𝐜𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐞𝐝 | Oscar Piastri × Fem!reader

White Noise | MV1

Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: [Soulmate AU] In a world where soulmate marks promise connection, one person’s endless wait collides with another’s relentless pursuit of a life beyond destiny.

Warning(s): Mild Language, Pining, mutual pining, they dance in a club, idk if the dancing can be considered steamy or not, cliff hanger.

Part 5 ~Series Masterlist~

"Show me you're shameless...write it on my neck, why don't ya? And I won't erase it....I need you more than I want to...need you more than I want to"

The music pulsed through the club, a deep, thumping bass that rattled the ice in his gin and tonic. It was loud, packed, and dimly lit—exactly the kind of place that should be drowning out every thought in his head.

Max leaned back against the booth, stretching out his legs, as he watched the drivers he came here with lose themselves on the dance floor.

Lando, Charles, Carlos, and a few others, moving easily under the flashing lights, too drunk on victory and alcohol to care about anything else.

He should be out there too, celebrating, letting the win from yesterday settle into his bones the way it used to.

Another Monaco win. More points in the championship. It almost felt like 2023 again, when he had the title in a chokehold, when everything was simple. When winning was enough.

But now—now, nothing was enough, without her.

He sighed, swirling the clear liquid in his glass before taking another sip. The gin burned his throat, crisp and bitter, but it didn’t do anything to settle the restlessness crawling under his skin.

And then—

The fucking pulse.

The glass nearly slipped from his fingers.

It started slow, a hum under his ribs, something deep and insistent. Then it grew, stronger, louder, vibrating through his bones. His heartbeat followed, pounding against his chest, his ears, his head.

He knew what this meant.

Max’s head snapped up, and his eyes locked onto her instantly.

Y/N.

She stood across the club, just beyond the bar, surrounded by people. But he only saw her.

She was...breathtaking. And he felt the breath leave his lungs in the heavy exhale he let out.

The lights caught the shimmer of her dress, the deep silver fabric clinging to her in all the right places, short enough to show off the length of her legs. Her dark smoky eyes made her gaze sharper, bolder, and her lips—red, the same shade that had been burned into his memory since the last time he saw her.

A pearl choker wrapped around her throat, delicate and elegant, and he couldn’t stop himself from staring at the soft skin just below it, where her pulse would be.

Beating just as fast as his.

Max was frozen.

Did she know he was here? Was she looking for him?

His grip on the glass tightened as he watched her friends bring her drinks, laughing, nudging her toward the dance floor. And then—

She danced.

And Max forgot how to breathe entirely.

Her body moved effortlessly with the music, the flashing lights illuminating her skin, the curve of her back, the way her dress rode up just slightly—enough to give him an anaphylactic shock— as she swayed to the beat.

She was magnetic, and it wasn’t just the bond—it was her. The confidence, the ease, the way she lost herself in the moment like nothing else mattered.

Max’s chest ached.

She was here.

Three weeks. Three fucking long weeks since she walked away from him. Three weeks of radio silence, of waiting, of not knowing.

And now, she was here.

Max was trapped between wanting to go to her and not knowing if he should.

Because she hadn’t come to him. She hadn’t looked for him.

She was here, but was she here for him?

The answer lay in the way her eyes flickered toward him in the middle of a spin, in the way her lips parted slightly when she caught him staring.

But she didn’t stop dancing.

Max clenched his jaw, setting his drink down. If she wasn’t going to come to him, then he would go to her.

Max was halfway out of his seat when he saw him.

The man.

Tall, dark-haired, well-dressed in that overly polished, moneyed way Max had learned to spot a mile away. The kind of man who walked into places like these expecting people to fall at his feet.

And right now, that man had set his sights on Y/N.

Max’s fingers curled into a fist on the table.

He didn’t like jealousy.

It was an ugly emotion, a useless one. It clouded judgment, made people reckless.

But as he watched the man get too close—leaning in, placing a hand on Y/N’s arm, tugging her just slightly toward him—Max felt it slither into his chest anyway.

Maybe this was his answer.

Maybe she wanted him to see this. Maybe she was showing him, without words, that she wasn’t available.

That she had made her choice.

His jaw clenched.

Fine. Fucking fine then.

If that was the case, he’d leave. He wouldn’t make this harder for her, for himself.

But then—

Y/N shifted, just slightly, just enough for him to see the change in her expression.

The annoyance, the sharp furrow of her brows. The tension in her shoulders. The way her hand curled into a fist at her side.

She wasn’t into him.

Max exhaled sharply through his nose.

If anything, she looked like she was five seconds away from breaking the guy’s nose.

And as much as Max wanted to see that, he figured he should probably step in—not to save Y/N, because she didn’t need saving, but to save the poor bastard from whatever wrath was brewing behind her clenched jaw.

Max moved.

He crossed the floor in a few easy strides, weaving through bodies, his focus sharp and singular.

The man had leaned in even closer now, saying something into her ear that made Y/N’s entire posture go rigid.

Max didn’t give him the chance to say anything else.

"Piss off." His voice was cool, his expression unreadable, but there was a sharp edge to his words that cut through the music.

The man blinked, turning toward him with a lazy smirk. “And who are you?

Max didn’t answer. He just stared, unblinking, something dark simmering in his blue eyes.

The man hesitated. Then he scoffed, lifting his hands in mock surrender before stepping back. “Whatever, man.”

Y/N exhaled, her jaw tight, and then—finally—her eyes met his.

The pulse between them roared.

Max felt it in his ribs, in his veins, in every inch of him. The sharp, unbearable ache of staying apart.

And then, as if the universe wanted to drive it home, the music shifted.

The pulsing beat melted into something slow, something sultry.

Max didn’t think. He just moved.

One step forward, his hands reaching for her before she could slip away again.

He felt the little gasp leave her lips as he pulled her against him, delighted in it, the warmth of her body pressed to his, the way she fit so damn perfectly in his arms.

Max exhaled, his head dipping just slightly toward hers.

"Just for one night," he murmured, voice low, almost pleading. "Pretend that we’re strangers. Forget everything....just for tonight."

She didn’t move.

Didn’t step away.

Didn’t push him off.

And then, after a long moment—

She moved with him.

____________________________

The moment Max pulled her against him,Y/N knew she was lost.

There was no hesitation. No second guessing. His hands found her waist, and she melted into the touch like she had been waiting for it her entire life.

"Just for one night, Pretend that we’re strangers. Forget everything....just for tonight."

The bond pulsed between them—not a violent crash, not a scream, but a hum, a perfect, golden vibration that ran through her veins, curled around her ribs, and whispered,

Finally.

The music was a slow, sultry beat, the kind that slithered under the skin, the kind that begged for bodies to press together, to find a rhythm that wasn’t just the song but something more.

And God, they did.

Max moved with her like he had been made to. His hands—large, warm, possessive—gripped the dip of her waist, pulling her in, flush against his chest, against the solid wall of his body, and she gasped at the contact, at the way it sent a jolt through her.

Like lightning. Like divinity. Like something so right it should have been written in scripture.

She let her head fall back, her eyes half-lidded as she moved, hips rolling, pressing against him, a slow, torturous friction that sent heat pooling low in her stomach.

She barely registered the low groan that rumbled in his chest, but she felt it, felt the way it vibrated against her, how it sank into her bones.

He was everywhere.

His touch. His scent. His presence, all-consuming, drowning her in something she didn’t know how to fight anymore.

A hand trailed up her back, fingers pressing, kneading, as he guided her movements, slow, deliberate, like he was savoring every second, like he had waited for this.

Hadn’t they both?

Hadn’t they been waiting their whole lives for something that felt like this?

She let herself get lost in it. If only just for a moment.

Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping it tight as she arched into him, as their movements became something deeper, something desperate and unrelenting, like neither of them could get close enough.

The pulse between them was stronger now, not the overwhelming force it had once been, but a pleasure so pure, so satisfying, that it nearly had her keening.

This was what had been missing. This was why.

The bond wanted them together. It needed them to be together.

Max seemed just as lost as she was. His breath was warm against her ear, uneven, his lips grazing the sensitive skin there, barely-there touches that sent a shudder through her spine.

Then lower.

The line of her jaw.

The slope of her neck.

Each kiss was reverent. Worshipful.

She exhaled sharply, her chest rising and falling against his, her grip tightening on him as his lips found her shoulder, where her dress dipped just enough to expose skin.

And God, the way he lingered.

The way his lips pressed, slow, savoring.

She barely heard the music anymore.

Barely heard anything over the roaring in her ears, over the way her body was singing, vibrating with something primal and ancient and undeniable.

It felt—

Like devotion. Like paradise. Nirvana.

Like the thing she had spent her whole life pretending she didn’t need.

She didn’t know how long they moved like that, bodies entwined, breath mixing, hands exploring, but it could have been eternity.

And she—

She thinks would have let it.

__________________________

Max Verstappen was falling.

Not in the literal sense—no, he was still standing, still breathing, still aching hard from the way Y/N fit against him like she had been made for this. But in every other way that mattered?

He was falling.

The press of her body against his still burned on his skin. The scent of her, the warmth of her, the way her breath had hitched when his lips skimmed her shoulder—it was all branded into him, carved deep, a permanent mark on his soul.

Then—

A snap. A quick shutter of light.

Not the sound of something breaking, but the sharp click of a camera.

The moment shattered.

Y/N tensed in his arms first, and Max followed her gaze toward the edge of the dance floor. There, barely hidden in the dim light, was a man holding up his phone. The angle was perfect—too perfect. Max didn’t have to be a genius to know what the guy was doing.

Taking pictures.

Taking pictures of them.

His jaw clenched, frustration bubbling under his skin. The club had a strict no-photo policy, but of course, that didn’t mean anything to some people. He had dealt with this before. Drunk fans. Nosy paparazzi. People who couldn’t respect boundaries.

But before Max could move, Y/N was already on it.

The second Y/N stormed toward the man, Max followed, close enough to interfere if necessary but not stepping in just yet.

He didn’t need to—not when she was handling it with a sharp-edged precision that sent a thrill down his spine.

“Delete it,” she demanded, voice like a blade.

The man tried to laugh it off, feigning ignorance. “I-I don’t know what—”

“Don’t insult me.” Her tone was clipped, authoritative in a way that didn’t invite argument. “I know exactly what you were doing, and I will press charges for violating privacy laws. This club has a strict policy. You’ll be blacklisted. Think deeply, I know that can be hard for you”

The guy hesitated.

Y/N didn’t blink.

“You think I won’t? You think I don’t have the fucking means to follow through?” She took another step forward, her body language poised, threatening without needing to raise her voice. “Go ahead. Test me.”

Max saw the exact moment the man caved. He fumbled with his phone, pulling up the gallery with unsteady fingers. Y/N snatched it from his hands before he could do anything else, her eyes scanning the screen.

She deleted the photos herself, went into the trash folder, and erased them permanently. Then, she shoved the phone back into the guy’s chest with a final glare.

“Try that again,” she said, “and I’ll make sure you regret it.”

The man practically tripped over himself as he rushed away, disappearing into the crowd.

Max let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Remind me never to get on your bad side.” His voice was light, teasing. He wanted to praise her, to tell her how fucking hot that was, how incredible she was when she was like this—strong, fearless, commanding.

But the moment she turned to him, all of that died in his throat.

Because she wasn’t proud of what she had done.

She was angry.

Not at the guy.

At him.

“This.” She gestured sharply toward where the man had disappeared. “This is exactly why I can’t be with you, Max.”

He felt the words like a gut punch.

The heat in her eyes was something deeper than frustration. It was exhaustion, weariness, the kind that settled in your bones when you were just tired of fighting a battle you never asked for.

“The invasion. The cameras. The constant eyes on me, on us,” she continued, voice rising. “You might be used to it, but I’m not. And I don’t want to be.”

Max opened his mouth, but before he could say a word, she turned.

And then she left. Just like that. Again.

He barely had time to react before someone grabbed his arm—a drunk fan, slurring something about a picture.

“Not. Now,” he bit out, shaking them off as gently as he could, barely restraining his frustration.

By the time he shoved past the crowd and made it outside—

She was gone.

His heart pounded.

Then—

A noise.

A struggle.

And then—

A scream.

Y/N.

His body moved before his brain caught up, his feet running toward the sound, toward the darkened corner just beyond the club’s entrance.

“Get the fuck off me!”

His blood went ice cold.

He turned the corner just in time to see a man grabbing Y/N’s wrist, pinning her against the wall. She was fighting, her other hand shoving at his chest, but the guy was persistent, his grip too tight.

Rage surged through Max like a storm.

“HEY!”

His voice was a roar, cutting through the night.

The man barely had time to react before Max was on him.

_________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

If you liked this part please leave a like a comment and a reblog!

Guysss, this is the second to last chapter, I could have made it longer, but I have other things to do in like my irl, which would mean leaving you guys waiting, and I don't wanna do that, I really hope you like this chapter, I wrote in a hurry while taking breaks from packing, this will be scheduled to post around Monday, so that's that.

Jules♡

Taglist: @anamiad00msday @evie-119 @that-one-little-soybean @six-call @stressed-cherry @il0vereadingstuff @whatevenisthisxxxxx @freyathehuntress @nina-or-anna-or-nora @allthings-fandoms @larastark3107 @myescapefromthislife @wertyuizxcvbnm @halleest @hs2016 @lucyysthings @justaf1girl @bernelflo @mendes-bae @chelseyyouraverageluigi @llando4norris @sid-is-gr8 @henna006 @hurtblossom @quinquinquincy @ts1mp0ne @spidercat-soccerfan @kodzuvk @wherethefuckisthething @hellowgoodbye @prttylight @l4ndonorizz @edgyficuselastica @k-kaliop @charlesgirl16 @chloes-book-corner @1mverstappen @inchidentofftrack @blackmage24 @angelluv16 @alice-went-away @teamnovalak @wierdflowerpower @sunshine-and-midnight-rain @maxswhore33

si el bebé es de franco es para hacer la mejor obra de teatro del mundo

yo y mis hermanas argentinas ahora

ARGENTINA IS AGAIN IN THE F1, sorry somos pesados y vamos a seguir rompiendo las bolas siempre

07. Celos

si quieren pueden leerlo en ao3

Naeve estaba segura de su relación, todos lo sabían, por lo que nadie ni se molestaría en pedirle romper su matrimonio. Naeve siempre fue clara, desde el momento que se enamoró de Kylo, nunca hubo otra opción. 

Y claro, que para Kylo jamás hubo otra opción más que Naeve. Sin embargo, a pesar de su enamoramiento profundo cometió un error que sería el causante de su propia irritación. Jamás aclarar su relación con los medios extranjeros. 

Cada año le llegaban propuestas de matrimonio con personajes distinguidos de la realeza, e incluso algunos tenían el descaro de venir a presentarse en su cara. Hombres y mujeres pedían el matrimonio del Rey en frente de su propia esposa, y aunque Naeve jamás se mostró molesta ante esto, era terriblemente difícil no sentirse irritado. 

Naeve quien siempre mantuvo una expresión calmada, no pudo soportarlo cuando el Rey de Clæm fue lo suficientemente descarado como para presentarse frente a Kylo y pedirle matrimonio, y no sólo eso, despreciando su relación cuando Kylo dio a conocer su matrimonio. 

Se sentía enferma, enferma de lo mucho que la enojaba. Ese nuevo sentimiento invadió su pecho, y la parte racional de su cerebro le impidió sacar al Rey de Clæm a patadas. Sin embargo rápidamente Kylo deshizo las ilusiones ridículas del invitado no deseado y con una cara frustrada el Rey de Clæm se retiró. 

Pronto los brazos de Kylo la rodearon y dejo un beso en la mejilla. 

—Naeve, por casualidad, ¿estás celosa? 

La chica lo miro y suspiro. 

—Si. 

—¡¿Eh’?! ¿En serio?

—Si, pero no fanfarrones. 

Naeve y con su postura perfecta, salió de la habitación con Kylo siguiéndola.

IM SO ANGRY THAT IN THE POOLS FOR WHO SHOULD I WRITE CARLOS NEVER WINS 😡 I DON'T LIKE DEMOCRACY

i am always waiting for this fic AND IM HAVING THE DRAMA AND KISSES I NEEDED

Gotta Be You - Charles Leclerc (THREE)

masterlist | promptlist | previous part

Here is part three! And I'm honestly so proud of this chapter! I think it turned out awesome lol <3

↳pairing: charles leclerc x female!gasly!reader ↳word count: 5K ↳warnings: awkward encounters, truth or dare (trust me lol) , jealousy, alcohol, drinking games, talking about feelings ↳side info: friends to enemies to lovers, reader is Pierre's younger sister, reader is Arthur LeClerc's childhood best friend, Charles is her former crush, Charles is a jealous ass sometimes, age gap between reader and Charles (5 years) ↳summary: In which you go on a shared holiday with both your and your brother's friend group, forced to be confronted with your former teenage crush Charles LeClerc yet again. The only problem is? You can't stand him nowadays, until you suddenly can.

*a few days later*

As you stood in the bathroom, tying your hair into a ponytail, the familiar scent of the devil himself filled the small space. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Charles had a way of entering a room without saying a word but still commanding all the air in it. He closed the distance between you two, silently taking his place by the sink next to you, reaching into the cupboard for his hair products.

You bit back a groan, focusing on your reflection. There was nothing inherently wrong with him being there—but him standing this close stirred feelings you desperately wanted to push aside. His presence was overwhelming, in that maddening, familiar way.

Your usual coping mechanism kicked in: sarcasm, sharp enough to keep him at arm’s length.

"Fixing your hair won’t fix your attitude, you know that, right?" you sassed, not entirely sure why you felt the need to say anything.

Charles scoffed, his eyes catching yours in the mirror. His gaze was intense, steady—always knowing too much. "There’s no attitude that needs fixing," he huffed, washing his hands and drying them on the towel with deliberate slowness. "Besides, some people actually put effort into how they present themselves..."

Your head snapped toward him. "Is this your not-so-subtle way of saying I look like shit?"

He rolled his eyes, the corners of his mouth twitching in amusement. "Are you honestly this delusional?"

You threw your hands in the air. "Well, apparently, I am! Because that insult was completely unnecessary." You crossed your arms, leaning back against the sink with a challenging glare.

Charles shrugged, unfazed. "First of all, you started it. I didn’t do anything until you found it necessary to attack me." His voice lowered slightly, holding that aggravating calmness. "And besides… you and I both know that wasn’t an insult."

You narrowed your eyes. "How was it not an insult? You basically said I don’t put effort into how I look."

He inched closer, his movements slow and deliberate. Before you could register what was happening, his hands were on either side of you, gripping the edge of the sink. His chest hovered just inches from yours, effectively trapping you in place. His cologne wrapped around you, sending shivers down your spine.

Your breath hitched as his gaze flicked from your eyes to your lips before snapping back, locking onto yours like he was daring you to look away.

"Chérie, don’t act like you’re unaware that I think you’re hot," he whispered, voice low and rough. "You don’t need the effort."

Your heart thudded violently in your chest. For a split second, your gaze dropped to his lips—damn it. Realizing your mistake, you forced your eyes away, breathing through the sudden rush of heat.

You steeled yourself and met his gaze again. "Charles, quit playing games and get out of my face," you said through clenched teeth, though your voice wavered ever so slightly.

His eyes swept over you one last time, lingering on how you were still pressed against the sink, tension radiating between you like a live wire. His jaw clenched.

What the hell is he thinking?

Charles shifted back slightly, but something held him there, still too close for comfort. He exhaled sharply, as if wrestling with himself.

"What changed?" he asked quietly, voice strained.

Your brows furrowed. "What the hell are you talking about?"

He sighed, shoulders tense. "What did I do that made you hate me so much?" His voice softened, tinged with something dangerously close to regret. "What changed?"

Before you could answer—or even begin to process what to say—someone cleared their throat at the doorway.

Charles jumped back like he’d been burned, stumbling a step before retreating to sit on the edge of the bathtub, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor. You turned your head sharply, locking eyes with Arthur, who stood leaning against the doorframe with a massive, knowing grin.

"I came to ask if you’re ready for game night," Arthur said casually, though his smirk betrayed every innocent intention.

You let out a slow, steadying breath, forcing yourself to relax. "Yeah, coming," you muttered, pushing off the sink and brushing past him.

But before you crossed the threshold, something tugged at you. You rested your hand on the doorframe, glancing back at Charles. His head lifted, eyes locking onto yours with a silent intensity.

"As for what changed?" you said quietly, voice sharper than you intended. "The fact that you have no idea says enough, Charles."

With that, you walked out, catching up to Arthur as he fell into step beside you, still grinning like an idiot.

He glanced sideways at you, suppressing a laugh. "You two really have a thing for getting caught in bathrooms together, huh?"

You rolled your eyes. "Don’t start."

Arthur chuckled. "Well, let’s just say... I did put my money on you two hooking up this holiday, but I didn’t expect you to get that intimate that fast."

"First of all, nothing happened," you snapped, face heating. "And second, it wasn’t what it looked like."

"That’s what they all say," Arthur teased. "But to me, it looked like my brother had you pinned against the sink pretty damn convincingly."

You groaned. "He did not have me pinned—"

Arthur raised his eyebrows. "Oh? Because you being pressed against the sink while he boxed you in with his hands definitely looked like pinning from where I was standing."

"Fine," you admitted, throwing your hands up. "It looked exactly like that, but it was not for the reason you so desperately hope it was. So shut your mouth before I call your mom and tell her what happened to her couch." you said, referring to the time you caught Arthur and his former girlfriend having sex on his mom's new couch.

Arthur’s grin dropped instantly, his hands shooting up in mock surrender. "Alright, relax, no need for threats!" he laughed, shaking his head as the two of you headed downstairs.

As you and Arthur walked into the living room, you couldn’t help but laugh at his teasing, shaking your head in mock exasperation.

"I’m still putting my money on it, though," Arthur added with a mischievous grin, his voice light but teasing.

Before you could respond, Dennis looked up from where he was lounging on the couch, eyebrows raised in curiosity. "Putting your money on what?"

Arthur didn’t miss a beat. "That she’ll hook up with Charles before the end of this trip," he declared confidently, shooting you a knowing smirk.

Dennis let out a deep chuckle, sitting up straighter. "Oh, definitely. There’s no doubt in that," he agreed, his tone playfully conspiratorial.

You groaned dramatically, throwing your hands in the air. "Seriously? You’re both delusional."

Arthur shrugged. "Just calling it like we see it. The tension could be cut with a knife."

Dennis nodded sagely, as if offering expert commentary. "It’s practically inevitable."

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed a pillow from the nearest couch and tossed it at Dennis, who dodged it with practiced ease, laughing.

"You two are ridiculous," you muttered, fighting back a smile as they continued to exchange amused glances like co-conspirators.

⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⁺⋆ ☾⋆₊⁺

Tonight, the sky outside was pitch black, the faint sound of waves crashing in the distance as the group gathered in the living room. Sprawled across the plush couches, each of you with a drink in hand, the night carried an air of relaxed intimacy. The warm light of the room and the subtle buzz of alcohol created the perfect atmosphere for a game that was bound to stir up some chaos.

It was Inès who first suggested it, her eyes sparkling mischievously as she leaned forward, waving her drink for emphasis. “Okay,” she announced, her grin widening. “Let’s play ‘Never Have I Ever.’”

There was a mix of groans and laughs, but no one protested. As the alcohol worked its magic, the group quickly fell into the rhythm of the game, starting with tame questions.

“Alright,” Inès began, her tone playful. “Never have I ever made out at work.”

A beat of silence followed before all the boys raised their glasses almost simultaneously, their movements earning a round of laughter.

“I should’ve guessed,” you said, shaking your head as they took their sips.

The game continued, the questions growing more personal but still lighthearted. Dennis asked if anyone had ever called in sick to work when they weren’t actually sick, which prompted a unanimous drink from nearly everyone. Joris, with his usual antics, asked if anyone had ever gotten so drunk they couldn’t remember anything, earning another flurry of laughter as most of the group took a sip.

Then Kika piped up, her eyes sparkling as she leaned back against Pierre with a devilish grin. “Okay, my turn,” she announced, her voice dripping with amusement. “Never have I ever made out with my brother’s or sister’s best friend.”

The room broke into a chorus of gasps and giggles as everyone’s eyes darted around, scanning for raised glasses other than the obvious ones. Pierre groaned, shaking his head with a laugh as he lifted his drink and took a sip.

“You just want to get your boyfriend drunk, don't you?” Dennis teased Kika, his grin widening as he, too, raised his glass and took a sip.

Kika laughed, and looked at Pierre, who shot Dennis a playful smirk. “You did too, I see?”

Dennis chuckled, not bothering to deny it. “Yeah, can't deny that.”

Kika raised an eyebrow, her gaze flitting around the room. “Alright, anyone else want to confess?”

You stayed silent, hiding your smirk behind the rim of your glass as you watched the game unfold. The question might not have been directed at you specifically, but the implications swirling around the room were impossible to ignore, clearly an indirect question to see if you actually ever made out with Charles, which bummer to them, you didn't.

The game was already proving to be far more chaotic than you’d anticipated. The group sat sprawled out on the plush couches in the villa’s living room, drinks in hand and laughter filling the air. You’d already survived a few rounds of lighthearted questions—some borderline embarrassing—but when Dennis sat forward, his mischievous grin spelled trouble.

“Okay,” Dennis announced, his voice cutting through the chatter. “Y’all ask boring questions. Let’s spice this up.” He took a dramatic pause, letting the tension build before smirking. “Never have I ever gotten off to the thought of someone in this room… since we arrived here.”

A ripple of laughter broke out immediately. Kika, sitting snugly next to Pierre, was the first to respond, raising her glass with a playful roll of her eyes. “Well, I think I better drink, because let’s be honest—no one would believe me if I said no, considering my boyfriend is literally right here.”

Pierre nudged her with a grin, clearly unbothered by her admission as he sipped from his own glass. “As if the feeling isn’t mutual,” he teased, earning another round of laughter.

Across the room, Gigi tried to be subtle, lifting her glass for a quick sip, but Dennis’ sharp eyes caught her immediately. “Oh, I saw that, Gi!” he exclaimed, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

Gigi flushed crimson, glaring at him. “Shut up, Dennis,” she shot back, though the laughter in her voice betrayed her. “Don’t turn all the attention on me. I’m not the only one who drank!” She gestured toward a few others who had lifted their glasses.

“Oh, I’m not pretending I didn’t,” Dennis said casually, raising his glass again for emphasis. “Because I have zero shame” His eyes flicked toward you for the briefest moment, a sly grin tugging at his lips.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, silently hoping to stay under the radar. But your attempt at blending into the background only seemed to make you more conspicuous.

“Don’t act all shy now, Gasly,” Dennis teased, his tone smug. His eyes locked on you as he leaned forward. “I saw you take a sip. Don’t think I didn’t notice that. Care to enlighten us who the lucky one is?”

Your cheeks burned as every pair of eyes turned toward you. You scrambled to think of a response, your heart pounding in your chest. Finally, you forced a laugh, raising an eyebrow at Dennis. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” you quipped, your voice surprisingly steady despite the heat in your face.

The group erupted into a mix of laughter and teasing comments, but before the attention could shift completely, Arthur piped up from where he was seated beside Charles.

“Alright, alright,” Arthur said, his grin widening as he leaned forward. “We’ve all been so focused on you three, but is no one going to mention the fact that two other people drank as well?” His eyes darted pointedly toward Charles and Joris, his tone dripping with mock innocence. “Hmm, I wonder who those drinks were about.”

Charles stiffened slightly beside him, his jaw tightening as he tried to play it cool. “Don’t drag me into this,” he muttered, taking another sip of his drink as if to distract himself.

“Too late, mate,” Arthur shot back with a grin, nudging his brother’s shoulder. “You drank. That means you’ve got to own up to it.”

Joris, ever the instigator, leaned back with a smug grin of his own. “Yeah, Charles, don’t be shy. Who’s the lucky one, huh?”

Charles rolled his eyes, leaning back against the couch and trying to appear nonchalant. “Not a chance,” he said simply, though the tips of his ears betrayed a faint redness.

You couldn’t help but glance at him briefly, your curiosity piqued. Did he…? No, there was no way. You quickly shoved the thought aside, but the idea lingered annoyingly in the back of your mind.

Meanwhile, Charles’ thoughts were anything but composed. When you’d taken a sip earlier, his stomach had twisted uncomfortably. At first, he’d assumed it was Dennis—the way Dennis was always teasing you, always so close—but then another thought crept in, one that made his pulse quicken. What if it wasn’t Dennis?

The idea of it being about him sent a conflicting mix of emotions surging through him—hope, doubt, and an overwhelming sense of confusion. He was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn’t notice Joris’ subtle kick to his shin until it made contact.

“Stop staring,” Joris whispered, smirking at his friend. “You’re making it obvious.”

Charles snapped out of his reverie, glaring at Joris. “Shut up,” he muttered under his breath, shifting in his seat.

Arthur, ever the opportunist, caught the exchange and raised an eyebrow. “What’s this now?” he asked, clearly amused. “Charles getting a little distracted?”

“Leave him alone,” Joris said with a grin, though his tone was far from serious. “Poor guy’s got enough on his plate already.”

“Oh, definitely not, he's pestered me long enough about things, payback time” Arthur said, his laugh echoing over the group’s chatter as Charles groaned, clearly regretting his choice to participate

The laughter hadn’t fully settled when Paul leaned forward with a mischievous grin, his drink loosely dangling in one hand. He glanced between you and Charles, his tone teasing as he spoke.

“So, Y/n, didn’t you mention something about the walls here being thin?” Paul asked, clearly enjoying the tension he was stirring. “Hope Charles has been a quiet neighbor. Otherwise, you probably heard everything. Poor Y/n.”

The room erupted into laughter, Dennis and Arthur practically doubling over. Kika smirked, nudging Pierre, who groaned, already sensing where the conversation was heading.

Charles narrowed his eyes at Paul, his jaw tightening slightly before he forced a smirk onto his face. “I’m not a complete idiot, you know,” he shot back. “If I had to… handle things, I’d make sure no one heard a damn thing. Either that or I’d do it somewhere more private.”

The laughter grew louder, Dennis nearly choking on his drink. “Good to know you’ve got a strategy, mate,” he teased, wiping his mouth.

You couldn’t help but feel heat creeping up your neck at the implication. The idea of Charles trying to stay quiet, and worse, the thought of actually overhearing him, made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t want to unpack. Not that you’d ever admit it.

“Well, I’m glad I didn’t hear anything,” you retorted, forcing a grin to hide your flustered state. “Because if I did, I’d probably have hearing damage.”

Charles turned to you, his smirk sharpening as he shot back, “As if I’d want to get off with you right outside my room.”

The room went silent for half a beat before Dennis, never one to miss an opportunity, leaned forward with a wicked grin. “No,” he said, drawing out the word for effect. “Because you’d prefer her in the room, wouldn’t you?”

The laughter that followed was deafening. Dennis clinked his glass with Paul’s, who was shaking his head but laughing just as hard. Charles, on the other hand, turned beet red, his face almost matching the color of his drink.

You weren’t any better, your face burning as you buried it in your hands. “Dennis, I swear to God,” you muttered, though your voice was muffled by the roar of the group.

Pierre groaned, his expression one of pure disgust as he rubbed his temples. “Okay, are you done? Because we are so not dragging my baby sister into Charles’ dirty fantasies.”

Arthur, always ready to escalate things, grinned and leaned back in his chair. “We don’t have to drag her into anything, Pierre,” he joked. “Charles probably already does that himself.”

The laughter doubled, filling the room with chaos as you and Charles sat frozen in mortification. Kika had tears streaming down her face from laughing, while Joris clapped a hand on Charles’ shoulder, grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

Pierre glared at the group, clearly over it. “I don’t even want to know,” he muttered, waving a hand dismissively. “Can we just move on before I lose my mind?”

The group slowly settled, though the smirks and giggles lingered as someone suggested the next round of the game. But despite the conversation moving on, you couldn’t help but feel Charles’ gaze flick toward you now and then, and you hated how much your heart raced when it did.

Meanwhile, Charles couldn’t stop replaying Dennis’ comment in his head. The idea of you in his room—or worse, of you thinking about him in that way—had lodged itself in his mind, refusing to budge. He shook his head, trying to focus on the game, but it was no use.

Neither of you wanted to admit it, but the seed of thought had been planted, and it was impossible to ignore.

The game moved on, the attention shifting away from Charles and you for the moment, but the tension hung in the air like a spark waiting to ignite. Charles stole another glance at you, his thoughts still tangled in the what-ifs. And as for you? You couldn’t help but wonder if you were indeed the one that had made him drink in the first place.

It was Joris who leaned forward next, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Alright, never have I ever kissed my best friend.”

The room buzzed with anticipation as everyone exchanged curious glances. Inès was the first to raise her glass and take a drink, earning a few cheers and teasing remarks. But it was the way both you and Arthur looked at each other, simultaneously bursting into laughter, that drew all the attention. Without hesitation, the two of you clinked your glasses together dramatically and downed your drinks in one go.

Charles raised an eyebrow, his perplexed expression giving him away. “Wait—you and Y/n kissed?” he asked, his gaze flicking between the two of you, his tone tinged with disbelief.

Arthur let out a laugh, leaning back casually. “Jealous much?” he shot back, his grin widening when he saw the flicker of annoyance cross Charles’ face.

Charles opened his mouth to protest, but Arthur cut him off with a chuckle. “Relax, I’m just kidding.”

Despite his brother’s reassurance, Charles still looked a little dumbfounded, his confusion—and something else he wouldn’t name—lingering. Kika, always one to stir the pot, leaned forward with a smirk. “Okay, I’m curious now. What’s the story?”

You laughed, shaking your head as you waved a hand dismissively. “There’s not much of a story, honestly. Happened a few times. We were both hopeless and single, and we figured, why not? It was just for fun. Turns out we were terrible at it.”

Arthur nodded in agreement, still grinning. “Massive failure. Zero chemistry. The kiss sucked, and we both agreed never to try again.”

“And the other times?” Kika pressed, her curiosity clearly piqued.

“Oh, just Truth or Dare,” you replied with a shrug. “Happened once or twice when we were younger. Nothing serious. More like a punishment than a kiss, honestly.”

The room erupted into laughter, with Inès nearly choking on her drink as she laughed the hardest. “I can so picture your disgusted faces,” she managed between giggles.

As the laughter died down, Inès perked up, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Speaking of Truth or Dare,” she said, her grin widening, “we should switch to that. Way more interesting than this.”

The group exchanged glances, a ripple of excitement building at the prospect of what chaos Truth or Dare might bring. You couldn’t help but glance at Charles, whose expression was still unreadable, though his gaze lingered on you for just a second too long before he looked away. Whatever this next game would bring, you had a feeling it wasn’t going to get any less intense.

The questions escalated slowly, moving from tame confessions to more suggestive dares. Someone dared Dennis to prank call his ex, which he executed flawlessly, much to everyone’s amusement. Gigi had to show the last text she sent to Joris, blushing furiously as everyone gathered around to read it. Pierre, naturally, had been dared to whisper something filthy to Kika, who doubled over laughing and refused to tell anyone what he’d said.

Then it was Paul’s turn, and his eyes gleamed as he scanned the room, finally landing on you. “Y/n,” he called out with a grin. “Truth or dare?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Dare.”

Paul’s grin widened, and the others leaned in, already sensing mischief. “I dare you to kiss Charles.”

The room went dead silent, every eye darting toward you.

You froze for a beat before scoffing loudly. “God, no”

“Oh, come on,” Dennis teased, smirking at you. “A dare is a dare”

“No, ew!” you shot back, shaking your head emphatically. “Anyone else in the world rather than him. I’d rather stick my tongue inside a trash can than kiss him.”

The tension seemed to settle, the group already laughing at your dramatic protests, until Charles’ voice cut through. Low, clipped, and tinged with something that sounded like a challenge.

“That’s not what you told me when you were sixteen.”

The room froze. Even the laughter died instantly.

You stared at him, wide-eyed and stunned, your pulse roaring in your ears. His words hit like a slap, and you could see the regret flicker in his eyes almost immediately.

“That was a low blow, Charles,” Arthur muttered, shaking his head in disapproval.

Pierre leaned back with a grimace, gesturing to the group. “Guess it’s better to call this game quits, non?”

But you weren’t about to let it go. Swallowing the knot of hurt lodged in your throat, you stood, fixing your gaze on your brother. “No need to,” you said firmly. “Dennis is right, a dare is a dare.”

The group exchanged glances, unsure of what was about to happen, but you didn’t stop. The anger bubbling inside you had morphed into something else—something that demanded revenge.

You marched over to where Charles sat, his eyes widening as you closed the distance. Without a word, you reached down, lifting his chin with your thumb, forcing him to look at you.

His breath hitched, his lips parting slightly, but before he could speak, you crushed your mouth against his.

The kiss wasn’t gentle—it was heated, full of anger and defiance. His lips were warm and soft against yours, but the sharp inhale he took before his hands moved to your waist betrayed how caught off guard he was.

Charles froze for a split second, his mind scrambling to process what was happening. But when your tongue brushed against his lips, seeking entrance, he couldn’t hold back any longer.

A low, guttural sound escaped his throat as he kissed you back with equal fervor, his hand sliding behind your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. His pulse was racing, heat surging through his veins, and he struggled to keep himself in check.

Your hands slid down his chest, slow and deliberate, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt. You knew exactly what you were doing as your palm settled over the bulge in his jeans, giving it a playful squeeze.

He let out a strangled sound, his body reacting instinctively, and you pulled back just enough to whisper, “I might’ve had a crush on you back when I was too delusional to see you for who you really are, but at least I’m not the one sitting here, a 27-year-old guy, getting hard because he had to kiss his best friend’s baby sister during a game.”

The room erupted. Dennis and Joris were practically howling with laughter, clapping each other on the back. Gigi and Kika exchanged wide-eyed glances before bursting into giggles. Even Arthur had his head in his hands, laughing despite himself.

Charles, on the other hand, looked utterly mortified. His face was beet red, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for words that wouldn’t come.

“Poor Charles,” Dennis teased, grinning wickedly. “Bet that wasn’t the reaction you were expecting.”

Another wave of laughter erupted, leaving Charles sitting in stunned silence. Finally, Charles downed the rest of his drink in one go, standing abruptly. “I need air,” he muttered before making his way out of the room and into the garden.

He pushed open the glass doors that led to the terrace, the cool night air hitting his flushed face like a balm. The stars glittered overhead, but he barely noticed them as he sank into one of the patio chairs, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

His heart was still pounding in his chest, his mind replaying the kiss over and over. He could still feel the ghost of your lips on his, the way your hand had trailed down his chest, resting on him with enough boldness to completely disarm him. And your words—sharp, cutting, and delivered with such venom—they were like a slap in the face.

He groaned softly, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, burying his face in his hands. What the hell had he been thinking, making that comment about you at sixteen? He’d known it was cruel the second the words left his mouth, but he couldn’t stop himself. His insecurities, his regret, his jealousy—it all spilled out in the worst way possible.

The sound of the sliding door opening made him glance up. Arthur stepped out, holding two fresh beers in his hands. Without a word, he handed one to Charles and took the seat next to him.

They sat in silence for a few moments, the only sounds the distant crash of waves and the faint hum of cicadas. Finally, Arthur broke the quiet.

“You’re a dickhead,” he said matter-of-factly, taking a sip of his beer.

Charles let out a humorless laugh, nodding slightly. “I know.”

Arthur turned to him, his expression softening slightly. “That comment, mate—it was out of line. You really hurt her with that one.”

Charles sighed, staring at the bottle in his hand. “I know,” he said again, his voice quieter this time. “I wasn’t thinking. Or maybe I was, and that’s the problem.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to continue.

“It’s just…” Charles paused, struggling to find the right words. “She makes me feel things I don’t know how to handle. And then when she said all that stuff about how she’d rather kiss a trash can or anyone else but me…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “I just—reacted. Like an idiot.”

Arthur studied his brother for a moment before leaning back in his chair. “You know, it’s okay to feel things. But lashing out like that? That’s not how you handle it. You deserved what she did to you after that comment. Hell, if it were me, I’d have punched you.”

Charles chuckled softly, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah, well, she went for humiliation instead. And it worked.”

Arthur grinned. “Oh, it definitely worked. She got you good. But seriously, Charles, what’s your deal with her? One minute you’re at each other’s throats, and the next, you’re looking at her like…” He gestured vaguely, trying to find the right words.

Charles sighed, leaning back in his chair and looking up at the sky. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “She gets under my skin. Always has. And for the longest time, I told myself it was just because she’s Pierre’s sister, and I shouldn’t feel anything for her.” He paused, his voice softening. “But I do. I have for a few years now.”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “You’re in love with her.”

Charles didn’t answer, but the silence spoke volumes.

Arthur let out a long breath, tapping the neck of his beer bottle thoughtfully. “You’ve got to stop letting that eat you alive, mate. Either you tell her how you feel, or you let it go. This whole act of yours, pretending you’re indifferent while secretly wanting her? It’s not working. It’s just making things worse—for both of you.”

“I know,” Charles said quietly. “But it’s not that simple. She hates me now. And maybe she has a reason to.”

Arthur gave him a pointed look. “She doesn’t hate you, Charles. She’s angry, sure. And maybe a bit hurt. But hate? No. If she really hated you, she wouldn’t have kissed you like that.”

Charles frowned, replaying the kiss in his mind. The anger, the passion—it had been overwhelming, intoxicating. But there had been something else beneath it, something he couldn’t quite name.

“I don’t know what to do,” he admitted finally.

Arthur clapped a hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. “Start by apologizing. And I don’t mean a half-assed apology. Really apologize, Charles. Own up to your shit. Then maybe, just maybe, you can start fixing things.”

Charles nodded slowly, the weight of his brother’s words sinking in. He didn’t know if it was too late to fix things with you, but for the first time, he felt a glimmer of hope that it might not be.

------⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⁺⋆ ☾⋆₊⁺------

taglist: @vroomvro0mferrari @fishyfishersticks @prttylight @tempo-rary-fix @suns3treading @a-beaverhausen @formula1fordisaster @janeh22 @leclercdream @sageskiesf1 @ch16les @emryb @vyctorya @asmoothoperator @dilfsaresohot @freyathehuntress @sarx164

Candid Love | LN4

Lando Norris X Girlfriend! Reader

Summary: Lando and Y/N's first 'I love you' is on a live stream.

Warning(s): Mild Language, Insecure Lando, they both cry, fluff.

“I’ve been in love before, but right now, in this moment, I feel more and more like I was made for you"

Y/N and Lando had been dating for six months now. It had started casually—just a few hangouts here and there, laughing over inside jokes, and sharing quiet moments between the chaos of their lives. But somewhere along the way, it turned into something deeper, something neither of them had expected.

Y/N was a professional painter. She was known for her bold use of color, the way her pieces captured emotion in abstract forms that left people feeling connected, even if they couldn’t quite put into words why.

Her work had started to gain some recognition, and the online community adored her unique style and outgoing personality.

She was confident, creative, and didn’t take herself too seriously. Her fans and followers loved her for that, especially the playful banter she shared with Lando, who often appeared in her streams after they started going out together.

Lando had convinced her to do a livestream with him tonight, much to her initial hesitation. But of course, it was hard for her to deny her boyfriend anything.

The warmth of Y/N’s flat was a familiar comfort, infused with the scent of oil paints and faint traces of Lando’s cologne. The wooden floors bore the marks of past artistic endeavors, streaked with remnants of paint splatters that refused to fade.

They stood in her living room, a massive canvas propped up on the easel in front of them, already a chaotic mess of color—thanks mostly to Lando, who had no regard for composition or restraint.

The livestream had been running for nearly an hour now, and the energy was at an all-time high. The chat was a nonstop blur of messages, fans feeding off their chaotic chemistry, hyping them up.

Lando had convinced her to do this, claiming it would be "fun"—and to be fair, it was. The entire session had been filled with ridiculous Q&As, an all-out paint war, and Y/N trying (and failing) to teach Lando proper brush techniques.

Lando, who stood behind her, had his chin propped lazily on her shoulder while she scrolled through the comments.

"Alright, next question to Lando," Y/N announced, reading from the chat. "If you and Lando were in a zombie apocalypse, who’s getting eaten first?"

Lando scoffed, dipping his brush into an alarming amount of orange paint. "Obviously me. You'd betray me for food in a heartbeat."

"I wouldn't betray you!" Y/N gasped, feigning offense. "I would just… strongly consider my survival options."

"Wow." Lando nudged her shoulder. "Unbelievable. And I thought you loved me."

There was a split-second pause. Y/N felt it—the weight of that word hanging between them, unspoken but suddenly there. But before she could react, Lando kept talking, oblivious to what he’d almost said.

"Anyway," he continued, "I'd probably survive longer. I’m quick. I’d just leave you behind—"

Y/N smacked his arm. "See? Betrayal! I knew it!"

@ F1fan89 Y/N LITERALLY JUST SAID SHE’D LET HIM GET EATEN FIRST

@ McLaren4Lyf bet lando would turn into a zombie but still simp for y/n

@ LiveLaughLando THEY ARE SO IN LOVE AND SO STUPID OMG

"Alright, ignoring that" she announced giving him a mock glare, her eyes flickered over the chat. "What is Lando’s most annoying habit?"

Lando let out an exaggerated gasp, gripping his chest in mock offense. "I don’t have any annoying habits."

Y/N scoffed so hard she nearly choked. "Okay, first of all, that’s a fucking lie—"

"Name one," Lando challenged, smirking.

"Easy," she said, turning toward the camera. "He claps. Like a fucking lot."

Lando blinked. "Excuse me?"

"No, listen, guys, I’m so serious," she insisted, her hands gesturing wildly. "He doesn’t just clap—he slams his hands together like he’s trying to summon the gods. And he does it fucking repeatedly. It's like Hell's gates are being opened. Like, you could be in a peaceful room, and then all of a sudden—"

She clapped once, loudly, and then again, and again, the sound echoing in the flat. Lando immediately burst out laughing, shaking his head.

"You are lying right now," he said through wheezes.

"I am not! You dent the air when you do it! It’s actually terrifying."

Lando clapped his hands together—loud. "Like this?" And then he went to do it again.

"YES!" Y/N shouted, pointing. "Exactly like that!" She stopped his hands from moving and making her ears go deaf.

The chat was howling.

Lando, still laughing, wiped a tear from his eye. "Alright, alright. But if we’re exposing annoying habits—" He turned to face the camera, grinning. "She snores in bed."

Y/N gasped so hard she nearly lost oxygen. "No," she whispered, placing a hand over her heart. "No, you did not just say that."

Lando was already in tears, cackling at her reaction.

"Walk. Away," Y/N said, pointing to the door. "Right now."

"Y/N—"

"We’re boutta throw hands," she declared, talking steps back from him dramatically.

She bounced lightly on her feet, shifting into a boxer’s stance—sideways, fists raised, doing that little fighter jump like she was about to step into a UFC ring.

Lando lost it. He clutched his stomach, howling with laughter, his entire body shaking.

"Come here and fight me like a man!" Y/N challenged, her footwork growing increasingly ridiculous.

Lando, still grinning, reached out and caught her wrist, yanking her forward. She landed against him with a surprised laugh, her back pressing into his chest as his arms wrapped around her.

"God, I fucking love you."

The words left Lando’s mouth in the middle of his laughter, as easy and unguarded as breathing.

Silence.

@ norrisforever Did Lando just drop an ‘I love you’? I’m dying 😭😭😭🙏🏻

@ slayyyqueenLando Lando is literally a walking emotional disaster and I’m HERE for it

@ bailandooo DID I HEAR THAT RIGHT?

The chat messages kept flying, but neither of them saw them anymore. Y/N’s hands were still over his arms, her fingers unconsciously gripping the fabric of his hoodie. Lando’s arms, which had been playfully holding her, suddenly felt stiff. His breath hitched.

Y/N blinked. "Did you just say you love me?"

Lando had gone completely still. And then, under his breath, barely above a whisper—

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

The chat was going crazy.

@ landomclarenchamps AIN'T NO FUCKING WAY I JUST HEARD THAT IWBNSWJASJWAN

@ landowecanbechampionisaid I FUCKING HEARD THAT OMG OMG ITS HAPPENING

@ bigfanof_norris No fucking way Lando fucking Norris just casually dropped an ‘I love you’. Like, that was not planned, they’re both in shock right now 😭😭

@ LandoXy/n_fan_acc OMFG OMFG OMFG ITS FUCKING HAPPEOMG AND ITS LIVE DO THEY EVEN SEE US🔥🔥🔥🔥🔥

@ beyond_y/n I’m gonna need Y/N to stop making me fall in love with her harder every single day. This shit’s getting out of hand

@ paintandlovey/n If these two don’t get married, I swear to god I’ll riot. This is the realest shit ever💕💕💕

@ Ferrariismylifeblood THEY DON'T EVEN SEE US WTH LANDO, Y/NS BOUTTA CRY HOLY FUCKING SHIT NDMDJWKXJWMMS

@ newy4champion I’m calling it now, these two are getting married before the year’s out

Y/N turned her head slightly, catching the way his eyes had gone wide, his mouth barely parted as if he could somehow take it back. "Fucking hell," he muttered, still whispering, his whole body frozen. "Yeah, I just said that. Holy shit."

Y/N squeezed his arm, grounding herself. Her vision was blurry, and it took her a second to realize that her eyes were burning. Her throat felt tight, emotion crashing over her like a tidal wave.

She was crying.

Lando must’ve realized at the same time because his arms instinctively tightened around her. "Oh, fuck," he mumbled, voice thick. He tucked his face against her neck, as if trying to disappear. "I’m so sorry."

Y/N immediately turned in his arms, grabbing his face with both hands. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

Lando’s hands found her waist, gripping like he was terrified she might slip away. "I just—you—gods, Y/N, I was so fucking scared." His voice cracked, and Y/N could feel him trembling.

Her heart clenched.

"You don’t have to be," she whispered, her thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, catching a stray tear. "I love you, Lando. So fucking much."

Lando choked on a breath. And then—

He crumbled.

His knees buckled, and he dropped to the floor, pulling Y/N down with him. His hands clutched at her like she was the only thing keeping him from falling apart entirely.

"God, I was so scared, Y/N," he was saying, his words rushed, panicked. "I love you so fucking much, and if you didn’t love me—god, I was so scared—I could’ve lost you, oh my god—"

Y/N silenced him with her hands on either side of his face, tilting his head up. "Lando," she said, firm but soft. His eyes, glossy and overwhelmed, met hers. "I will never, ever not love you. Never."

His breath hitched.

"I love you, Lando Norris," she continued, her voice thick with emotion. "I love you with all my heart. With everything I have. And everything I ever will be."

Then, she kissed him.

Soft, warm, and lingering, her lips pressing against every tear-streaked part of his face before finally meeting his mouth. Lando let out a shaky breath, melting into her, his fingers curling into the fabric of her sweater like he never wanted to let go.

They were both crying, but they were smiling too.

And then—

"Oh my god," Y/N muttered suddenly, pulling back just enough to look at him properly. "The live is still on."

Lando groaned, dropping his head onto her shoulder. "I know," he whined, still half-laughing, half-crying.

Y/N wiped at her face, only to realize she was still crying too. "I have never cried on camera before, oh my god."

Lando let out a laugh, breathless and teary, wrapping his arms around her again. They sat like that for a few moments, foreheads pressed together, until they finally got up.

They turned toward the phone, which was still propped up, still very much streaming to an audience of thousands. The chat was in absolute chaos.

Y/N reached for the phone with shaky hands, still sniffling, still overwhelmed, but utterly happy. Her fingers brushed against Lando’s as they both steadied themselves in front of the camera. The chat was moving at the speed of light, messages flying in so fast she could barely read them.

She let out a breathless laugh, wiping at her tear-streaked cheeks. "Okay, guys, that is not how I planned it—" She cut herself off with a choked giggle, still crying, still laughing. "Fucking hell, I’m still crying—"

Lando had the biggest grin on his face, eyes shining with pure, unfiltered joy.

"Okay, anyway," she continued, voice still shaking, "you guys better not tease me or Lando. This was not planned, but holy shit, it’s the best day of my life."

Lando, still watching her with the softest expression, tightened his arm around her waist and pulled her close, pressing a lingering kiss to her forehead. "I love you so much, Y/N."

Her breath hitched, and she let out a disbelieving laugh, still crying. "Oh my god," she whispered, shaking her head. "I love you too. I never thought I’d say it."

And there they were—crying and smiling, their faces still damp with tears, their fingers still tangled together, so in love it was almost ridiculous.

The chat had completely lost it.

@ F1Fanatic ACTUAL SOULMATES OH MY GOD

@ LiveLaughLando THIS WAS THE MOST REAL LOVE CONFESSION I’VE EVER WITNESSED

@ Y/N_Lando4Ever NOT THEM BOTH CRYING AND SMILING I CAN’T BREATHE

@ CryingInTheClub BEST DAY OF MY LIFE TOO WTF

_________________________________________

Thank you for reading!

If you liked this story please leave a like a comment and a reblog!

On my monthlies. Needed some hurt comfort, Lando is my favourite one for that genre because of his mental health awareness thing. Expect more stories after this week. I'm unfortunately quite sick, more than I thought. But it also gives me time to write, so there is that.

Jules♡

Taglist: @anamiad00msday @evie-119 @that-one-little-soybean @six-call @stressed-cherry @il0vereadingstuff @whatevenisthisxxxxx @freyathehuntress @nina-or-anna-or-nora @allthings-fandoms @larastark3107 @myescapefromthislife @wertyuizxcvbnm @halleest @hs2016 @lucyysthings @justaf1girl @bernelflo @mendes-bae @chelseyyouraverageluigi @llando4norris @sid-is-gr8 @henna006 @hurtblossom @quinquinquincy @ts1mp0ne @spidercat-soccerfan @kodzuvk @wherethefuckisthething @hellowgoodbye @prttylight @l4ndonorizz @edgyficuselastica @k-kaliop @charlesgirl16 @chloes-book-corner @1mverstappen @inchidentofftrack @blackmage24 @angelluv16 @alice-went-away @teamnovalak @wierdflowerpower

⊹ ¡ busco mutuals ! ⊹

☽ ¡hola! soy tohie, soy escritora de novelas y fanfics

☽ ! exo, bangtan, txt, astro, red velvet, blackpink

mangas bl & gl. mxtx <3 ! star wars, fanfics . . .

—me ayudarias mucho con un reblog

wtf why this have so many likes???? I made many mistakes stop reading please 😭😭😭

@ Anakin Skywalker × Female!Reader

— english is not my first language; I'm just trying to practice don't pay attencion to this please

⚠️ mentions of rape and violence

tags: angst and a little of confort

Summary: Someone tried to rape reader while Anakin was on a mission, the last thing that the reader wants, is to talk about it. — ao3

Anakin was coming back from a successful mission, joking around with Ashoka about how many droids they destroyed, a normal habit. He was so excited from coming back home that he couldn't suppress his smile; but Obi Wan, who received them, wasn't happy. 

While the others masters looked like always, serious. Obi Wan looked at Anakin with worried eyes. 

" Is something wrong, Master? " Anakin asked, a little disappointed for not seeing you on the platform waiting for him, he wanted to be with you so bad. Stepping far from the others, finally his master answered. 

" Promise me that you are not going to freak out " Obi Wan pursed his lips, while Anakin frowns with a confused look.

" Why? " Anakin tried it to make a smile to hide his bad mood , if he was going to be sent to another long mission, he was not going to be able to bear it. Obi Wan gave him the look—I'm not going to answer until you promise—. " Okay, I promise. What happened? "

Obi Wan sighs before telling him that in the last gathering you showed up trying to hide some bruises on your body, and when Obi Wan interrogated you about it, you only said that it was nothing. Obi Wan couldn't just ignore it, you were a Senator and if you were in some kind of danger, he should inform it.

And he knows that you are close to Anakin, probably more than you should,  seeing how his padawan left barely he ended the sentence, confirmed his thoughts.

In your room, a sweet cup of tea aromatizes while you're reading papers from work. Your clothes hid the bruises on your skin, even though it had been a few days they still hurt when you pressed them. Knowing Anakin was arriving today, the concerning feeling about how you were gonna pass unnoticed makes you wanna throw out. 

Lying to Anakin wasn't one of your favorites activities, at all. However, telling him the reason for your bruises could ruin everything, could make him hate you. And that was the last thing you wanted. 

Even though you spent the last few days figuring out how to deal with this, when Anakin appeared in front of you, you realized that you weren't prepared at all. Getting inside of your room, Anakin didn't hesitate in grabbing your hand and lifting up the sleeve of your dress, watching the bruises of differents colors caused a huge impact on the jedi. You tried to hide them with your other hand but Anakin didn't allow it. 

" Who did this to you? " His eyes full of anger made you swallow, trying to keep calm.

" It's okay, Anakin. It's not a big deal" with a smile you stand up, your heart beat painfully. This was not going to work. 

" It's not okay, and you know it. Tell me who the person is." He wasn't asking, you avoided his touch, feeling that your disgusted skin didn't deserve to be touched for no one you loved. Maybe If you revealed a little of the truth he would let you forget it. 

" I really don't know" 

But Anakin didn't let you get away, trapping you between the desk and his body, your hand covered by his gentle touch made you wanna cry. 

" How did this happen?" He was so close that you could feel his breath, your eyes down revealed that you didn't want to look at him. Nevertheless Anakin wasn't going to give up "Love, how did this happen?" 

Feeling like you were collapsing, your cheek was held by Anakin, you looked up with a miserable expression.

"Can't we just forget about this? I really don't want to talk about it." You wanted Anakin to hold you close enough to wipe the dirt off your body.  He did, he hugged you around your waist and hiding his head on your shoulder.  After a long time, you finally felt safe.

You weren't prepared to relive that night, and Anakin could feel your pain, promising himself that he would find the person who hurt you and pay for It.

—Busco Mutuals (español)

Mis fandoms: star wars, La bendición del Oficial del Cielo, exo, astro, bangtan

Escribir

Literatura juvenil

Manhuas

dar rb porfa<3