding, “Although, I’ll admit, it was nice of him to show you this place.”

Her eyes wandered around the library, her earlier frustration melting into a quieter awe. “It really is something, isn’t it?”

You nodded, letting your gaze sweep the towering shelves. “It is. I could lose hours in here.”

“Maybe you’ll have to,” Lily said, her tone lighter now. “If he’s not going to be forthcoming about himself, you might have to dig through the history books to figure him out. Perhaps you'll even find a diary of his.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “I think even the books might not have the answers to that mystery.”

Lily gave you a sly grin. “Well, if anyone can figure him out, my lady, it’s you.”

With a roll of your eyes, you turned back to the shelves. “My betrothed's dour personality aside.. help me find that poetry section he mentioned.”

Lily smiled, stepping closer to follow you deeper into the quiet sanctuary of the library.

“Of course, my lady.”

—

Hours later, as the manor stirred for the evening meal, a servant was dispatched to your quarters. The boy found it strange that the two knights he'd heard his Lord's betrothed had come with weren't stationed by the door.

A sharp knock echoed once. Then again, louder, more insistent.

“My lady?”

Silence.

The servant hesitated, damp palms against the polished wood.

“My lady?” He said again, voice cracking. “My lady, may I come in?”

“...My lady, I'm coming in.”

Then, cautiously, he pushed the door open.

The room was untouched. The bed still perfectly made, the hearth’s fire reduced to flickering embers. Shadows stretched long across the walls, and a chill crept in where warmth should have lingered.

Panic tightened his throat.

He checked the adjoining rooms. The empty sitting area, the silent halls. Nowhere.

Not even your guards and maid were present.

Sweat gathered at his brow as he hurried through the winding corridors, heart hammering as he sought out Lord Verstappen.

He found Max standing near the great hall’s window, dusk spilling through the glass in muted gold.

“My lord,” the servant panted, voice tight. “She’s- she’s gone.”

Max turned slowly. “Gone?”

“I searched her chambers, the halls, the west wing-”

“And the library?” Max’s voice was sharp, cutting through the servant’s stammering explanation.

The servant faltered. “The… the library, my lord?”

“Yes,” Max said evenly, already striding toward the east corridor. “She’s there.”

The servant froze, his jaw slackening. “You… you allowed her inside?”

“Are you questioning me?” Max didn’t even glance back as he continued down the hall, his boots echoing sharply on the stone floor.

“N-no, my lord!” the servant stammered, bowing reflexively. “But should I-”

“Stay where you are,” Max ordered. “I’ll handle this myself.”

Your two knights stood sentinel by the library doors when he approached, arms crossed, their expressions a mixture of boredom and indifference.

They barely acknowledged him, their attention elsewhere as the echo of his boots rang down the corridor.

Max didn’t slow his pace. “Is she still in there?”

Lando flicked a glance toward Oscar, then shrugged. “Yep. She's buried in a book or something,” he said with a nonchalant flick of his wrist, as if it were of little concern.

Max’s eyes narrowed. “You didn’t think to remind her of the time?”

Oscar raised a brow, voice dry. “A certain scion has, unfortunately, forbidden our entry, my lord.”

Max sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose, but Lando was quick to interject with a smirk. “And it’s a lost cause trying to pry our Lady away from a good book. Trust me, we’ve tried.”

Max’s frustration bubbled over into a short, exasperated laugh as he pushed the heavy doors open.

And there you were.

Curled into a high-backed chair, utterly absorbed in the thick, ancient book resting open in your lap.

A few other volumes lay scattered around your feet, their spines cracked open, as if you’d moved through them in a frenzy of curiosity.

Max’s gaze lingered on the sight before him. On the way your head tilted slightly as you read, your brow furrowed in concentration.

His grip on the doorframe loosened, but his jaw remained tight.

“My lady.”

You glanced up, startled but then smiled when you saw him. “Oh, my- Max, What are you doing here again?”

Max’s brow arched slightly at your casual tone. His irritation wavered.

He knew you were about to say ‘my Lord’ again, knew it was a mere slip of the tongue, court etiquette taking over before personal sense.

But.. my Max. Yes, he supposed he was indeed yours.

He couldn't say that though so when he spoke, it was only a disinterested, “It’s dinner time.”

You blinked, glancing toward the tall windows where the light had shifted to deep amber.

“Already? I hadn’t even realized-” You glanced down at the book in your lap, reluctant to put it aside. “I haven’t even finished this chapter.”

His gaze dropped to the title in your hands. “Faust,” he noted, tucking the information away. “You read German?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “I… only at an elementary level.”

Max's eyebrow arched slightly. You were either a liar or terribly humble.

“Faust,” he repeated dryly. “Hardly a book for someone with only elementary German. Your skills are passable, at least.”

“Just enough to get by,” you admitted, more honest now, brushing invisible dust from your skirt as you stood.

Max offered his arm, and you took it without hesitation this time.

He noticed, though he said nothing about the change, afraid that if he voiced it out you'd withdraw again.

“You might find Faust more rewarding if you read it in context,” he remarked as you walked down the hall, your knights and maid following behind.

You glanced up at him, curious. “And what context would that be?”

“Understanding Goethe’s philosophical explorations, for one. Or at least recognizing the poetic structure in its original form.”

You tilted your head. “So now you’re saying my German isn’t good enough?”

“I’m saying it’s a pity to read something monumental in fragments,” he replied. “Not a criticism.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” The corners of your lips quirked upward.

“Take it as you like.” He offered you a small shrug, though there was the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes.

A beat of silence passed before he spoke again. “Which German do you struggle with?”

“Official documents,” you admitted. “The kind that's full of overly formal phrasing and unnecessary flourish.”

Max hummed, thoughtful. Most official documents were indeed like that. “I could assist with that, should the need arise.”

You blinked at him, caught off guard by the offer. “You would?”

“If I find myself having time.”

“Thank you.”

He shook his head, brushing off your words. “And don't sit too close to the mezzanine shelves,” he added. “They’re unstable.”

Your brows rose. “Unstable?”

“I don’t need you buried beneath three hundred years of German history,” he said, his tone casual but his meaning clear.

A laugh bubbled up before you could stop it. “You’d miss me, then?”

“More likely, the servants would revolt,” he said, gesturing to the doors to the dining hall. “Dinner then, shall we?”

—

The dining hall was an expansive, imposing space, its vaulted ceilings casting long shadows over the vast table.

Candles decorated much of the available surfaces in a surprisingly tasteful way.

Their flames flickered weakly, struggling to combat the cold that clung to the stone walls like it was a living, breathing thing.

The table stretched far ahead, but only two places were set.

Max took his seat at the head without so much as a glance in your direction, and you slid into the chair opposite him.

Lily quietly withdrew to prepare for your night routine while Lando and Oscar remained a fair distance away, leaving the two of you some privacy to discuss.

Servants moved efficiently, placing the first course on the table: roast venison, honeyed carrots, and freshly baked bread that had already begun to cool in the chill air.

The earlier conversation about books had petered out, leaving a quiet in its wake.

Max ate as though entirely alone, his focus on the meal before him.

You shifted in your seat, the faint scrape of your fork against the plate feeling almost intrusive.

"You know," you began tentatively, "for someone who seems to enjoy books, you’re surprisingly difficult to talk to about them."

Max’s knife paused mid-slice, his eyes flicking up to meet yours.

There was no hostility in his gaze, but his expression was unreadable all the same. “Talking about books is rarely as rewarding as reading them.”

“That sounds suspiciously like an excuse,” you said, trying to inject a bit of lightness into the moment. “Or maybe you just don’t know how to have a proper discussion about them.”

His lips twitched slightly, as if the idea amused him, though he didn’t smile. “Do you often accuse your dining companions of conversational ineptitude, or am I a special case?”

“That depends.” You tore off a piece of bread. “Are you going to prove me wrong?”

Max tilted his head, studying you with quiet curiosity, like someone turning over a puzzle piece in their mind.

“Very well.” He set his knife down carefully. “What would you like to discuss? Goethe? Schiller?”

“Bold of you to assume I am especially fond of German authors. Perhaps I just picked up Faust in the library on a whim.” You smiled. “But if you must know, I’ve been working through Balzac recently.”

He raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting slightly, though still difficult to read. “Balzac? Ambitious. And how are you finding him?”

“Dense,” you admitted with a laugh. “Brilliant, but dense. Definitely not light reading.”

“Few worthwhile things are,” he replied, returning to his meal. “Though I’ve always found Balzac’s fascination with ambition rather… tiresome.”

“Really?” you asked, curious. “Why?”

He took a measured sip of wine before answering. “Because I’ve seen enough ambition in reality to find little appeal in it as fiction.”

You smiled faintly, tilting your head. “And yet, here you are. A product of generations of ambition.”

His gaze darkened slightly, though not in anger.

There was a flicker of something, maybe hesitation, before he spoke. “Careful,” he said, his voice low and quiet. “You’re treading close to dangerous ground.”

“Am I?” you asked, though your tone was gentler now, almost teasing. “I thought we were just talking about books.”

Before he could respond, the servants re-entered, clearing the first course and placing the next before you.

The interruption softened the tension, and you let the moment breathe.

When the room was quiet again, you spoke, this time more cautiously. “Alright, then. Enough about me. What about you? What are you reading?”

Max’s fork paused mid-motion, and he set it down with deliberate care. “Does it matter?”

“Of course, it matters,” you replied, leaning forward slightly. “How else am I supposed to judge your taste?”

For a moment, you thought you saw the faintest glimmer of a smile. “If you must know, The Sorrows of Young Werther.”

You blinked, surprised. “Goethe’s most sentimental work? I wouldn’t have guessed.”

“Sentimentality has its uses,” he said dryly, though there was no real bite to his words. “Even you might agree.”

“Are you suggesting I’m sentimental?” you arched a brow.

“I’m suggesting you’re curious,” he replied, his tone even. “Perhaps overly so.”

“Fair.” You conceded with a small laugh. “But I’m curious.. what draws you to it? The tragedy? The unrequited love?”

He hesitated for just a moment, his gaze dropping briefly before he answered.

“The futility,” he said quietly, lifting his wine glass. “Of longing for something you cannot have.”

For a moment, you didn’t know how to respond, the honesty in his tone catching you off guard. When he didn’t elaborate, you picked up your own glass, letting the silence linger without pressing further.

“You have a rather bleak outlook, don’t you?” you asked finally, your voice softer now.

“Realistic,” he corrected, not unkindly, his gaze flicking back to yours. “Not everyone has the luxury of optimism.”

You frowned slightly, not entirely sure how to reply. “It’s not about luxury,” you said after a pause. “It’s about perspective.”

“Perspective is shaped by reality.” His eyes met yours, boring. “And reality is rarely kind.”

The conversation lulled again, but this time it felt less uneasy and more thoughtful.

As dinner wrapped up, Max glanced at your knights before settling on you, his tone lightening as he spoke. “I trust you can find your rooms?”

You nodded, standing from your chair. “Yes, I think so.”

“No late-night wandering, then?” he asked, his voice carrying the faintest trace of amusement.

Max’s lips twitched again, softer this time, as if he might actually be considering a smile. “Good. I’d hate to have to rescue you from some misstep in the dark.”

You tilted your head, feigning innocence. “What makes you think I’d need rescuing?”

“Experience,” he said simply, the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes.

The air between you shifted slightly, the earlier sharpness fading into something more subdued.

You allowed yourself a small laugh, breaking the lingering tension. “I’ll have you know I’m quite capable of finding my way around.”

“Is that so?” he replied, leaning back in his chair. His tone had softened, the sharp edges dulling to a quiet curiosity. “Well, then. I suppose I’ll trust you.”

“Trust,” you repeated, letting the word hang between you. “A bold move, considering we’ve only just met.”

Max regarded you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Bold, perhaps. But necessary.”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. There was something in his voice, quiet, measured, and entirely unexpected, that made you pause. The weight of the moment settled around you like the faint flicker of the candlelight, warm yet fragile.

“Well,” you said finally. “I suppose I should be flattered.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

He rose from his seat with practiced ease, the flicker of warmth in his eyes quickly hidden behind his composed demeanor. “Goodnight, then.”

You watched him as he left the dining hall, his steps measured and deliberate, the echo of his footsteps fading into the vast, empty space.

For a moment, you sat in the quiet, your gaze lingering on the door where he had disappeared.

Finally, you stood, the faintest smile playing at your lips. “Goodnight, Max,” you murmured to the empty room.

—-

The first light of dawn crept through the heavy drapes of your room, painting the walls in soft hues of gold and silver. The air carried a sharp chill, the promise of frost lingering just outside the thick panes of glass.

Everything was still, save for the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth and the soft rustling of fabric as Lily moved about with quiet precision.

She bent over a polished wooden chair, her deft hands smoothing out the folds of the attire she’d chosen for you.

A cloak of deep crimson lay draped across her arm, its rich, heavy fabric catching the faint light. You stirred in your bed, watching her through half-lidded eyes as she worked.

“Good morning, Lily,” you murmured, sitting up and drawing the blankets closer against the morning chill.

Lily turned with a warm smile, setting the cloak on the bed beside you. “Good morning, my Lady. Did you sleep well?”

“Well enough,” you replied, your fingers brushing the thick velvet of the cloak. You tilted your head, examining it with curiosity. “I don’t recall seeing this in my wardrobe before.”

“It was delivered just this morning,” Lily explained, her tone light but tinged with amusement. “A gift, I believe, from Lord Verstappen.”

Your brows lifted as you traced the intricate embroidery along the hem, tiny silver threads woven into delicate patterns. “From Lord Verstappen?”

She nodded, folding her hands in front of her. “He must have assumed the worst given your attire yesterday.”

“It’s rather heavy,” you remarked, holding it up to feel its weight.

Lily gave you a knowing smile, her tone dry but affectionate. “I think I speak for all of us when I say that I’d rather you walk with less grace than freeze, my Lady.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head as you draped the cloak over your shoulders.

It was impossibly warm, the kind of warmth that seeped through your skin and settled in your bones. “You’re not wrong. I suppose there’s no room for vanity when winter comes knocking.”

“None at all,” Lily agreed, moving to adjust the cloak, fastening the silver clasp at your throat. “Besides, the color suits you. Lord Verstappen has surprisingly good taste. I'd have assumed he’d just grab any old thing and force you into it.”

You raised a brow at the tone that laced her words, giving her a sidelong glance. “Flattery for him, Lily? Are you trying to curry favor? And here I thought you were quite ready to sock him just yesterday.”

She feigned innocence, stepping back with a twinkle in her eye. “Not at all, my Lady. But if he keeps sending gifts like this, I might just start.”

Your laughter filled the room, chasing away the last remnants of sleep. You were somewhat glad Lily saw him as redeemable after yesterday.

After all, she was usually a good judge of character.

As you stood, the cloak fell around you like a royal mantle, its weight grounding but comforting.

By the time you entered the dining hall, Max was already seated at the long table, a vision of composed efficiency.

His pale hair was still perfectly swept back, not a strand out of place, and a small stack of documents sat before him.

His pen moved steadily across the paper, his focus unbroken even as the golden morning light softened the sharpness of his features.

“Good morning, Max,” you said, sliding into the chair across from him, your tone deliberately chipper.

Max glanced up briefly, eyes meeting yours with the barest flicker of warmth.

“Good morning,” he replied, setting his pen down with the precision of a man who never did anything carelessly. “You’re up early.”

“It’s rather difficult to stay in bed when the frost feels like it's climbing up to sleep with you,” you said, grabbing a warm roll from the plate near you. “Do you have a deal with the weather to ensure I never sleep in?”

A faint smile tugged at his lips. “I’ll admit to nothing. But if the frost succeeds, perhaps I should reward it.”

“Ha! I’d like to see you try,” you said, tearing a piece of bread and slathering it with butter. “I’ve made my peace with it, though. I realized there was a charm to the winter once I got over the whole ‘freezing to death’ aspect.”

Max arched a brow, his eyes sparkling faintly with what you hoped was amusement. “A charm, you say? I wasn’t aware you were so poetic in the mornings.”

“Oh, I’m a veritable bard before breakfast,” you said. “In fact, I was just composing a sonnet about how frostbite builds character.”

He snorted softly as he reached for his tea, the sound barely audible, but it felt like a victory. “I’ll be sure to commission a copy of it for the library.”

You leaned back in your chair, feeling emboldened by his rare moment of humor

“Speaking of things worth writing about, I was thinking of spending some time in the garden today. It looks magical with the frost.”

Max paused, his teacup halfway to his lips, and gave you a look that bordered on incredulous. “The garden? In winter?”

“Yes, the garden,” you said, undeterred. “You do realize it’s still a garden, even when it’s cold?”

He set his cup down slowly, as if trying to process your words. “You are aware that nothing grows in the garden during winter, yes? Unless you count the weeds, which I doubt have much aesthetic appeal.”

“There are flowers that survive in winter,” you said with a pointed look.

He tilted his head, his expression blank. “Like what? Frozen dandelions?”

“Snowdrops, holly, winter jasmine,” you listed off, ticking them off on your fingers. “I saw some while passing by yesterday. Honestly, do you even know what’s in your own garden?”

Max leaned back slightly. “I delegate. Why bother when there are people who are willing to brave the frost to catalog it all for me?”

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your grin. “How magnanimous of you.”

He inclined his head slightly, as though you’d paid him a genuine compliment. “It’s a skill.”

“You should come with me,” you said suddenly. “A little walk in the fresh air couldn’t hurt. Who knows? You might even enjoy it.”

He hesitated, his fingers tapping lightly against the rim of his teacup. “I appreciate the invitation,” he said finally, his tone carefully polite. “But my duties don’t often allow for such… luxuries.”

“Luxuries?” you raised a brow. “Surely even a Lord like yourself deserves a moment to himself.”

He chuckled softly, the sound low and rare, but it faded quickly. “Perhaps another time.”

You nodded, masking your disappointment with a practiced smile. “Of course. I wouldn’t want to distract you from your responsibilities.”

“Distraction,” he repeated, his gaze lingering on you longer than necessary.

Something unspoken flickered in his eyes, and though his expression remained composed, there was the faintest hint of something warmer beneath the surface.

“Perhaps,” he said again, this time softer, almost to himself.

You glanced down, heat creeping up your cheeks, and busied yourself with your breakfast.

—-

The steady scratch of a quill against parchment filled the room, broken only by the occasional shuffle of papers.

Max leaned over his desk, eyes scanning the dense columns of reports.

The study was dim, the late afternoon light barely filtering through the heavy curtains. The fire in the hearth had burned low, casting long, flickering shadows across the walls.

Yet, for all his focus, his pen paused mid-sentence.

His thoughts drifted. Again.

To you.

He could see it vividly in his mind: the garden cloaked in frost, each branch thin and brittle beneath the weight of winter.

You would be there, wouldn’t you? Bundled in that wool cloak you favored, breath curling in the cold air as you traced the icy edges of dormant rose bushes.

You had mentioned it offhandedly this morning, your plan to spend the afternoon outside despite the chill.

Max let out a slow breath, frowning at the parchment before him.

The words blurred, meaningless.

It was ridiculous.

You were likely gone by now, the cold too sharp to endure for long.

Rationality urged him to stay, to finish the reports that demanded his attention.

Yet the thought persisted.

Why did it matter if you were still there?

It shouldn’t.

And yet.

The chair scraped quietly against the floor as he stood.

He didn’t bother with his coat. The cold would be a brief inconvenience.

His steps were measured as he left the study, though there was a certain tension in his stride, as if he was trying to convince himself this was a simple walk and nothing more.

The manor’s halls gave way to the biting air of winter, and Max inhaled sharply, the cold seeping through the thin fabric of his sleeves.

The gravel path crunched beneath his boots as he crossed into the garden.

The world was quiet here. Still.

The pale sun sagged low in the sky, casting a silver sheen over frost-laced branches and brittle hedges. Even the air felt suspended, holding its breath.

He scanned the expanse, expecting, no, hoping, to see a flicker of movement among the barren trees.

Nothing.

Max’s jaw tightened.

Of course. You wouldn’t have waited. Hours had passed. Why would you linger in the cold for him? The thought was absurd.

He moved forward anyway, slow and deliberate, his hands clasped behind his back as if that could restrain the growing restlessness in his chest.

Each turn of the path yielded only more empty frost-covered stone.

Once.

Twice.

A third time around, and still nothing.

Perhaps this was a mistake.

He turned to leave.

Then, faintly, the sound of movement, a soft rustle of fabric.

His head snapped up.

And there you were.

Tucked into the curve of a stone bench, half-hidden by the skeletal branches of the hedgerow.

A book lay open in your lap, your gloved fingers idly turning the page.

Max stared.

You hadn’t left.

A strange feeling settled in his chest, something between relief and unease.

He didn’t speak, not immediately. For a moment, he simply watched you, the way your breath misted in the cold, how your hair caught the pale light.

He wasn’t sure why he’d come out here.

But now that he had, he found he didn’t want to leave.

Max exhaled quietly, letting the breath curl away into the cold.

He stood perfectly still, half-concealed by the bare limbs of the hedgerow, his figure blending into the stark winter landscape. The cold gnawed at him, a sharp wind threading through the thin fabric of his sleeves, but he didn’t move.

His breath escaped in thin, controlled streams of vapor, dissipating into the frigid air.

And still, his eyes remained fixed on you.

You sat quietly on the stone bench, bundled in the cloak he'd ordered a servant to bring to you last night come morning, its edges stiff with frost.

A book rested in your lap, your gloved fingers lazily tracing the brittle page edges as you turned them.

Every now and then, you paused, eyes lifting to watch the pale sun as it sagged toward the horizon, before returning to your reading.

Max’s hands tightened behind his back.

He shouldn’t be here.

There was no reason to be.

And yet, he didn’t leave.

He told himself it was coincidence, that his steps had simply led him here after hours of restless pacing in his study.

But even that excuse felt thin, crumbling under the weight of his own unease.

He exhaled slowly, the breath catching in the cold.

Why didn’t you go inside? The air was sharp and biting.

Anyone with sense would’ve retreated to the warmth of the manor by now. Yet you sat there still, as if waiting for something.

Or someone.

A ridiculous thought.

Max’s jaw tightened.

"You know," a dry voice cut through the stillness, "standing there staring is a bit creepy, my Lord.”

Max turned sharply, his cold glare snapping to the armored figure leaning casually against the frosted stone archway.

Oscar.

The knight stood with an infuriating air of nonchalance, one hand resting on the pommel of his sword, the other shoved lazily into the crook of his elbow. His breath misted lazily in the cold air, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You’re out of line.” Max’s voice was flat, the warning unmistakable.

Oscar only raised an eyebrow, entirely unbothered. “Probably. But you’ve been standing long enough that I figured someone should say something.”

Max’s glare deepened.

Oscar tilted his head slightly toward the garden. “You could just speak to her, you know. I’m half certain she wouldn’t mind.”

“I have no intention of interrupting her,” Max said coolly, though the words rang hollow even to his own ears.

Oscar made a thoughtful noise, tapping a gloved finger against his chin. “No, of course not. That’s why you’re skulking in the hedges instead of being a normal person and saying hello.”

Max’s mouth tightened into a thin line. “You have duties. Attend to them.”

Oscar chuckled under his breath. “Oh, I am attending to them. Protecting the lady, making sure her suitors aren’t lurking about. You know, the usual.”

Max’s eyes narrowed dangerously.

Oscar didn’t flinch.

“Did she not mention this morning she hoped you’d join her out here?” the knight asked offhandedly, brushing frost off his shoulder. “But maybe I heard wrong. Could’ve been the wind.”

Max didn’t respond.

Oscar let the silence stretch for a moment before shrugging. “Well. Suit yourself.”

With that, he pushed off the archway and strode casually toward you, boots crunching against the frost-laden gravel.

Max didn’t move. His gaze followed Oscar with a cold, sharp focus, but his feet remained planted, weighed down by something heavier than pride.

Oscar’s figure grew smaller as he neared you.

And then, you looked up.

Your face softened in recognition, lips curving into a faint smile as your knight approached. Max’s chest tightened inexplicably.

“You’ve been out here a while, my lady,” Oscar remarked lightly, stopping beside the stone bench.

You laughed softly, the sound carrying faintly through the still air. “Longer than I meant to. Has it gotten that late already?”

“Late enough,” Oscar said, leaning slightly against the stone edge. “Cold enough too, I imagine.”

You exhaled, watching the breath curl away. “The cold’s not so bad.”

Oscar smirked. “If you say so. Though I passed Lord Max earlier. He was out here too.”

Your eyes lifted, blinking in quiet surprise. “Was he?”

Oscar hummed. “Looked like he was thinking about joining you. Or maybe just staring at you. Hard to tell with him.”

Your gaze flicked toward the distant paths, searching the empty garden.

Oscar watched you carefully. “Still might be lurking somewhere. Shadows seem to agree with him.”

You smiled faintly, but your eyes lingered on the hedgerows, thoughtful.

Oscar nudged a frost-coated pebble with his boot. “You know… if you wanted him here, you could just call him out. Maybe the shame will make his feet move.”

You glanced at him, arching a brow.

He smirked. “Just a thought, my Lady.”

Oscar pushed off the bench. “Come on. You’ll catch cold if you stay out much longer.”

As they turned to head back toward the manor, Max stood still, hidden beyond the hedges.

His hands clenched slowly at his sides.

And then, finally, he turned and walked away.

The frost crunched beneath his boots, louder than before.

—

The rest of the month at the Verstappen estate unfolded in slow, deliberate strokes, like the steady brush of winter wind against frosted glass.

The walls of cold formality between you and Max didn’t crumble overnight, but there were cracks now. Thin, hairline fractures where something softer threatened to seep through.

Max remained composed, distant, his every word and gesture measured. Yet every so often, something flickered.

A hesitation before he spoke. A glance that lingered longer than necessary.

Small, fleeting moments that barely seemed to matter, but they did. They built something fragile and new, fragile as frost on stone.

It started with the garden.

You had grown fond of the winter gardens. Quiet, stark, and untouched. The biting air sharpened your senses, and the stillness gave you space to breathe, something you often struggled to find within the Verstappen estate's cold, towering walls.

You were seated at the breakfast table one morning, fingers curled around your tea for warmth.

Your eyes traced the frost-laced hedgerows beyond the tall windows, lost in thought.

“I’ll accompany you today.”

The voice was quiet but certain, breaking through your reverie.

Your head snapped up.

Max stood across the room, a stack of documents in hand, his expression unreadable.

“…Pardon?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “To the gardens. I’ll walk with you.”

You stared at him, caught off guard. “You want to… walk. Outside. In the cold.”

A slight tilt of his head. “Yes.”

“You?”

His jaw tensed, a muscle ticking. “Is that so difficult to believe?”

“Frankly? Yes.” You set your teacup down carefully, studying him. “Don’t you have something far more important to do than trail after me like some-”

“I hardly think safeguarding my betrothed is beneath me,” he cut in smoothly, though something in his tone lacked its usual sharpness.

You raised a brow. “Safeguard me? Max, it’s a garden, not a battlefield.”

He didn’t answer, only held your gaze steadily.

A smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Well, far be it from me to refuse the protection of a lord.”

Max inclined his head, as if the matter was settled.

—

The cold met you both immediately as you stepped into the garden.

You drew your coat tighter. Max, of course, didn’t seem to notice the cold at all.

His steps were measured, boots crunching against the frost-dusted path. He kept half a step ahead of you, his hands clasped neatly behind his back.

The silence stretched. And stretched.

Then, abruptly-

“Those are evergreens.”

You blinked.

“…Yes. They are.”

Max gave a small nod, as if confirming a fact. “They endure the winter well.”

"That is typically how evergreens work."

Silence.

You bit your lip, fighting the smile threatening to surface.

Max cleared his throat, his eyes flicking forward again. "I thought it was worth mentioning."

"It was very insightful," you teased lightly.

His jaw tightened, though you noticed the faintest flush at the tips of his ears.

The silence stretched again, but it didn’t feel so suffocating now.

"I don’t…" he started, then stopped. His hands flexed behind his back. "I’m not particularly… good at this."

You tilted your head. "At walking?”

A sharp exhale, half a laugh, half frustration. "At this. Talking. Being-" he paused, as if the word itself burned. "-approachable."

You considered him for a moment. "You’re not as terrible as you think."

His eyes flicked to yours, uncertain.

"You just talk about trees a lot."

That earned a genuine huff of breath. Not quite a laugh, but close.

"I’ll… keep that in mind.”

—

Days slipped by like soft falling snow, quiet and unhurried. And so did the walks.

The first few outings had been brittle, every step and word sharp with awkwardness. But little by little, the stiffness began to melt.

It wasn’t anything grand, no sweeping gestures or sudden confessions, but something quieter. Subtle.

Max no longer fumbled for conversation, and you no longer waited for him to.

Sometimes you spoke. Sometimes you didn’t. And somehow, the silences became easier.

There was comfort in it, like the steady crunch of frost beneath your boots or the way your breath curled in the cold air.

It started with small things.

One morning, as you walked past a thicket of frost-covered hedges, Max slowed his pace, watching you with a flicker of curiosity.

“You always stop here.”

You glanced at him, surprised he noticed. “It’s peaceful.”

His eyes followed yours to the bare branches dusted in white.

“Hm.” He made a low sound of acknowledgment, then fell quiet.

The next day, you noticed he lingered near that spot, as if waiting for you to pause first.

He didn’t say anything, but it was enough.

Another morning, you stumbled slightly on the uneven path, your boot catching on a patch of ice.

Before you could right yourself, a steady hand caught your elbow.

You blinked, looking up.

Max’s hand hovered there, his grip careful but sure.

His expression was unreadable, but his touch was steady.

“You should watch your step,” he murmured.

You stared at him for a beat too long.

“I was,” you said finally, a little breathless.

His hand dropped back to his side, and he turned away before you could see the faint pink creeping up his neck.

The next day, the path had been salted.

You never mentioned it. Neither did he.

But the air between you felt lighter.

Then, there was the matter of the scarf.

It was colder than usual that morning. Bitter wind snuck through the layers of your coat and scarf, nipping at your skin.

Max noticed.

“You’re cold,” he said flatly.

You glanced at him, defensive. “It’s winter. Everyone’s cold.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then, without a word, he unwound the dark wool scarf from his neck and held it out to you.

You blinked.

“…What are you doing?”

“You need it more than I do.”

You stared at the scarf, then at him. “Max, I’m not going to take your scarf. That’s ridiculous.”

“It’s practical,” he replied, tone perfectly serious.

You huffed a laugh. “Oh, is it? And what about you?”

“I’ll manage.”

His expression didn’t waver.

After a long pause, you sighed and took the scarf from his hands.

It was warm. Warmer than yours, and it smelled faintly of cedar and something crisp, like winter air.

You looped it around your neck, hiding a small smile.

“Happy now?”

Max gave a short nod. “Good.”

The next day, he wore a thicker coat.

You said nothing.

Neither did he.

But his gaze lingered on the scarf around your neck.

And that was enough.

The silences softened after that.

Some days, Max would walk slightly ahead, hands behind his back, eyes on the path.

Other days, he matched your stride, quiet but near.

Once, as you passed a row of brittle rose bushes, you paused, brushing your glove over the thorns.

Max stopped beside you.

“They won’t bloom again until spring.”

“I know.”

He was quiet for a moment.

“They’re still... nice to look at,” he admitted.

You glanced at him.

“That’s surprisingly sentimental of you.”

A slight shrug. “They’re resilient. Even now.”

You smiled, soft and secret.

Another day, you caught him watching you when you laughed at something small. A small squirrel darting through the snow, slipping and scrambling back up a tree.

Max didn’t laugh, but something flickered in his eyes.

Not amusement.

Something warmer.

He looked away when you caught him, but you didn’t tease him for it.

The walks stretched longer. The conversations grew softer.

There were no grand declarations, no sweeping changes.

Just the slow, steady thaw of winter.

And for now, that was enough.

—-

It happened on an ordinary day, so ordinary that you couldn’t have guessed it would stand out for any reason at all.

You were sitting in the common room, absentmindedly flipping through a file, your thoughts half on the task and half on the cup of tea cooling beside you.

You were aware of Max nearby, as you always seemed to be. The two of you had taken to spending your quiet moments together for some reason.

He was seated at the far corner, half-hidden behind a stack of papers, his focus presumably locked on his work.

Or so you thought.

It wasn’t until you reached for your tea, your eyes lifting momentarily, that you noticed it. His gaze.

Max was staring at you.

It wasn’t a casual glance or a quick flicker of attention. His eyes were fixed, steady, like he was studying you without even realizing it.

There was something almost unreadable in his expression, his usual guarded demeanor softened by a hint of… curiosity? Thoughtfulness? You couldn’t quite place it.

For a moment, you froze, unsure what to do. Should you look away? Pretend you hadn’t noticed? Confront him?

The options raced through your mind in a tangle, but before you could decide, Max blinked, as though snapping out of a trance.

His gaze shifted back to the papers in front of him, his movements abrupt and uncharacteristically awkward.

He cleared his throat quietly, shuffling the documents with more focus than necessary.

You felt your cheeks warm, a faint heat creeping up your neck. It wasn’t like Max to lose his composure, even slightly.

You wondered what he’d been thinking. Or if he’d even realized what he was doing.

“Everything alright?” you asked, breaking the silence before it could stretch uncomfortably long. Your voice was casual, light, as though the moment hadn’t happened.

Max didn’t look up immediately, his jaw tightening for a fraction of a second. “Fine,” he said, his tone clipped, but there was a faint edge to it, something almost defensive.

You tilted your head, studying him for a beat longer. “You sure? You looked… distracted.”

He finally met your gaze, his expression unreadable again, but this time you thought you caught the faintest flicker of something.

Embarrassment, maybe, or irritation at being caught.

“I’m sure,” he said, his tone more even now.

“Alright,” you said lightly, turning back to your file with a small shrug. But your heart was still racing, and you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering what had just passed between you.

As the moments ticked by, you resisted the urge to glance at him again, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of his earlier stare.

—

The two of you found yourselves in the library again, a rare moment of calm amidst the usual chaos.

Max sat across from you, his attention drifting between the book in his hands and the room around him.

For once, he wasn’t buried in paperwork or fielding endless questions from others, and the quiet was almost comforting.

The soft rustle of turning pages and the muted hum of your own reading filled the air.

It was a stillness that wrapped around you both, unspoken but shared, a silence that felt like an unacknowledged truce.

Until the peace fractured.

A faint groan of wood sliced through the quiet, subtle at first but growing louder, sharper. You frowned, your eyes flicking upward from your book.

Max noticed the sound too, his head tilting slightly as his attention shifted.

“What was that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Max didn’t answer right away, his eyes narrowing as the groaning intensified. “Stay here,” he muttered, already rising from his chair.

But before either of you could move further, the source of the noise revealed itself.

The tall shelf in the corner swayed unnaturally, its weight shifting in a way that made your stomach twist.

“Max-” you started, panic creeping into your voice.

And then it happened. The shelf gave way.

Books tumbled from its upper shelves like a cascade of water, filling the air with dull thuds and sharp cracks.

The massive structure pitched toward you, and you froze, your feet rooted in place.

“Move!” a voice yelled.

You barely registered the shout before a strong hand grabbed your arm, yanking you back with such force that your book flew from your grasp.

Your back slammed into something solid. Someone’s chest.

A deafening crash filled the room as the shelf slammed into the ground, its impact sending vibrations through the floor.

Books scattered in every direction, some sliding to a stop at your feet.

“Are you okay?” Max’s voice was sharp, edged with panic. His hand still gripped your arm, his knuckles white from the effort.

You turned toward him, your breath coming in short, uneven gasps. “I… I think so.”

His eyes darted over you, scanning for any sign of injury. “Did it hit you?” he asked, his voice quieter but no less urgent.

“No,” you managed. “I’m fine. Just… shaken.”

Max exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging as some of the tension left him.

He dropped his hand from your arm, stepping back to give you space, but his gaze stayed locked on you.

“I should’ve seen it coming,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I knew it was old..” He trailed off, his jaw tightening.

You shook your head, still trying to steady your breathing. “You couldn’t have known it would fall like that.”

His brow furrowed, frustration flickering across his face. “I should’ve checked it. What if-” He cut himself off, his jaw working as he looked away.

“It didn’t,” you said firmly. “You pulled me out of the way. That’s what matters.”

Max’s expression didn’t soften. If anything, his frown deepened. “This shouldn’t have happened in the first place. I should’ve-”

“Stop,” you interrupted, your voice firmer than you expected. “Max, you can’t blame yourself. You didn’t push the shelf. You didn’t make it fall.”

He met your gaze then, his eyes dark and filled with a storm of emotions. “But I could’ve stopped it,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. The raw guilt in his voice surprised you. It was rare to see Max shaken. You didn't even think it possible.

“You did stop it. At least for me,” you said softly.

He stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable.

Finally, he sighed and stepped toward the wreckage. “This is a mess,” he muttered, his tone shifting to something more clipped, controlled. “I’ll get someone to clean it up. You should go sit down. Get some air.”

You followed his gaze to the pile of broken wood and scattered books. The sight made your stomach twist, but you forced yourself to speak. “I’ll help. I was here too.”

“No,” Max said quickly, holding up a hand. “You’ve had enough of a scare for one day. Just… take a break, alright?”

You hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. “Fine. But only because you asked.”

Max gave a short, almost reluctant nod in return. “Good. I’ll make sure this doesn’t happen again.”

As you turned to leave, you glanced back at him. He was already moving toward the debris, his focus shifting entirely to the mess. But the tension in his shoulders hadn’t eased, and you knew he’d be carrying the weight of what could have happened for a while.

And so would you.

—-

The realization that you fancied Max struck with all the subtlety of a thunderclap.

You fancied your fiancé. Oh, God. You fancied your fiancé.

The thought struck you like a bolt of lightning, the weight of it settling heavily in your chest as you paced back and forth across your room.

With each step, the walls of the room seemed to shrink around you, the air thick with the suffocating pressure of your own spiraling thoughts.

How had this happened? Why him? Of all people, why Max?

Stoic, distant Max, the man you barely even knew.

“It’s a trick of the mind. A reaction to circumstance,” you whispered, the words directed at your own reflection in the mirror.

Your face was pinched, your brow furrowed, and your eyes wide with a mixture of dread and something… else.

You rubbed at your temples, as though the act might banish the errant thoughts swirling in your mind.

“It’s admiration,” you said aloud, as if hearing the words would make them true. “Respect for his… demeanor. His resolve.”

You faltered, the image of Max flickering to life in your mind.

His measured gaze, the faint crease at the corner of his mouth when he was deep in thought.

The way his presence seemed to command the air around him.

Stop it.

“Lily!” you called out suddenly, your voice higher than you intended, panic rising sharply in your throat. “Lily, please, come here!”

The door creaked open, and Lily entered with her usual composed air, her eyes softening as soon as she took in the sight of your distress.

“My Lady, what’s wrong? You look...” she trailed off, hesitation in her tone as she glanced at you, clearly noting the unease written across your face.

“Don’t even say it,” you interrupted quickly, pressing your palms to your temples in an effort to stave off the rising panic. “I’m losing my mind, Lily. I think... I think I have feelings for Max.”

Lily regarded you for a long moment, her expression unreadable, but there was a subtle shift in her eyebrow.

A hint of intrigue that you couldn’t quite place. She did not seem surprised.

“Max?” she asked, her voice calm, though the faintest hint of something stirred in her eyes. “As in, your betrothed, Lord Max Verstappen?”

“Yes! That Max!” you exclaimed, turning toward her with wide, frantic eyes, feeling the chaos inside you deepen with every word you spoke. “What other Max would I be talking about?!”

Lily paused for a moment, her eyes assessing you, the soft lines of her face betraying no judgment, only careful understanding.

Finally, she spoke, her tone even, but with an edge of something like amusement.

“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “I’m glad it’s not hatred you’re feeling.”

You blinked, surprised at her response. “What?”

She gave you a small, wry smile, her hands folding gently in front of her. “I’m glad you don’t detest the man you’re engaged to. That’s a start, isn’t it? At least you’re not loathing him.”

You gaped at her, your mind still reeling from the gravity of your own emotions. “But this isn’t nothing, Lily! This isn’t just some passing fancy. I can’t stop thinking about him. Every time he’s near, I feel like I’m going to lose my mind. I don’t know how to act around him. It’s like- like he’s too close and I’m too far from myself.”

Lily’s gaze softened, but she did not rush to soothe you with easy words.

She tilted her head slightly, her voice measured but firm. “Feelings like these don’t appear overnight, My Lady. They don’t disappear either. But you’re right. You don’t know him very well yet. You’ve got time to work this out, slowly. You don’t have to have it all figured out now.”

You nodded, but the knot in your stomach only tightened as a new wave of uncertainty washed over you.

“I don’t know what to do with all of this, Lily. What if I say something wrong? What if I act like a fool in front of him? What if... what if he doesn’t care at all?”

Lily stepped closer to you, her presence steady, constant.

“Then he doesn’t,” she said simply. “If he doesn’t care, then... then you’ll be no worse off than you are now, My Lady. But know this: no other woman is taking him from you. He’s already yours. That’s settled.”

Her words settled over you like a weight.

He was already yours.

There was no escaping the finality of it, the truth in her calm tone.

The idea that you didn’t need to chase after him, that he was already tied to you in ways you couldn’t control, both unsettled and reassured you.

“I’m not even sure I want him, though,” you murmured, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I don’t even know what this is. What if I’m just... confused? What if it’s just... attachment? I mean, he’s always there, he’s my betrothed, but- he’s not-”

“Stop,” Lily’s voice sliced through your spiraling thoughts. “You don’t need to understand it all right now. You don’t need to be sure of your feelings just because you’ve realized them.”

You took a slow breath, your chest tight as you tried to keep your composure.

Her words were soothing in their simplicity, but they didn’t change your feelings. “I just... I don’t know what to do with all this. It’s too much. Too fast. I can’t keep up.”

You let the words hang in the air, unsure if you were speaking to her or to yourself.

Lily gave you a small, understanding smile, though it was tinged with a trace of amusement.

She didn’t speak for a moment, as though carefully weighing her response. “Then take it slow, my Lady. You’re allowed to feel all of this, in your own time. You don’t have to rush to make sense of it. No one’s going to force you to figure it out on anyone else’s schedule.”

A tiny sense of relief swept over you, but the knot in your stomach still refused to loosen.

You glanced at the door, as though the mere idea of being near Max would send everything crashing down again.

“So... you’re saying I can avoid him... for a while?”

Lily raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed with the suggestion. “Avoid him?” she repeated, the edge of disbelief creeping into her voice. “My Lady, if I may-"

“But I can?” you pressed, cutting her off, eyes wide with urgency. “You said I could take my time, right? Well, avoiding him sounds like taking my time to me.”

Lily sighed, the sound long and heavy, as though you were testing her patience. “Yes, My Lady, your free will does indeed allow you to avoid him, if that’s truly what you wish.”

A spark of triumph flickered inside you.

“Perfect.” You stood straighter, a plan forming in your mind. “Call for Sir Landon and Sir Oscar.”

Lily’s eyebrows furrowed as she eyed you suspiciously. “What for, My Lady?”

You gave her an almost manic grin, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease slightly as your plan took shape. “They’re going to help me.”

“Help you... with avoiding your betrothed?” Lily asked slowly, a hint of disbelief creeping into her voice. She crossed her arms, studying you with a bemused expression.

“Yes,” you replied firmly, not an ounce of hesitation in your voice. “They’ll help me stay away from him. They’ll distract him, tell him I’m busy with... other things.”

Lily opened her mouth to respond but stopped herself, narrowing her eyes at you as if you had just suggested something ludicrous.

“My Lady,” she said, her voice dipping into a tone of mild reproach, “I must say, I don’t think that’s the most productive course of action.”

“Oh, please.” You threw your hands up dramatically. “I’m just trying to buy myself some time here. I can’t face him, not with these... feelings…whatever they are…bubbling up every time I even think about him. If I can just avoid him for a little while, I can breathe again.”

Lily shook her head, a small, resigned smile playing on her lips. “I don’t think this is the solution you’re looking for, My Lady. But if you insist on this... strategy, I can’t stop you.”

You raised an eyebrow, suddenly intrigued by the shift in her tone. “You can stop me, can’t you? You’re my lady’s maid. You’re supposed to stop me from making poor decisions.”

Lily raised an eyebrow right back at you. “I’m also supposed to help you navigate poor decisions, not prevent them entirely. And right now, this is just one of many decisions I’m going to let you make on your own.”

She paused, eyeing you carefully. “But just know, avoiding him isn’t going to give you the answers you need. It’ll only prolong the inevitable.”

You smiled sweetly, still not convinced. “Sometimes, a little delay is exactly what I need. Besides, it’s not like he’s going anywhere. We’re betrothed, after all.”

“That you are,” Lily replied, her tone becoming slightly sharper. “Which is exactly why you shouldn’t be avoiding him. You’ve got time, but you also have a responsibility to work through your feelings. Even if it’s uncomfortable.”

You glanced toward the door, already plotting the next phase of your plan. “I’ll figure it out. But in the meantime, I’m going to need some assistance.”

Lily sighed again, louder this time.

She didn’t speak for a long moment, her gaze flicking to the door as though she were silently debating whether or not to humor you.

Finally, she gave a small nod. “Very well. I’ll fetch Sir Landon and Sir Oscar. But I’m warning you, My Lady, this avoidance strategy won’t last long.”

You grinned triumphantly as she turned to leave. “Thank you, Lily. You’re the best.”

As she stepped out of the room, you sank back into your chair, letting your mind wander to the next step of your plan.

You weren’t entirely sure what you were doing, but it felt better than facing Max and trying to make sense of the chaos swirling inside you.

For now, avoiding him was the only option that seemed remotely manageable.

When Lily returned with your knights, they each looked at you with varying degrees of confusion and amusement, but you gave them a firm, confident look.

This plan was going to work.

You could make it work.

“Alright,” you said, standing tall, as though the sheer gravity of your decision had transformed you into a seasoned military strategist. “Here’s the plan. We’re going to make sure Max never sees me again.”

A pause hung in the air, heavy and expectant.

“Or at least… not for a while.”

Lando and Oscar exchanged a glance. Lando’s lips twitched upward, the beginnings of a grin playing at the corners of his mouth, while Oscar’s furrowed brow and pursed lips betrayed his confusion.

“Right,” Lando said finally, leaning back and crossing his arms. His tone was equal parts incredulous and amused. “This ought to be good. What, exactly, do you want us to do, my Lady? This sounds like it’s going to be excellent for my boredom.”

Oscar’s expression tightened further. “You can’t be serious,” he muttered, half to himself, his arms now folded.

You straightened your back, summoning all the confidence you could muster. “I am entirely serious. From this moment forward, I have suddenly become… extremely busy.”

Oscar blinked. “Busy,” he repeated flatly.

“Yes, busy,” you replied, the words tumbling out with an exaggerated air of importance. “So busy, in fact, that I won’t have a single moment to spare. And I need you two to help make sure that’s… believable.”

Lando arched an eyebrow, a grin now fully blossoming on his face. “Wait, let me get this straight. You want us to..what? Fabricate your life for a bit?”

“Exactly,” you said with a flourish of your hand, as though the absurdity of your request was irrelevant. “A little misdirection here, a well-timed excuse there. Between the two of you, I’m sure you can come up with something convincing.”

Lando let out a low whistle, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “So, you’re asking us to keep Max, the man who has been running this house like a clock, distracted? To throw him off the scent entirely?”

“Precisely,” you said, lifting your chin.

Oscar looked less amused and more concerned, his practical nature coming to the forefront. “And what exactly is this plan supposed to achieve? You think if we keep him occupied for long enough, he’ll just… forget about you? You do realize who we’re talking about, right?”

“I don’t need him to forget,” you replied quickly, your voice rising slightly in pitch. “I just need him to be… preoccupied. Thoroughly distracted. He can’t be allowed to think about me, let alone come looking for me.”

Oscar stared at you for a long moment, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “You do realize how ridiculous this sounds, don’t you?”

“Ridiculous or not, it’s necessary,” you said firmly. “I can’t have him breathing down my neck right now. Not while I’m trying to..” You stopped abruptly. “..Figure things out.”

Lando, who had been quietly observing, suddenly burst out laughing. “This is incredible. You’re trying to dodge the one man who could probably find you in his sleep.”

“Lando,” you said sharply, glaring at him.

“No, no, I’m on board,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I just want it on record that when this inevitably backfires, I’ll be there to say ‘I told you so.’”

Oscar sighed, his skepticism undiminished. “Even if we manage to keep him distracted, it won’t last long. He’s too sharp for that.”

“Then we’ll just have to be sharper,” you shot back, planting your hands on your hips.

Lando snorted. “Sharper than Lord Verstappen? Oh, my Lady, you’ve got high hopes. But fine, I’ll play along. What’s your grand strategy?”

You hesitated, realizing you hadn’t thought that far ahead. “Uh… I don’t know. Just make something up. A task, a duty, whatever it takes. You’re both clever. Use your imagination.”

Lando grinned like a cat who had just been handed a saucer of cream. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll come up with something. This is going to be very entertaining.”

Oscar, meanwhile, was still frowning. “This is reckless,” he said quietly.

“Reckless or not,” you replied, “it’s happening. So, are you in or not?”

Oscar sighed again, clearly reluctant but unable to resist your determined expression. “Fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Excellent,” you said, clapping your hands together. “Now, let’s get to work.”

As Lando leaned back in his chair, still grinning, and Oscar reluctantly nodded his agreement, you couldn’t help but feel a surge of triumph. Surely, this would work. How hard could it be to outmaneuver Max Emilian Verstappen?

You tried to ignore the nagging voice in the back of your mind whispering that you might have just made a very, very big mistake.

—-

Permanent tag list:

@papichulomacy

There’s always pressure || Pt.1

parings: charles leclerc x sister!f2 driver!reader, arthur leclerc x sister!f2 driver!reader

in which: she’s very proud of them after racing alongside each other, but the pressure is always still on her..

requested: yes, by anonymous: Leclerc!sister being a F2 driver, watching Arthur & Charles both driving in FP1 session and being very proud of them but also feels a bit left out and feels there is going to be so much more pressure on her

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

//

Y/n Leclerc, a rising talent that is currently driving in formula 2. She had just entered the f1 paddock to watch both her older brothers drive in FP1 together.

She smiled and waved at the cameras pointing to her, and made her way over to some of the fans that are waiting for her to sign stuff and take photos.

A few fans started to shout over to her..

“Imagine if you were driving today, Y/n!”

“Three Leclerc’s on the grid need to happen!”

“Why are you apart of Mercedes’s junior team and not Ferrari’s?”

“Don’t you feel like the black sheep of your family?”

“You need to get into f1 soon!”

Y/n smiled awkwardly when the fans shouted them, she quickly signed and took photos before heading her way to the Mercedes garage.

“Sweetheart, isn’t your whole family in Ferrari? What you doing here?” Susie Wolff, asked the young girl.

“Y/n, I told you that you don’t need to be anywhere near our garage today as both Arthur and Charles are in FP1 together” Toto said as he saw one of his junior drivers in the garage.

“I know, just don’t need to be reminded what’s happening today as I had enough of that walking into the paddock just now, I’m going to see Kimi so see you guys later” Y/n added as she left.

“Media never lets the kid breathe without comparing her to her brothers and why she’s not apart of the Ferrari junior team,” Toto said watching Y/n walk away.

“Well, she’s in great hands with us. Tell Lewis to keep an eye on her, he knows how to talk sense in her when she bottles up her feelings” Susie added.

//

“Y/n! There you are, where have you been?” Pascale asked her daughter who just entered the Ferrari garage.

“Just in Mercedes, sorry maman” Y/n mumbled as she stood by her mother.

“Toto and Susie told you that you didn’t need to be in there today due to this special moment between your brothers today” Pascale added.

“I know, sorry” Y/n replied quietly.

“Hey kiddo!” Carlos said as he messed up her hair making her slap him lightly.

“Hi Carlo! Do I need to remind you again not to touch my hair?” Y/n replied as she glared at him.

“Oh leave her alone,” Rebecca said as she appeared from behind Carlos.

“This is why I like her more than you!” Y/n teased as she hugged Rebecca.

“Love you too kiddo” Carlos mumbled.

A few moments later, Y/n watched as Charles and Arthur soon got into their cars and made their way out onto the track, she smiled proudly at them so ensure her mother and everyone she was happy but deep down she was feeling the opposite.

//

Y/n had managed to slip out of the Ferrari garage just before FP1 was finished. She quickly went back over to the Mercedes garage, before she was caught.

“Hey kid, you okay?” Lewis asked.

“Oh, hey Lew! I’m good!” Y/n replied.

“Why aren’t you in Ferrari? Family must be proud watching Charles and Arthur today, special moment for you all” Lewis added.

“Yeah, very proud of them” Y/n mumbled as she looked up to the TV screens that were showing Charles and Arthur with the whole family hugging.

“Shouldn’t you be with them?” Lewis asked.

“Rather stay out of the way, a moment for them to enjoy with the family” Y/n added.

“Y/n, c’mon kid you don’t need to pretend with me. Toto told me as he can read you like a book, I know you are feeling left out and you think there’s more pressure on you due to what the fans were saying when you walked in today” Lewis told her softly, as she look away.

“It’s not just confusing, I love them and very proud of them. But no one really takes notice of me, I feel left out and just adds more pressure to me as I’m their little sister and should be good at racing like them..” Y/n mumbled.

“Don’t even realise I’m gone..” Y/n whispered looking back to the TV screens that are showing what’s happening in the Ferrari garage.

“Hey, c’mon you’re still their little sister and you mean everything to your family. You are creating your own name for yourself in racing, you joined Mercedes which is a different route to both your brothers. I know how bad the media can be, you can’t let them bring you down as you are doing amazing in F2 right now” Lewis told her.

“Why are you so good at talking, I just want to be sad but you’re making it hard!” Y/n joked with a smile on her face.

“What can I say? C’mon, let’s go the hospitality as it will be comfortable and we can talk more” Lewis added as the youngest Leclerc nodded.

//

Lewis and Y/n has been in the hospitality for 30 minutes when Toto and Susie joined them, the five of them had been there for some time and Y/n kept getting messages from her mother..

Maman❤️

Y/n, darling! Where have you wondered off to?

You should be here with us all celebrating this special moment with your brothers!

It’s so disappointed in you, that you have decided not to be here!

You better be in Ferrari as soon as possible.

read

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Last Christmas

♥ masterlist | request rules | 12 days of ficmas

♥ pairing: ex!lando norris x fem!reader x oscar piastri

♥ synopsis: last christmas was vulnerable. even more so after you opened up to your best friend lando and him comforting you turned into his confession of love... but the next morning a picture of his girlfriend—whom he never told you about, was the first thing you saw. out of what you'd call destiny, you befriend the two people he's closest too: his teammate and his new girlfriend.

♥ smau - fc: women on pinterest - as always none of the pictures are mine

♥ warnings: swearing !!!

♥ a/n: lando is a bit of a dick in this but it’s only bc its important for the plot lmao! <3

-Christmas Eve, 2023-

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by carmenmundt, georgerussell63, charles_leclerc, and more

yourusername when you’re insecure could be me could be her, you just run to whoever is winning 

view comments

user1 alright who broke our girl’s heart

user2 i’ll break his face

alexandrasaintmleux 🫂

lilymhe love you 🫶 call me whenever you need 

iamrebeccad we’re here for you ❤️

user3 guys WHAT HAPPENED 😭

user4 @/user3 whatever it was is clearly huge because all of the wags are here

user5 oh so this person SUCKS sucks

user6 the sabrina lyrics

user8 SAID THAT IT WAS ME AND YOU FOR LIFE !!

user9 NOW YOURE KINDA ACTIN LIKE I DIED!!

user10 my wife is getting her heart broken by a man 😞

user11 not the mascara running girl he didn't deserve you anyway whoever he was

carmenmundt if you need anything I'll always be here <3

yourusername ty carmen 💋

user12 i know lando just hard launched his girlfriend but i hope he’s still able to be there for yn 😓

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by landonorris, yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 1,019,943 more

mclaren who’s ready for bahrain?

view comments

iamimogen me !

♡ by landonorris

yourusername i’ll be there as always <3

oscarpiastri it’s been a while! can’t wait to see you again

user1 awww osc

mclaren what oscar said!!

blondie_wdj @/yourusername you’re always welcome in the garage

user2 being best friends with a driver means your also best friends with his engineer

blondie_wdj @/user2 so true

user3 i can’t wait to see lando’s gf in the paddock

user5 and her and y/n to be friends

user6 I hope there's no tension between them

user7 @/user6 lets not pit women against each other before they've even met !!

user9 where's yn's man

yourusername no idea 😔

liked by oscarpiastri, francisca.cgomes, lilymhe, and 130,583 more

yourusername after party

tagged; @/oscarpiastri

view comments

user1 STOP is that imogen?

user2 she’s so hot i fear 🫣

oscarpiastri finally made it onto your ig 🙏 I used to dream of days like this

yourusername you are now one of my elite employees

user8 the way lando isn't even in the pictures lmaooo

yourusername @/user8 he wasn't approved by the council

user3 so here for ynoscar tbh

user4 that's what I've been SAYING

user5 so glad lando has a gf so yall finally stop shipping her w him and let the oscarinas have something

iamimogen great to meet you 💕

♡ by yourusername

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

-Time Skip-

liked by iamimogen, user2, user8, and more

f1gossip y/n and imogen were spotted hanging out all night after the monaco grand prix. could this be the beginning of a new friendship?

view comments

user1 I BEG YOUR FINEST PAEDON?!

user4 they're so fucking cute oh my god

user2 i love it when the girl bsf and gf are besties 🥹

user9 it's mr steal your girl

user8 Imogen break up with your boyfriend ‼️

user7 yn lando Imogen poly when

...comments have now been disabled

-Hungarian Grand Prix-

liked by alexandrasaintmleux, oscarpiastri, georgerussell63, and 495,603 more

yourusername BUDAPEST, HUNGARY 📍

view comments

user1 @/oscarpiastri again

user2 how did you recognize him by just his back? 😭

user3 crying because why is yn posting oscar more than lando posts his girlfriend

user4 RIGHT? I don't think I've seen her once on his main or jpg but Imogen posts him all the time :/

user5 its kind of weird since lando used to post dozens of pictures of yn

user6 anyone else notice that he hasn't liked or commented on any of yn's posts in months or am I insane?

user5 @/user6 YES I HAVE

user8 guys I think they went through a friendship break up or something

user4 @/user8 do you think its because of Imogen?

user8 @/user4 maybe

user6 @/user4 I don't think so since yn is with her all the time. I just haven't seen yn talk to lando publicly since last year

mclaren it's always nice to see you!

yourusername valid: all days paddock pass when?

mclaren 👀

user9 hungary is such a random race to go to lol

user10 she's mclaren's good luck charm trust

liked by oscarpiastri, iamimogen, mclaren, and 100,894 more

yourusername YESSSSiogvdrs;okfeLI

view comments

user1 SHES SO US

user7 SCREAMING

user3 ARE WE GONNA TALK ABOUT THE FACT THEY LET YN STAND DOWN THERE

user2 honorary wag !!

user4 oh the sheer amount of pictures she took of him

user5 that's a proud girlfriend if I've ever seen one

user6 she didn't even greet lando...

user10 she was probably caught up in the moment

user6 @/user10 me when I lie

user10 HELPPP 😭 I don't want to admit her and lando aren't hanging out anymore... they were literally best friends

user9 lets focus on the positives: oscar won and he's 100% into yn

-F1 Winter Break-

liked by landonorris, yourusername, and 403,859 more

iamimogen loving winter 🤍

view comments

user1 she’s SO gorgeous

yourusername the prettiest

iamimogen @/yourusername no you!!

user2 stop i still love that her and yn get along 🥹

user3 right they’re so sweet

landonorris ❤️

alexandrasaintmleux stunning

iamimogen 💋

francisca.cgomes hottie

iamimogen love you 😘

liked by yourusername, landnonorris, lilyzneimer, and 203,586 more

iamimogen I'm dreaming of a pink christmas

view comments

user1 lando you need to step up your game

user2 him STILL not posting pictures about her is crazy...

user3 EXACTLY

user4 the way they've been publicly a couple for a year 💀

user7 pink pilates princess core

iamimogen you know it

user12 I feel like I'm the only one who thinks her and lando are cute 😭

user6 no they're cute there's just something... off?

user10 @/user6 exactly. I love them but what the fuck is going on with them and yn

user9 the only place were gonna find lando and yn together these days is Imogen's likes

user5 LMAO

liked by oscarpiastri, iamimogen, francisca.cgomes, and 295,057 more

yourusername photo dump 🩰🎀

view comments

user20 @/iamimogen not yn copying you 💀

yourusername omg i had no idea she invented the color pink. @/iamimogen i’m so sorry queen i had no idea 🫶

iamimogen @/yourusername that’s ok just make sure to give creds next time ❤️

user1 PLSSS they’re so unserious

user2 im obsessed with their friendship wait 

user3 they’re so fucking funny

user4 OSCYN HARD LAUNCH I REPEAT OSCYN HARD LAUNCH

user5 oh I fucking knew it

user6 its a christmas miracle

liked by oscarpiastri, iamimogen, lilymhe, and 948,840 more

yourusername stole your boy and your girl

view comments

user1 THE GASP I GUSPT

user4 jaw is on the floor.

user3 LEAVING THE COMMENTS ON IS CRAZYYY

user5 what a bad bitch move

user7 SHUT UPPPP

user6 so this all WAS about lando?! I'm genuinely so curious now I need to know what he did!?!?!?

user8 oh my god yn is my favorite person

user9 y'all remember that post of her like sobbing last year? was that about lando...?

user10 FUCK OFF IMAGINE IT IS

user12 begging for a story time

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

end notes: i’m really fighting my demons (the urge to make a part two where yn ends up with imogen…) anyways I'm back with super late christmas fics haha !! they'll all be posted out of order from now on lmao

taglist; @sainzzreputaticn @theseerbetweenus @yawn-zi

★ MASTERLIST

it's nice to have a friend lando is one of your closest friends… until he sleeps with you and ghosts you. part one ★ part two ★ part three ★ part four ★ part five ★ part six ★ part seven ★ part eight ★ part nine ★ part ten ★ part eleven ★ part twelve ★ part thirteen ★ part fourteen ★ part fifteen ★ part sixteen

what happens in vegas, does not stay in vegas

pairing: oscar piastri x leclerc!reader

summary: turns out that getting blackout drunk and marrying your brothers coworker is kinda a big deal. who would’ve thought?

.

chapters

-> chapter one: what secret boyfriend?

-> chapter two: …

.

blurbs

coming soon

.

𝐸𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑒ˊ𝑠 𝑀𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ❀

𝐿𝑎𝑛𝑑𝑜 𝑁𝑜𝑟𝑟𝑖𝑠

💐april wedding: part i part ii part iii

🛂 mixed up order (on-hold): part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi part vii part viii part ix part x part xi

💸 watch me win day 1, wmw day 2

𝑶𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓 𝑷𝒊𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒓𝒊

🐕 lingering ties (on-going): part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8 part 9 part 10

🎮 video game lover

𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝑳𝒆𝒄𝒍𝒆𝒓𝒄

🧸 beanie baby

𝑴𝒂𝒙 𝑽𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏

🔍 hunting valen (soon!)

𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒖𝒍𝒂 𝒐𝒏𝒆

how many likes for this bag

annoyance - cs55 smau

summary: you don't like carlos but now he's a williams driver and you have to see a lot more of him

face claim: random girls from pinterest

a/n: this is my first smau here in tumblr so i hope you like it❤️ i'm from argentina so i had to make her franco's best friend, it's self indulgent. ignore timelines

pt 1 / pt 2 / pt 3 (soon)

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

2024

instagram

📍argentina

yourusername: vacaciones

- francocolapinto

view all comments

francocolapinto: esa foto nooo [not that picture]

yourusername: a que te referís? si saliste fachero [wdym? you look handsome]

francocolapinto: sos mala [you are mean]

user1: is that his girlfriend?

user2: childhood best friend

yourfriend1: always with a drink in your hand

yourusername: i was thirsty !!

yourfriend2: you are so hot

yourusername: marry me💍

✧

williamsracing: Franco Colapinto to race for the remainder of the 2024 season.

view all comments

yourusername: ESE ES MI MEJOR AMIGO [that's my best friend]

yourusername: i'm crying i'm so proud of you franquito💘 ♡liked by francocolapinto

user6: vamos argentina🇦🇷🇦🇷

✧

♡liked by francocolapinto, lilymhe & others

yourusername: hii i'm the new unofficial williams photographer📷

- francocolapinto, lilymhe, williamsracing

view all comments

user3: picture 5🥺🥺 franco is so cute

user4: wait the pictures are kinda good

user5: she is actually a photographer!

lilymhe: love youuu🫶🏼

yourusername: love you more💘

alex_albon: i'm not here🤨

yourusername: sorry!! next time i promise

williamsracing: 💙 ♡liked by author

user5: hire her!

francocolapinto: will you ever pick a good picture of me?

yourusername: nah i don't think so

user9: i love them

✧

text

y/n: omg he's an idiot

franco: who??

y/n: that ferrari guy

y/n: the spaniard

franco: carlos?? why?

y/n: he's so cocky ughhh

franco: i like him, he's been super nice to me

franco: also where are you? i can't find you

y/n: i got lost

y/n: had to ask for directions

y/n: but i'm omw now (not thanks to carlos)

franco: ok cause i just talked to james

franco: and i have some GREAT news to tell you

y/n: awesome, i love great news!

franco: hurry up

y/n: running🏃‍♀️

✧

instagram

yourusername posted a new story

caption: guess who is now the official williams photographer

↪lilymhe: CONGRATULATIONSS let's celebrate tonight

yourusername: thank u lily💘 and yesss please

↪alex_albon: congrats! maybe now i will get a picture

yourusername: you will be the first 🤞

↪francocolapinto: i only got you the job so that you had to post nice pictures of me

↪francocolapinto: kidding im so proud of you<3

yourusername: you are annoying

yourusername: but ily<3

✧

♡liked by francocolapinto & others

williamsracing: welcome to the team📸

- yourusername

view all comments

yourusername: thank you so much for the opportunity 💙💙

alex_albon: i made it to the post!

francocolapinto: sorry to break it to you but she has to post you, it's in her contract

yourusername: don't listen to him! you are my favorite model (after lily)

✧

♡liked by alex_albon, yourusername, francocolapinto & others

lilymhe: weekend at williams🧢

view all comments

alex_albon: thanks for being here. sorry you had to put with those two💙

lilymhe: i love youuu

yourusername: HEY

yourusername: dinner was so much fun!!! and i love that picture of you and alex

lilymhe: me too! ty for taking it

user3: are we sure franco and yn are not dating?

yourusername: 100% sure

francocolapinto: i was gonna say no but why are you saying no?🤨

yourusername: franco don't or they will never stop😭😭

✧

♡liked by francocolapinto & others

williamsracing: Carlos Sainz will drive for the team at the Abu Dhabi end-of-season test

view all comments

user2: yn likes everything yet she didn't like this post👀

user4: rumors has it she and carlos don't get along

user1: do we know why??

user4: not really. he follows her but she doesn't follow him back

user2: next year will be interesting...

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐋𝐃 - 𝑀𝐴𝑆𝑇𝐸𝑅𝐿𝐼𝑆𝑇

𝑺𝑼𝑴𝑴𝑨𝑹𝒀 - Lando Norris and Y/N have been best friends since they both started in Formula 1 - him as a driver and her as part of McLaren's communications team. Years go by, lives are changed, a baby gets between the equation, and love blooms. But are they willing to risk ruining their small family to finally give into love?

𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 - Lando Norris x Single Mom!Reader (Best friends to lovers)

𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑻𝑼𝑺 - Finished

𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑶𝑵𝑬 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑻𝑾𝑶 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑻𝑯𝑹𝑬𝑬 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑭𝑰𝑽𝑬 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 𝑺𝑰𝑿

𝐒𝐎𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐄𝐃𝐈𝐀 𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍

𝑶𝑵𝑬 𝑻𝑾𝑶 - part one . part two 𝑻𝑯𝑹𝑬𝑬 𝑭𝑶𝑼𝑹 - part one . part two 𝑭𝑰𝑽𝑬 - part one . part two 𝑺𝑰𝑿 - part one . part two

⤳ 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

⤳ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Oscar X Single Mum

Blurb Masterlist

cute guy in the park

this is oscar

where the bleep is oscar

reunited

a day with cooper

🧸 fluff, 🎀 smut, 🪩 angst, 💐, social media

a helping hand 🎀🧸

novacane 🎀🧸

no surprises 🪩🧸

parenthood 💐

taste 🎀🪩

only angel - one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | (posted weekly)

bigger boys | stolen sweethearts 🪩🧸

homesick 🧸

blowing smoke 🪩🧸

so perfect 🎀🧸

OSCAR PIASTRI | OP81

secret sister | norris!sister - smau

part one part two part three

professor piastri? | teacher!reader - smau

home race? | trilingual!reader - smau

chicago | single mum!reader - written part one | part two | part three | part four | completed

skyfall | spy!reader - written part one | part two | part three | completed

no time to die | spin off from skyfall - written part one | part two | part three | completed

amnesia | ex!reader - written

million dollar woman | ceo!reader - written

forgotten birthday | gf!reader - written

free now | author!reader - written

courage | bestfriend!reader - written

haunted | catholic!oscar - written

high school sweethearts | uni!oscar - written

new years dream | uni!oscar x singer!reader - written

LANDO NORRIS | LN4

all my lando work is dedicated to @driverlando

cool for the summer | summer fling!reader - smau

english love affair | rockstar!reader - smau

it’s ok i’m ok | ex!reader - written

private | singer!reader - smau

casual | situationship!reader - written

set fire to the rain | toxic relationship - written

my kinda crazy | driver!reader - smau + written

two hands | bartender!reader - written

the come down | druggie!lando - written

honest | ex girlfriend!reader - written

given enough | toxic relationship - written

LOGAN SARGEANT | LS2

celebrity crush | singer!reader - smau

stay with me | ex!reader - smau + written

cookie | albon!reader - smau + written

confidence | vowles!reader - smut - written

FRANCO COLAPINTO | FC43

all my franco work is dedicated to @isaadore

the other guy | piastri!reader - smau + written part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | bonus part completed

el coqueto | interviewer!reader - written

love-locked | sainz!reader - written

i loved you first | best friend!reader - written

part one | part two | part three | completed

power over you | older!reader - written

made it out alive | situationship!reader - written

MAX VERSTAPPEN | MV1

mi novio, max verstappen | mexican!reader - written

the princess and the driver | princess!reader - written part one | part two | part three | part four | completed

whats left behind | barrell racer!reader x bull rider!max - written part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | completed

miss you baby | gf!reader brazil race

preacher’s daughter au - written

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | final part | completed

99 problems - written part one | part two coming |

baby, baby | fiance!reader - written

forever and always | military!max - written

don't wanna be saved | mafia!max - written

my peace | bestfriend!max - written

LEWIS HAMILTON | LH44

water colour eyes | driver!reader - written

CHARLES LECLERC | LC16

all my charles work is dedicated to @iimplicitt

7 minutes | verstappen!reader - written

teacher's pet | student!reader - written part one | part two | part three | part four | completed

my muse | pianist!reader - written

love me baby | arthur's gf's best friend!reader - smau + written

for you, always | prince!charles - written

war is over | airforce!charles - written

sacred ashes | church boy!charles - written

alibi | mafia!charles - written (coming soon)

CARLOS SAINZ | CS55

a summer of love | summer romance -written

a future worth living | knight x princess - written

all i need | failed romance - written

Master List

Hi everyone! Finally a master list. I never thought I could write more than a few stories, but here we are. Thanks for all your nice comments, likes, and reblogs, they're greatly appreciated. Will try to keep this up to date.

🔥 Are +18, please minors stay away from those.

Lando Norris

Knight in papaya armor

Treat you better

Night in Vegas 🔥

Just for a second (sad ending) We should be best friends too. Part 1 |

Play with fire Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 (coming soon)

Just a mistake 🔥 Part 1 | Part 2

Lovers at Coachella 🔥

Nightmare in Miami (Warning violence)

Charles Leclerc

Fake it till you make it Christmas time

Be Brave 🔥

Pierre Gasly

Not your type 🔥

One night only...🔥

Stay (Quédate)🔥

Let me know if you would like to be added to the tag list, and requests are welcome.

F1 Grid Masterlist

☁️ - fluff 🌶 - smut 🖤 - dark themes 🥲 - angst

Series

Just A Pretty Face 🥲 - Pt 1

Betrayal series 🥲

One shots

Brightness in the Dark ☁️🥲

We Keep Allowing This To Happen 🥲

Races Shouldn't End Like That ☁️🥲

Human Shield ☁️

Make or Brake Pt 2 ☁️🥲

Legacy ☁️🥲

A Star At Home 😖

Ruptured ☁️🥲

Won't Drive Another Mile/LH44 ☁️🥲

From The Flames ☁️🥲

Everything To Lose /LN4 ☁️🥲

Nuisance ☁️

In A Split Second/OP81 ☁️🥲

Not Yours To Take Keep/LN4☁️🥲

No Mans Peace ☁️🥲

Till You Drop 🥲

We Built This House Brick By Brick/LN4 ☁️

A Line Up Like No Other ☁️

Driver's Seat/LN4☁️🥲

Reap The Rewards 🏎

These Dramatic Men 🥲

Help Would Be Fantastic ☁️

-

A Long Damn Night (Vegas GP FP2) - LN4/MV1/CL16/OP81

Serving Sizes - LN4/CL16/OP81/MV1

I Need Your Help - LN4/CL16/OP81/MV1

So This Is My Husband - LN4/CL16/OP81/MV1

★ MASTERLIST

it's nice to have a friend lando is one of your closest friends… until he sleeps with you and ghosts you. part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven | part twelve | part thirteen

💙𝕄𝕒𝕤𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕃𝕚𝕤𝕥💙

this is ndn lnd : introduction Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 4.5 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

You Look Like You Love Me, Featuring Oscar Piasrti

More to come? Eventually?

taglist:

@caratheewriter @mirrorball-6 @96mcobo @katiascraft @priniya @olliesallamericanbitch

eu-nicola’s masterlist

important

max verstappen

the finish line - part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4

burning tracks of love

??? - part 1 / part 2

one night - part 1 / part 2

the fastest driver - part 1 / part 2 (the story has several involved not only Max but I put it here)

charles leclerc

via - part 1 / part 2

the ferrari couple - part 1 / part 2

rafe cameron

arranged marriage - part 1 / part 2 / part 3

best friends

first impressions - part 1 / part 2

never enough

topper’s sister

worse than silence

Morocco - part 1 / part 2 / part 3

best secret

enemies

sand - part 1 / part 2

not yours - part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4

christmas village

everything but casual

jj maybank

secret island - part 1 / part 2

two months

star girl

non think (rudy pankow)

lando norris

children’s fight

not important

thomas shelby

her memory

enzo vogrincic

sacrifices

strong love

luke castellan

emotional labyrinth

young love

confused love

the heavenly dance

betrayed

rumors

midnight nightmares

percy jackson

beyond friendship

navigation

My masterlist of masterlists requests : open Click here to be tagged in my works.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

ʚɞ Driver's text fics ( ∞ )

ʚɞ Max Verstappen ( 1 )

ʚɞ Logan Sargeant ( 2 )

ʚɞ Lando Norris ( 4 )

ʚɞ Fernando Alonso ( 14 )

ʚɞ Charles Leclerc ( 16 )

ʚɞ Lance Stroll ( 18 )

ʚɞ Lewis Hamilton ( 44 )

ʚɞ Carlos Sainz ( 55 )

ʚɞ Oscar Piastri ( 81 )

ʚɞ Toto Wolff ( ㉦ )

୨♡୧ Feel free to request other drivers for the list ୨♡୧

I WILL NOT WRITE : rape, non-con, paedophilia, racism/homophobia etc, suicide, death of a character, scat/piss, incest, male!readers (idk how to). ୨♡୧

P.S., please don’t steal my fics 😔

Click here to be tagged in my works.