If He’s Not Percy Jackson I Don’t Want Him

—𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙘𝙤𝙪𝙡𝙙 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙗𝙚 𝙨𝙤 𝙧𝙚𝙘𝙠𝙡𝙚𝙨𝙨 𝙬𝙞𝙩𝙝 𝙢𝙮 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙧𝙩

lando norris x oc

warnings- angst, heartbreak, cheating.

Formula One Drivers are fast. Formula One Drivers go all in. Love was no exception. Much like his profession, Lando’s loving was fast.

He fell in love fast, and hard.

Madeline Sommers had been the one to make the drivers heart race. According to him, She was perfect, an angel. When in truth, she was just naive.

She had been an ordinary girl, just a fan, another nameless person, another forgotten face amongst the crowd of people who adored him.

Until she wasn’t.

Maybe it was her fault, enamored by his glamorous life and love. He had showered her with so much love, made her feel so special.

Everyday he brought her flowers in abundance, leaving behind an avalanche of expensive gifts, and consuming her wholly.

He took her out on dates to the fanciest of restaurants, long walks on the beach, stargazing on the rooftop, basking in the glow of the moon.

She was naive to believe that it would last, all of it was too good to be true. When her own best friend captivated him after six months of dating.

How hadn't she noticed. Her best-friend who had labelled Lando's sport as useless and dreadfully boring, complaining about the cars just going around in circles, suddenly couldn’t be more obsessed with the sport, begging to tag along, to join her at every race.

She should’ve known.

When his eyes no longer glittered with adoration, instead he stared at her own best-friend. Inside jokes, hidden meanings, longing stares.

When she had asked him, where he’d been, why he’d left her alone in the hotel room, and why he was so distant.

She should've known, that he was only next door, with her best friend. She should've known, when she became the third wheel, the outsider in her own relationship.

Formula one drivers fell fast and hard, and left behind a dust of heartbreak, falling out of love just as quick, breaking hearts just as hard.

— i’m going through a breakup and i needed to vent lol it’s not that great but i tried lol

i can’t watch this anymore

beautiful performance

IL DIECI 🤍🖤

this is so real, like ok formula 1 is about competition and all that but dominance and winning is also an integral part of the sport and i love seeing the sheer excellence that Max brings on track. Maybe i’m biased but i don’t think it’s at all boring, infact it’s exhilarating watching just how spectacular he is.

Everyone saying "I want Max to have to battle with someone for the wins I want the fight!" NO. No personally I want him to cross the finishline a full minute before p2. I want him to be sitting on a nice cozy sofa sipping a redbull when the others are still parking their cars next to his. You say his dominance is boring? You're just weak. 💅

LANDO NORRIS FUCKINF WON????

RINGADINGDING 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️

this never felt so good

guys do any of you have good kenan yildiz fic recs pls 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

hii, i really liked your last work that was inspired by a song, so i was wondering if you could write smth thats inspired by “one of the girls” from the weeknd?💘

ONE OF THE GIRLS • KENAN YILDIZ

( pairing ) kenan yıldız x reader

thank you for this request i didn’t see it so im sorry it took so long 🥲

18+ mdni (i tried but it’s barely anything)

The city buzzes like a living thing outside, neon lights flickering in the distance as the bass-heavy music spills from every corner of the streets. It’s one of those nights where the air feels thick with the promise of something more—something just out of reach. Something in the air makes you feel restless tonight, charged with the kind of energy that hums beneath your skin and makes every light seem brighter, every shadow deeper. It’s one of those evenings that feels suspended in time, where the air is thick with anticipation and everything seems poised on the edge of something you can’t quite name. You find yourself in a dimly lit lounge downtown, a place where the music pulses softly against the walls and the conversations are low, like secrets whispered in the dark. It’s the perfect place to get lost, to disappear into the rhythm of the night and let the noise drown out whatever’s been weighing on your mind. The Weeknd’s voice hums softly over the speakers, the lyrics to “One of the Girls” cutting through the noise, dripping with seduction and blurred intentions.

That’s when your eyes land on him, Kenan. He stands at the far end of the bar, leaning casually against the counter with a half-empty glass of redbull in his hand, no alcohol. There’s something magnetic about him, something in the way he carries himself with a quiet confidence that seems to draw every gaze in the room. He’s tall, dressed in a sleek black shirt that clings to his frame, something he wouldn’t normally wear. Special occasion, you think to yourself as you observe sharp features set in an expression that hovers between amusement and something darker. Kenan’s presence has always been commanding, forcing everyone’s attention towards him, and the way he’s dressed makes it all the more obvious, his presence understated but impossible to ignore.

But, he’s not alone. There’s a girl with him, one of those effortlessly beautiful types who looks like she belongs in every magazine you’ve ever seen. She’s laughing, you can tell from the way her head tilts back, and she’s leaning into him, fingers grazing his arm in a way that’s too familiar, too easy. You watch the way he tilts his head down to listen to her, the faintest hint of a smile playing at his lips, and something tightens in your chest. It’s not jealousy—not exactly. But there’s a sting there, something sharp and aching, like watching a scene you’re not meant to be a part of. The feeling is something you’ve become all too familiar with, watching it happen too often, although the setting is usually starkly different from this one.

You try to shake it off, turning your attention back to the party, but the image of them lingers in the back of your mind, like a song you can’t quite get out of your head. You throw yourself on the stage, dancing around with a bunch of nameless bodies, yet you catch glimpses of them throughout the night, little flashes of Kenan’s dark eyes and her bright smile, and each time, you feel that same flicker of something you can’t quite name. You know this feeling—this mix of wanting and frustration, of being close but never close enough. It’s a game you’ve played before, a dance you know all too well, and still, you can’t seem to stop yourself from playing along. You can’t help it. His confidence is unwavering as he stands and you catch his eye. For a moment, it’s as if the whole room fades away, leaving just the two of you in a charged silence that says more than any words could. You can’t quite figure out what it is about him, but his demeanour has a gravitational pull to it that you always find yourself victim to.

The moment is over as quickly as it happened. His attention is back to the girl he’s been wrapped around and you turn back to the crowd you’re in.

Eventually, you find yourself near the edge of the rooftop, feet aching from the dancing you’d done in an attempt to forget, when Kenan approaches. He’s alone now, the girl nowhere in sight, and he leans against the railing beside you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him. For a moment, neither of you speaks, the silence stretching between you, filled only by the distant sounds of the city and the faint thrum of music. Then he looks over at you, you meet his gaze head on, catching his green eyes that sparkle under the moonlight with something golden dazzling amongst them.

A beat passes, you don’t look away, and neither does he. There’s a boldness in his stare, a challenge that you can’t quite ignore. He doesn’t smile, not exactly, but there’s a flicker of interest in his green eyes that passes across his face—a slight tilt of his head, a subtle arch of his brow that feels like an invitation. There’s something charged in the way he watches you, a subtle tension that sets your nerves alight. It’s not flirtation, it’s something deeper, something that makes your pulse quicken despite yourself. You can feel the pull of it, the way his gaze settles on you like a weight, and you find yourself moving toward him without really thinking about it, drawn in by some invisible thread that winds tighter with every step. The way his gaze sweeps over you, as if he knows everything you’re hiding, knows everything about you.

“This isn’t your usual type of thing,” he says, his voice low, almost drowned out by the music. It’s not a question, it’s a statement, and there’s something about the way he says it that feels like he’s already drawn his own conclusions.

“What gave it away?” you reply, trying to keep your voice steady, but there’s an edge there—something between defensiveness and curiosity.

Kenan tilts his head, studying you with a gaze that feels heavy and knowing. “You don’t look lost, just… searching.”

The words hit you harder than they should. You weren’t expecting this, the sharpness of his insight, the way he seems to see right through you. It’s unsettling, this stranger who talks like he’s known you for longer than a few minutes and a few stolen glances, and yet there’s a pull there, an undeniable magnetism that keeps you rooted in place.

“you’ve got me all figured out huh?” your voice is lilting, amusement covering your tone but there's an edge of vulnerability underneath.

Kenan doesn’t answer, and there’s a stretch of silence that embraces the both of you, despite the loud music, it feels muted in each other's presence. Kenan stares at you, and you struggle to identify what he’s thinking.

It makes you feel on edge, the fact that he seems to have you all figured out yet you struggle to decipher the slightest gestures from him.

You’re almost lost in your own train of thought when his voice interrupts, “Not yet.” he says finally. Once again, you can’t tell what he’s truly hinting, a promise or a threat?

“She left?” you ask, before you can help yourself. The question has been at the back of your throat since the moment Kenan joined you. You try to keep your voice casual, like you hadn’t noticed at all.

Kenan shrugs, a slow, deliberate movement. “She’s not staying the night,” he says, his voice low and smooth, tinged with a hint of something you can’t quite place. “Not that kind of thing.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you just nod, staring out at the city below, at the endless sprawl of lights that seem to go on forever. The Weeknd’s song comes on again , the lyrics floating through the air like a whisper, “We don’t gotta be in love no, I don’t gotta be the one, no, I just wanna be one of your girls tonight.”

“Do you ever get tired of it?” you ask suddenly, the question slipping out before you can stop it for the second time tonight. Kenan turns to look at you, his expression unreadable, and you feel the weight of his gaze settle on you like a challenge.

“Tired of what?” he asks, though you suspect he already knows the answer.

You gesture vaguely toward the rooftop, the party, the endless cycle of nights spent drifting through half-lit rooms and fleeting moments. “All of this. The pretending. The never really being… anything.”

For a second, you think he’s going to brush you off, make some clever remark that’ll deflect the question, but instead, he just sighs, a quiet, weary sound that you weren’t expecting. “I don’t know,” he says finally, and there’s a heaviness in his voice that catches you off guard. “It’s easier, sometimes, to just keep things simple. No expectations. No strings.”

For the first time, you feel as if you’re finally beginning to understand him, not just playing a game of guess, but rather truly knowing. You feel a pang of recognition, because you understand that logic all too well—the way it’s easier to stay on the surface, to keep things light and meaningless, rather than risk the messiness of something real. But tonight, with the city spread out below you and the song still echoing in your ears, it all feels emptier than usual.

“You’re not really like that, though, are you?” you say, quieter this time, your words barely audible over the music. “You like to pretend you are, but… you want more.”

It’s clear you’ve hit the mark, Kenan’s gaze sharpens, his eyes searching yours like he’s trying to decide whether or not to let you in. You can see the conflict there, the war between what’s easy and what’s real, and for a moment, you think he might turn away, might let the moment pass like all the others. But then he leans in, closer than before, so close that you can see the faint lines of tiredness around his green eyes, the shadows of everything he’s not saying.

There’s a weight to his stare that makes your skin prickle, and you feel exposed, like he’s peeling back all the layers you’ve carefully built around yourself, leaving you bare in front of him.

“You think you know me?” he finally says, his voice low, almost mocking. There’s a challenge in his tone, and it sends a shiver through you, a reminder of why you’re drawn to him in the first place. He’s dangerous in a way that doesn’t involve risks to your body but to your soul. The kind of danger that pulls you in and makes you want to give everything, even when you know you shouldn’t.

“I think we’re both more alike than you let on,” you say instead, and it’s more honest than you intended, the words slipping out like a confession. He doesn’t react right away, just keeps watching you, his expression shifting in that subtle, unreadable way that makes you feel like you’re on the edge of something you can’t control.

He steps closer, invading your space, and you can feel the heat of him, the pull of his presence like a gravitational force that draws you in whether you want it or not. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” he murmurs, and there’s something almost predatory in his tone, like he’s got you exactly where he wants you. “You like it. You like what I make you feel.”

You want to deny it, to pull back and put some distance between you, but you can’t. Because he’s right. You do like it. You like the way he makes you forget, the way he makes everything feel sharper, more vivid, like you’re finally alive in a world that’s constantly trying to dull you down. He has this way of stripping away the parts of you that don’t matter, leaving only the raw, unfiltered core of who you are—a side of yourself you’ve buried deep and only let out in the dark, away from everyone’s eyes.

The words hit you harder than you expected, because he’s right—he knows exactly what to say to unravel you. You’re not used to feeling this exposed, this seen, and it’s terrifying and thrilling all at once. With him, every moment feels heightened, like he’s pulled you out of the gray haze of your everyday life and into something sharper, more real. It’s dangerous, the way he makes you feel like you could trade everything for these fleeting moments, where nothing else exists but this connection, raw and unfiltered.

“You don’t know what I want,” you say, but your voice wavers, betraying the defiance you’re trying to hold onto. He smirks, not cruelly, but like he’s already won. And maybe he has, because standing here, inches away from him, you feel like you’d give up anything just to keep feeling this way—this alive.

He brushes his fingers along your jaw, a light touch that makes your breath hitch, and you can’t help but lean into it, craving the contact. “I don’t need to know everything,” he murmurs, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. He says that, but it feels like he is aware of every thought that has crossed your mind.

It scares you just as much as it excites you, and your eyes flicker from his eyes to his lips, but there’s a hesitancy that clings on to you, your fear more prominent than your desire.

He knows the parts of you that you keep locked away, the side that craves this—the thrill, the rush, the way he makes you forget everything else. It’s like he’s unlocked something in you, something you didn’t even know you were missing until now. With him, you don’t have to be strong, don’t have to be perfect or put together. You can just be. And it’s that feeling that scares you the most, because you know it won’t last, but you’re willing to risk it anyway.

Kenan watches you, his eyes flickering with something unreadable. “You don’t have to pretend with me,” he says, and it’s not gentle, it’s a little bit broken, a little bit like he’s speaking to himself as much as to you. There’s a crack in his composure, and it’s enough to remind you that underneath all his sharp edges, he’s just as lost as you are.

“You don’t have to either” You whisper at him, and you’re so much closer now, you can see the moles that dot his face, count every eyelash, and most importantly, you’re given access to the intensity behind his eyes, the same burning sensation in you is lit alight in his gaze.

You can feel his breath against your skin, hear the faint hitch of his breathing “You’re trouble,” he says finally, his voice quiet and rough, like he’s admitting it to himself as much as to you.

He’s close enough now that you can feel the heat of him, and it’s like every nerve in your body is on fire, every part of you screaming to pull him closer even though you know you shouldn’t.

The kiss is inevitable. It’s slow at first, hesitant, like he’s holding back, but it doesn’t last. The restraint melts away in an instant, and then it’s all heat and urgency, a clash of mouths and desperate hands as you pull each other closer, seeking something neither of you can name. His fingers tangle in your hair, his lips trailing down your neck, and you arch into him, losing yourself in the sensation, in the way he makes you feel like you’re the only thing that matters.

There’s a kind of desperation in the way you move together, a frantic need to forget everything but this moment. Clothes fall away, discarded carelessly, and you find yourself pressed against the cold glass of the window, opposite the railing of the roof, the city sprawling out on the other side of you like a sea of lights. It feels reckless, dangerous, but that only makes you want him more, makes you crave the feeling of losing control.

“You’re trouble too” You whisper when you’re both a mess of tangled lips, foreheads pressed together and breathing heavily.

Your words are tinged with something sad, and Kenan must recognise it, because he presses a soft kiss to your forehead that feels so different from the facade you’re so used to seeing him put up. His one action speaks a thousand words.

It’s enough to make you understand and for now, that’s all you need.

fin.

I could get over anything as long as I have something new to be obsessed with