He's a 4 time Formula 1 World Champion. Having split with his long time partner and his career on the decline he's hiding away from the world. She's a widowed mother just trying to get by and provide for her child. One summer their worlds collide and things would never be the same again. PLEASE NOTE THIS STORY WILL CONTAIN SMUT. ⚠️

He is Max Verstappen, an F1 world champion, known for being ruthless and arrogant. Except if you really got to know him. She is Claire Leclerc, the only girl in the Leclerc siblings. One day she finds herself living next door to the Red Bull driver. She wasn't happy with the idea even though her brother was thrilled with the possibility of being closer to Max. What she didn't know was that he had a daughter and, apparently, being a world champion doesn't assure that you will be a great dad. In this story we will follow the story of Max trying to raise Olivia alone, or maybe not as alone as he thought.

Everything in her life came crashing down. Ron cheated on her, he ruined her friendship with Harry and the Weasleys, she lost her job, her house, her pride. Draco Malfoy walks down the road and finds a broken, shaky figure. He steps closer and gasped. Hermione Granger lay unconscious. Disclaimer- I don't own the Harry Potter characters, just the plot

PHANTASM SERIES BOOK 4 --- Gladius, (noun): (in ancient Rome) a short sword. --- Eret perked up as soon as you and Simon walked into the room, a wide and welcoming smile coming onto his face. He was softer looking than his father had been, but you could still see some of the similar traits. He had a head of thick dark curls, and the same sharp jaw that his father had had. He wasn't as bulky though - he was tall and thin - and his face was a lot more open. What separated him most from his father's likeness though was the colorful cape, and the large mirrored glasses he wore - swirling with colors reflected from the room. He stood from his seat when Maven let the doors swing shut behind her, that wide smile still on his face. "You must be the embassy." "And you must be King Eret." You said, stooping into a bow. "Oh, there's no need for that." Eret said as you rose from your bow. He stepped down from the dias where his throne sat - colorful cape trailing behind him - and came to stand in front of you, taking your hand instead. "I'm not really one for formalities." He grinned, shaking your hand. His palm was warm against yours, and you could feel some slight callouses - most likely from practicing his sword work.

PHANTASM SERIES BOOK FIVE ---- Tryst (noun): a private romantic rendezvous between lovers, "a moonlight tryst". ---- Your eyes drifted upwards catching onto the glint of the sword that had saved you and following the curve of the blade upwards until you came to a knarled hand, with dirt under the fingernails. You followed the arm upwards until you reached his face - partly obscured underneath a green and white striped hat. You were able to catch onto blue eyes and the scruff of a beard underneath a mop of blonde hair though. What drew your attention most though, was the crow's wings behind him, flared out and glinting by the light of the sword. You hadn't even heard him swoop down for the approach. For someone who hadn't been seen in over a century, the Angel of Death looked young... too young. But then he was spinning away, wings flapping behind him so that he hovered over the ground as he sliced through anything that came too close for comfort. Even the skeletons a ways away weren't safe from his flames when their zombie counterparts came staggering too close. Soon enough, the dark forest was alight with burning undead creatures, providing a light source for you to stagger up to your feet as the Angel slid his sword back into it's scabbard. You weren't expecting him to round on you like he did, fire in his eyes. "What the hell are you doing?"

PHANTASM SERIES BOOK 2 --- Versailles (proper noun). The argument over the etymology of Versailles tends to privilege the Latin word 'versare', meaning "to keep turning, turn over and over", an expression used in medieval times for plowed lands, cleared lands (lands that had been repeatedly "turned over"). --- He wasn't like any endermen you had seen before - probably because he wasn't fully an enderman. He was tall like an enderman, but that was where the similarity ended. He was split down the middle - half of his skin the same inky black as the twins, the other half a radiant white. His eyes didn't match either - one blood red and the other emerald green. His hair fell in soft waves, almost obscuring his eyes at times, and he kept his head tilted down, his sharp jawline on display. He seemed timid, but that might have just been the situation - anyone behind bars would likely hang their head.

PHANTASM SERIES BOOK 1 --- Tacenda; pl (plural only): Things that are not to be spoken about or made public. Things that are best left unsaid. --- He was unlike anyone else you had seen before. There was a certain confidence about him that drew everyone's eye. His hair was tied back into a messy plait, but it was the color that was the most striking, a bright pink that contrasted the dark red and black of his robes. His face was mostly obscured by the mask of his people, but you could just make out the shape of his jaw and a flash of sharp teeth when he smiled. He was dangerous - but he was magnetic.

THE FALL OF AN EMPIRE BOOK TWO -- Approaching Anoitos' temple again, you opened the door, turning as you stepped inside to close it again. The door closing with a satisfying clunk, you spun back around, intending to just quickly bow your head and grab your beads without much circumstance. You were not expecting to see a man, mid-way through stuffing his face with the plate of offerings you had brought, at the altar, his eyes blown wide with panic and focused on you. You stared back at him. "I- you- what are you doing? Who are you? How-?" You turned halfway back to the door, intending to run for one of the guards. "Wait!" The man's voice drew your attention back to him, just in time to see his appearance shift slightly - like there was something behind the mirage of his skin. For a moment - the man was gone, and in his place, a living replica of the hulking gold warrior depicted in the statue took his place. Your hand dropped from the handle of the door, staring up at the god before you. Out of all the times for your prayers to be answered... and of all ways, like this... "See?" He said, shrinking back to the man you had seen before, the boyish smile you knew so well still on his face. "It's just me!" Standing before you, with crumbs of bread on his face, was Anoitos, somehow - impossibly - in the flesh.

You were one of the first people to arrive in the piano room - probably because your form room had been so close by. The room was empty when you walked in, so you just made your way to the back of the room, sitting down at one of the pianos near the window. There were no desks in the room besides for the teacher, only keyboards lined up in rows facing the front of the room. You set your books down under the piano, not knowing where else to put them, and sat down, fiddling with the hem of your shirt in your hands as you waited. You would have much preferred for at least the teacher to be in the room - sitting by yourself was not really what you wanted to be doing. You turned your attention to the window in the room, absently watching a couple of songbirds dart in an out of a small shrub while you waited. Hopefully someone else would get here soon and it wouldn't be so stiflingly silent- "Oh. Hello." Your head snapped back to the front of the room to see a boy standing there, hovering awkwardly just inside the door. He was rather short, and his arms wrapped around his books in a hug. You wouldn't have noticed him in the hallway if you had passed him - his height combined with brown hair and brown eyes made him the sort of person that would just blend in to a crowd. He didn't look particularly mean though, so you just tried for a smile. "That's my seat." He said, still hovering by the door.