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phantasm-ae · 2 months ago

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cw: fluff, cowgirl afab reader x ghost, grumpy x sunshine, clumsy reader

HEADCANON: the team meets Ghost’s little bird

PAIRING: Simon Riley x reader

It all started when Soap, half-joking -- not really -- asked over a pint of that terrible guinness that one of the recruits mentioned that he voiced out a lingering thought out loud,

"So, Ghost. Ye ever gonna introduce us to yer missus? Or is she just some hallucination ye made up tae wind us up aye?"

Ghost, who had never confirmed nor denied anything about his personal life, simply shrugged. "Pub. Friday. Seven."

Soap thought he was joking.

At exactly Friday, seven-fucking-pm though. Soap. Soap realized he was wrong.

They met at a grimy pub near base. Price was wary. Gaz looked openly curious. Soap just looked excited, because how normal could Ghost’s wife possibly be? Some goth lady with a death glare? A sniper with a scar over her eye? A shadow in human form?

None of the above.

What actually walked in was—

A tiny woman in a beat-up leather jacket, dusty denim jeans, a battered cowboy hat tilted low over her messy braid. Coupled with a pair of cracked leather boots that clomped across the floor like she owned the place.

Holy shit

She looked like she could ride a bull, shoot a rifle, and kiss you breathless — not necessarily in that order.

She waved frantically the moment she spotted them though — knocking over a chair and nearly tripping over her own boots as she did.

"HEY, SI" she yelled across the entire bar.

Ghost — stoic, terrifying, 6'4" Ghost — immediately straightened in his seat like a teenager seeing his crush. He actually moved. Stood up. Went to meet her halfway like she was the only thing that existed.

Soap’s jaw was physically on the table.

This tiny woman. Small. Wiry. Sun-kissed and with the greatest pair of tits Soap has ever seen immediately launched herself into Ghost’s arms like a missile. He caught her easily -- of course -- one hand on her lower back, the other ruffling her tousled brown hair with ridiculous tenderness.

Leaning down to let her smack a kiss right onto the cloth of his mask like she couldn’t give a single shit about what people thought.

She yanked the brim of his hat down over his eyes — wait! when had he gotten a hat?? — and laughed that big, reckless, wild West laugh that turned every head in the pub.

The team stared in horror and awe.

"This can’t be real," Gaz muttered. "I’m dreaming. I died in Syria."

"She's so small," Soap whispered back, scandalized. "And she’s—she’s—hot??"

They made it back to the table, Ghost’s hand resting casually on her hip like a leash.

When they made it back to the table, she shoved Ghost into a chair, plopped herself onto his lap without ceremony, and grinned at the rest of them.

"Howdy, boys," she said, tipping her hat.

Soap almost cried.

She was absolute chaos. Stole the darts right out of the wall and challenged Soap to a game ("loser buys shots, city boy" "'m from Scotland, lass" "Cattle country ain't like sheep country, sugar" "we have cows. They moo too").

Gaz: "You're so fucking stupid mate"

Soap: "Shut it aye?"

Flirted shamelessly with Ghost across the table — calling him "sugar," "cowboy," and "my big strong man" with zero shame in her Southern-twanged voice. Told Price he looked like a "sheriff with a broken heart."

Somehow wrangled Ghost into a pool match where she used him as her pool cue guide — pressed up against him, his huge hands guiding hers, while she winked at the others over her shoulder.

Ghost never smiled. Never joked. Never talked much. But with her? He was... different.

Softer. More human. Maybe even a little helpless, the poor bastard.

Price, to his credit, kept a straight face. Barely.

Soap, meanwhile -- after losing to her on those stupid darts and took on the challenge of guzzling down the said shots -- was vibrating with suppressed laughter.

She was chaos. Pure, distilled chaos — loud, funny, mean, fun, but also wildly affectionate. She stole a chip off Gaz and a stranger's plate without asking. Shooed off two creeps with a death glare who wouldn’t stop pestering the girls at the counter. Challenged the bouncer -- a hulking and massive bloke -- to arm wrestle and actually fucking won! Spent half an hour helping to take pictures of an old couple on a vacation to send to their grandkids. And started a chant for Price to shotgun a beer (he declined, though grimly but... endeared).

And through all of it, Ghost just... watched her. Silent. Steady. The same way he’d scan a perimeter — except more devoted. Soap swearing that he could even see him smile behind the mask.

At one point, she tugged on his sleeve and whispered something in his ear that made him let out a genuine, low chuckle. An actual laugh. Gaz's drink came out of his nose at that and Soap almost passed out from the shock.

By the end of the night, they were all completely obsessed with her.

(And slightly terrified. She challenged another guy twice her size to a pull-up contest and won.)

As they stumbled out of the pub, she looped an arm around Ghost’s waist and shouted, "THIS IS MY HUSBAND! HE’S BIGGER THAN YOUR HUSBAND!" at absolutely no one.

Ghost didn’t even blink. Just tugged her closer and murmured, "Alright, birdie. Inside voice yeah?."

"YOU LOVE ME BABY," she hollered back.

"Yeah," he said simply, not caring who heard. "I do."

And if anyone at the pub dared to stare — well, nobody wanted to make eye contact with a man wearing a skull mask who looked like he could bench-press a car and the woman who looked like she could drive said car through you and still smile while doing it.

Soap later: "Lass is unhinged aye?." Gaz: "You’re just mad she drank you under the table, mate." Price: "I like her. She’s good for him." Soap: "Naw, like... she’s pure mental. He’s just as daft. It’s a match made in hell, I’m tellin' ye.

Ghost, hearing them gossip: (Just shrugs.) "I like her loud. Makes it easier to find her."

masterlist

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pitlanepeach · 2 months ago

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Radio Silence | Chapter Twenty-Eight

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren’t quirks, they’re survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, strong language, time-skips, the Alpine drama.

Notes — We’re wrapping up the 2022 season in this chapter!!!!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! — Peach x

(France—Abu Dhabi)

The morning after the French Grand Prix, the Red Bull garage was quiet. Amelia stood in front of the data wall with a paper cup of bitter coffee, hair half-tied and eyes heavy with the familiar weight of no sleep and too much adrenaline. France had gone well, better than expected, and she’d felt something click into place watching Max take the chequered flag with surgical precision.

She knew what was coming.

She could feel the momentum building like the weight of a wave just before it crests.

Hungary was next.

—

Lando was in the armchair, hair damp from the shower, watching Amelia as she stood at the window in one of his shirts, tablet in hand, replaying strategy notes. He let her stand there in silence for a while before calling out softly, “Baby.”

She hummed, eyes not leaving the screen.

“Come here.” He stretched a hand toward her, wiggling his fingers like she was a cat he was trying to lure. “You’re not working tonight.”

“I’m not working,” she said flatly. “I’m reviewing.”

“Same thing. C’mere.”

Amelia hesitated. Then closed the iPad, placed it gently on the side table, and padded over. She climbed into his lap, knees on either side of his thighs, tucking her head into the crook of his neck.

He wrapped his arms around her like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“You did so good today,” he murmured.

“Mhm. So did you.”

—

The Hungaroring was a heat trap, close and sticky, and the hills that hemmed it in made the sound of the engines feel louder, like thunder that never stopped. Amelia crouched next to the Red Bull pit wall, fingers flying across her iPad screen. The forecast had shifted—rain maybe, maybe not—and she could already see the early phases of strategy threading themselves together like a puzzle in her mind.

Max was at the top of his game. Again.

Every conversation with him that weekend was sharper, tighter. He was dialled in, and he listened to her with a kind of shorthand they’d perfected now. She didn’t have to explain things fully—he trusted her interpretation, her instincts.

After the win, Amelia didn’t celebrate much. Max was grinning, sweaty, joking with the engineers. She lingered behind the crowd, tapping notes into her tablet for Spa.

Lando found her eventually, kissed her cheek, and said, “Hey, genius girl. Good race.”

She smiled, small but real. “Yeah. We did okay.”

—

The birds outside were loud. Too loud. Amelia’s phone buzzed on the kitchen counter again and again, each notification setting her teeth on edge. She was barefoot, half-through slicing peaches for a tart, when Lando walked in wearing gym shorts.

“Why’s your phone going crazy?” hH asked, mouth full of granola.

Amelia didn’t answer. She was frozen in place, phone in one hand, brow furrowed so tight it looked like she was in physical pain.

Lando stepped closer, peeking over her shoulder. “‘We are delighted to announce Oscar Piastri will drive for Alpine F1 Team in 2023’… wait. What?”

Amelia said nothing. Just turned, placed the knife down with almost worrying care, and scrolled. Read the press release again. Read it a third time. Then pulled up her contacts and tapped Mark Webber’s name.

“C’mon, pick up,” she muttered, pacing toward the hallway.

Lando leaned in the doorway, spoon in mouth.

“Mark?” She snapped, as soon as the line clicked. “Tell me this is some kind of terrible joke.”

She listened.

Lando couldn’t hear the other side, but he could see the way her shoulders relaxed half a centimetre. Then tensed twice as hard.

“That’s what I thought. So it’s bullshit.”

Another pause. She nodded, short and sharp.

“Okay. Thanks.”

She hung up and immediately scrolled down to Dad – Zak, and hit call.

Lando raised an eyebrow. “I need you to know that I’m so turned on by you right now.”

Amelia didn’t look at him. “I’m too stressed for sex.”

“Okay, baby.” He smiled.

When Zak picked up, she didn’t even say hello.

“Dad. I need you to give Oscar the seat. Properly. Now. No politics, no delay. He deserves it. Alpine's trying to strong-arm him.”

A pause.

“No, I don’t care what the board says. This is your chance to do something smart and right at the same time. He’s available, make it happen. Please.”

Another pause. Then she said, quieter, “Get my contract put together too, okay? I’ll sign it as soon as I see you. That should satisfy the board.”

When the call ended, she stared at her phone for a second.

Lando padded over. “You okay?”

She turned to him. Her voice was a little hoarse. “They’re trying to trap him into a seat he doesn’t want. That’s not how this is supposed to work.”

Lando nodded. He set his granola down and pulled her into his chest. “You’re so sexy when you’re mad,” he said into her hair.

She let herself be held. “I’m not mad,” she said. “I’m furious.”

—

I understand that, without my agreement, Alpine F1 have put out a press release late this afternoon that I am driving for them next year. This is wrong and I have not signed a contract with Alpine for 2023. I will not be driving for Alpine next year.

Amelia, after a long moment of satisfaction, typed a quote tweet. Straightforward. To the point. Very Amelia.

Correct. Proud of you.

It got 60k likes in the first hour.

—

Spa felt like breathing fresh air after the heat of Hungary. The track was fast, treacherous, and so beautiful.

Amelia walked the paddock in the early morning mist, her boots damp from dew, her jacket pulled tight around her shoulders. She met with the engineers before breakfast, had three different setups ready for Max depending on the weather window, and already knew the kind of race this could be.

She found Max by the Red Bull sim rig later, and he looked up as she approached.

“You’re early,” he said, squinting.

“You’re late,” she shot back, deadpan. “You want to win again or not?”

He laughed, and when the race came, he was unstoppable. Took pole. Kept it. Dominated every lap like the car was built just for him—which, in a way, it was. Amelia’s fingerprints were in every corner of that chassis.

Afterward, when champagne hung in the air and Jos clapped her on the shoulder with a glint of approval in his eyes, Amelia felt something settle deep in her chest. Satisfaction.

��

Lando had somehow convinced Amelia to join him for a midweek stream—"Just an hour, baby, I’ll set it up, you don’t have to do anything."

She wore one of his hoodies and sat with her knees tucked under her, sipping from a mug. The chat exploded when she leaned into his frame mid-game and quietly said, “You should try the other line through sector two. You’re braking too late.”

Lando turned to her, jaw slack. “You’re back-seating me on stream?”

“I’m trying to help,” she said primly.

He laughed, so loudly the mic clipped.

The fans loved it. #AmeliaCarry trended for about six hours. Amelia didn’t care. But she let Lando show her the memes that night in bed, his face glowing blue from his phone, his other hand laced with hers.

—

Zandvoort was a pressure cooker. Orange everywhere. Max's home race. The stands roared his name every time he crossed a sector line.

Amelia stayed out of the fanfare. Let him have his moment. She was in the engineering truck most of the weekend, cross-referencing strategy models and keeping an eye on tire deg. She even started dreaming in telemetry.

Max didn’t speak much before the race. He didn’t need to. When he rolled out of the garage that Sunday, Amelia stood back, arms crossed, watching him thread the car into place like it was an extension of himself.

He won again, and the fans lost their minds.

Lando messaged her after the cool-down lap: ‘You’ve created a monster.’

She sent back: ‘Not a monster. Just a champion.’

—

Amelia was folding his shirts in precise squares. Lando balled his socks like a child and tossed them into the basket from across the room like it was a game.

“You have no spatial respect,” she said, not looking up.

He tossed another sock. “I have excellent aim.”

She gave him a look. “You folded this hoodie inside out.”

He walked over, took the hoodie from her hands, and refolded it correctly. “How’s this?”

“Better.”

“I live to serve.”

They bumped shoulders and continued in companionable silence, interrupted only when Lando pulled a stray dryer sheet out of her sleeve and stuck it on her head like a crown. “Queen of laundry,” he said dramatically.

Amelia rolled her eyes, but didn’t take it off.

—

Monza was brutal in the way only low-downforce tracks could be. Everything was about speed and restraint, the margin for error razor-thin.

Max was already talking about the championship. Quietly. Confidently.

Amelia worked through the nights, tweaking the software inputs, working with the aero team to adjust a wing spec she knew would shave tenths off the straight. She didn’t sleep until the morning of qualifying, and even then, it was for two hours on a cot in the motorhome.

Lando caught her outside the hospitality unit and handed her a coffee. “You okay, baby?” He asked, brow furrowed.

Amelia nodded. “We’re on a run.”

“You are,” he corrected, pride soft in his voice. “This is all yours.”

She didn’t answer. Just kissed him lightly and headed for the garage.

When Max crossed the finish line at Monza, first again, Amelia sat down for the first time that day. Her ears rang from the noise. Her hands were steady.

Four wins. Four weekends. Four different tracks. And Max hadn’t put a foot wrong.

She looked at the team celebrating in front of her, all navy and red and wide smiles, and thought—this isn’t even about the car; this is all Max.

—

They lay in bed with the windows cracked open, the Milan breeze tugging at the curtains. Amelia traced the bone of Lando’s wrist with one finger, quiet in the dark.

“You still like being married?” She asked, voice low.

Lando kissed the back of her hand. “I think it’s my favourite thing.”

There was a beat, then—“You’re gonna lose your socks again tomorrow,” she said.

He grinned into the dark. “Yeah. And you’re gonna find them. That’s marriage, baby.”

—

The Singapore humidity wrapped around them like a second skin. Up on the open-air terrace, ceiling fans twirled lazily overhead and lanterns swayed from wire strings. The whole grid had somehow materialised—drivers, a few partners, a handful of social media execs—seated around long tables laden with chilled beers and tiny sharing plates. Even Toto had been spotted earlier, though he’d fled once the conversation turned to karaoke.

Amelia was sitting between Charles and Max, sipping a lychee soda and trying to fan herself with a paper menu.

“Ordered you another ice water baby,” Lando said, dropping into the chair next to her with a sweat-damp curl stuck to his forehead.

“Thank you,” she sighed.

George, already a few drinks in and pink in the cheeks, leaned across the table. “Oi, Amelia,” he called. “Serious question. Did you actually manage to hide bouncy castle from Lando until the wedding?”

Amelia hummed. “Yes.”

“And Lando genuinely didn’t know?”

Lando groaned, long and dramatic. “No, I didn’t. She proper tricked me.”

“You cried,” Oscar chuckled.

“It was the best surprise ever,” Lando defended. “You would’ve cried too.”

“You said it was the best moment of your entire life,” Max deadpanned from across the table. “You said those words about a bouncy castle on your wedding day.”

“Okay—” Lando pointed at him, rolling his eyes. “Okay. Don’t pretend you didn’t love it, mate.”

Max shrugged, mock-casual. “I did a flip.”

“You nearly tore the wall netting,” Amelia reminded him. “You were too tall.”

Carlos clinked a glass with his fork. “Can we all just agree that it was the wedding of the year?”

“Wedding of the century,” said Alex.

Pierre raised a hand. “Still mad I wasn’t asked to DJ.”

“You would’ve played a six-hour Tiësto remix,” Amelia said.

He lifted his beer in salute. “And you would’ve loved it.”

A waiter delivered her ice-water to Lando, who pulled out one of the ice cubes with his fingers, held it in his fist, and then rubbed his hand across the back of her neck.

It was cold and perfect. She sighed blissfully.

—

The floor-to-ceiling windows looked out over the paddock, sun catching on the rows of motorhomes and camera cranes. The faint hum of energy buzzed through the glass like white noise from her phone speaker on the nights she was forced to spend without Lando.

Oscar sat with his phone, posture straight but slightly hesitant. He was flanked by Mark Webber on one side and Amelia on the other, who sat cross-legged in the chair like she belonged there. She had a pen in one hand and a diagram of the MCL60 on the tablet in front of her.

Mark had just finished explaining the bones of the Oscar’s new contract. The training schedule, the brand commitments, the expectations.

Amelia took over from there, voice level and calm.

“So,” she said, clicking to the next schematic. “This is what you’ll be driving. Aero package is still in development, but the structure and balance are looking, uh… solid.” She tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. “Uh, they’re running new floor tech—wind tunnel modelling’s showing decent enough results. You’ll have the full-spec package from race one, according to your contract.”

Oscar blinked. Stared at her. “And you—you're part of the car build?”

Amelia winced. “No. Unfortunately not… I’m still in contract with Max until the end of the year, so I couldn’t be involved, but I—“ She bit her lip. “As soon as I’ve got a foot in the door, I’ll start fixing things. I promise.”

Mark leaned back in his chair, folding his arms with a satisfied look.

“And you'll be my race engineer too?” Oscar asked, referring to his contract.

“Yes,” she said. No hesitation.

Oscar’s eyes widened just a little. “So you’re going to be part of my team?”

“I will be,” Amelia said. “Officially joining in January. I’ll be on comms every session, responsible for balance calls and strategy during races, and I’ll be at the factory part-time for simulator and telemetry feedback.”

Oscar was silent for a beat.

Then he said, honestly, “That’s kind of a huge deal. You—you’re working with Max Verstappen, and you’re leaving him to work with me?”

“Yes,” she said.

Mark gave him a look. “She fought for this. For the role to be split the way it is. McLaren have never had anyone working a dual development/trackside post before.”

Oscar glanced between them. “Why now?”

Amelia tapped the side of her iPad. “Because I believe in building things I understand from the inside. And because I don’t like being told that engineers and drivers should be separated by a wall of PR and protocol. I want to be on the car, with the driver, for every phase. If I’m going to trust you at 300 kph, I need to understand exactly what you need to feel in your hands and spine to push.”

Oscar was very quiet for a moment. Then, “Max says that you’re the best.”

Amelia shrugged. “Max is biased.”

“Still,” Oscar said. “This is… a lot of trust. Thank you.”

She smiled, just faintly. “You’ll earn it.”

Mark slapped a hand on the desk and stood. “Well, I think that about covers it.”

Oscar stood too, and hesitated for half a second. Then extended a hand to Amelia. She looked at it, then pursed her lips. He slowly withdrew it, looking nervous.

“When you hug me, you have to use all of your strength. Don’t hold back, even if you think you might hurt me. You won’t.” She told him.

He blinked at her.

And then she was hugging him.

And after a beat, his arms wrapped around her, and God, did Oscar know how to hug.

He was all tight arms and a little lift off the ground that made her release an amused huff of breath.

“I’m glad it’s you,” he told her, once she was on her feet again.

“I’m glad you’re not intimidated by me,” she replied.

He laughed. “Oh, I definitely am.”

Amelia tipped her head. “That’s okay. You’ll get used to it.”

—

“You can’t just rinse it and call it clean,” Amelia said, arms crossed.

Lando, sitting on the counter and eating a banana, looked at her innocently. “But I didn’t eat off that plate. I was staging.”

“You were using it to butter toast!”

“That’s staging!”

“It’s unhygienic,” she snapped.

He slid off the counter, banana halfway to his mouth, and kissed her on the cheek with exaggerated loudness. “Sorry, my love. My life. My neurodivergent goddess. Would you like me to run a full sterilisation cycle in the dishwasher?”

“Yes,” she said.

He grinned. “Then your wish is my command.”

She didn’t smile—yet—but she wasn’t fuming anymore either. That was the thing about Lando. He never mocked her rules. He just… learned them. Played with them. Let them matter.

—

iMessage — 13:09pm

Lando (Husband)

Baby where do we keep the spare kitchen rolls

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

We ran out last week. I put them on the list

Lando (Husband)

What list?

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

The grocery list

Lando (Husband)

We have a grocery list?

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

Yes it’s on the fridge. Yellow paper

Lando (Husband)

Oh yh sry

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

It’s fine. I’ll bring some home.

Lando (Husband)

Hurry up and come home I miss you

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

I’m literally sat in a cafe five minutes away

Lando (Husband)

So what?????????? Can still miss you can’t I

Amelia (Wifey 4 lifey)

I’ll bring you home a cinnamon bun

Lando (Husband)

HELL YEAH

—

The paddock was a mess. Water dripped from every surface — from the canopies overhead, from the edges of the pit wall, from the soaked hems of jackets and team uniforms. Everything was grey, washed-out, blurred.

And yet.

Somewhere in the chaos, Max Verstappen had just won his second world title.

He just didn’t know it yet.

Amelia jogged through the Red Bull garage, rain still dripping from her ponytail, her boots squelching with every step. The broadcast had only just confirmed it — half points hadn’t been applied. The race had gone over 50% distance. Leclerc’s penalty stood. Max had enough of a gap. The title was his.

But nobody had told him.

She ducked past a stack of soaked tires and grabbed a spare headset from the wall. “Christian,” she said, voice clear through the comms, “Max doesn’t know.”

“I know,” Christian replied. “They’re about to tell him—”

“I’ll do it.”

A pause. Then, “Alright. Go. Quickly.”

The winner’s cool-down room was quiet when she reached it. Muted, like the sound had been turned down on the world. The white walls hummed under the fluorescent lights. Max stood at the far end, towelling off his face, talking to someone from the FIA with a skeptical look in his eyes.

“No, really,” he was saying. “What position is Charles in again?”

“Second,” the official said, unsure. “But—”

“Max,” Amelia called softly.

He turned. Hair damp, suit half unzipped, eyes sharp. “Hey. You okay? What’s going on?”

She walked toward him, slow, steady. “You did it.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You’re Champion.” She smiled — small, private, steady. “Again.”

There was a beat of silence, where the words hung suspended.

Max tilted his head. “No, that can’t be right. It’s half points. They didn’t—”

“No, it’s full points,” she said, and stepped closer, lifting the printout still in her hand. “They changed the rule after Spa. If the race isn’t red-flagged and restarted, full points count. And Leclerc got a penalty. You had the margin.”

He stared at her for a moment. Open-faced. Vulnerable in a way few people ever saw.

“Seriously?”

She grinned now, wide and warm. “Seriously. You’re World Champion.”

Max made a noise halfway between a laugh and a breath of disbelief. “That’s— That’s so stupid.”

“I know,” Amelia said, and let him wrap her into a soaked, giddy hug anyway. “But it’s real.”

He hugged her like a brother. Tight and unselfconscious. Just pure joy. “This is insane.”

“Yeah,” she said into his shoulder. “And you are too. Insane enough to win back to back championships.”

Someone from the FIA entered with a trophy. Max blinked at it, then back at Amelia. “I didn’t even do the math.”

“You didn’t have to,” she said. “I did it for you.”

Max smiled at her, eyes shining. “Thank you. For everything.”

She shrugged, like her efforts had been no big deal. “I’m proud of you, Maxie.”

—

The rain had finally stopped, but the ground was still wet, and the air smelled of gas, damp grass, and cold metal. Most of the paddock lights had been shut off. Only a few puddles of fluorescent glow spilled out from half-closed garage doors and hospitality units.

Amelia sat on a folding crate behind the McLaren motorhome, still in her Red Bull jacket, though she’d unzipped it halfway. Her hair was twisted into a bun, frizzing around the edges. Her boots were muddy. Her phone was face-down beside her.

She was tired; she’d emptied everything she had into the day, the season, Max.

Lando spotted her from the walkway and changed course without hesitation, two takeout cups in hand. He handed her one without a word, then sat beside her, knees bumping. “Mint tea,” he said.

Amelia blinked at him, then smiled. “Thank you.”

They sat in companionable silence for a few seconds, steam curling between them in the cool air. Somewhere nearby, someone was packing away crates. A radio buzzed. Then faded.

“She still smells like Red Bull,” Lando said, mock-accusing.

Amelia gave him a sideways look. “I’ll be in papaya soon enough.”

“I know,” he grinned. “We’ll match.”

Amelia laughed softly. Then she went quiet again, thumb tracing the seam of her cup. “I’m really glad I got to do this,” she said eventually.

“Today?” Lando asked.

“These past two years.” She paused. “With Max. With Red Bull.”

Lando didn’t interrupt.

She sipped her tea, slowly. “I spent a long time thinking I’d never fit. In motorsport. In paddocks. In team dynamics. I always needed systems. Predictability. People who got it. And then somehow, I walked into the most unpredictable environment on earth… and found a place.”

Lando glanced at her, soft-eyed. “And won two titles doing it.”

“That too,” she said, a small smirk playing at the corners of her mouth. “It’s a really good ending. Two championships, two years. Clean. Satisfying. Feels like closing a chapter exactly right.”

He nodded. “Feels like legacy.”

Amelia looked down at her hand, twisting her wedding ring absently, the metal still unfamiliar against her skin. “I don’t think I realised until today how proud I am of the work I’ve done with him. With the team.” She turned her head toward him, eyes soft. “But I’m ready to go home now.”

Lando bumped her knee with his. “You’re already home, baby.”

She didn’t say anything — just leaned her head against his shoulder, warm and safe in the silence. The rain held off. The night held steady.

She was going to miss it, when it was over. She’d miss Max and the rest of the crew.

But she wouldn’t want it any other way.

—

Going back to America felt strange.

She hadn’t lived there in years, not since childhood, but for some reason coming back felt different this year. Maybe because she was married now.

She caught herself counting syllables in conversations just to anchor herself. In the Red Bull garage, she switched between helping Max prep for quali and taking quiet photos of COTA’s chaos for her memory folder.

Everyone kept talking about next year. About the car Adrian was sketching out. About updates. About the title that was already in the bag. Amelia nodded along, took notes, logged data — but it felt like pressing flowers into a book she was about to close.

That night, back at the hotel, Lando lay across the bed in a robe, flipping through room service channels.

“You okay?” He asked, voice low.

She nodded, crawling into his lap. “I think I’m ready to be yours full-time.”

He blinked once, then smiled. “You always have been. Mine. In my head, at least.”

—

The altitude always got to her.

Her noise-cancelling ear defenders helped. So did the crew giving her a five-second warning before starting the engines. She didn’t say much all weekend, but Max didn’t need her to. He trusted her notes. Trusted the small nods she gave after each run. It was unspoken now — refined, like music.

During the team dinner, Christian toasted Max’s title, Checo’s podiums, and Amelia’s departure.

She bit he tongue and clinked a glass. Lando, seated just behind her, squeezed her thigh under the table.

Later, in the hotel, they argued for eleven minutes about whether or not pineapple belonged on pizza. She told him no — scientifically. He told her yes — spiritually.

They made up in the shower.

—

Sprint weekends were chaos, but Brazil was electric. Lando had been sick early in the week, and Amelia kept sneaking across the paddock with electrolytes and salt crackers in her jacket pocket.

“You’re like a little fairy wife,” he mumbled, holding a tissue to his nose.

“And you’re lucky I love you,” she shot back.

She stood in the McLaren pit for sprint quali, tucked between engineers, and saw how Oscar was already being factored into next year’s numbers. She liked that. Liked that she’d helped build this future. Liked that it didn’t have to be loud or obvious. Just… real.

Max won the sprint. George won the race. It was bittersweet, but she was tired, and it felt okay to let someone else take the spotlight for the first time in what felt like an entire season.

Back in the hotel room, Lando rested his head in her lap and mumbled, “What do you think about getting a dog?”

She carded her fingers through his curls. “I don’t want a dog.”

“A cat?”

Amelia smiled. “Maybe a goldfish.”

—

The Red Bull garage was tense, even with both championships sealed. Everyone wanted to finish the year on a high-note. No drama. No breakdowns. Just one more Sunday.

Amelia sat at her desk longer than usual, hands stilled over the keyboard. She didn’t want to pack up her workstation yet. Not this one.

Max came by quietly, nudged a coffee toward her elbow. “You okay?”

“I think so.”

He hesitated. “It’s going to be weird without you.”

She looked up. “I’ll still be around. Just… not so close.”

He frowned. “I’ll miss you, kleine zusje.”

They hugged and when he walked away, she blinked fast to clear the water in her eyes.

Race day passed in a blur of tyre temps and perfect comms. Red Bull locked out the podium. The champagne burned her eyes. She didn’t mind.

Back at the hotel, Lando wrapped her in a warm fluffy towel and whispered, “We made it out alive.”

Amelia nodded, resting her head against his shoulder. “Yeah. We did.”

NEXT CHAPTER

630 notes · View notes

motorsportbarbie13 · 4 months ago

Text

Post It - Part 7 - LN4

when lando stumbles upon a random tiktok of a pretty american influencer, he can't stop himself from sliding into her DMs. what happens next is more than both of them ever bargained for.

|| - Part 1 || - Part 2 || - Part 3 || - Part 4 || - Part 5 || - Part 6 || Master List

warnings & notes: lil bit of smut at the end. swearing. As always, thanks to @lestapiastrisgirl for the external validation, even if she does forget about me sometimes. 😁 pairing: lando norris x influencer!reader word count: 4.6k words

The blistering Miami heat beat down on the paddock early Friday morning, the humidity hanging in the air thick and heavy. It clung to everything like a damp blanket, even this early. Outside the air-conditioned haven of McLaren’s hospitably, the sun was already blazing hot overhead and you were regretting your choice of spots for breakfast.

You and Lando sit at a small shaded table just outside the doors of building, half eaten breakfast of fruit and whatever else your boyfriend had chosen sits scattered between you. The air buzzes with the low hum of generators and the distant roar of engines being prepped for the first and only practice session of the weekend. Lando sits across from you, a mix of nervous energy and focused calm radiating off of him as he scrolls through his phone, occasionally glancing up at you as if he’s checking to make sure you’re still there. The moment you two had been reunited yesterday, it had felt like a giant weight lifted right off his shoulders. He’d slept so well last night, better than he had in what felt like weeks, with you tucked up against him, limbs tangled together and his arms curled securely around your middle.

He felt focused as he sat watching the replay of the weekend warmup show from his phone, prepped after a win in Saudi Arabia and confident from his maiden win here last year. You were just happy to have today off to a better start compared to yesterday, despite the fact that the heavy humidity was already making your skin prickle in protest.

Just as a comfortable silence settles over the table, punctuated by the clink of cutlery and the distant shout of an engineer, Hannah breezes over, a whirlwind of energy. You hadn’t seen her for a few weeks either, as she had needed to go home to California for a bit but with the race being state-side this weekend, she was able to make it.

“If it isn’t my two favorite love birds.” Hannah teases as she pulls out a chair before plopping down beside you. “I heard you guys caused quite the PR nightmare yesterday.”

You scoff, looking pointedly at Lando. “Hey now, that wasn’t my fault!”

Lando rolls his eyes, dismissing Hannah’s teasing with a wave of his hand. “It’s fine. I made it up to her last night, didn’t I baby?”

The smug look on his face has Hannah choking on her water and you reaching over to swat at his arm while you shout, “Lando Norris!”

Lando holds his hands up in a show of mock innocence, “What? You’re going to look at me and tell me that I’m wrong.”

Brows raised, you have to admit can’t really argue with him. As soon as he had gotten you back to the hotel room late last night, your clothes had been on the floor and had remained there until Lando’s alarm had gone off early this morning. He had pulled you to the edge so many times over the course of the night, in both his bed and this morning in the shower as you were getting ready for the day that you were still deliciously sore as you sat next to him in the paddock.

“Okay, that’s enough from you two.” Hannah says, nose wrinkled in distaste. “Come on,” She stands before turning to you, hands on her hips. “Can we go find Alexandra? Ferrari always has the best iced coffee, better than anything Red Bull has.”

You laugh, leaning over to press a kiss to Lando’s mouth. “Yeah, I need some extra caffeine this morning, don’t I Lan?”

“Enough!” Hannah groans.

“You’re both traitors.” Lando mutters as he watches you take a few steps away. “McLaren’s coffee is just fine.”

“Oh stop. You know that is total lie.” You say, hands on your hips. “Ferrari has the best food in the paddock.”

Lando captures your waist in his arms, pulling you closer. If he was going to suffer the backlash from the comms team after his little slip up yesterday, he was certainly going to enjoy his new found freedom in being able to paw at you openly in public. “Fine, but don’t forget I need a good luck kiss before quali this afternoon.” He says, bottom lip poking out in a over exaggerated pout.

Hannah rolls her eyes, “You can have her back for lunch, Lando. I told you we’d share custody of her, didn’t I?”

“Fine, but make sure she’s back in time so I don’t have to send out the authorities to look for her. I don’t want to have to take you to court for modified visitation.”

“Okay! That’s enough with the divorced parents analogy, thank you!” You grab Hannah’s arm before the two can bicker over you even more. “Let’s go find some decent coffee before you two start drawing up a custody agreement.”

You and Hannah navigate the bustling paddock, weaving your way though the throngs of team personnel, media, and VIP guests. The air is thick with the smell of fuel and the hum of voices, loud and excited in anticipation of this weekend’s races. It doesn’t take long before you’re standing in front of Ferrari’s hospitality, a hive of activity surrounded by a sea of scarlet and yellow. After a few moments you spot Charles LeClerc’s girlfriend Alexandra sitting by herself at an outdoor table.

“There she is.” Hannah says, nudging you with her elbow. “Lets go say hi.”

You’d met Alexandra back in Japan and had instantly clicked with the brunette. You had a lot in common and had instantly bonded over your shared love of art and her dog Leo. You and Hannah approach, exchanging quick hugs and cheek kisses before quickly catching up on the latest gossip, most of which seemed to center around you lately. After catching up in the latest goings on and getting some of the coveted iced coffee you were craving, Hannah suggests a walk to stretch your legs before the first practice session.

“Let’s see if we can find some shade.” Alex suggests, gesturing towards a less crowded area of the paddock. “I’m already melting, this humidity is so gross.”

As the three of you stroll along, the noise of the garages fading into a dull roar, you find yourselves walking down a less frequented path towards the back corner of the paddock. The air is still thick with heat, but a slight breeze offers you a small reprieve and you start to feel your body adjust to the heat.

Suddenly, Hannah stops in her tracks, mouth dropping open when she spots a familiar figure standing a few feet ahead of your group. You follow her line of sight and when you see who she’s starting at your stomach flips very unpleasantly.

Allegra.

“What the fuck is she doing here?” You hiss, heart hammering so hard against your ribcage, you’re surprised you don’t bruise something.

“You don’t think Lando…” Alexandra lets the sentence hang in the air but you’re shaking your head before her thought is even completed.

“No, he showed me the messages between him and her weeks ago. There was never anything going on.”

“Well don’t look now but she’s coming over here.” Hannah warns, sliding her sunglasses up into her hair so she can fully glare at the blonde walking towards you with a smug grin on her face.

You thought it would probably not be a good look if you punched her, but you considered it anyways. As she approached you felt a pang of insecurity rush through you just looking at her long blond hair, wondering how she kept it looking so perfect in the Miami humidity. She was thinner than you, perfectly tanned and was flashing you a blindingly white smile that reminded you of a shark circling it’s prey.

“Well well,” Her voice is light and airy, the perfect innocent tone that would lull anyone into a false sense of security. “If it isn’t my replacement.”

Beside you, Alex huffs and you can practically hear her roll her eyes.

“Replacement?” You tilt your head to the side, studying her as if she’s a strange creature that’s crossed your path. You’ve dealt with mean girls before and have this act down pretty good, even if you have to fake it with the way your heart rate has jumped sky high since you saw her. “Honey, there was nothing to replace. You and Lando were never anything other than a desperate attempt to drum up some positive PR for the both of you, nothing more.”

To your surprise, Allegra smirks like a cat with a mouse in its jaws. “Then why did he invite me to Saudi Arabia a few weeks ago?”

You blink, caught off guard at her question. You’d heard through the grapevine that she had been spotted skulking around the circuit and in the city but nothing had surfaced proving that she had been at the race. Had Lando invited her? Your previous confidence in his sincerity waned for just a brief moment as you thought back to yesterday and how you felt like something had been off. Had you trusted Lando too quickly?

And then Alex spoke up.

“That’s a bunch of bullshit and you know it, Allie.” Allegra’s eyes flare in anger at the nickname you knew she reserved for Lando alone. “I was at the race all weekend and I didn’t see you at all. Not a single hint of that cheap perfume you’re wearing, and let me tell you, I can smell that shit from a mile away.”

You blink in surprise at your friend. If there was one thing Alex was, it was quiet. Once you got her alone, she was downright chatty but out in the paddock with the public? She was quite reserved.

“Just because you didn’t see me doesn’t mean I wasn’t in his hotel room all weekend.”

Now it was your turn to laugh, the doubt that had been clutching at your heart for the last few moments dissipating as quickly as it had come. “I was on FaceTime with him pretty much any time he was in his room, Allie.”

“It’s Allegra.” She hisses.

“What are you even doing here?” Hannah asks, taking a sip of her coffee before flicking her gaze away from the blonde as if she was bored out of her mind. “Did you not see Lando’s interview with Crofty yesterday? Their posts right after?”

“I know a PR relationship when I see one.” She sniffs but you can tell you’ve unnerved her. Allegra hadn’t totally thought this through. Either that or she was just dumb enough to think that she could have the upper hand here still.

“Of course you do!” You laugh, swirling the ice around in your coffee. “You spent the last year pretending to date someone who barely tolerated you.”

As Allegra sputters, searching for a response, your phone begins to ring. “Hi baby.” You say, glaring directly at woman opposite you who has turned bright red in the last few moments. “Yeah, of course, we’ll be right there. We’re just finishing up with a fan. Of course I’ll say hi for you. See you soon!”

You swear you see steam coming out of Allegra’s ears as you glance over at Hannah and Alex next to you. “Lando got out of his engineering meeting early and apparently feels the need for a pre-practice kiss.” You turn back to Allegra, smirk on your face. “Athletes and their superstitions, am I right?”

Before Allegra has a chance to respond, you spin on your heel and walk away, leaving her standing in a deserted part of the paddock alone.

When you’re out of earshot of her, Hannah speaks up, her voice wary. “Should we tell Lando she’s here? Maybe McLaren PR? I don’t think that’s going to be the last time we hear from her this weekend.”

You shake your head, “Not right now. Lando doesn’t need any distractions. He was pretty anxious this morning about the sprint and I don’t want anything to take his focus away from that. I’ll tell him tonight.”

The darkened hotel room was a stark contrast to the frantic energy of the Miami paddock that you had spent your day in. The air conditioning hummed softly, a cool, artificial breeze that did little to dissipate the residual heat that was clinging tightly to your skin. Outside, the city throbbed with the sounds of Miami on a Friday night. It felt as though everyone was out enjoying everything that the city had to offer, but in the hotel room that you shared with Lando? The suffocating silence that hung in the air was almost too much to handle.

Sprint qualifying had been a complete disaster, a series of unfortunate events that included a deleted push lap in SQ3 and getting stuck in dirty air behind George on his second attempt. The difficulties had resulted in a disappointing P7 start for tomorrow, further advancing Lando’s distaste for sprint weekends. He’d carried that frustration back to the hotel, the tension radiating off of him in palpable waves as he laid on the bed in just his boxers. Even with you wrapped around him, his normal playful demeanor was replaced by a dark, brooding intensity.

You weren’t feeling much better though, to be honest. Seeing Allegra earlier in the day had really spooked you. Lando hadn’t made any indication that he knew she was here this weekend and you still fully believed that he hadn’t invited her to the Saudi race but there was something so unsettling about her presence here. Like she had expected to be welcomed back into Lando’s orbit with open arms. Like you didn’t even exist to her. It felt disrespectful and unnerving to have her in town, even if you felt secure in your relationship with your boyfriend.

The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable, broken only by the soft rusty of the sheets as you tracked idle patterns on Lando’s skin with your fingertips. Your boyfriend’s love language was touch and even if he was silent and broody now, you knew that having you here, legs tangled with his, fingers running up and down his tanned skin, was good for his mood. The warmth radiating off of his body felt charged though, almost volatile and you knew Lando was busy battling his own demons, replaying the day’s events over and over in his head, trying to figure out where he went wrong and how he could blame himself even further.

You also knew you had to tell him about what happened earlier. If he found out from anyone other than you, it would be a disaster. The unspoken tension in the room was becoming unbearable but you knew you needed to tell him, no matter how bad his reaction was.

Finally, you decide to break the silence.

“I need to tell you something and I don’t think you’re going to take it very well.” You murmur, shifting so you’re on your side, propped up by your elbow.

Lando turns to you then, eyes dark and stormy. This was shit timing and you both knew it but you had to get it out in the open. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

The thought of another shitty thing happening today nearly sends Lando into a tailspin. The way you were talking had him thinking worst case scenario. With the way this weekend was going, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it was you had to tell him.

“Allegra is here.” You say, the words hanging in the air like a fragile confession, the weight of them settling between you two.

Lando’s body stiffens ever so slightly but you notice it immediately, the sudden surge of tension rolling through his body telling you everything you need to know. He turns his head to meet your gaze and you’re struck by how dark and guarded his eyes are. Your normally goofy, playful boyfriend is nowhere to be seen. Unable to resist, you lift your hand to card your fingers through his still shower-damp curls, a move you know calms him and soothes out the rough edges of his anxiety.

“What? How do you know?” He asks, his voice so low you almost miss the question.

“When Hannah and I went to Ferrari this afternoon we ran into her in the paddock.”

“Babe, why didn’t you tell me earlier?” He asks, frustration sneaking its way into his voice.

Biting your lip, you second guess your decision to keep this from him until now. Knowing how shit qualifying had been though, it only takes a moment before you’re firm in your belief that you did the right thing. “I didn’t want you to be distracted. I know how are when you get inside your head and I didn’t want her to ruin this weekend for you.”

Which is exactly what was happening.

Lando turns away from you then, limbs untangling from yours. Your skin is instantly chilled after losing his body heat and you have to restrain yourself from moving to follow him across the bed. Lando may be a pretty physical person but you knew how to read his body language well enough to know exactly what he was feeling. Everything that he was communicating to you with the way his shoulders were set, his jaw tight, eyes unfocused on the dark ceiling above him told you that he needed space.

“Fuck.” He whispers, scrubbing his hands over his face, the slight stubble starting to make its way back on his face after not shaving this morning.

“Don’t be mad at me.” You plead, unable to keep the anxiety out of your tone.

Lando rolls back over towards you, eyes soft with regret. “I’m not mad.” He assures you, reaching out to pull you closer to him. You practically sigh in relief when he slots his thigh between your legs, hitching your top leg over his hip. He drags a finger down your jaw as he pastes a smile on his face, one that you know is for your benefit only. You can still see the pain and regret in his eyes as he holds your gaze and you know he’s thinking about how Allegra nearly ruined everything that he had with you.

“I’m not mad at you.” He repeats himself, more for your benefit than his own. “I know why you did it and I appreciate it. I’m just so fucking frustrated that she’s here. It’s just another reminder of…everything that I’d rather put solidly in the past.” He pulls you closer, nose nuzzling into the crook of your neck where he mouths at the skin there. “I don’t like thinking about how close I was to losing you.”

Dragging a single finger up and down the toned line of his bicep, you can’t help the smile that finds its way onto your lips when Lando visible shudders at your touch. “But you didn’t in the end and that’s what matters the most, isn’t it?” You murmur, lips finding his in the dim room. Pressing your hips into his, you try to remind him that you’re real, you’re here and you’re not going anywhere. You couldn’t bare to lose him any more than Lando could bare to lose you.

“It’s just such a mess. A mess I know you don’t want to be brought into. You’ve worked so hard for the reputation you have and here I come, threatening everything you’ve built because I allowed myself to get talked into a fake relationship with a woman I can’t stand.”

You pull back to Lando’s forced to look at you fully. The anguish you see on his face sends a sharp shock of pain cutting across your chest so brightly it steals the breath from your lungs. “I want you to listen to me, okay?” You wait, staring pointedly at Lando until he nods his head in agreement. “She can come and try to ruin what I’ve built, what we’ve built together these last few months but she’s not going to succeed. You have proof of what she was to you and that was nothing more than a PR thing. Sure, it might be embarrassing for that shit to get made public but we’ll get through it.” You pause to lean forward, pressing your lips to his. “Together.” You murmur against Lando’s mouth.

Lando pulls you closer to him, deepening the kiss but its you that runs your tongue along the seam of his mouth, a silent ask for him to open for you, which he does immediately. The warmth that floods your blood has you rolling your hips into his, desperate for more friction. You know Lando is in a mood and you’d do anything to smooth out the rough edges of his troubled mind.

“Please don’t give her one more thought tonight, okay? We’ll figure this out but right now, I want to make sure you feel better. Can I do that? Can I make you feel good?” You murmur against his heated skin as you drag your mouth away from his lips, down his jaw, towards the thick column of his neck.

You take the moan that rumbles through Lando’s chest as permission to do exactly what you’ve just asked. Usually it’s him taking charge when you two are together like this but tonight there’s something different crackling in the air. You can tell he needs to be taken care of, the combined stress of a tough day and then Allegra’s appearance in the paddock is weight heavy on his shoulders. With a gentle push of his shoulders, you roll your boyfriend onto his back before dragging a heated line down his neck towards the hollow of his throat.

Lando tangles his fingers in your hair, gently guiding you further down his body. You work slowly, teasing and nipping your way down his chest, stopping briefly to flick your tongue across one nipple. When he gasps at the way your teeth graze the sensitive skin there, you can’t help the grin that finds its way onto your face.

“Fuck, baby.” Lando breathes as you continue to move your mouth further down his body. The way you feel against his heated skin has the tension melting out of his muscles so quickly he barely has time to wrap his mind around how quickly the energy shifted between you. The way you always wanted to make sure he was taken care of, that he was okay, was something he’d never experienced before and he was certain that he’d do anything to make sure you never doubted his feelings for you ever again.

You reached the waistband of his boxers, the soft fabric a stark contrast to the heat radiating from his skin. With a slow, deliberate movement, you pushed them down, revealing how hard Lando already was for you. His breath hitched, a low groan escaping his lips as he lifted his hips slightly, a silent plea for you take him in the way he desperately needed you to.

Your hands graze the thick corded muscles of his thighs as you finally take him in your mouth, the taste of him, salty and musky and familiar to you now, filling your senses. You moved slowly at first, teasing the sensitive tip with your tongue, eliciting a series of soft moans from deep within his chest. You ran your tongue up along the underside of his length, tracing the vein that runs up the underside of his cock.

“God, that mouth.” Lando moans as he gathers your hair together in a makeshift ponytail to give him something tug on. He knows how much you like that, when he guides you to the places that give him the most pleasure with a rough tug of your hair. It has you squeezing your thighs together, which you barely ignore, wanting to remain solely focused on Lando and his pleasure tonight.

You begin to move with more urgency, your hand gripping at his thigh, eyes flicking up to look at him through wet lashes. Lando’s moans grow louder, his free hand reaching down to twine his fingers with your hand, giving it a squeeze to let you know how much he’s enjoying this. He’s lost in the sensation of being surrounded by your wet, warm mouth, the tension that had gripped him all day finally melting away. The way you took all of him without hesitation, whimpering when his hips force his dick deeper towards the back of your throat grounds him, reminding him that he’s got someone to share the good and the bad now, that he’s not alone and you’re in this thing together.

The way he reacts to the way you take him has heat pulsing between your legs. Unable to keep your fingers to yourself anymore, you let go of Lando’s hand before trailing your fingers down between your legs. It’s not enough to really distract you, but the pressure from your fingers against your clit is enough to dull the aching need that you know you’re going to need to deal with later.

Lando bucks his hips against your mouth, his moans turning to ragged gasps as you take him even deeper. The way you swallow against him has a desperate whine spilling from his lips in a way that sends zaps of electricity straight to where your fingers are currently working over your wet pussy. He was so close, you could feel it in the way his thighs were tensing beneath the hand that gripped at his taut flesh.

“Gonna swallow all my cum baby? I’m so fucking close. I want you to swallow every drop of me, can you do that for me?”

You’re too preoccupied to give him a proper answer, not wanting to let go of the heavy length of him that sits so solidly in your mouth so you just nod, hoping that its enough for him. It’s so grounding, so erotic the way you feel him twitching away in your mouth that you’re pretty sure you could spent the rest of the night with him in your mouth like this.

And then he’s there, right on the edge of release and you’re flicking your tongue against the sensitive head of his cock and with one last guttural moan, Lando spills into your mouth. The warm, salty cum slides down your throat as you hold him steady, allowing him to fuck up into your mouth as he crests over the waves of pleasure that you brought him to.

Lando’s eyes, still glazed over with pleasure, find yours as he reaches out to trace the curve of your cheek, his touch gentle, almost reverent. “Holy fuck, baby. Thank you” He croaks out, voice raspy as the exhaustion of the day settles over him. He’s soft and pliant like this and you continue to hold him in your mouth, waiting until he’s fully come down to release him with a soft pop.

He pulls you up his body, his lips finally finding yours in a slow, tender kiss that says more than he could ever find the words. His mouth works yours over, the taste of his own release still on your lips. “You’re too good to me.” He murmurs against your lips as he tucks you against his side. “Give me a few minutes and I’ll repay the favor, okay?”

You hum, eyes drifting shut as the warmth of Lando’s body sinks deeper into your muscles. “It’s okay, this is enough for me right now. Go to sleep for a bit and we can take a shower later tonight, okay?”

“What did I do to deserve you?” Lando wonders before his eyes flutter shut and he allows a deliciously satisfying sleep to pull him under.

tag list: @shelbyteller, @martygraciesversion381, @samantha-chicago, @stelena-klayley @dark-night-sky-99 @luckylampzonkland, @aykxz98 @forensicheart @cheer-bear-go-vroom @lieutenantchaos @willowsnook @linnygirl09 @meglouise00 @mixedstyles @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies @mrosales16 @charlesgirl16 @leclercdream @daemyratwst @dramaticpiratellamas @mochimommy2002 @llando4norris @iamaunknownsecret @maxivstappen @imlonelydontsendhelp @nina-or-anna-or-nora @a1leexxa @littlegrapejuice @sunflowervol18 @freyathehuntress @finn-dot-com @swiftie-4-lifes-stuff @chirasama @lauralarsen @dr3wstarkey @saskiaalonso @rbv3rstappen @ilovechickenwings @guaaafiiburg @mcmuppet @mindless-rock @piastri-fvx @mel164 @schumi-angel @myescapefromthislife @supertrashbread @sunny44 @tinystudentblaze-stuff @sarx164 @xoxomansee

387 notes · View notes

bunny-jpeg · 6 months ago

Text

heart-pounding satisfaction

max verstappen

tags: smut/pwp, teammates au, driver!reader, mean!reader, (implied) sub!max, reader is a bitch (affectionate), mean & degrading language (also dirty talk), face sitting/masturbation

a/n: i can imagine fans hating the reader for being so vocal, especially towards max, but in the world of formula one, it's do or die. i need these fuckers to get nasty!! this fic is also nasty as hell, don't look at me....

max had fucking lost it. he was convinced he had lost it. you two had been teammates for close to six months now. three months of off season, three months of the twenty-twenty-five season. and you drove him up the wall.

this was a teammate up in the making, red bull's savior, their prince and the princess plucked from haas and placed in a car next to him. it should all be roses, singing birds and happily ever after.

but you couldn't be more disinterested him. almost hostile. as you said to the press, "i am here to win. i respect max's previous teammates, but i won't fumble because someone needs a fifth title." not even glancing over at your teammate.

after that, other women felt boring. any city on the globe, he could easily find a lovely lady for the evening. someone to spoil with orgasms and a rocking bed, a tale for her to tell her friends the following afternoon. but lately it had felt like the only thing that got him excited was you. when you were mean.

it had been a long time since someone was mean to him. aside from comments online or snide comments from other drivers. everyone knew he was in charge, and his teammate should be second on command. but you had zero interest in that. he hadn't complained, and instead played along with the niceties of teamsmanship. he only did it because he didn't want it to stop.

he liked it, he liked it a lot.

and while max was in a self inflicted dry spell. you were taking a liking to the new found fame you've acquired. max had gone to get you from the hotel room a few times and every time a man had sheepishly left your hotel room.

"sorry, mate." they'd often say. that or, "holy shit, it's max verstappen." and only scurry off when max glared at them. willing to give these guys some action, but not your teammate? cruel woman.

regardless, he let your words tumble off your tongue. venom that turned into honey in his brain. the more you spoke, the more he wanted to jerk off. you had ruined him without a second touch.

as you lazily held the trophy for the canadian grand prix in your hand on the way back to the hotel in montreal. you leaned up against the wall of the elevator and laughed, "fourth, verstappen." your tone mocking, "i'm pretty sure if you were less of a bastard on the second turn you could've given stroll the podium he wants. he could've over taken piastri... you could've as well, but you've become comfortable."

max swallowed and the elevator door opened. he didn't exit until you did first. you reached around him and pulled him close to you. you looked marginally up at him and he said, "i...i'll win next time." he could already feel the red in his face.

you laughed, "sure, sure, verstappen. why, is daddy coming to visit?" you gave him a mocking look. you acted like you weren't heavily scarred with your own daddy issues. you at least had the option to never mention the man who pushed you until you broke through any barriers to get into f1.

he hated that he was getting aroused. that he could feel the spike in his soul as his heart skipped a beat. it could be cute if another woman was mean to him. but when you did it, it blew a fuse in his mind.

you laughed and looked at him, "you gotta get over it one day, max. if you don't that fucking bastard is going to outlive you." there was a moment of honesty, "if i want to beat you, i'd like you alive." then squeezed him for a moment more.

he swallowed then asked, "do you hate me that much?"

you pulled away and stalled in your step for a moment, you collected yourself quickly and said, "no... as much as you'd love to hear it. i don't hate you." you looked at him briefly, "you love being the villain. the lion, mad max, whatever else they call you. i'm just giving them the drama they want." you looked at the trophy, "beating you is just half the fun." you went to open the door to your room and max pressed himself up against you which made you drop the trophy and get squished between his solid body and the harder door.

"be mean to me. fuck... be fucking nasty with it." the words poured from his mouth, "just, be brutal." he swallowed, "but please, just give me a taste of you. i hate those bastards that get to fuck you every weekend. get to feel and taste you." he pressed you further, "give me a hard time and let me have my way with you."

you exhaled deeply and felt a quickening of you heart rate. you were quick to respond, "well then, verstrappen. why don't you make yourself useful and help me get my key out."

you could already hear the cheering in max's head as he helped you open the door. that you only assumed grew louder when you two started kissing. your arms wrapped around him as you got into the room backwards, your trophy left behind in the hallway. almost tripped over your shoes, but clothes were of little issue once max got your red bull branded t-shirt of you.

clothes tossed variously throughout the room before you two ended up in bed together. you rank your fingers down his chest and exhaled deeply. "you're a pain in my side, max. from the moment i met you. you were always the golden boy, the champion. god's gift to racing." you pinned him down on the bed and he shuddered.

"k..keep going." the heat was high in his face. he could feel the stagger of his heartbeat. it felt good. your words sounded like heaven, but yet it sank him down to the pits of hell.

"oh my god, you're pathetic! do you hear yourself, max? four championships and you're still chasing a prize that you'll never get." you straddled his chest and put your hands on his jaw. you looked down to stare in his eyes, "but yet you live in my head rent-free."

he exhaled, "imagine what you do to me." grabbed your hips and pushed your cunt over his mouth and nose. he gripped your ass and pressed your sex against his face and groaned loudly.

you had to brace yourself with your hands so you didn't go nose-first into the wall. his pace was brutal on you, his licks were sloppy. he was messy with his movements in a desperate attempt to bring you pleasure.

he was less like a lion and more like a desperate dog. you moaned loudly and held your position against the wall as he desperately ate you out. like a man starved.

you really had burrowed into his brain and invade every empty space in his skull until his thoughts were swamped with you.

"jerk yourself off, you useless idiot." you spat, "you're so used to girls getting you off. if you want to get off, you actually have to work for it. can you do that? actually work hard for something." you clenched your thighs around his head.

max kept one hand on your hip and the other around his leaky, achy cock. he groaned as he pleasure himself. it was hot, to see a sort of moral collapse on a four time world champion. that even a man with power, could be reduced to a moaning slut. you wondered how wet you could get lips.

if your wetness could stain his mouth as he made pleasure shoot through your body. you held onto the wall with one hand and a his short blond hair with the other. you shuddered and felt your nipples grow hard, "this feels fucking wrong." you yanked on his hair which only made him jerk himself off faster, "you have driven me crazy. everything you fucking hard, most would kill for. i at least want to give you a run for your money. actually make the wins feel real, because when i take over. when i beat you, it'll only make the victory sweeter." you arched your back a little more and moaned loudly.

the movements only continued and you felt the pleasure course up your body. the heat in your breathing as you closed your eyes for a moment to compose yourself. you croaked out through an intense feeling of pleasure, "fuck, max. i didn't know honestly that you got off to it." you panted heavily, "if i knew, i would've been nicer. but knowing your perverted ass, you would've gotten off to it. you would've loved if i was gentle and mean to you. a firm yet cuddly hand." you let out a sharp exhale and a small moan.

max would easily admit that any attention from you would go right to his cock. he continued to tease the blunt head as he orally pleasured you. the feeling of your thighs on his face and head. your pussy right up to his mouth and nose. he could feel the lack of oxygen, but it only increased the pleasure in his body. he felt like a live wire, he felt like a hurricane. it was an intense feeling that pounded in his chest. it left him sexually starving, a lion without a feast as he devoured you. and the way you tugged on his hair only drove him more mad.

"you love being used like that. hoping that i'll give you praise one day. but you're just a stupid, stupid boy. a toothless lion, a failure to your country. and your fucking family. you're a failure to me and that stupid trophy we left outside was evidence of that. do better, be better and maybe you'll be someone worth being on the same track at me." your words laced with venom, but held heavy sexual want as the pleasure continued to course through your body. your chest heaved and your pulse pounded. it felt hot, you felt hot. it was erotic in a way that would make most disgusted.

how dare the world champion be used like for your sexual gratification. while he pathetically jerked himself off. you allowed him to breathe out of his nose and his pants were heavily as air allowed blood to be pumped to somewhere other than his cock.

you hissed through a tense jaw as he continued to orally pleasure you, "you deserve to be some low-level job. get off the track and make yourself useful by picking trash off the stands." it only made him jerk his cock off harder. you panted heavily as the words tumbled out as pleasure near hit its peak, "get out of my way, i refuse to be second fiddle to you. i refuse to be in your shadow." you clenched your thighs around him tighter, "i am better than you, max verstappen." your voice toxic.

but yet, it made max cum all over himself. he groaned loudly and panted against your cunt as he continued to stroke himself to overstimulation while he continued to lap at your cunt hungrily. max had lost it, he had officially lost it.

it was the most erotic thing that he had ever been a part of. and years and years of a life like this had made him experience many interesting things. this topped everything. you groaned once more and felt the pleasure curl up inside of you.

it was becoming too much, with one more slew on words, "you cum to me calling you weak.. huh? interesting. i guess the great max verstappen is weak just like every other man. why call you a god of racing when i can make you whine and beg like a dog." you coursed under your breath. and then you came. you admitted to yourself, it was the closest to heaven you had ever be. damn max verstappen, damn him. you slowed your pace down and got fully off of his face before you got into bed.

he wiped his face with his hand and tried to go in for a kiss, but you put a hand over his mouth. you looked at him dead in the eyes. he looked at you quizzically.

"oh, you're not shutting me up until i can make you squirm with my words, verstappen. now get yourself hard again, i'm not done with you." <3

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padmesweetheart · 3 months ago

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My Little Menace

Pairing: Hayden Christensen x Younger!Wife!Reader

Genre: Fluff, Light Angst, Humor, Protective Husband Mode

I enjoy feedback so here

It was supposed to be a quiet morning.

The sun was shining. Birds were chirping. Hayden was in full “wholesome husband” mode. he’d just finished feeding the animals, whistling happily on his way back inside the house, ready to start breakfast for you.

And then he found you.

Standing barefoot in the driveway.

Wearing one of his old T-shirts that nearly swallowed you whole, messy bed hair still everywhere, casually puffing a cigarette between two fingers while clutching a 12 oz Red Bull like your life depended on it.

You didn’t even see him at first. You were too busy, letting out a deep sigh like a stressed Wall Street broker in a 90’s movie, taking another drag, then another desperate sip of your beloved energy drink.

Hayden froze in the doorway, blinking. Once. Twice. Just staring.

The cigarette.

The Red Bull.

The utter dead-eyed exhaustion on your face.

He had to physically put a hand on the doorframe to steady himself.

“Baby,” he finally said, voice a little hoarse. “What… what am I looking at right now?”

You turned like a raccoon caught in the trash. “I’m fine!”

He slowly approached, like you were a wild animal that might bolt at any sudden movement. “Are you smoking?” he asked, even though he could see it right there, between your fingers.

You gave a sheepish little shrug. “It’s just a stress smoke.”

He stared harder. “And a Red Bull?”

Another shrug. “Just a little pick-me-up.”

Hayden looked at the can. The giant 12oz can. Then back at the cigarette.

Then back at your sleepy, guilty face.

“Baby…” He dragged a hand down his face in pure disbelief. “You’re out here committing war crimes against your own body.”

You blew a little smoke toward the sky and grinned. “It’s fine! It’s just a—”

“No,” he cut you off, reaching forward and plucking the cigarette out of your fingers with two fingers like he was disarming a grenade. “Absolutely not.”

“Hey!” you protested weakly, but he was already putting it out in a nearby flower pot.

He turned back around, pointing at the Red Bull. “And that,” he said firmly, “is not breakfast.”

You clutched the can protectively to your chest. “It’s… it’s hydration?”

He gave you a look so disappointed and pained it would’ve made a lesser woman weep. “Baby, no. That’s… that’s poison.”

You laughed, leaning your head against his chest when he stepped closer, still holding the Red Bull hostage.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you murmured. “It was a long night. I needed something.”

He softened immediately, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you tightly into his chest. His hand cradled the back of your head.

“You could’ve just woke me up, sweetheart,” he murmured against your hair. “You don’t have to run on fumes and battery acid.”

You closed your eyes, breathing him in. He smelled like fresh hay and clean soap, like every good thing in the world.

“I didn’t wanna bother you,” you mumbled.

“You are my bother,” he said immediately, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “You’re my problem. You’re my whole world. You could wake me up at two a.m. to tell me you wanted a cookie and I’d drive two hours to get it.”

You giggled into his shirt.

He pulled back just slightly to look down at you, brushing hair off your forehead tenderly. “No more smoking, alright? It scares me. And no more replacing your blood with Red Bull.”

You smiled shyly. “Okay.”

“Promise?”

You nodded, and he gave you a soft, relieved grin, kissing your forehead again.

“C’mon,” he said, finally stepping back and reaching for your hand. “Let’s get some real breakfast in you.”

As he led you back inside, he muttered under his breath, “Gonna replace your Red Bull with green juice if it kills me…”

You smirked behind him.

Little did he know, there was a secret stash of Red Bull hidden behind the flour in the pantry.

You weren’t going down that easy.

——-

It had been a few days since Hayden’s emotional “no more Red Bull” speech on the driveway.

You’d nodded, kissed his chest sweetly, given him the softest eyes imaginable — and then, like any self-respecting menace, you’d gone straight inside and hid your remaining stash behind the giant bag of flour in the pantry.

You thought you were clever.

You thought you were safe.

You thought wrong.

It all went downhill the following Saturday when Hayden, in his endless pursuit of husbandly excellence, decided to make homemade pancakes.

You were still half asleep, cocooned in blankets on the couch when you heard him rummaging around in the kitchen, humming quietly to himself. A domestic king. A man on a mission.

And then

A sudden, chilling silence.

A silence that felt dangerous.

You cracked open an eye just in time to see him emerge from the pantry holding a Red Bull can aloft like a biblical artifact, face shocked, betrayed, and heartbroken.

“Explain.”

The can crinkled slightly in his death grip.

You sat up straighter, panicking. “That’s… uh… that’s old! Vintage!”

He walked forward slowly, deadly calm. “There are fourteen more cans behind the flour.”

You winced. “They’re collector’s items?”

“Collector’s items,” he repeated, deadpan. “Behind the flour.”

You nodded solemnly. “It’s a… hobby.”

He cracked open the pantry wider and pulled out the entire stash — an alarming collection of various Red Bull sizes, from tiny shots to full 12oz beasts. It looked like you were running an underground black market.

Hayden turned back to you, betrayal etched deep into his beautiful face.

“You lied to me,” he said dramatically, pressing a hand to his heart like a wounded Victorian wife.

“I didn’t lie lie!” you protested. “I just… omitted.”

“Omitted?” His voice cracked. “You’re hoarding illegal substances! In my house!”

You giggled into your hands. “It’s not drugs, it’s caffeine.”

He pointed at the cans again, looking like he was going to cry. “You said you quit! You promised!”

You gave him your best puppy-dog eyes. “It’s not like I’m drinking them all at once…”

Hayden dropped to his knees on the kitchen floor, cradling two cans to his chest like fallen soldiers.

“My sweet baby angel wife,” he groaned to the ceiling. “Addicted to rocket fuel and lies.”

You couldn’t help it. You slid off the couch and crawled over to him dramatically, wrapping your arms around his shoulders from behind.

“I’m sorryyyyy,” you whined into his neck.

He sighed heavily but leaned into you. “You’re gonna give yourself a heart attack before you’re thirty.”

“I’ll slow down, I swear.”

“You said that last time. And the time before that.” He turned slightly to eye you with a raised brow. “You’re like a junkie. A Red Bull junkie.”

You pouted against his shoulder. “Don’t you still love me?”

He snorted, finally smiling despite himself, and turned to press a kiss to your temple.

“Of course I love you, menace,” he said quietly. “But if you don’t cut back, I’m gonna replace all of these with green smoothies. And broccoli snacks.”

You shuddered dramatically. “You’re evil.”

He grinned, setting the Red Bull cans down carefully, like defusing a bomb. Then he stood and offered you his hand to pull you up from the floor.

“We’ll negotiate,” he said magnanimously, like he was giving you a presidential pardon. “One Red Bull a day.”

Your mouth dropped open. “ONE?!”

He smirked. “Final offer. Take it or leave it.”

You grumbled under your breath, but took his hand anyway, letting him pull you up into his chest.

“One,” you mumbled.

“Good girl,” he teased, nuzzling your nose affectionately. “My heart can’t take watching you chain-smoke Red Bull like a divorced Vegas magician.”

You laughed against him, squeezing him tight.

And as he held you there messy hair, sleepy-eyed, and still half clinging to your caffeine addiction he kissed your forehead and whispered,

“My little menace. You’re stuck with me now. Red Bull and all.”

#hayden christensen #hayden christensen imagines #hayden christensen drabble #hayden christensen x reader

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rafessecret · 2 months ago

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⋆˚࿔ sweetheart¡ reader && cowboy¡rafe cameron

GONNA RIDE ME STUPID.

The tequila burnt sweet and reckless down your throat, liquid courage in a glass. You shouldn’t have done it, but you were feeling bold—giddy and light, high on the way Rafe had been watching you all night, his sharp blue eyes trailing up and down your body like he already had you spread out for him. Maybe you just wanted to push him, test the waters, and make him squirm a little.

So, you climbed onto the mechanical bull.

The whole damn bar seemed to shift its focus to you, whistles cutting through the hazy din of country music and beer-soaked laughter. Your little skirt did nothing to protect your modesty when you swung your leg over, the fabric riding high, giving every cowboy in the place a front-row seat to the curve of your thighs. The cheers grew louder when you gripped the saddle horn tight, hips rolling smooth and easy to keep your balance, working the machine like you were born for it.

But none of those men mattered. Not a single one.

Because the only reaction you cared about sat stiff in his chair, beer gripped tight, jaw clenched so hard you swore you could hear his teeth grind over the music. Rafe’s friends whistled and hollered, slapping him on the back like they were in on the joke, but he wasn’t laughing. His gaze burnt into you, something molten and lethal brewing beneath the surface, a silent promise that you weren’t getting away with this.

You looked obscene. All flushed cheeks and wide, glittering eyes, breath coming in little pants as your body bounced with each vicious jolt of the bull. Your tiny skirt was useless, flipping up with every sharp buck, teasing everyone with the soft, tempting flash of your thighs. Your tits? Fuck, they moved with every rough jerk, straining against your little top, the fabric riding higher, threatening to give the whole damn bar a show. And your face—God, your face—lit with breathless, giddy laughter, lips parted just enough to make a man lose his mind. It was filthy and sweet all at once, a perfect contradiction, and Rafe felt like he might combust just watching. His fingers curled around his beer, grip tightening with every second you lasted, every bounce, every roll of your hips that made it look like you were riding something else entirely. He swore under his breath, muscles coiled so tight they ached, because you looked like sin wrapped in something sugary sweet, and he was the only man in the room who’d get to ruin you for it.

The second you hopped off, giggling and breathless, he was on you.

His hand clamped around your wrist, rough and commanding, tugging you into the shadowed corner of the bar where no one could see, but everyone damn well knew what was happening. You barely had a second to catch your breath before his lips brushed against your ear, voice dark and honey-thick. ❝Real cute, darlin’, lettin’ ‘em all get a look at what’s mine.❞

You shivered, your body betraying you instantly, thighs pressing together. His fingers traced up your arm, slow and teasing, before curling around your throat, tilting your chin up to meet his gaze. The hunger there made your breath hitch, made your pulse flutter like a trapped bird. ❝Hope you remember how to move like that,❞ he murmured, rolling his hips against you, letting you feel how painfully hard he was. ❝‘Cause when we get home, you’re doin’ it all over again—‘cept this time, it’s gonna be on me.❞

The truck ride home was unbearable. Rafe drove one-handed, the other gripping your thigh, squeezing, stroking, fingers creeping higher every time you shifted. The air between you was thick with tension, your skin fever-hot, anticipation curling tight in your belly. Every bump in the road sent sparks of heat straight through you, making you bite your lip, making Rafe smirk because he knew.

He always knew.

The moment the front door slammed shut behind you, you were caged against it, a soft squeak escaping your lips. Rafe loomed over you, all broad shoulders and dark, raw hunger, the scent of sweat and leather clinging to his skin. His gaze devoured you, lingering on your parted lips, the frantic rise and fall of your chest, and the way your thighs pressed together under your tiny skirt. His fingers found the hem, flicking it up with a smirk, exposing your trembling body to him. ❝You like puttin' on a show, baby?❞ he rasped, dragging his knuckles up the sodden seam of your panties. The heat of his touch made you jolt, made you whimper, and he chuckled darkly, eyes glittering. ❝Like gettin' 'em all worked up? Makin' 'em wish they had you?❞

❝N-no—❞ you gasped, nails digging into the hard lines of his arms. ❝No?❞ he echoed, teasing the lace aside, fingertips barely ghosting over your throbbing clit, already swollen and needy for him. ❝Then why're you so fuckin' wet, huh?❞

Your face flamed, but before you could stammer out a response, he hoisted you up, manhandling you like you weighed nothing, carrying you through the house. You clung to him, breathless, your world spinning in a blur of rough kisses and desperate touches. His mouth found yours, devouring, claiming, as he kicked the bedroom door open. He dropped you onto the bed, peeling your clothes off with a reverence that made your skin burn. He paused, eyes drinking you in, hungry and starved, hands spreading your thighs wide, baring your slick folds to him.

❝Prettiest fuckin' thing I ever laid eyes on,❞ he breathed, lips brushing over your hipbone, nose nuzzling the crease of your thigh. ❝Gonna ride me like you rode that bull, sweetheart? Show me how bad you've been needin' it.❞ You scrambled over him, straddling his hips, hands sliding over the taut muscles of his chest, nails teasing lower. His cock, angry and flushed, slapped against his stomach, slushed and dripping precum. You whimpered at the sight of it, so thick, so heavy, throbbing just for you.

You lined yourself up, gasping as the fat head kissed your fluttering entrance, walls clenching at just the stretch of it. Inch by slow inch, you sank down, your cunt greedy, swallowing him up until he was buried balls-deep, kissing your cervix with a bruising pressure that made your vision blur. ❝Jesus fuckin' Christ, baby,❞ Rafe hissed, veins bulging along his forearms as he gripped your hips hard enough to leave fingerprints. ❝Tight little pussy's tryna milk me dry already.❞

You sobbed, hips grinding down, clit dragging against the hard ridge of his pelvis. Every shift, every roll of your hips sent sparks through you, your puffy clit throbbing from the constant friction, needy and slick. Wet, filthy sounds filled the room, your cunt squelching around him, drowning out your own breathless moans. ❝You wanted it so bad, didn't you?❞ he groaned, voice ragged. ❝Show me. Fuckin' work that pretty little pussy. Make a mess on me.❞

You obeyed, rolling your hips faster, chasing that high. Rafe's jaw clenched, his hips twitching up to meet yours, cock slamming into that sweet, spongy spot inside you over and over, making you cry out, incoherent and broken. ❝Rafe—!❞ you wailed, nails scraping down his chest, leaving angry red marks in your wake.

❝That's it, baby,❞ he growled, voice thick and trembling. ❝Give it to me. Cum all over this cock.❞ Your body shattered, walls clenching violently, fluttering around him like a vice. Stars exploded behind your eyes, a scream tearing from your throat as you soaked him, your juices dripping down onto his thighs, making the slide even wetter, nastier.

Rafe snarled, hips snapping up, cock slamming deep, rutting into your spasming pussy as he chased his own release. His balls tightened, cock pulsing hard inside you—then he was spilling, filling you up with hot, thick spurts, groaning like a man broken apart. You collapsed against him, trembling, feeling the obscene warmth of him leaking from your overworked cunt, his cock still twitching inside you. His hands roamed your back, soothing and grounding, pressing kisses to your damp temple.

❝Ain't no bull ever gonna make you scream like that,❞ he whispered, voice smug and sweet against your skin. And all you could do was sob and laugh, burying yourself deeper into his chest, letting him hold you, his cock still stuffed inside you, plugging his cum deep where it belonged.

── ⋆ 𝐲𝐚𝐩 : omg i love this and them so much already. this is actually insane for me because i’m obsessed. i need him so bad it’s not even funny

── ⋆ 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒔 : @scne-vampire @browniepop62 @urcoolgf

©RAFESSECRET ⋆˚࿔ est. 2025

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kaynanarie · 2 months ago

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Eyes of Gold (Part 17)

(A WukongxReader story inspired by Beauty and the Beast and Lutung Kasarung.) (First) (Prev) (Next)

Pain pounded through your head like a war drum, pulling you from a groggy sleep. You groaned and felt for the source, wincing when your clumsy fingers found a tender bump at your temple. Opening your eyes only added to the ache, the dim light jabbing through your skull like sharp daggers. Your body felt heavy and uncoordinated as you cautiously sat up and steadied your senses.

The first thing you noticed was the heat; muggy air pressing in close, clinging to your robes and skin like a damp, heavy blanket. With it came the lingering, acrid scent of smoke and soot. Once you could squint your eyes open, the space around you slowly came into focus. It was less of a room and more of a cell with rough stone walls and a solid metal door without a handle. Even your ‘bed’ was little more than a carved slab of rock covered by a threadbare blanket.

Nothing about it felt familiar or welcoming; a far cry from the Fruit and Flower Mountain you had come to call home. As you struggled to remember where you were or how you got there, bits and pieces stitched themselves together like wisps of mist from your hazy memory.

Spending time with Shihou only to be interrupted by the villagers’ plea for aid. Sun Wukong shattering the frozen lake and his surprising resemblance to your peach friend. Jumping through the waterfall and finally kissing Shihou. His rejection and reveal of the Monkey King’s intentions. The heartbreak and betrayal that drove you from the safety of the palace. Your sister’s deal with the Bull Demon King and your unwilling role to play in it. The last thing you could remember was being captured and knocked unconscious. A gentle brush where you had been struck did little to sooth the ache in both your head and your heart.

Given the stone walls and fortified door, it was obvious you had been handed over to the son of the bull. But, without a handle to even try, you had no idea what to expect or what to do next.

A, small, secret part of you hoped your peach friend would somehow know you needed help; that Shihou would find you, save you, protect you like he always promised. Maybe the Monkey King himself would be inclined to mount a rescue given his inexplicable claim over you. But with the harsh words and heartbreak left in the wake of your sudden disappearance, expecting aid from either monkey was little more than wishful thinking.

Through the heavy gloom surrounding you, a beam of light illuminated the far wall in a soft, golden glow. Swaying to your feet, you shuffled across the room until you reached a window to the outside. Thick, iron bars were embedded in the surrounding stone, blocking any escape attempts. Not that it made much of a difference; the hole was no bigger than your face, only a wispy breeze and ray of sunshine able to squeeze through. A small patch of sky was barely visible with puffy clouds and a lone hawk drifting along the blue. You couldn’t help but envy its freedom.

Time passed slowly, only marked by the dizzying circles of the sharp-eyed bird on the hunt. You had nearly dozed off again when a metal clang startled you and triggered your headache back to full force. The heavy door swung open and two demons crowded into the tiny room. Both were tall with red skin, yellow eyes, and jagged teeth. They wore matching armor and carried identical spears; clearly guards of whatever demon held you captive.

“His Highness has summoned you,” one of them growled. Before you could answer, much less protest, each arm was grabbed and you were hauled up and out of your cell.

The rest of the dungeon was eerily similar, the same hot air and gray stone lining the torchlit halls. Your head swam and your feet stumbled under you but the bruising grips on your arms forced you to keep pace with the guards’ steadfast march. The more turns you were dragged down, the more dread tightened your chest and turned your stomach.

You knew you were a prisoner of a demon prince but beyond that, everything was an unnerving mystery. Where you were and how far were you from home? Would the bull king’s son be kind or cruel? With the endless tunnels of solid stone, what were the odds of escaping? And would you even survive an audience with your unexpected betrothed?

As the endless gray and flickering flames blurred together in your muddled mind, the sudden splash of red at the end of the tunnel was jarring to see. The guards stopped just before the curtain and announced in a booming voice, “We’ve brought the human, your Highness!”

A moment passed before someone answered, younger but with unwavering authority. “You may enter.”

The heavy fabric was held aside and you were shoved into the next room. More stone greeted you, this time arching high and wide into an enormous cavern. Even with the open space, the intense heat and smoky scent was nearly suffocating. Crimson banners and support pillars reached from floor to ceiling, circling around a raised dais. As you were marched closer, an ornate throne came into view along with the figure seated on it.

He looked like a youth; no longer a child but not yet a man. Dark hair and fair skin contrasted elegantly against the red silks of his robes. Embroidered dragons and phoenixes decorated his armored kilt, both extravagant and battle ready all at once. He lounged on the throne, bare feet kicked up and chin leaning against his fist. The other hand idly twirled a gleaming lance with practiced ease.

The guards stomped to a halt and forced you to kneel before the prince. Despite his human-like appearance, he radiated the dangerous aura of a powerful demon.

“Finally awake, I see,” the young man spoke, barely glancing your way with bored disinterest. “About time. I was beginning to wonder if you’d save us the trouble and not wake at all.”

“Where am I?” you blurted out before you could think better of it. “How long have I been here?”

“The Flaming Mountains. You’ve been asleep since I brought you here nearly two days ago.” The judgmental stare he pinned you with sent a shudder down your spine. “I must say, as dingy as your little village was, I wasn’t expected my chosen betrothed to be handed over in such a disheveled state.”

You fidgeted a bit under his scrutiny, acutely aware of your crumpled robe and unkempt appearance. Shoving your nerves aside, you redirected the conversation to answer your own question. “So, you must be son of the Bull Demon King, then?”

“Correct; seems you’re not completely dim…for a human, anyways.” He stood from his throne, shoulders squared and chin raised high and proud. “I am Red Boy, son of the Bull Demon King and Rakshasi the Princess Iron Fan.”

His lance was leveled down at you, the sharp edge pressing just under your chin. Ice washed through your veins, breath froze in your lungs, and your heart raced with panic but you dared not move.

“You will address me as ‘Lord’ or ‘Prince’ if you wish to keep your tongue. We may be betrothed but it does not make us equals. I’m not keen on an arranged marriage, especially to a human. It is only out of respect for my father that I agreed to this political match. If you wish to keep your village safe from harm, I suggest you stay agreeable as well.”

Once the weapon was withdrawn, the tight squeeze in your chest relaxed enough to finally breathe. The threat was clear but beyond that, his words gave you an idea and the tiniest shred of hope to act on.

“Apologies, Lord Red Boy, but I’m afraid there’s been a mistake,” you forced the words out, shaky but determined. “You see, the Bull Demon King is not the protector of my village.”

A curved brow arched up in surprise. “That’s a bold claim, human,” he sneered, eyes flashing in warning. “Explain yourself.”

“Your father made the deal with my sister not realizing the village was already under the protection of Sun Wukong–”

“THAT DAMN MONKEY!?” While Red Boy’s enraged shout was startling, the blaze of fire that spewed from his mouth was even more so. He took a deep breath to compose himself, puffs of black smoke still seeping between his gritted teeth when he addressed you again. “You presume to know the business of my father and the Monkey King?”

“I–I’ve been staying as a royal guest of Sun Wukong,” you stuttered out. “I was there when the kings… agreed that the village would stay under the Monkey King’s patronage.”

Red Boy’s sharp smile held no amusement. “You’re suggesting my father lost his claim?”

“I just know Sun Wukong has continued to protect the village while Bull Demon King moved on with his soldiers,” you answered carefully.

The prince sat back on his throne, fingers steepled and face pinched in thought. “I don’t believe you,” he finally said, dark eyes glowing like heated coal. “Why would the Monkey King hand over his supposed ‘Royal Guest’ for a deal that’s no longer in accord?”

“He didn’t.” You shook your head, on hand soothing over your injured temple. “My sister has wished for my absence from the village for a while. She arranged for my abduction without Sun Wukong’s knowledge.”

Red Boy still seemed unconvinced, staring you down with something akin to pity. “And this isn’t just you trying to weasel your way out of the marriage agreement?”

“Would you rather go through with the wedding and find out it wasn’t necessary?” you countered boldly.

He pondered your words, head nodding slowly in agreement. “You make an excellent point. Perhaps I will send word to my father to corroborate your story.” Red Boy gestured to one of his servant. Immediately, a scroll was unfurled and the demon began writing out a message. “If you’re telling the truth as the monkey’s ‘Royal Guest’, the deal will be off and your fate will be decided from there. But if you’re lying…” The tip of his lance glowed before igniting, fire dancing hot and threatening along the blade. “I will personally show you how unforgiving the flames of this mountain can be.”

At the snap of the prince’s fingers, the demon guards grabbed your arms and hauled you back to your feet. “In the meantime, you will continue to be my guest until word returns on your claims.”

Red Boy turned away in a clear dismissal and you were dragged out of the throne room before you could plead your case further.

The march back to the dungeon was just as disorienting. Before you knew it, you were returned to your stone cell, iron door closed and locked behind you. A gourd of water and stale bread had been left for a meal but you had no appetite.

All the hope had been drained out of you, every threat and ominous promise weighing heavy on your mind. Red Boy, while maybe not as powerful as the Monkey King, was still dangerous and had no qualms about harming humans, you included. Even if Bull Demon King did confirm your story, there was no guarantee of your release or safety.

Weary and disheartened, you bypassed the bed in favor of huddling against window. The hawk was still circling and the setting sun colored the clouds in shades of pink and purple. It was a small comfort but you clung to it, enjoying your glimpse to the outside. Even as the distant light faded over the horizon and the sky darkened to night, your only wish was to live long enough to see the sun again.

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~🍑 Peach Friends 🍑~

@joyfulllittlething @iluxurycruisedthatship @drspecialhell @moondrop39-dovewing70 @happycarp @chibifox88 @rutabaga-menace @resident-cryptid @reynboe-sage @taffycandyqt @alicee-carter @epochal-oracle @unnisumi @borealis33 @aerkame

(If you would like to join the tag list, let me know!)

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Finally done! Apologies for the delay, I've had computer problems for the past month and my laptop finally gave up the ghost this past weekend. I'm using my old, slow one until my new one arrives. In the meantime, Red Boy! 🔥

Huge thanks to @blackknight-kai and @drspecialhell for helping me so much with this chapter, love you guys! 💖

You can also find this story on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60643669

#Monkey King x Reader #Monkey King #Sun Wukong x Reader #Sun Wukong #Eyes of Gold #Shihou #Shihou the Monkey #Shihou x Reader #Beauty and the Beast #Lutung Kasarung #Fairytale and Folktale Inspired #Journey to the West #JTTW #Black Myth Wukong #BMW #KayNanArie #Peach Friend

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glimmerfics · 1 month ago

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⃤ Blood in the Tide ⃤

A new, unclaimed demigod arrives at Camp Half-Blood — feared, powerful and wrapped in mystery. Tasked with helping MC uncover her divine origins, Percy Jackson is drawn into a dark quest filled with ancient secrets and forbidden truths. As they unravel a buried truth the gods want to keep hidden, Percy's connection to her turns dark — protective, possessive... And dangerous. She came searching for her identity. He wasn't supposed to lose himself in her. Some heroes fall too hard. Choose-Your-Own-Adventure percy jackson x reader

» ────────────» ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐶ «───────────── «

The first thing MC noticed was the silence — not just quiet, but a sudden, unnatural void. It pressed against her ears, dense and absolute. Central Park was never silent, not even at night. There were always faint sounds — laughter, footsteps, leaves rustling in the breeze. But now... nothing. Not even crickets.

MC stopped walking. A chill crept up her spine. Something was wrong.

Then came the sound.

Not a scream. Not an animal’s cry. A low, monstrous roar that shook the air like thunder. It rumbled through the trees, ancient and alien. The ground trembled. Birds scattered from the treetops. Every hair on MC’s body stood on end. Her breath caught in her throat, shallow and quick.

Fear flooded her — not ordinary fear, but something deeper, older, as if her bones remembered it.

And then she saw it.

From the shadows, hooves cracked the pavement. A hulking form emerged: thick muscles, shoulders broad as tree trunks, skin glistening with a dark, red sheen. A bull’s snout steaming, eyes glowing with fury, curved horns sharp and menacing.

The Minotaur.

It stepped forward, each stomp shaking the ground. Its burning eyes locked onto MC's.

Time slowed.

MC couldn’t move. Her legs refused to listen, terror anchoring her in place. The Minotaur bellowed, the sound tearing through the night like a storm.

And then — it charged.

Choose what happens next on Glimmer Fics!

Link: https://glimmerfics.com/stories/c60e2fe7-blood-in-the-tide Author: @aphroditelovesu

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sp4rklyr0t · 11 months ago

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Hey Aster! Could we get a guide on Ares please?

Ares, Greek God of Everything Kind and Sweet: A Guide

Just kidding, of course.

Hi! I'm Astin/Aster and this is my guide to Ares. A disclaimer before we begin, this is going to be bare-bones basic. I will not be going over any specific myths in the post. Hope this is helpful!

Ares is the god of war and thus peace, as appeasing him would thus prevent war, bloodshed and bloodlust, violence, anger/rage, manliness, rebellion. Something to note is that Ares is less of the strategy involved in war, and more of the actuality of it. He is not only a god of war but the personification of it.

His parents are Zeus and Hera, and his lover was Aphrodite. With Aphrodite, according to Hesiod's theogony, he has three children, Phobos (Terror), Deimos (Fear), and Harmonia (Harmony).

Sacred Symbols, Animals, and Epithets

His symbols are the spear, as well as armor, particularly the helm and shield.

His sacred animals were:

Serpents- he is frequently depicted with one and has myths regarding serpents.

Barn owl, eagle owl, and woodpecker, as shown:

Antoninus Liberalis, Metamorphoses 21 (trans. Celoria) (Greek mythographer C2nd A.D.) :

"Zeus loathed them [the giants Agrios and Oreios] and sent Hermes to punish them . . . But Ares, since the family of Polyphonte [mother of the giants] descended from him, snatched her sons from this fate. With the help of Hermes he changed them into birds. Polyphonte became a small owl whose voice is heard at night. She does not eat or drink and keeps her head turned down and the tips of her feet turned up. She is a portent of war and sedition for mankind. Oreios became an eagle owl, a bird that presages little good to anyone when it appears. Argios was changed into a vulture, the bird most detested by gods and men. These gods gave him an utter craving for human flesh and blood. Their female servant was changed into a woodpecker. As she was changing her shape she prayed to the gods not to become a bird evil for mankind. Hermes and Ares heard her prayer because she had by necessity done what her masters had ordered. This a bird of good omen for someone going hunting or to feasts."

He is also associated with horses, as his chariot is pulled by them.

Another notable animal are the bronze bulls, depicted as so:

Ovid, Heroides 12.39 ff : "The condition is imposed [by King Aeetes] that you [Jason] press the hard necks of the fierce bulls at the unaccustomed plow. To Mars [Ares] the bulls belonged, raging with more than mere horns, for their breathing was of terrible fire; of solid bronze were their feet, wrought round with bronze their nostrils, made black, too, by the blasts of their own breath."

Notable Epithets:

Thêritas - Beastly, brutish

Gynaikothoinas - Feasted by women

Enyalios - Warlike

Khrysopêlêx - Of the golden helm

Obrimos - Strong, mighty

Worship

His This section is going to be mainly UPG, so if you think of something else you'd like to do or give, please do so, as long as it is respectful.

Sacred Day:

Tuesday

Offerings:

Snake symbolism

Symbolism of His sacred birds

Spicy food

Feathers from His sacred birds (sourced ethically)

Self defense weapons

Imagery of Him

Devotional Activities:

Workout or do physical activity

Go to a protest

Stand up for yourself and what you believe in

Work on anger management

Honor Aphrodite and their children together

Do something you're really passionate about

#helpol #hellenic polytheism #greek gods #hellenic polytheist #deity worship #ares worship #ares deity #ares #ares god of war

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uwmspeccoll · 2 years ago

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Marbled Monday

This is one of our most marble-ous books because of all the great samples of marbling it includes! This is The Art of Marbling by German marbling master Franz Weisse, translated by rare book curator, collector, and marbling expert Richard J. Wolfe. This translation of Weisse's original 1940 text was published by Bird & Bull Press in 1980. The original edition of Weisse's Die Kunst des Marmorierens... was reportedly largely destroyed by bombing during WWII and is extremely rare. The Bird & Bull publication includes a lengthy introduction by Wolfe that surveys 300 years of German marbling and Weisse's place in it.

This edition also includes 14 samples of marbled paper made by Wolfe, who also marbled the cover paper for the edition. These samples include patterns created using a needle (or stylus), fantasy marbling, and overmarbling. The cover paper is also an example of overmarbling, in which paper is marbled once and then another pattern is made on top of the first.

The Art of Marbling was published in an edition of 300 copies on Green's hand made Bird and Bull paper. It was composed using Van Dijck types by Mackenzie-Harris Corp., with binding by E.G. Parrot.

View more Marbled Monday posts.

-- Alice, Special Collections Department Manager

#Marbled Monday #marbled paper #marbling #Richard J. Wolfe #Franz Weisse #The Art of Paper Marbling #Bird & Bull Press #Bird and Bull Press #Die Kunst des Marmorierens #E.G. Parrot #Mackenzie-Harris Corp.#Alice #overmarbling #fantasy pattern #marbling art

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ddejavvu · 2 years ago

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Hi Mei 🧡

So I have indoor/outdoor cats. The girl cat (Cleo) is a prolific hunter so everytime she appears at the back door I playfully go “Oh my gosh there’s a serial killer at the door!” How do you think Hotch would react to his partner making that joke one night while letting their cat in?

Ps. I love You

i love you too!

You're not thinking things through when you go to let your cat inside, having forgotten that the phrase you typically croon at her isn't one that your murderer-hunter boyfriend might not like. But you gush anyways, "Oh, no! There's a serial killer at the door!"

The nickname comes from the plethora of dead critters you've been delivered by your cat, countless mice and spiders and even a few birds that she shouldn't have been able to get her paws on. But she comes empty-handed today, or, empty-mouthed, and darts inside once you slide the door open.

Aaron is at your side in an instant. He doesn't have his gun on him, it's locked away beyond the reach of very curious kitties. But he's got brute strength, and the tenacity of a bull.

"Move," He demands, shouldering his way in front of you. You let out a grunt of surprise, but not of pain; he hadn't bumped you too hard. He scans the backyard, then casts a wary glance back at you, "Where?"

"What?"

"You said there was a serial killer at the door," He snaps, metaphorical hackles raised, "Where?"

"Aaron," You gape, dumbfounded, "The- my cat. She brings me dead things. So- I... I call her a serial killer."

He stands stiff for only a moment more, then in a second, all of the tension drains from his muscles. He sags in relief, then slides the door shut and rounds on you.

"Terrible choice of words," He grumbles, but despite the furrow in his brow, you know he's not truly upset with you. He's almost sheepish, which is a rare sight to see, but an endearing one.

"I'm sorry," You bite your lips together, tucking them into your mouth and trying not to laugh at him, "Aaron, I'm sorry, I didn't- I wasn't thinking, I just say it all the time!"

"You're gonna send me into cardiac arrest before sixty." He glares, "You tease me about being old, but I'm not old enough to die."

"I'm sorry!" You insist again, giggling despite your best efforts, and leaning in to kiss sloppily against his downturned lips, "I won't do it again. Or- I probably will, that's a lie. But you'll get used to it."

"Oh, I will?" He quirks a brow, finally relenting and breathing out a shaky laugh through his sheepish grin. He takes hold of your hips, pinning them to his own as he drives his nose against yours, "I should just get used to thinking my girlfriend is about to get axe murdered?"

"Axe murdered," You scoff, but you gladly accept the kiss he presses to your lips, letting him lean you back slightly on your feet so that his shoulders are your lifeline. "If there was a real murderer at the door, I wouldn't talk to them in a baby voice, Aaron."

"I don't put anything past you," He narrows his eyes, but keeps his face pressed to yours, so really it looks like he narrows one giant eye in the middle of his face, "You talk to Jack in a baby voice, and he's seventeen."

#aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner scenario #aaron hotchner oneshot #aaron hotchner one-shot #aaron hotchner one shot #aaron hotchner headcanons #aaron hotchner headcanon #aaron hotchner hc #aaron hotchner hcs #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner blurb #aaron hotchner drabble #aaron hotchner dialogue #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x reader fanfiction

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blueiscoool · 2 years ago

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Ancient Assyrian Deity Statue Uncovered in Iraq

In a recent announcement from the The Iraqi State Board of Antiquities and Heritage (SBAH), archaeologists have successfully unearthed a remarkable ancient Assyrian deity statue known as a “lamassu” in Kursbad, Iraq.

A lamassu is a special Assyrian guardian deity, usually portrayed as a mix of human, bird, and either cow or lion features. These unique beings typically have a human-like head, a body resembling that of a bull or lion, and bird-like wings.

Guardian Lamassu sculptures in Assyria

In ancient Assyria, they often crafted pairs of lamassu sculptures and placed them at the entrances of palaces. These imposing figures faced both the streets and the inner courtyards.

What’s unique about these sculptures is that they were carved in high relief. When you look at them head-on, they seem still, but from the side, they appear to be in motion.

While we often see winged figures in the low-relief decorations inside rooms, lamassu were not commonly found as large figures in these spaces. However, they occasionally appeared in narrative reliefs. In these depictions, they seemed to take on the role of protectors for the Assyrians.

Ancient Assyrian deity statue in Iraq was discovered and then reburied

This discovery took place during their excavations at the 6th gate, situated in the western part of the ancient city of Khursbad.

Khursbad was originally built as a brand-new capital city by the Assyrian king Sargon II. He started this ambitious project shortly after he became king in 721 BC.

However, after Sargon II’s reign, his son and successor, Sennacherib, decided to shift the capital to Nineveh. This move left the construction of Khursbad unfinished, making it a fascinating historical puzzle.

As per the press release, the statue was originally discovered in 1992, when a team of Iraqi archaeologists stumbled upon the Assyrian deity statue. After the initial discovery of the lamassu, its head was unfortunately stolen in 1995. However, it was later recovered and is now safely preserved in the Iraqi Museum.

The main body of the Assyrian deity, was reburied to protect the statue and the surrounding architectural remains, a decision that likely saved it from destruction by ISIS, which systematically looted and destroyed the remains of Khursbad.

Collaboration between Iraqi and French archaeologists

In a remarkable collaborative effort between Iraqi and French archaeologists, Professor Dr. Ahmed Fakak Al-Badrani has spearheaded a mission that recently re-excavated the lamassu. This event marks the first time in thirty years that this ancient wonder has been unveiled to the world.

As stated by Dr. Layth Majid Hussein, the Chairman of the General Body for Archaeology and Heritage, the team is presently evaluating the condition of the lamassu to chart their forthcoming actions.

By Nisha Zahid.

#Ancient Assyrian Deity Statue Uncovered in Iraq #Kursbad Iraq #lamassu #sculpture #stone sculpture #ancient artifacts #archeology #archeolgst #history #history news #ancient history #ancient culture #ancient civilizations #assyrian history #assyrian empire #ancient art

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pumpkennpie · 2 months ago

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first line game

ty to @1425fivefive for the tag!! here are the first lines to all my public fics under my main pseud :) mistletoe and ivy: Oscar’s first thought when he walks through his front door is that the apartment has been burglarized.

counting up the hills across the sheets: Lando wakes slowly on mornings like these.

act like you know me: Oscar is sitting hunched against the sticky bar top, nursing a pint of shitty craft beer Logan insisted he’d love when he feels a light tap on his shoulder.

Good Kitty: Max is sitting on his couch getting ready to beg the Red Bull PR team for mercy when he hears it.

hold me while i'm dreaming: Lando is used to being in constant motion.

Ken's Kink Meme: “Fuck, Lando, please,” Oscar keens, hands fisted in the sheets so hard that his knuckles are turning white.

i'm melting for you: The sun has finally set, taking with it the sticky heat of the now-waning Floridian summer day.

Lovestruck? Thunderstruck? Same thing: “Looks like it’s going to be another couple of hours at least,” Kim grimaces, nodding to the weather radar currently displayed on a monitor on the central island.

I Loved You Truly (gotta laugh at the stupidity): It’s Oscar’s birthday, and he’s stuck at work.

Nay Slay: Oscar really only talks to Lewis in cooldown rooms and press conferences, so when the older driver approaches him while they are walking into the paddock in Austin, he’s a little more than confused.

hope is the thing with feathers: Oscar has a problem. Oscar has a problem and Logan is fucking laughing at him.

trust that i love you: After the top three press conference, Oscar doesn’t get to see Charles again until they’re back at the hotel.

He's kinda quiet but his body ain't: Lando is loud.

LUNCH: Being teammates with Lando meant being dragged to podium celebrations and parties, which meant hanging out with Carlos, who was basically a gateway drug to Charles.

Taste of my Pomegranate Chapstick: Oscar wouldn’t say he’s obsessed with Lando’s mouth, per say.

Fast Car: Signing up for a celebrity dating app was, objectively, a bad idea.

I Lose Control: ‘Just call me Oscar Jack Piastri-Leclerc’. Lando could kill a man.

BIRDS OF A FEATHER: From the moment Oscar met Lando, he knew that they would be something special.

Sweet Vanilla Silk: Max was already in a weird headspace when he stepped into Charles’ shower.

Now my nose is broken (what the hell?): Oscar’s phone is ringing.

Champagne Opulence: And for the second time in seven days, Lando Norris is heading to the podium in second position.

well! who tf let me post that much?

i got two looks! two looks two looks! this is definitely making me realize that i need to spice things up lol

no pressure tags to @nyoomfruits, @bumblewyn, @fluxtered, and anyone who wants to do this!

#tag games #f1 rpf #landoscar #choscar #lestappen #maxcar #ken writes

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bunny-jpeg · 1 year ago

Note

hi can i get profiteroles and honey cruller with hard lemonade with Max Vesrtappen please and thank you, I love your work.

bakery menu

want to submit your own order! i am working over time at the bakery!! the post has more info about fandoms and folks i can write about. i do more than formula one if that tickles your fancy! as for this prompt, i love the combo. the desperation that comes with max wanting the reader to go away with him for a while plus possessive behavior. i hope this order is delish!

profiteroles ("come away with me. for a week, together. anywhere you want, we'll go.") + honey cruller ("i forget how small you are sometimes.") + hard lemonade (possessive behavior)

cw: smut/pwp, possessive behavior, size kink, clingy!max, mating press, unprotected sex, sundresses (and their ultimate sex appeal!), small titty!reader, begging

max was a needy boyfriend. you honestly couldn't blame him. after everything, of course he wanted to hold onto you and let go. it went as far as him sleeping next to one of your sweatshirts when he was away and having a polaroid of you in the pocket of his driving suit.

a reminder that you were always with him when he was breaking records and winning races. you were his good luck charm and he worshipped the ground you walked on.

but by god, was max verstappen a possessive boyfriend.

it started with a sundress. it was july in england and you thought you'd bring a bit of sunshine in a cute sundress. it was blue and white, a loose kind of fabric with thin sleeves that required you to go braless.

"you look beautiful." max said as he opened the car door for you and took your hand. he loved to show you off, with his hand on your hip as you walked toward the paddock.

the sun was shining, even the birds were chirping. it all felt good, you had a great feeling for the weekend in your bones!

and then it rained. and when it rained, it poured. and you had very little to protect you. you also didn't realize how thin the fabric of the dress would become when it got wet. (that was never mentioned in the reviews). so there you were, a shivering wet mess. your nipples poking through the shit fabric of the dress.

max had taken it upon himself to get his red bull jacket off and on you, he had even zipped it all the way to your chin to make sure no one could see anything.

you were beyond flustered, but max found it deeply erotic. even after the practice and the media questions, his thoughts were still on you and how cute you looked. you seemed so small, like max needed to take care of you.

and that what he was going to do when he got you back into the hotel room you were sharing for the weekend. thankfully your dress had dried throughout the afternoon, but max still wanted you out of it.

he wanted it a crumpled mess of the floor. when he got you naked and onto the bed, then he became so needy. his lips on his neck and his clothed cock brushed up against your thigh like a whiny animal.

he was still in his briefs with those strong arms around you, rubbing up against you as to get his scent all over you. in a bite of honesty, it was somewhat cute coming from her. the weight of him on top of you prevented you from going anywhere (not that you wanted to).

his pre-cum soaked the front of his briefs as he moved against you. he groaned, "i forget how small you are sometimes. i could break you in two." his voice was strained. he tried to not put so much weight on you, but you pulled him closer to you.

you kissed him and chuckled, "to die under you is an honour."

"you drive me crazy, schat."

"oh really, and why's that?"

he panted against your skin, "that fucking dress. they shouldn't be able to legally sell that. i could see everything."

you looked over to kiss him on the lips. the kiss was quick before he pulled away got onto his knees in front of you. he took his cock out of his briefs and stroked it a few times as he admired our naked body.

you looked better naked than in the dress, but then again you looked better naked than in clothes. except for maybe his red bull hat, but nothing else!

he grabbed you by the hips and got your knees to your ears and exposed your slick cunt to him. he licked his lips like a man in hunger before he sank his cock into you.

"schat." he groaned.

max was a good partner. even though he was so needy for you. but you loved him so. he was a perfect man for you. he let out a tiny whimper and you grabbed at him.

"max. ah, please. i need to feel you close to me." you moaned as you nails dug into the bed to anchor yourself. you kept his eyes on him as he get flustered in the face.

he pressed his chest up against you as he slid his cock into you. your soaked pussy made it easy for him. he loved the feeling of you around him. he wanted to be as close to you as he could. as he got adjusted to your sweet hole he said, "i forget how small you are sometimes. i could easily crush you." he chuckled as he kissed you gently.

the angle wasn't enough for him, so he pulled out and got your knees to your ears and then started to fuck you again. you were almost bent in half as he fucked you.

he groaned against you, "that's it, that's perfect." he loved you in a good mating press. because that meant that you'd feel it in the morning. that it would deter you from wearing that dress. he loved having his weight up against you, it made his heart race as he pushed his cock as deep as it would go. the feeling of you was painfully erotic. you could feel your heartbeat in your throat as he thrusted into you.

"shit, max. ah!" you whined as you gripped onto the bed tightly to keep yourself stable while he bulled his cock deep into your sweet, beautiful cunt.

the sounds of your fucking filled the room as the two of you rutted against one another. your kisses even both more messy the more you two had sex. it was painfully hot for the both of you.

"never wear that dress again, i don't know how to handle myself when you wear it. you look so fucking cute. it makes me want to keep you locked away so nobody else can see how beautiful you are." he was panting heavily the more he thrusted. the sex was a buzz in the back of his mind.

"i didn't know it would've turned you on so much." you moaned.

he was bent over you, he kissed you once more. his cock up to the base. he could feel a bit of spit against the corner of his mouth as he thrusted heavily.

you groaned, "please, max. shit. i won't wear the dress again." you felt his heartbeat in your throat once more.

he panted heavily, balls deep inside of you. he could feel his heart almost beating out of his chest, his eyes were on your rapid rise and fall of his chest. he said, pathetically, so needy, "come away with me. for a week, together. anywhere you want, we'll go. i need you, i need you in my arms all the time. please." he was almost begging.

you let out a whimper as you felt him continue to thrust into you. his cock nudging against your core, you knew you were going to be sore come morning. he had you knees to your ears and was pressing his weight on you so you wouldn't escape him. as if you would even try to.

"will you?" he asked, he was hunched over you, wanting to kiss your soft lips, "let me spoil you, love you, the way you have for me. please, i just want to hold you. i can't get enough of you!"

you nodded and got your arms around your lover. you pulled him in for a hot kiss and let him continue to fuck you. he was such a desperate man, he wanted to be buried between your thighs every chance he got. you dug your nails into his hair as he bullied your sweet pussy.

he continued to move against you, he shuddered when he felt your sweet cunt grow tighter around him. he could feel the heat down his back as he gripped onto your legs tighter and panted, "i'm close."

you nodded as well, agreeing that you were close to orgasm as well. you couldn't find the words on your lips as he continued to fuck you. you dug your nails into his skin as you finished with a string of sweet moans. a few more heavy thrusts and you whined against your boyfriend and climaxed.

your lover was closed behind you, he finished inside of you quickly and kept you pinned to him for a moment while he tried to compose himself.

he looked in your eyes while he panted heavily. he gave you a small smile as he said, "so, how does a week in france sound? somewhere i can keep you to myself."

you chuckled and pushed the hair out of your face, "i'd love that. more than anything, max." then sealed it with a kiss.

the next morning you laid curled up with your boyfriend. he was spooning you, but his grip on you was firm. like he was worried about your running away from him.

he kept an arm around your middle and you idly played with the hairs on his arm as you were half-awake and half-asleep. your legs tangled up in his. his nose was in your hair as you laid there together.

he said in a sleep haze, "don't wear that sundress today. i'll give you something to wear. just put it back in the suitcase and don't wear it out of our home. i don't need them looking at you."

you replied, "i was thinking about throwing it out, the fabric is garbage if it shows that much when wet." then yawned loudly.

he replied, "no, no. i want to see it. no one else. just me." he said with a possessive edge to his voice. and curled up closer to you.

you chuckled lightly and turned in his arms. you kissed his face softly before you said, "fine. for your eyes only then." at least you didn't have to waste the garment! but you will be leaving a scathing review. <3

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 9 months ago

Text

Precocious 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, arranged marriage, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your family expects you to marry, but you don't expect to be happy.

This is part of the Three Sisters for Three Misters AU (this reader is know as Chicky)

Characters: Jonathan Pine

Note: And here we go.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Heart racing, breath like fire, air stolid as beads of sweat speckle your scalp. There is only the moment. Only one shot. This is it. You have your target in sight. You squint down the barrel of the rifle and narrow your focus.

One, two--

Cheep, cheep, cheep-cheep-cheep. The melodic tweeting of birds sounds from your single airpod. You sigh and steady the gun. You press down on the earbud to dismiss the incoming call. You reset your shot and follow the unwitting target as they twist and turn, searching for their adversary. For you.

You take the shot. Right between their shoulder blades. You smile at the splatter of yellow paint across their vest. They stagger and twirl around in disappointment. They harrumph and toss down their gun.

“Ah damn it!” Mackenzie stomps his foot. “Bull shit.”

You point the barrel in the sky as you emerge from your perch, “don’t be a sore loser, Mack.”

“Whatever,” he pouts.

The tweeting starts again. You reach to tap the bud, this time answering the call. You kick through the dirt as the other players disburse. Game’s over. Back to reality.

“Howdy,” you trill as check the canister on your gun. Almost a full round left. It’s not how much you shoot, it’s where.

“Where are you?” Your mother snips.

“Hm,” you raise your wrist as you sling the strap of your gun around your shoulder. You tug back your sleeve to check your fitbit. “I’m not late.”

“What do you mean you’re not late? Where did you go?”

“Mom, I’ll be there,” you huff. “With bells on.”

“Oh, trust me. I will hunt you down,” she sneers. “You will be here in one hour. Dressed. Acceptably.”

You roll your eyes. You prefer it when she can’t see it. You love her, you know she means best, but you’re an adult. You agreed to her demands so why is she so rude?

“I will, mom. I’ll even put a bow on,” you giggle. “Anywho, time to claim my prize. Ta.”

You hang up without waiting for her no doubt scathing retort. You stride up to turn in the gun and your helmet. The gloves and boots are your own and your trademark hot pink outfit is custom-made. You get a voucher for free round of play and another medallion claiming you as champion.

Your mom chides you often, says it’s a child’s game. Well, if she insists on treating you as one, you may as well be one. You stop and chat with a few of your competitors, some of them regulars, others just out for a day of fun. The older men aren’t very talkative. Not even a congrats on your win.

Oh well. You try not to let the unhappiness of men rule your world. If you did, you would never do anything at all. Besides, you’ve sacrificed enough. You promised your father you’d behave and that you would show up for dinner. Well, that’s just the beginning of the agreement.

You strip off your canvas and jacket and change out of your dirty pink jeans. You pull on a pair of lululemon flares and a loose white tee, sheltered only by your car door. Your mother would be scandalised to see it. You cackle and shove everything in your trunk.

You blast some 90s pop for the drive. It amps you up and wards off the dread of what awaits you at home. As you drive up to the gate of your family estate, you turn down the music. You stop your out-of-tune singing and push your shoulders back. This is the real battleground.

You pull into the garage, parking in the empty spot between your father’s lexus and your mother’ cadillac. You keep your head down as you get out. You near the interior door and ease it open. You listen to the house. You hear the flurry of the kitchen staff and all those others brought in to prepare for dinner.

Sigh, your whole life has been parading around for company.

You peek through the east doorway of the kitchen. Your mother screeches as she demands that the dessert be redone. You duck across and hurry upstairs.

You swing yourself into your room and sigh. You take out the dress hand-picked by your mother. She gave you options and you bartered something cute. She wasn’t happy about the length but the faux petals around the neckline convinced her. You just love that it’s pink!

You drape the hanger from the handle of the drawer on your vanity and look in the mirror. You take out a face wipe and clean your face of the residue of sweat and dust. You wish you could have stayed for the afternoon matches but responsibility calls.

You begin your usual process. Primer, concealer, foundation. As you blend, there’s a tapping at the door. You recognise the melodic rhythm. You whistle back and your eldest sister enters. She’s already done up, all but her lips. She wears a burgundy robe and matching slippers with pearls.

“There you are,” Kestral says. “Mother’s been squawking all day.”

You look at her in the mirror and shrug. She looks down her nose at you. She has the same imperious expression as your father. If you didn’t know better, you’d be scared.

She laughs and puts her hands on her hips. “Please, let me do your hair so she doesn’t tear it out.”

“If you want,” you shrug, not very bothered by the task. You’ll make do.

“Oh,” Kestral nears, “that dress is so you.”

She touches the fluttery portrait neckline. She’s a bit more sophisticated, a lot less flowery. You dab on some blush and smear it with your fingers until it looks natural.

“What about Wren? She’s usually much more elusive than me?” You ask.

“Oh, yes. She took her nose out of her book for five seconds to get the witch off her back,” she takes the wide toothed comb and starts from your ends. “Even after a lifetime, she can’t really accept that this is what we were born for. I worry for her but she locked her door.”

“And probably climbed the window,” you snort.

“Always the most clever of us,” Kestral agrees. She’s silent as she untangles your hair. “Are you nervous?”

Her eyes meet yours in the mirror. You shrug and hold off on the eyeliner. You’ll let her figure out your hair before that.

“Strangers, aren’t they? But mother and father were too.”

“Mm, and look how well that turned out. I don’t think they’ve been alone together since right before you were born,” she scoffs.

“Likely not. But... mother says the men are well-bred. Polite.”

“Frigid,” Kestral grins. “You must read between the lines. That is how society talks. They never say the truth, the toe around it until it kicks you in the teeth.” She takes a pin and secures it in your hair. “I’ve asked around but people never talk about interesting things, do they?”

“No, not really.” You make a face at her in the mirror, a clownish smile, “am I pretty, sister? Will mother approve of me?”

She chortles and shakes her head, “oh, it will be quite the night, won’t it?”

“Don’t act as if I will be the only menace. And I’m not so worried about mother, as she shouldn’t be of us. We have to impress these men, not her, right?”

“Impress? Well, I shouldn’t need to try for that. He can win me over. Tradition and all,” she drones.

The door clicks behind her and you both give a start. You turn as Wren stands against the door, her eyes wide and her hair as unwieldy as ever. So much as she tries to tame it, it has a will of its own. Despite her reticence, she is much the same.

“I saw one,” she says.

“Saw one?” You echo.

She hushes you and comes forward. She’s in a plum sweater and linen pants. Her glasses are tangled in her hair and crooked. She has a book under her arm.

“He’s tall. Blonde. Look,” she points to the window. You and Kestral share a look before you rise. You follow her to the window Wren remains by the vanity.

“Oh, wow, isn’t that typical?” Kestral drawls, “an antique car. Well, Wren, you should hope he’s yours then. By the looks of it, he’ll spend more time with that beast than you.”

She squeaks and flutters around behind you. She’s always been the softest spoken of you all. Reserved but willful. Most wouldn’t guess it, but she’s rather funny when she wants to be.

“Mm, he has manners. He is chatting rather intently with Reginald.”

“Yes, Reginald can be rather chatty,” Wren murmurs. Sometimes, she is too honest.

“Well, Kes,” you turn away from the window and lean against the wall, “you said you asked around. What did you hear?”

“Like I said, gossip is rarely useful,” she sighs and retreats. “Mine, Conrad... he’s not much history in ‘society’,” she emphasizes the last word with her fingers. “From what I’ve gathered, he comes from a well to do family. I heard more of his brother than him. Frustratingly mysterious.”

She crosses her arms and sits on your bed, “then there’s Laufeyson, Wren’s match. He does have quite the reputation. A tricky man. I’m not entirely sure why mother and father chose him but no offense, Wrenny, you are a middle child.”

“Mm, I’d say better than no one but no one sounds rather nice,” she mutters.

You laugh. She really is so silly.

“And me?” You prompt.

“Pine. Proper gentleman by my measure. Never a toe out of line. No mystery, no scandal. He sounds like he was created in a factory.”

“Boring?” You comment.

“I wouldn’t expect any of them to be more than,” she examines the crimson tips of her manicure. “But we should try to pretend they are interesting.”

“Forever,” you utter.

“Forever...” she agrees dully. “So is our lot, yes? We must make the best of it. Get through tonight, then the wedding, and when all is said and done, we can still be us.” She leans back and crosses one leg over the other. “I’ll take Lottie with me. She’s a loyal stead and I’ll need something fun to ride.”

She gives a wink and you giggle. Wren squeaks and rocks bashfully.

“Wren, you can take all your books and add a thousand more to your shelves. You could build yourself a castle and lock yourself away to read forever,” she says, “and Chicky,” she looks at you, “you can just be you. Go out shooting or dancing or shopping. As long as our duty is met, we will be free. Truly. No more mother, no more father. We will laugh in their faces and say ‘no’.”

“I hope you’re right,” you turn back to peer out the window.

The blond man stands below. His brow suit is sleek and tailored. Even from there, you can tell it is cut of fine material. He looks up as you peer down and you think for a moment he sees you. You flinch and draw back behind the curtain, tugging it across the pane.

“I do too,” Kestral agrees. “Think of it this way, we want out of this house. This is how we get out. Then we have our own titles, our own rights, and our husbands, well, they can have their own hobbies.”

You nod and go back to the mirror. You sit and look at yourself. You want to believe Kestral. She’s never been an optimist but she’s just so desperate to get away, she’ll believe her own lies. You want to think this is an escape, yet you can only see things staying the same. You’ll still be putting on a mask. Still living to someone else’s standards.

#jonathan pine #dark jonathan pine #dark!jonathan pine #jonathan pine x reader #series #au #three sisters for three misters #precocious #the night manager #fic #dark fic #dark!fic

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