#Champion Shirt brand

[dream-wave-creator]

"All that we see or seem is but a dream within a dream." Edgar Allan Poe

[mischievous-dream-fusion]

"Hold fast to dreams, for if dreams die, life is a broken-winged bird that cannot fly." Langston Hughes

[inloveanddepth]

love these guys

[bunnyb34r]

Vibing through my work today bc I didnt have to do childrens 😌 we did NOT get that extra table yet (probably never will... Chamagedon is coming....) and even though I had to do womens AND one spot of basics I'm in a good mood!

Unfortunately it's Meat Trash Monday which means the whole walk to the front makes me wanna gag 😷 even my mask isnt helping that

[p0orbaby]

Tropicana with the Bits

summary: honeymoon sex on a boat? yes fucking please

warnings: SMUT 18+, public sex (boat), strap-on use, use of a camera, spit, spanking, dom!ale vibes

a/n: this has been sat half cooked in my draft for a while. a certain blonde’s performances in the olympics have spurred me to finish it…

word count: 1.4k

-

This is the fucking life.

The sun. The sea. And a ‘24 quadruple under your belt.

Oh, and a shiny new ring and a brand new wife to tie everything up nicely.

Like a lazy, spoiled cat, you stretch out on the deck of the yacht, the gentle rocking of the boat a sleep-inducing background rhythm. The Mediterranean sun kisses your skin, leaving a warm, tingling sensation that pairs well with the salt of the sea air. A soft breeze rustles the pages of a magazine you’ve abandoned, and the distant squawk of gulls mingles with the sound of waves lapping against the hull. You close your eyes, letting the tranquility wash over you.

Alexia commands the helm, her presence undeniable even in stillness. Dressed in a white linen shirt, unbuttoned to reveal her abs and the curves of her breasts, and a harness snug against her hips, she looks like a wild, untamed champion. The breeze teases her hair, and her eyes meet yours with a predatory gaze.

You think back to the first time you met her on the pitch. Mature for her age, dominating the midfield with grace and power, even back then. And you hated it. You hated how she skipped past you like you were nothing. Discarding you like you were dirt on the bottom of her boots.

She was so effortlessly good, it drove you mad.

Mad to the point that there wasn’t a second that went by that your thoughts weren’t filled with one Alexia putellas. Her smirk emblazoned on the inside of you eyeless every time you tried to sleep. Her intensity clouding your head enough to make you miss simple passes, your concentration shattered by the mere thought of her. She haunted your dreams and invaded your waking moments, a constant, maddening presence.

And things haven’t really changed.

She looks at you with that same intensity, but you know it’s because she’s thinking about what position she likes you in best, not the fastest way in which she can embarrass you on the grass. Your brain is still plagued by the thought of her, but now you know what she’s hiding underneath those jerseys, so your brain fog is warranted.

You are certain your wife is made by the gods themselves.

Leaving the wheel, she approaches with a slow, deliberate stride. Her shirt billows open, exposing more of her tanned skin and the black strap-on jutting proudly from her hips. The sight sends a rush of heat through you, your body aching for her touch.

Or aching from how much she has touched thus far into your honeymoon. You can’t tell, and you don’t care to. This is your time to celebrate, to relax and enjoy your freedom. Her touch, her voice, her presence—everything about Alexia drives you wild with desire. You remember the late-night whispers and her mischievous grin when she suggested bringing a camera on this trip. The memories of your wedding night flood back, the way she took you on the balcony of your suite, moonlight caressing your intertwined bodies.

This time, there’s a camera set up in the corner, its lens catching the light like a voyeur. A wedding gift from you to her, both the camera and its purpose. The idea of being filmed, of capturing these intimate moments forever, had always excited her, and after years of her playful begging, you finally relented.

So here you are, as naked as the day you were born, squirming slightly as anticipation coils in your belly.

Alexia kneels beside you, her hands cool against your heated skin as she traces patterns on your stomach. The strap brushes against your thigh, a teasing promise of what she has in store for you. She leans down, her lips capturing yours in a searing kiss. Her tongue explores your mouth, her teeth grazing your lower lip, and you melt into her. Her other hand grips your hair, pulling your head back to expose your neck, where she leaves a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses.

She pulls back, her eyes dark with desire. “¿Estás preparada?” she murmurs, her voice a low growl. You nod, your breath hitching in your throat. She smirks, her fingers trailing down your body to part your thighs. Her touch is confident, experienced, each stroke designed to drive you wild. She pauses, glancing at the camera, her eyes gleaming with excitement before returning her focus to you.

The first thrust is slow, deliberate, the strap filling you inch by inch. You gasp, your hands clutching at her shoulders, your nails digging into her skin through her shirt. She moves with a rhythm that’s almost hypnotic, each stroke driving you higher, closer to the edge. The feeling of the silicone inside you, combined with the solid deck beneath you and the gentle rocking of the yacht, is almost too much to bear.

Alexia leans down, her breath hot against your ear. “Te ves tan jodidamente bien,” she whispers, her voice rough with arousal. The words send a thrill through you, your body tightening around the strap. She grins, a feral expression, and picks up the pace, her hips snapping against yours with increasing intensity. She’s putting on a show, not just for you but for the camera, her movements precise and deliberate.

She pauses for a moment, pulling out almost entirely before thrusting back in hard, eliciting a sharp cry from you. “You like that, don’t you?” she taunts, her voice dripping with dominance. “You love being fucked like this, being watched.” Her words make you moan louder, pleasure and embarrassment making your skin flush.

Alexia’s hand slides between your legs, her fingers finding your clit and rubbing in slow, torturous circles. “Beg for it,” she demands, her voice firm. When you hesitate, she smacks your thigh, the sting sharp and thrilling. “I said beg for it”

“Please, Ale,” you gasp, your voice trembling with need. “Please, fuck me harder”

She smirks, clearly pleased with your response. “Buena chica,” she purrs, increasing the pressure on your clit as she resumes thrusting, harder and faster this time. Your moans grow louder and you’re certain you have just disturbed a flock of Caspian Tern.

Alexia grabs your hips, lifting them slightly to change the angle, each thrust hitting deeper, making you see stars, galaxies, andromeda. Her free hand moves to your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath catch, causing you to suck in breaths when she’s too distracted to press at your windpipe.

“Such a pretty sight,” she murmurs, glancing at the camera again. “All spread out and desperate for me”

She leans down, spitting on your chest and rubbing it into your skin with rough, possessive strokes. “Mine,” she growls, her eyes burning with intensity.

You can barely form a coherent thought, your entire world narrowed down to the relentless rhythm of her hips, the firm grip on your throat, and the fiery trail her spit leaves on your skin. Each thrust pushes you closer to the infinity, the pressure building inside you like a ticking time bomb.

Alexia’s hand moves from your throat to your ass, delivering a sharp slap that makes you cry out. “Take it,” she commands, her voice scratchy with arousal and sharp with authority. “Take everything I give you”

You nod frantically, your body on fire with need. She slaps you again, harder this time, the pain mingling with the pleasure in a deliciously heady mix. Her movements become almost brutal, each thrust sending shockwaves through you, your orgasm building to an almost unbearable intensity.

“Look at me,” she commands, her voice a growl that sends another wave of pleasure through you. You force your eyes open, meeting her gaze. The intensity there is almost too much to bear, a conflagration of desire and possessiveness that leaves you breathless. She smirks, pleased with your obedience, and redoubles her efforts, her hips driving into you with unrelenting force.

When you finally come, it’s with a force that leaves you shaking, your entire body tensing and then releasing like spring that’s snapped under the weight of pleasure. Alexia doesn’t stop, drawing out your orgasm, riding it out until you’re a quivering, boneless mess beneath her.

Only then does she slow, her movements gentle, soothing, as she helps you come down from the high. She leans in, capturing your lips in a soft kiss, a stark contrast to the fire behind her movements just seconds ago.

Finally spent, she collapses beside you, pulling you into her arms. You nestle against her, your head resting on her chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart. Her hand strokes your back, a comforting rhythm that lulls you into a state of blissful contentment. The gentle rocking of the yacht, the warmth of her body against yours, it’s all perfect, a cocoon of love and satisfaction. Alexia glances over at the camera, a satisfied smile playing on her lips, before she whispers, “This is just the beginning”

[stall1iion]

champion's love - eight

Content Warning: the following chapter is intended for mature audiences only, contains strong language and profanity that may not be suited for children and sensitive adults. I will mark when the smut starts and ends for those who wish not to read that part. Thank you. 

tags: smut, needy max, equally needy reader, teasing/banter

Minors dni!! Warnings below!! 

warnings: cunnilingus, p in v, dirty talk 

liked by maxverstappen1, bsf1, bsf2, victoriassecret and many others

y/nofficial thank you Victoria Secret for allowing me to showcase your newest summer bikini! Link in my link tree, get 30% off using my code!

tagged: victoriassecret

view all comments

username9 HELLO?? THE BODY IS T 😫😍

username2 😫can max fight??

username34 the way my jaw just dropped

username123 why did she think anyone would want to see her skinny ass? It’s barely giving curvy

⤷username55 first of all, she’s an athlete, of course she’s going to be skinny and lean, second that gives you no right to talk about her body like that, it’s giving jealous

ynsteponme: y/n could run me over, beat me with a bat, set me on fire, please just do anything to me i really don’t care

⤷username99 literally so down bad for her

landonorris you look gorgeous.

⤷y/nofficial i appreciate this, but i post for the bad bitches only.

⤷landonorris i am the bad bitch you speak of.

⤷y/nofficial my bad gang 💪

username1 just looked at myself and sighed

username78 max watch out bc you and i are not friends

⤷username45 so we all in love with y/n right?

⤷username8 of course we are!

⤷username7 i mean LOOK at her 😻max can’t handle all that fr

maxverstappen1 GOD DAMN

⤷bsf2 HELLO??

⤷bsf1 my brother in christ…😀

⤷OscarPiastri oh he’s down bad…

⤷danielricciardo oh max…

⤷georgerussell63 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

⤷charlesleclerc why have you never publicly declared your love for me?

⤷y/nofficial charles your not beating the lestappen accusations, my dear

username59 BRO MAX’S COMMENT?? 😭

lilymhe it should be illegal to look this good 💗

⤷y/nofficial says you 😘🤤

⤷lilymhe don’t make me wife you up 🤭

⤷y/nofficial when’s our wedding baby?? 🤭

⤷alexalbon I will throw you in the ocean 😻

→ smut starts here

Twenty minutes later you were both amused and in disbelief when you heard the front door to Max's house open. Sitting up and turning to look at the door, you spoke before you even saw him with a laugh. “Stop, what are you doing here?”

Max let out a chuckle, getting closer to you with a grin on his lips and a fervent look in his eyes. Reaching you, he placed his hands on either side of the couch, caging you in as he looked down into your eyes. “I said I’d come and show you who bro was, didn’t I?”

“I was just joking around though” you said with a chuckle, not moving the rest of your body now as the living room felt heavy and intense.

“And I said sorry wasn’t going to save you” his face was so close to yours, literally hovering above you. “Plus, you didn’t seem against it earlier”

“Oh so you did read my message?” you raised an eyebrow at him, your eyes watching as he licked his lips at the question before looking down at your body - his shirt, one of the few that didn’t brand red bull on it at least, draped over your body for the most part. Fulfilling the objective of being oversized but tight enough that he could see the faint outline of your boobs, more than enough for his hungry eyes.

Max leaned back, opening his skirt up and exposing himself to you more, a silent confirmation that he was allowed to do what he said he would - and one he wasn’t fully sure you’d give him. He knew you were both being careless and playful, but this would be their first time together, and he didn’t want it to be the result of him pressuring you. He was fine with stopping here and cuddling if you wanted, he would deal with his own desire and they could put on a movie.

You knew he was giving you that option, that cop-out if you felt like it; but surprisingly…this process felt natural to her. No nerves, no fear, just pure attraction and desire. So after staring at his body for a while, you reached your hand out and placed your palm on his chest first, noticing how his heart pulsed against her hand rapidly with the concealed strength he had been using to control himself. Looking up at him, your hand slid up his shoulder and down his arm before wrapping around his wrist.

Slowly you guided his hand to grab your boob through the shirt. It might’ve seemed weird from anyone on the outside, but between the two of you, alone with your desires, he knew that this was you giving him that confirmation and his hand slowly grabbed at your boobs, fondling them through the shirt for a few before, albeit hesitantly, reaching under his - your shirt and feeling your bare skin.

A small shiver went up your spine at the difference in temperature, his hands just a bit colder but he seemed to be enthralled with your boobs now, a groan leaving him causing you to giggle. “What’s so funny?” he asked with a smile as he glanced up at you.

“You seem so engrossed in my boobs” you said with a smile and a chuckle and he chuckled and pulled his hands away, sliding himself in between your legs with a smile

“Their nice, saw a glimpse of them in that post of yours” he said and you chuckled, “God you're totally a tits man”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy” he said in retort and you laughed

“Are you daring me?” you asked as you looked at him before reaching and pulling your shirt up, Max finally able to see your boobs in all it’s glory and he folded like the man he is, letting out a deep groan as he looked and she laughed. “Mystery Solved!” you said, pulling the shirt back down with a shit eating grin as you looked at him and watched him run a hand through his hair.

“Don’t do this to me” he said, pushing himself against you so that you could feel his erection against your clothed pussy. “I’m not doing anything” you said with a giggle and almost in defeat, he leaned his head on your shoulder. Part of you thought he was going to beg and sat up a little straighter to pull him closer. Yet, like always, Max was unpredictable and said something she didn’t expect.

“You want this as much as I do” his head raising again and staring right into your eyes - that matched with one of his hands now being placed on your thigh, thumb caressing it softly, contradicting the needy pressure he was applying with it. It was no surprise when your body started vibrating with sensations that spread across your skin and honed into a throb, and you both crumbled at the same time.

Max lost his control first though, bringing his lips to yours, kissing you roughly like he planned on consuming you, as if he was containing an urge for too long and could do nothing but let it explode out. Your body melted as you reciprocated his kiss, his tongue grazing your lips before biting you, a whimper escaping your lips as he did so.

“You like that?” he mumbled, his hips grinding against you already, anticipating traveling throughout his body. You could only nod in affirmation as he leaned back to look at you before leaning you down onto your back, his hand sliding up your leg in the process as if in preparation.

He let his hand explore your body, moving upwards and upwards before reaching your underwear. Through it, he could feel the damp spot already seeping through, exposing how wet you were, and he let his fingers softly caress your clit with a triumphant smile. “Mystery solved” he said, throwing back your own words at you and you rolled your eyes, your back arching just a little bit. “Screw you” you managed to say between breaths as he sped up his movements.

“Oh trust me, I plan to” he replied, and the way he managed to be so cocky just intensified your need for him. As if guessing this just from your blissed expression, he pulled his hand away, accompanied by your whines as you looked to see what he was doing. His hands moving up and grabbing the band on your underwear before pulling them down, you lifting your hips to help as he slipped them off your feet and then reached for your shirt, leaving you fully naked on the couch.

“Fuck” he cursed, his cock throbing in his pants. Desperate, he almost gave up on his attempts to control himself. However, he did not want to stop teasing you, looking at your flushed cheeks and open mouth, it was worth the self control he had to possess. Looking down at your body, his eyes zeroed in on one thing he didn’t expect, a tattoo. It was on her v line, properly hidden by underwear and most outfits.

“When did you get this?” he murmured, lowering his face down as his lips hovered over it, his breath warm against your skin.

“Um…2018…after the olympics” you answered, your voice sounding out of breath as you pushed up on your elbows to watch. His lips slowly leaning down to kiss the spot. “It’s pretty” he said as he looked up at you, and god if only he knew how pretty he looked like that, his teeth grazing against it teasingly causing your breath to hitch. He chuckled before his arms linked under your legs and pulled you up to his face, glancing up at you before diving in like a starved man.

The way Max ate pussy was almost disgusting, like he was trying to suck your soul out of your body. Your hands dropped to his hair, sliding through the strands and bucking your hips up to meet his tongue. He looked ridiculously good while lapping at your pussy or sucking your clit in his mouth, his eyes shining, his hair being pushed back and the way his shoulders were wider than your hips, giving a good place to rest your legs on. You were so distracted by his looks that you only realized he had slipped a finger inside you when it curled into your cervix and you let out a loud moan.

“Can I put a second?” he mumbled against your skin, kissing your thigh as he looked up at you and you nodded, encouraging your boyfriend’s movements and easily enough, he pushed a second finger inside. His fingers curled even better as his mouth worked exclusively on your clit, his left arm reaching to press down on your hips to keep you still, making you feel his movements even more intensely. You threw your head back as you arched off the couch, your fingers keeping a merciless grip on his strands, hard enough that you might have been worried about pulling some out as he worked you up. He could feel when your legs started tensing around his neck and how your walls tightened around his fingers, both signs that you were close to release so he sped his movements. It was a particular deep stroke of his fingers to your insides that had you coming for him, your legs shook around him as you experienced an unexplainable strong orgasm. Max continued to eat you through your orgasm and it was only when he pulled away did you notice his face was covered in a transparent liquid, realizing you had squirted on him.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry” you said, covering your face to stop the embarrassment you felt as Max sat up

“Sorry for what, baby?” he asked, kissing up your body before pushing his shirt off his shoulders, “didn’t know you could do that, huh?” he whispered into your neck and you shook your head.

“No” you said, burying your face into his neck, “it was embarrassing”

“That’s okay baby, you don’t have to apologize for that. It was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, you look so pretty when you cum, darling” he said and you chuckled before letting out a sigh

“Still embarrassing” you said and he chuckled before leaning back and kissing your forehead.

“Whatever you say, do you still wanna continue? Or are you all good here?” he asked and you shook your head

“No- no, i can keep going” you said and he looked to make sure you were sure before he nodded

“Alright, if you say so baby” he said with a nod before unbuckling and taking off his pants. Your eyes watched religiously as you watched him kick them somewhere on the floor before grabbing his boxers, and sliding them down. You watched as it bounced back up and rested against his stomach with a small gasp before she looked up at him. “You can touch baby, only fair” he joked and you reached down, your fingers wrapping against the base before giving it a nice pump which caused him to hiss.

“Fuck” he cursed, and you stopped for maybe a split moment before he interrupted you. “No, no- keep going…it’s just, it’s been a while” he said and you nodded before you continued, jerking him off for a few moments before he stopped you, way too close and he wanted to wait. You were a little sad you weren’t able to taste him but you figured you could do it another time. He reached for his pants again, pulling out a condom from his pocket and rolling it on before he slid back in between your legs.

“You ready?” he asked and you nodded. He brought his tip to your wet pussy, sliding so well that he couldn’t help but moan. Your gasp of pleasure made it all worth it, and your cry of frustration as he pulled himself out drove him absolutely insane. The way you craved him made him dizzy, intoxicated with your drunkenness of him, having you all for himself the way you were in that moment being almost a dream. He pushed back in, his large cock filling you and the small pain from stretching was overtaken by pleasure as you felt his hips grind against yours. The rhythm was nothing like his fingers, nothing like his tongue, it was slow. He was slow, like he was savoring every moment of this.

You clenched, you squealed, begged, anything flowed out your mouth and none of it was coherent, but Max liked that. In fact, it only quickened his pace as he watched your eyes roll to the back of your head and moan his name.

"you're taking me so well" his voice is raspy, husk and faint. “Such a good girl…”

A moan rippled through your body at the sound of him, every thrust from him sending butterflies into your stomach until one in particular hit your cervix and you let out a cry as you came on his cock.

It takes a few more thrusts from him before he’s spilling into the condom with a low groan, his face leaning into your neck as he trembled a bit. The two of you panting and getting your breathing under control as you came down from your highs. He slips out after a few minutes, tying the condom before getting up to throw it away, and coming back with a warm wash cloth, sitting next to a relatively fucked out you and after wiping your leg to warn you, starts to clean you up, even if it’s your own fluids.

→ smut ends here

liked by maxverstappen1, bsf1, bsf2 and many others

y/n.jpg Been at home all day, Jimmy is especially obsessed with me as you can see (shoutout to waking up with sassy behind my knees) 

view all comments

username7 stop 💀is she in the bath and jimmy and sassy are staring at her?? 

bsf2 awww look at Jimmy on your chest 🥹

maxverstappen1 tell jimmy to get out of my spot 

⤷username6 hello?? 💀is he talking about your chest

⤷bsf1 ignore him, he’s different without his meds 

username23 is it just me or is max and y/n like suddenly really affectionate? 🤔like no hate, I love it, it’s just a crazy shift 

⤷username2 nah you're so right moot, especially max 💀were they released from pr jail or something?? 

⤷username4 well y/n sure as hell wasn’t 😂she’s always been unhinged, it might just be her influencing max 

lilymhe never wanted to be a cat so badly 

⤷y/n.jpg don’t worry baby, I got you 💋

⤷alexalbon I give up 

⤷maxverstappen1 a wise choice truly

charlesleclerc how come sassy is nice to you?? 

⤷y/n.jpg girls just recognize girls 

⤷bsf1 lies, she’s just freakishly good with animals 

OscarPiastri can I pet them? 

⤷y/n.jpg osc! of course you can, just tell me what day you plan to swing by bc I wanna make snickerdoodles 

⤷logansargeant I heard snickerdoodles 

⤷y/n.jpg 💀yes logan, you can come too i guess

→ we have a contact name change for max, goodbye max, hello maxie 

→ Jimmy and Sally love their new mommy, especially Jimmy 

Author’s Note!! 

Hey Guys, sorry about the wait for this chapter, I lowkey didn’t know how I was going to do this and switched the format at least 7 times. I also broke my wrist on my dominant hand 🙂(didn’t know the ao3 curse applied to tumblr too) thankfully I can type with both hands but finishing out my first smut chapter with one hand was difficult. Speaking of smut, this was my first hand at writing this stuff so 🥹hopefully it’s good, I did not reread it bc one hand but also bc I’m indecisive and will change it, anyways hope you enjoy this chapter!! 

taglist: @boiohboii @ale-522 @ietss @theseerbetweenus @jaxx-7 @sainzluvrr @the-untamed-soul @ashy-kit @hc-dutch @nichmeddar @delululeclerc @sweate-r-weathe-r @dhanihamidi @tellybearryyyy @luvsforme @samantha-chicago @theblueblub @woozarts

༉‧₊˚  CHAMPIONS LOVE ༉‧₊˚

⤷ Following the messy breakup between Max Verstappen and Kelly Piquet, Max’s manager comes up with a solution to divert the attention – a fake relationship. His new girlfriend? Two time olympic gold medalist figure skater, y/n for the USA team. Easy? Well…

[ham1lton]

fight for this love.

pairings: jude bellingham x f1 driver!reader

warnings: nothing!

faceclaim: bella hadid.

summary: jude meets you at a promotional event for a brand you both have a deal with. after the first meeting, he’s smitten, but there is a problem. he never got your number.

— part three of my 500 followers celebration ♡ —

liked by gucci, judesgf and 1,028,728 others.

vogue: gucci’s newest ambassador, footballer jude bellingham, spills the beans (no pun intended) on his fav outfit combo, his ideal type and his favourite kebab place back home in birmingham.

view all 129,765 comments

user1: NEED HIM SO BAD 😍😍😍😩😩😩

user8: brb going to buy out gucci rn.

user7: WAIT…. his ideal type???

-> user9: it’s lowkey kind of boring. specific but not specific. he says he loves girls who are focused, smart and have good relationships with their friends and family.

-> user7: check, check and CHECK 😩 brb calling up my deadbeat dad rq just for u jude 😘😍

user6: gucci king we love him.

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liked by yourbffname, oscarpiastri and 1,237,665 others.

yourusername: gucci loves me and i love gucci ♥︎ thank u to the whole gucci team for having me alongside the other ambassadors at today’s event! it was so much fun!

view all 297,727 comments

oscarpiastri: you had the entire gucci catalogue to choose from and you still chose to dress like an ailing grandfather.

-> yourusername: drip or drown baby!

-> oscarpiastri: you’re the latter.

user1: i met you today at the gucci event!! you were so sweet. i was the one who gave u the bracelet! 🫶🏼

-> yourusername: yes!! thank u sm!! it was so cute and matched my outfit so well. i’m still wearing it!

logansargeant: when are you hooking me up with free gucci 🤨😒 we’ve been friends for more than a decade ms l/n….

-> yourusername: lemme work my magic 🙈✨

user78: she should have been a model instead of a formula one driver!! so pretty!! that bone structure 🤤

user7: did you see jude looking at her throughout the whole damn event? omg. he’s down bad.

-> user63: bro was simping 😭 i don’t blame him. i mean… it’s y/n.

————————————————————————

————————————————————————

liked by oscarpiastri, yourbffname and 1,237,765 others.

judebellingham: took these pics last night. whoever my midnight muse was, please message me.

view all 689,165 comments

oscarpiastri: i know her mate. it’s landonorris.

-> landonorris: yes ‘tis i, your gucci girl 🥰

logansargeant: it’s yourusername, man. thank you for this. now she’ll stop talking about you in the gc 🙄🙄

-> user7: american and british solidarity.

user8: need a man willing to do a worldwide search for me.

-> user26: commit a crime, flee and you’ll get a whole fleet of men doing that for you <3

user12: oh to be jude bellingham’s midnight muse.

user90: how does bro not know the current world champion and first female f1 driver to break many barriers in the sport?? like she’s a household name 😭

-> user25: chronically offline 😭

yourusername: hi!! it’s me! these photos are gorgeous! yes, please message me <3 also ignore oscar, logan and lando in your comments please. they have no home training.

-> logansargeant: you could have stopped me if you had given me the gucci u promised 🤨

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liked by judebellingham, ynswifey and 1,272,892 others.

yourusername: i felt like my paddock outfit just wasn’t appreciated enough today.

view all 348,728 comments

oscarpiastri: this is all you post after your win?

-> yourusername: i put a lot of effort into this outfit! only charles said something. 😔

-> oscarpiastri: wow! y/n! jeans and a t-shirt! revolutionary!

-> yourusername: i’m gonna pretend that wasn’t sarcastic 😝🥰

user728: oscar doesn’t see the vision. this is super cute!!

user267: her posting this after she just hard launched her relationship with jude?!

-> user128: like girlie straight up jumped and kissed him after her win and hasn’t even acknowledged it???

judebellingham: u look so good.

-> user682: you couldn’t have texted her this shit? lmaoooooo.

user516: i appreciated it!!

-> yourusername: i love u sm 🫶🏼😍

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liked by ynsgf, zendaya and 1,727,982 others.

yourusername: tried to find out if blondes do truly have more fun. answer tbd.

— 📸 creds - my bf.

view all 789,927 comments

judebellingham: that’s ME in the caption btw.

-> yourusername: we know babe 😁🥰😝

gucci: i guess we’re matchmakers now?

-> logansargeant: YASSS 😩 now can i get free gucci or no 🤨

-> oscarpiastri: crazy emoji use man 😭 is it ever that serious.

judebellingham: i love you so much.

-> yourusername: love u forever. glad to be urs. 💕🫶🏻

user1: she ate this down we love a bad bitch and her supportive bf!

user71: him flying her out after she wins the championship!!! we love this for her!!

user16: why can’t i have a hot gf, be sexy, be rich, one of the most promising young athletes currently and be lounging on a beach somewhere…

-> user72: why can’t i have a hot bf, be sexy, be rich, one of the most promising young athletes currently and be lounging on a beach somewhere…

user68: we love a blonde moment!

-> yourusername: halfway through our holiday, i saw zendaya, rihanna and beyoncé go blonde and got extreme fomo.

-> judebellingham: she made me dye it. i was terrified.

————————————————————————

author’s note: reader here is heavily based off of what it would have been if nepo!sis reader was the driver instead of o/s but in that universe, she never would have dated lando. so… small blessings ig?

[mysunshinetemptress]

For England

Alexia Putellas x lioness!reader x ocdaughter!reader

Warnings: Fluff

Even before Melia arrived, Alexia and you had joked about the future. Would we have a mini-me in a Spanish jersey, mimicking her mama's stepovers, or a fearless lioness with your crunching tackles? As it turned out, Melia was a curious mix. From her first kick of a ball, she'd proudly rock a jersey split down the middle, the Spanish crest battling for dominance with the Three Lions As Melia toddled around, she'd proudly rock a mishmash of kits. Or sometimes it would be an oversized Spain shirt drowning her tiny frame, the next a miniature Lionesses jersey that barely covered her knees. You both knew, deep down, that she'd eventually choose a side.

 She was very proudly called "Amorcito," she was your love in a smaller version, a mix of the cultures you both so desperately loved and just like the love that brought you both together.

However, by the age of three, Melia's allegiance became undeniable. The turning point came during the Euros. She was mesmerised by the Lionesses' attacking prowess. Sat alongside your wife as she watched excitedly her passion only seemed to build with every goal an elicited joyous shrieks, every tackle a passionate fist pump. When the final whistle blew, crowning England champions, Melia danced with unbridled glee, waving a miniature Lionesses flag like a warrior queen. 

 I expected a flicker of disappointment, maybe even a playful jab. After all, she was a Barcelona legend, a "Culer" through and through. But instead, a wide smile stretched across her face. Later that night, as Melia slept soundly in her England-themed pyjamas, Alexia surprised me again. With a mischievous grin, she pulled out a brand new Lionesses jersey, emblazoned with "Melia 10" on the back.

"She is a Culer mi vida," she said, her voice soft, "that is my legacy, that is my career, not La Roja. But family? Our family supports each other, no matter the colours we wear on the pitch But supporting England, the lionesses, your team, cheering for your country, her country? That's a love that runs deeper than football."

Her words struck a chord. Melia's choice wasn't a rejection of Alexia's heritage, but a blossoming of her own. It was a beautiful testament to the power of sports to unite families, even if they cheered for different teams.

The World Cup final, with its clash of loyalties, only solidified that realisation. Melia, both yours and Alexias Amorcito, defied expectations throughout the tournament with her continued wear of England jerseys as well as the St George crest painted along her cheeks and her red and white ribbon tied into her ponytail.

Your heart lurched as you saw Melia freeze in the tunnel, her small hand gripping Alexia's Spanish jersey like a vice. The roar of the crowd was a distant echo in the tense silence. Alexia’s warm smile, usually contagious, faltered at the edges. Melia's eyes, brimming with tears, locked with yours.

Alexia, ever the teammate, knelt beside her, a gentle smile on her face. "Hey, Amoricito," she said, "It's okay, you look beautiful. Just a few steps, and then you can change after the walkout, alright?"

Melia, however, remained rooted to the spot, her tiny chin jutting out. Tears spilled down her cheeks, blurring the red and yellow stripes of the Spanish jersey. "I'm English, Mami!" she cried, her voice cracking with frustration. "I can't walk out with you! I'll let them down!" Alexia looked down at Melia confused "Who down Amoricito" "I'm English, Mami, not Spanish! I'll be letting the lionesses down, I'll be letting Mama down" she cried, her voice cracking.

Alexia sighed her voice a soothing balm. "Amoricito," she began, "we all love you, no matter what jersey you wear. You just need to walk out with us, then you can change, okay?"

Melia shook her head, adamant. "But I want everyone to see I'm cheering for England!" Her lower lip quivered, threatening to spill over.

Alexia exchanged a helpless glance with you. it had been planned to perfection this little moment between you all a cute family moment, a symbol of international unity on the biggest stage. Now, it was unravelling before the world's eyes. Your gaze darted towards the tunnel entrance, where the announcer's voice boomed, signalling the imminent walkout. Time was ticking and Melia wasn't letting up or calming down.

Taking a deep breath, You rushed over and knelt beside them your daughter might have been born in England and loved the country with every ounce of her heart but she was so much like Alexia in looks and personality. "Hey, Amoricito," you said softly, your voice laced with calm. "It's okay, sweetheart. We know you love England, the girls know you love England. But remember, Mami is Spanish and she wanted to include her favourite girl during this moment, but this walkout is for both teams, for both of us, for our family and, for everyone who loves football."

Melia sniffled, her lower lip trembling. "But the badge," she hiccupped, pointing at the Spanish crest emblazoned on the jersey. "It's not right."

A warmth bloomed in your chest. Her fierce loyalty, even at this tender age, filled me with pride.

A quick decision had to be made. Glancing at Alexia, I saw a flicker of understanding in her eyes. She squeezed Melia's hand gently. "How about this," Alexia offered, "You walk out with me, but when we get to the national anthems, you can stand with Mama and the lionesses, okay? English and Spanish."

A flicker of hope sparked in Melia's eyes. She looked down at the Spanish jersey, then back at you. "Can I?"

"Absolutely," You confirmed, relief flooding through you as you looked back at your teammates and your own mascot you had abandoned trying to calm your daughter down.

As the announcer's voice reached a crescendo, the tunnel doors swung open. Alexia took Melia's tiny hand gripping it tightly, as you placed a kiss on her head and squeezed Alexia's hand before grabbing the hand of your mascot.

The pre-game formalities flew by in a blur. As the teams lined up for the national anthems,  Alexia crouched down and winked at Melia. "Ready to change sides, Amoricito?" she asked playfully Melia smiled grabbing Alexia's hand before pulling her towards you and grabbing your hand with hers as she stood proudly in between you both, her tiny voice joining the chorus of "God Save the King," Your heart swelled with pride, a mixture of maternal love and admiration for her courage.

Melia, her smile now radiant, let go of Alexia and raised her hands to be lifted up by you laughing as you kissed her cheeks. "Just hold on for the win, Mama," she whispered, her eyes sparkling. "For England!"

"Maybe next time, we'll walk out with you wearing an England jersey, leading the English fans in cheers."

Melia's eyes sparkled. "Really?"

"Absolutely," you promised.

[misspygmypie]

Best Uncle Competition

Part of the "Meet & Greet... and more?" Universe Pairing: Lando Norris x Noah (plus Oscar, Carlos and the two Max's) Words: 1434 Request: Yes by the lovely @littlegrapejuice : I'd love a one shot where lando takes noah karting with other drivers (of your choice) and they all compete to be the best uncle (like letting him win or bribing him with merch). But in the end, noah just cares about his dad lando being the best and the other drivers are just disappointed that no matter how much they show off, they don't/can't compare. Just smth fluffy to show lando and noah's bond bc i just love them sm 🫶 Masterlist

Please do not repost, thank you, and leave some feedback :)

The karting track was buzzing with excitement. Lando was thrilled to spend the day with his seven-year-old son, Noah, and had planned a special outing. To make it even more memorable he had invited some of his closest friends: Oscar Piastri, Carlos Sainz, Max Fewtrell and Max Verstappen. Little did Noah and Lando know, this wasn't just a friendly karting session - it was a competition to win the title of “Best Uncle”.

Noah’s eyes lit up at the sight of all his favorite drivers, each in their racing gear and ready for action. He bounced with excitement when he saw his dad and the racing stars.

“Dad, this is amazing,” Noah exclaimed, his eyes wide with joy.

“I’m glad you’re excited, buddy,” Lando said, grinning. “Let’s see how everyone does today.”

While they were getting ready Noah’s attention was almost entirely fixed on his dad. To the seven-year-old Lando wasn’t just another racer in the line-up - he was a superhero, an idol and his personal racing champion all rolled into one.

From the moment they arrived Noah’s eyes sparkled every time he looked at Lando. He tried to hide his excitement by pretending to be cool but his wide grin betrayed his bubbling enthusiasm. When Lando adjusted his kart Noah mimicked him with exaggerated seriousness, pretending to check imaginary tire pressure, just like his dad.

Oscar, known for his laid-back demeanor, was the first to make his move. He handed Noah a small bag of McLaren merchandise - a shirt, stickers and an orange cap with the team’s logo. “Hey, Noah, how about you wear this today? It’ll make you look like a real racer,” Oscar said with a smile, his own cap slightly askew.

Noah was thrilled and put on the cap immediately. “Wow, thanks, Oscar,” he said, adjusting the cap with a serious look, as if preparing for a big race. He wore it with an added sense of pride, as if it somehow made him part of the racing team Lando was part of.

Carlos, always competitive but with a warm heart, decided to take a different approach. He gifted him a brand new remote controlled race car. “Here you go, champ. This is the newest model out there. I saw it in the store and immediately had to get it for you.”

Noah beamed, feeling happy with his new toy. “Thanks, Carlos!” he said, admiring the car and already got excited about testing it out later at home. When Carlos showed off his own karting skills, Noah watched but his attention often drifted away from the other drivers to watch Lando, who was adjusting his kart and chatting with the other drivers.

Max Fewtrell, the strategist, took a calculated approach. He decided to let Noah win a few races to boost his confidence. During the first race, Max took a leisurely pace, letting Noah zoom ahead while giving him enthusiastic cheers. “Just remember to keep your eyes on the track and not on me. You’ve got this,” Max cheered, pretending to struggle with his kart’s steering.

The boy, thrilled by his apparent racing powers, waved back at Max as he zipped past. However, his gaze frequently flicked towards his dad, who was cheering the loudest from the sidelines, making Noah feel like a true star.

Max Verstappen, known for his fiery competitive spirit, had a similar but different strategy. He challenged Noah to a friendly race but rather than showcasing his superior skills he took it easy. Max’s plan was to make it look like Noah had a real chance at beating him, making Noah’s victories feel genuine.

“Ready to race, champ?” Max asked with a mischievous grin. He then pretended to have trouble with his kart, driving so slowly that even a snail might have beaten him.

Noah, realizing he had the chance to beat him, shot across the finish line with a triumphant cheer. “I beat Max Verstappen!” he exclaimed, practically glowing with pride. Throughout the race his eyes kept darting towards his dad, whose proud expression seemed to be the ultimate reward for Noah.

As the day progressed, each driver tried to outdo the other in their quest for the Best Uncle title. Oscar gave Noah some candy and chocolate he had brought, Max Fewtrell brought out a bag of energy drinks (non-caffeinated, of course) and Carlos shared some top-secret racing tricks.

The drivers were so engrossed in their mission to win Noah’s favor that they started devising ever more elaborate schemes. Oscar organized a surprise mini-trophy ceremony where Noah was awarded a medal for “Most Improved Racer.” Carlos attempted to perform a dramatic, slow-motion race finish complete with exaggerated victory poses trying to make the boy laugh while Max Verstappen started a playful trash-talking session, jokingly challenging Noah to a rematch in the next race.

Despite all their efforts Noah remained blissfully unaware of the competition happening among the drivers. He was having the time of his life and each driver’s attempts to impress him were met with genuine excitement and delight. However, Noah’s focus was always on his dad. Every time Lando spoke Noah’s eyes lit up, his attention shifting entirely to him, even as the other drivers attempted to engage him in conversations or give him more cool stuff.

At the end of the day the drivers gathered around Noah for a final group photo, each one trying to position themselves close to Noah, hoping to be remembered as the “Best Uncle”.

Lando, ever the proud father, stood beside his son with a beaming smile.

“Alright, everyone,” Lando announced, “let’s get a great shot to wrap up the day!”

Noah, now comfortably surrounded by his racing heroes, looked up with wide eyes, completely engrossed in the moment. The drivers lined up, each trying to position themselves strategically to be as close to Noah as possible. Oscar casually draped an arm around Noah’s shoulders, while Carlos tried to subtly nudge closer, his arm around Noah’s waist.

Max Fewtrell carefully maneuvered himself to ensure he was directly behind Noah, hoping to be prominently visible in the photo. Meanwhile, Max Verstappen, with his competitive edge, found himself in a playful tug-of-war with Oscar over who would stand on Noah’s left side.

As they all posed, Max Verstappen couldn’t resist one last playful gesture. He gave Noah a thumbs-up while leaning in close, trying to make the gesture look as enthusiastic as possible. “Give us your biggest smile, champ,” he said, adding a wink for good measure.

Noah, however, seemed largely unfazed by the antics. His gaze was firmly fixed on his dad who was standing proudly beside him. The little boy’s attention was entirely devoted to Lando, his dad’s beaming smile and affectionate presence overshadowing all the playful efforts of the drivers.

The karting track employee, who had the job of taking the photo, prompted everyone to “Say cheese!”. The moment the photo was taken Noah’s smile was the brightest it had been all day but his focus remained on Lando who had wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders. The picture captured a perfect moment: Noah in his tiny racing gear, surrounded by some of the best drivers in the world, yet his eyes were solely on his father.

After the photo was taken Max Fewtrell was the one who crouched down to Noah, asking the question everyone was so eager to get the answer to.

“Well, Noah,” Max said, playfully nudging the cap on the boy’s head, “do you have a favorite uncle? Who is the best?”

Noah thought for a moment, looking around at the smiling faces of his racing heroes. He then turned to his dad with a wide smile and said, “Dad, you’re the best!”

The drivers laughed, though there was a hint of good-natured disappointment. Despite their best efforts and playful strategies it was clear that no matter how much fun they had or how many tricks they pulled, Noah’s heart belonged to his dad. They had aimed to win the title of “Best Uncle”, but in the end it all was overshadowed by Lando’s presence and Noah’s love for his dad that made the boy the happiest.

As they packed up both Max’s, Oscar and Carlos exchanged friendly banter about who might get another chance to be the “Best Uncle”. The karting day had been a fun adventure but the true victory lay in the joy and love shared between a father and his son. The group photo, with Noah’s adoring gaze fixed on his dad, would forever be a treasured memory of a day full of fun and laughter - and banter.

________

AN: This was such a cute request!! I hope you like it and if not let me know and I can rewrite 😊🫶

Taglist: @eloriis @pacifierbby @landossainz @littlegrapejuice @barcelonaloverf1life @poppyflower-22 @itsjustfranzi @vickykazuya

[nandolonso]

UNDISCLOSED DESIRES (Fernando Alonso x Reader)

TITLE: Undisclosed Desires – aka who is the biggest fan of whom? (Fernando Alonso x Reader)

I got inspired after Baku. P6 BABY, LET’S GOOOOOOOOOO!

FYI: English is not my main language nor is Spanish. I’m sorry for any mistakes.

Word count: 4K

Warnings: self-doubt, self-image issues, kind of shy reader, reassuring and slightly dominant Nando (who worships the shit out of you), happiness, positive social media presence, Spanish, dirty talking and fingering, smuttish – I hope you enjoy it. 😉

Recommended song: Undisclosed Desires by Muse

Explanation: Y/N – your name, Y/H/C – your hair color

Also, this GIF is chef's kiss, his gaze is so intense. GOSH!!! 🔥 I hope you'll like it. Let me know what you think! ❤️‍🔥

//

It was race day in Baku.

You were sitting in the paddock waiting for Fernando Alonso to show up. Your boyfriend. It was hard to comprehend that he was your man, your partner. It was an unbelievable title – but it was true, he really was yours.

However, the last period has been challenging for both of you. On the one hand, Alonso has spent several periods away from you, as Aston Martin has struggled to get a good position in recent months. Of course, Fernando took his job very seriously, so he helped the engineers where he could. They did a lot of test laps, planning, thinking.

As for you: you were an average person. You were not a reporter or a supermodel. You were completely different from Alonso's previous partners. You were ordinary – in the best possible way. But it was a very difficult situation for you. You often questioned yourself: were you good enough? Were you good enough not only for yourself but for him? Where did you belong in this world? Especially seeing the other WAGs, and how pretty and thin they were… And you could go on. So, all that time you spent apart didn't help your already fragile mental state.

It was tough for you not to project your self-doubt onto him. And you hated yourself for it. Because there was nothing you wanted more than to be there to support him in every race. To be there for him, always. But a lot of times your state of mind, the media presence, and all the hustle and bustle didn't help you at all. That's why you stayed mostly in the background, as you didn't want Fernando to worry any more than he had been worrying lately.

Fortunately, Aston Martin recently managed to sign Adrian Newey to the team, and you could almost see the "life" returning to Fernando's eyes. The love of your life was shining as he entered the paddock: his stance was firm and confident, that mischievous smile at the corner of his mouth was back, and his gaze was sparkling with fire which you hadn't seen for a long time now.

You couldn't help thinking how good he looked. How he deserves to be world champion again. Your world champion. The thought made your chest tighten. You loved him so much it almost hurt. You wanted him to be happy and succeed so much – it was sometimes physically impossible to bear.

You have never felt this way about anyone, and you didn't want to lose him. You had been together for almost a year now, but you noticed your feelings for him growing every day. So, you thought this weekend was the perfect time to surprise him and actually show that. To be there for him not just mentally, but physically.

You pulled yourself together: you wore a custom Kimoa x Aston Martin shirt that fit your body perfectly. While you didn't have a supermodel figure, you were definitely gorgeous. You had a lot of heads turning in the paddock.  

Your Y/H/C hair glistened in the sunshine, your fingernails painted the typical "Aston Martin green". You counterbalanced the shirt with a black skort that showed off your body perfectly but wasn't too much. To top off everything, you were wearing a sneaker to keep it casual. But the way you wore Fernando's name on your body – front and back, sparkled in his colors, and carried his brand proudly, you were anything but "casual".

As soon as Fernando entered the garage, he noticed you. But he had to look twice just to make sure you were really there because he was not used to seeing you around. Although he made no secret of you, he was very aware of how much you tried to avoid the public. He could understand that you were suffering with your own demons, and he knew exactly how harsh the media could be on F1 drivers and their loved ones.  

But at that moment, he didn't care about anything or anyone. Just you. And all he felt was pride. You were a perfect fit. His perfect fit. And the fact that you were wearing Aston Martin colors, and his brand made his heart beat faster. Suddenly he didn't know what he was feeling.

The way he looked at you took your breath away for a moment. You felt as if all the air had been sucked out of the room (even though it was half in the open air). The fire that flared up in Fernando's eyes was so intense, that you feared he would burn everyone alive. But mostly you.

Your feet rooted to the ground; you gulped as he strode confidently towards you.

"Mi vida," Fernando began, and leaving you no time to think, he pulled you close to him, pressing a passionate kiss to your lips.

In that moment you forgot that other people were standing around you. There were probably a few photos taken of you, but you didn't care. At that moment, it was just the two of you. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him closer to you to deepen the kiss.

Not only his eyes were fiery, but so was the passion he kissed with. There was almost no space left between the two of you as he pulled you shut to him, his hand holding your waist tightly.

Your tongues brushed against each other to have a taste. You almost moaned out loud at the sensation, and you knew you had to stop now, or you wouldn't be able to contain yourself. This man brought out emotions that you never had before. With him... Well, you were always horny, so to speak.

Your cheeks heated up at the thought of him taking you there and then, so you broke the kiss. You tilted your forehead to his.

"Nando," you said breathlessly. "People are watching."

"I don’t care, mi amor," he replied, his Spanish accent getting heavier, which tends to come out when he's very passionate or angry. You hoped it was the former. "Estoy tan contenta de verte," he murmured into your lips in Spanish. It meant he was very happy to see you. You have spent the last year trying to learn as much of the language as possible, which he of course appreciated. You were of a different nationality as well and English was your common language.

You learned a lot from him in bed. He was quite vocal – to say the least. Calling you pet names and talking through it… Enough, you thought to yourself, snapping out of your trans.

Fernando laughed at your expression and how easy it was to make you riled up just with a simple sentence. It was as if he could see inside your head. It was easy for him to read you. And he enjoyed teasing the hell out of you.

He pulled you closer to him for a hug and pressed a short kiss to your forehead.

"I'm really glad that you're here," he said once again, this time in English, squeezing you gently to mark his words. "And you look beautiful too," You hugged him around the waist, burying your face in his chest and taking in his intoxicating scent. The smell that always kept you going: something leathery and woody. It was very masculine, but somehow still comforting and reassuring. Thanks to Boss. They were doing God's work with this man.

"Here to support the best," you muttered into his shirt. You pulled away from him for a moment to look him in the eye. "I'm your biggest fan, I hope you know that." He loved the way you were looking up at him: the way you were glowing with love and desire. How your lips were swelled up after the kiss, how you stood there in the garage, proud to belong to him.

Alonso was like you. He hasn't felt that way about anyone for a very long time. And although he did everything he could for you, somehow it was very difficult for him to talk about his feelings. And not because he was ashamed of them or because he wasn't sure of himself – he was too sure of what he felt. And it frightened him. He was afraid to open up and might lose you. He was old enough to know what he wanted, and he didn't want to start over again with anyone else. All he wanted was you. In the end, somehow, he was still afraid. You had been together for about a year, but he was afraid to say those particular three words, even though he kept calling you "my love" and its synonyms in Spanish.

And at the moment as he looked at you… He was sure. He was sure he wanted you for the rest of his life and that you weren't his biggest fan, but more like vice versa. And he wanted to prove it to you.

He pulled you into his embrace once more.

"I know, mi amor," he mumbled into your hair and pressed another kiss to the top of your head. "I'll put myself out there, just for you," he added with a gentle chuckle. You squeezed him and then let him go, knowing how much he had to do before the race. You took a few steps back just to take him in, now there was even more determination in his eyes than before. Fernando was almost vibrating with excitement, knowing you were there to cheer and support him. And there was something in his eyes as well that made the butterflies in your stomach revive.

"I…" you wanted to say something, but how his eyes softened with tenderness made you speechless. He slowly reached for your hands, his fingertips gently caressing the soft skin of your palm.

"Can I take some photos of you guys?" suddenly one of the team members of Aston Martin popped between the two of you. He was clearly making some content for the team's social media channel and even though you were nervous, you somehow felt put together and wanted to support Fernando all the way. "You look so good together," he added with a soft smile. You tried to find lies in his eyes, but he seemed sincere. Maybe it's time to really believe that you're GOOD and that you looked great together. Fernando Alonso wasn't with you for nothing.

Fernando looked at you and waited for your approval. You nodded slightly and Alonso immediately pulled you to him by the waist.

"The best girl on the grid," Alonso said loudly and proudly, pushing a soft kiss to your temple. You couldn't help but smile at his affection and you pulled him closer to you as well, while the social media guy snapped a few pics.

After that, he showed you all the pictures. As Fernando looked at you in the photos, all his emotions were clear: his eyes radiated with love and respect. And you were definitely glowing next to him. The guy went on to show you some of the photos, eventually stopped when he had taken the two of you kissing. You indeed looked very good together.

"Sorry, I couldn't help myself," he mumbled to himself. Fernando tensed for a moment next to you, waiting for any protest. But you didn't. You really did look good together and wanted nothing more than to show the two of you to the world.

"It’s okay," you started. "The pictures are really great," you reassured the guy and Fernando next to you loosened up. He pressed another kiss to your temple then took a few steps back.

"I'm sorry, mi amor, but I have to go now," he said. "Enjoy the race," Fernando added with a wink. That damn wink. And that damn smirk. Gosh, that will be the end of you. Pendejo.

You turned back towards the social media guy, and at that moment you realized that because of his interference, you didn't say out loud what you wanted to a few moments ago. You wanted to declare your love to Fernando for the very first time, out loud, but now you missed your chance…

"Can I take a few more of you, especially the shirt and nails?" he asked shyly, snapping you out of your thoughts. "You seem like a truly great soul who supports and respects Alonso, and I want to show that to the world," you were almost touched by his words. You were definitely genuine with Fernando and didn't want to use him for anything. You were just there because you were his greatest fan. And that was the best thing for you.

You nodded softly and you guys managed to make a full-on photoshoot in the end. You were surprised at how liberated you felt at the end, and you even chuckled and did some "model-poses."

"You're a natural," he chuckled but you soon stopped as the race began.

//

The race was very exciting. Full of overtaking and adrenaline. At the end of the race, Alonso managed to score P6, which is a very big word from Aston Martin these days. You couldn't help but be excited all the way through, expressing emotion and knowing you were going to be all over social media, but you didn't care. Because Fernando Alonso won. In your eyes that P6 was P1.

After the race, you ran up to him and hugged him. He still had his mask on, but you pressed a kiss to the plexiglass. Of course, the cameras were clicking around you, but you didn't care. Because you were incredibly happy, and you were glad for Alonso. And at that moment, that was all that mattered. If it didn't bother him that you were in every picture (and it probably didn't, because he'd asked you to come with him to the paddock countless times), why would it have bothered you?

In that moment you realized that even though you never said those three words, it was clear how you felt about each other. Alonso lifted you up as he celebrated.

"Yes, baby," he said then laughed. You loved it when he was so excited. And you couldn't wait to see what the new season would bring him under Newey's aegis.

//

A few hours after the race, you were sitting in your hotel room looking at your phone.

Social media, especially Aston Martin's official Instagram page, was full of you and Fernando. You couldn't stop smiling as you saw the hashtag #couplegoals and the many, many supportive comments from fans. What were you afraid of in the first place?

Sure, there will always be some people who don't like certain things, but the majority of commenters were supportive. At least, most of them. You locked your phone and looked out the window. You were thinking about everything that happened that day and you couldn't help but admire the wonderful view of the old town of Baku. You tried to take in every little detail, but your mind kept wandering back to how truly happy you looked at those pictures. And how you guys looked good together.

You let a soft sight as you snapped back to reality. You were waiting for Alonso and he was always on time. You were more the late type, but now you're well ahead of schedule. You wanted everything to be perfect. Not just for the night but for you as well. After the race, you took a thorough bath, did the typical "girly routine", used lotion, did your hair, your make-up... You wore his favorite perfume that made you both sweet and seductive – just to make sure he loses his mind. Then you put on an Aston Martin green evening dress that perfectly accentuated your figure and hid what you were less than happy with. That's how you were waiting for him as the two of you arranged to have dinner tonight to celebrate his placing. Just the two of you. You took your eyes off the city and slowly stood up and went to the full-length mirror in the corner of your bedroom to examine yourself.

You've smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles on your dress, but you've looked quite nice – even you were satisfied, which is a big thing. You nodded to yourself, just when you heard a knock on your door.

Slowly you walked over and opened it. There stood Alonso, in all his glory. He was wearing a black shirt and a black suit. For some reason, the color combination looked very good on his skin. His stubble was short and thick, the hair was all set. You were instantly struck by the typical "Alonso scent", the leathery, woody, Boss-y fragrance. Gosh, he looked delightful. Your mouth almost watered at the sight.

But as he looked at you, he was the one taken aback. You looked like an angel in that green dress. And he was ready to be your demon in that black attire of his, to lead you into the dark mysteries of the night as his eyes locked with yours. You were like the perfect match for him: black and white, Ying and Yang to each other.

"Y/N," he basically growled, as he stepped closer to you, his accent heavy. He tried crossing the distance between the two of you. The emotions of the whole day were stirring inside him. As he stepped closer, you stepped back. He looked at you as if he were the hunter and you were his prey.

His eyes burned with a fire you'd probably never seen from him before. You were almost afraid that as soon as he got close to you, it would burn. And you weren't sure you didn't want to burn all the way.

As you stepped back, he stepped forward one more step, closing the door behind him.

The back-and-forth game continued until you got to the bed. As soon as your knee hit the thing, a truly devilish smile spread across Fernando's face. His eyes almost darkened, with only one thing in his mind: you. Oh, he wanted to explore every inch of you like he'd never done before.

Suddenly you didn’t know why, maybe because of the intensity of his gaze, you felt very shy. You felt almost naked even though you were fully dressed up. You were almost certain that he saw right through you and he could see your flaws and mistakes. At least, that's how you were with yourself. Because when it always came to "that", it was very hard to switch off and let go.

"Mi amor," he started. "Look at me!" he ordered, and you obeyed. Not that you could argue with that: he stepped closer to you to lift your chin, so you had to look him in the eye. He could read you like an open book. He knew your past, your traumas, your hurts. "I know you've suffered, but I don't want you to hide."

That sentence meant more to you than you knew. The knowledge that he saw you, like really saw you, that you didn't have to hide yourself from him, and that he accepted you as you are, said more than anything. You tried not to get emotional, but you couldn't help it as a single tear rolled out of your eye. Fernando slowly wiped it away with his finger.

His gaze became a touch gentler, his hand slid down your face, down your arm, all the way to your fingers. There he intertwined his with yours and slowly guided you to the mirror.

"What are you doing?" you asked quietly.

"Trust me," he said confidently, as you stood in front of the mirror. The mirror was tilted a little so you could see both of your figures quite well.  "You are the one," he whispered softly to your ear from behind.

You shivered a little, then let go and leaned against his chest. You closed your eyes for a moment, enjoying the way Fernando stroked your arm again, from the bottom all the way up to your neck.

"What do you mean?" you asked softly, leaning your head back to his shoulder.

"As I said, mi amor," the words rolled out of his tongue. "You're the one for me." You opened your eyes and again met that burning look in the mirror as he held your gaze. "I love you, Y/N, just the way you are," he admitted. "Completely and utterly."

The air caught in your throat at the confession. You looked at him with eyes full of emotion, then turned in his arms so that you were face to face with him.

You tried to analyze every little movement of his. Was it true? All the alarm bells went off in your head, but you wanted to believe it. And he seemed sincere. You deserve to be happy too, so it's time to give yourself to it.

 "I love you so much, it almost hurts," you confessed as well. Fernando grabbed the fabric of your dress, it was really hard for him to contain himself. His lips hovered just a few inches above yours.

His chest tightened at the sound of your words, and he could barely restrain himself from taking you at that moment. But he wanted to make sure you felt worshipped and loved – just how you deserved it.

He brushed his lips against yours, looking at your reaction. Your breath hitched in your throat, and he loved the sight of it. He wanted you to see it as well. He wanted you to see how he makes you react. And how he makes you feel good.

He firmly but gently started to turn your hips between his hands. He encouraged you to turn back, so his chest could face your back and you could see yourself in the mirror once again.

"I'm only going to say this once, mi amor," he began, running his hand down your arm again. His voice was firm and dominant. You just loved it when he was like that with you. You knew deep down he was devoted and wanted only good things for you. "Keep your eyes on me," he said in the mirror. "I know it's hard," he added. "But can you do it for me, princess?"

You swallowed hard and nodded.

"Así amor," he murmured into your neck.

He placed a slow kiss on the back of your neck, then moved his hand lower, now on your hip. There he firmly grabbed the dress and almost ripped it off you so that now you were standing in front of the mirror in just your underwear. As he saw the black lace piece, another growl erupted from his throat.

"Mierda," he cussed at the sight of you. You would have preferred to hide. You didn't want to tear yourself away from his gaze, but you didn't want to look at yourself either.

Just like he could read your mind he said: "You're beautiful," sliding his hand from your waist to your stomach, so that he could slowly slip his hand inside your panties. "What did I say, mi amor?" he asked in a dominant voice, suddenly stopping in his movements.

You knew exactly what he meant: you swallowed hard. Once again.

"To look at you," you answered, searching for his eyes again. As your gazes interlaced, he began to move his hands once again.

"Así es," he whispered softly into your neck, then left a hot trail of kisses behind. At the same time, he started to move his fingers skillfully, reaching for the perfect spot: where he could feel your aching desire for him. The need started to pool between your legs larger and larger.

You wanted to close your eyes and lean back to him, to lose fully to the sensation but you knew him just well enough that if you would do that he would stop. He kept eye contact while his fingers were deep inside you. The demon in black, your demon who wanted nothing but to make his angel come undone at his touch and mercy.

"Nando," you whispered, as you looked at the two of you in the mirror.

"Sí, mi amor?" he asked, looking into your eyes while he kept his steady rhythm, collecting your wetness on his fingers, now pressing the end of his palm to your core. You bite down at your lower lips at the sensation, letting out a soft moan. "Use your words, princess," he smirked, knowing how hard it was to concentrate right now. He loved seeing you like this, and you loved the effect you had on him, as you could feel his hardness pressing against your behind. His intense gaze, his body, his touch, and his words almost sent you over the edge. Almost.

Then he suddenly stopped. You let out a frustrated breath and you get a chuckle in return.

"I…" you gasped and then shut up.

"Sí, mi amor?" he asked once again, tilting his head to the side as he was looking at you in the mirror. You desperately craved some friction, you even tried to rub together your thighs, but nothing helped.

"I…" you started once again, and he looked at you with encouraging eyes. "I want to…" your cheeks heated up at your words and you didn't even know why. "I want to cum." you finally managed to blurt out. 

He let out a chuckle, grabbing your hips with one of his hands and he slid back his other under your panties.

"Was it so hard, princessa?" he asked, and he started using his fingers again. This time more passionately and faster. With one hand you grabbed Fernando's forearm while still trying to keep your eyes on him. "That’s it," he told you as he tried to help you finally push over the line. He knew how much you loved him when he talked you through it. "I want you to see how beautiful you are when you come undone for me," he whispered into your ear and that's what it took. You shook in his arms as you finally reached the highest highs, fireworks playing before your eyes and at this point, you couldn't help but close your eyes. Your feelings for him, his voice, his touch – it was just too much. You suddenly stumbled, but he was there to catch you. And he always will be.

"That's it, mi amor," he whispered, holding you close to him, while he pressed soft kisses to your neck as he guided you through your high.

For a few moments, you stayed in silence. Then he spoke: "I'm your biggest fan, I hope you know that," he repeated your words from earlier. Your chest tightened at his confession, and you turned in his embrace, now facing him. A soft and loving smile played on your lips as you pulled yourself closer to him.

“But you’re the one who won, we should celebrate you,” you said mischievously. You started to push him back towards the bed where he sat down, so you could straddle him. Fernando groaned as he felt you move against him. His whole body was becoming hard.

“Oh, we will celebrate, mi vida,” he chuckled darkly. “All. Night. Long.” he said and kissed you with so much passion that it consumed the two of you. Each one was like a promise, a seal, a mark for your happiness and a long, prosperous future together.

[waratah-vroom]

Silly Season (ln4)

Liked by alex_albon, landonorris and 700,284 others yourusername: Oh Canada, you have my heart

lilymhe: Of course you'd post food over race content 😂

“And here we have former F2 champion and the first Williams' driver to win a race since Pastor Maldonado-” you heard Ted call your name as the camera man shoved his lens in your face. “Have a second to talk?”

“Always for you, Ted,” you put on your sparkliest smile for the camera and leant against the railing outside the hospitality building you had been seconds away from entering.

“You and Alex did well in qualifying, did that send some well needed morale throughout the team?”

“P6 and P10. Not too bad, eh? Of course doing well in quali is always a mood boost.”

“While I have you I have to ask about Lewis' contract negotiations.”

You groaned, “you were doing so well, Ted!” 

This particular topic had followed you since you’d joined the Mercedes Junior team alongside George in 2017. You became their test driver in 2019 with all eyes watching as you became the first female driver to win the F2 championship. George had been promised an eventual Mercedes seat first and you were happy to wait your turn at Williams. 

George hadn’t exactly been thrilled as he watched you accomplish more with the midfield team than he had ever been able to; scoring five podiums and one win since you’d joined the team three seasons ago.

“I know, I know, but the rumour around the paddock is that you’re next in line for the Mercedes seat when Lewis retires.”

“If Lewis retires. And I don’t think he will.” Toto had come to you as soon as they had started contract negotiations. He’d told you flat out that they wanted to keep the former world champion on the team.

“So there’s no plans for you to reunite with your former team mate?”

“Not that I’m aware, no. Alex and I work well together and I’m quite happy with how things are going. We won a race last year, had a few podiums-”

“And the season’s been looking good this year. You’ve gotten points in every race so far.”

“I know! In a Williams!”

“In a Williams!” Suddenly, Ted did what you’d hope he wouldn’t and noticed where you were standing. “I know we’ve been talking about a move to Mercedes, but how about a move to McLaren?”

The cameraman zoomed out to show you leaning against the railing outside McLaren hospitality.

“Would you believe it if I told you they’re the only team that has the name brand Wagon Wheels?”

It didn’t seem like he believed you. “You’ve come all the way to McLaren for biscuits?”

“Not just biscuits, Ted. Wagon Wheels. Plus I need to rub my three hundredths of a second lead in Lando’s face.”

“A true quality of a good sportswoman.” He could sense you were getting fidgety as you kept checking your watch, so like a professional he began to wrap it up. “Lovely talking to you as always, I’ll leave you to your Wagon Wheels.”

“If I see you later I’ll sneak you one,” you grinned as you finally slipped away to enter the building.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

“What took you so long? I saw you outside ten minutes ago.” He’d tossed his phone on the couch beside him as soon as you’d stepped foot into his room, shrugging off your spray jacket. He held his arms out wide, a silent signal for you to move into his reach, which you happily did as his hands found rest on your waist.

“Got caught talking to Ted about my move to Mercedes,” your words were mumbled through a mouthful of biscuit and marshmallow. You hadn’t been lying about the Wagon Wheels. 

He pulled you forward until your knees hit the couch, forcing you onto his lap. “When did that happen?” 

Licking chocolate off your lips you smirked, “It didn’t. Hi baby,” you slung your arms over his shoulders and his cold hands slipped beneath your tee-shirt.

“I missed you today.”

“You saw me in the pit lane an hour ago.”

“I know, but it’s not the same. I missed this,” he squeezed the flesh on your hips, his lips catching the underside of your jaw when you moved your head back. “You coming to my room tonight?”

“I dunno,” you fiddled with the drawstrings on his hoodie, twisting them around you finger. “Got a big race to prepare for tomorrow. Gotta keep my lead.”

You knew you should sleep alone before the race and get the full eight hours your coach was always talking about, but this man had his fingers wrapped around your heart and you knew it wouldn’t take much of his pleading or puppy dog eyes to end up in the same bed.

“Baby,” his little whine was always the same when he wasn’t getting his way, and you hated to admit it was adorable. And hard to turn down.

“We’re not having sex.”

He nodded, “just cuddling. I’ll even come to your room.”

“You say that but we’ll get in bed and you’ll try something,” you knew from experience. It’d happened before and all the thoughts about sleep and rest went out of your head the second he had his head between your thighs.

“I won’t, I swear. I’ll shower before I come over, I still have those pictures-”

“Lando,” you didn’t need to be reminded of the photos hidden away behind a passcode on Snapchat.

“Pretty please? I won’t even say anything if you want to watch that show you like.”

“You wanna watch Never Have I Ever?”

“No,” he drew out the syllable and you could feel him fidget beneath you. “But I’ll sit next to you and play on my phone while you watch it.”

“What did I ever do to deserve you,” it came out sarcastically but he just grinned, pressing his lips against your own.

“Do you think we have time for a-”

“Do not even think of finishing that question," you glared at him as he had the audacity to pout, his tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip as his fingers crept up to tug on the hook of your bra. "You have ten minutes."

part 2 | read more of my writing here.

Made to order for a sweet anon for my perfume collection xx

ﾟ｡ ⋆ mags' radio: Pls join me in my fantasy of williams being a midfield team. I really love the idea of George being jealous that reader has been able to achieve more in a Williams than he ever was. Anyway, I said that I had a bigger backstory for driver!reader and lando, so if you like this let me know and I might write the beginning of there relationship/ them revealing it to the grid. Going to do a part 2/soft launch insta series for them next! ⋆｡ ﾟ☁︎｡ ⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

taglist: @fulla02reads @lazybot @flowerchild-96 @camillalarke @cool-ultra-nerd @azxulaa @hrlzy @ghosttwit @inejghafawife @booksobsess @formulakay @1655-1485 @chonkybonky @peachiicherries @toalltheboyswhowastedmytime @lilacsimps @diaa-20 @love4lando @imsorare @lunnnix @ctrlyomomma

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[dream-wave-creator]

"All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players: They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts." William Shakespeare

[gallonofgoldfish]

Whiskey and Winning

It's easy to get distracted at the rodeo. At least, it should be, under the lights and in the crowded stands, but you've only got one thing on your mind. Champion bronco rider Abby Anderson could say the same.

Pairing: cowpoke!abby x reader (sort of)

Content: established relationship, fluff, poor attempts at depicting the rodeo, reader is barely described, i swear im not slut shaming i just think the term buckle bunny is funny, i don't think any warnings apply

A/N: wrote this last night in a haze. i hardly know anything about tlou and rodeos actually make me really sad but yk. the parasites. might make another part to this at some point. didn't tell my friends i was posting this so if you guys see this hello i love you thank you for hyping me up <3. also friendly reminder fuck neil druckmann and do not give that zionist your money!!!

WC: 1080

The blare of the announcer’s voice from the overhead speakers is deafening, but you haven’t heard a word he’s said. The lights are blinding, but you won’t squint against their glare. The stadium is packed full—roaring with the drunken cheers of thousands of strangers, glittering with the flash of every camera and belt buckle and rhinestone-studded hat suffocating in the stands—but it may as well be empty save for the two of you.

The world is quiet. Eerily so, though maybe the ringing in your ears is playing a part in that. It’s narrow. It’s tinged by the black splotches at the edge of your vision and strained by the clench of your jaw.

The world is the cowpoke settling onto the bare back of the bronc in the chute only a few feet away from you. It’s the wide-brimmed ten-gallon pressed firmly down over the dirty blonde braid hanging between her shoulders. The collared white shirt stretching over her back, quilted with Marlboro patches and brand logos. The crimson bandana you’d had in your hair an hour earlier, resting around her neck.

The world is Abby Anderson, from the freckles strewn over her scarred, sunburned face to the cold focus in her steely blue eyes that evaporates when her gaze settles on you. Ice turns to the warmth of Jack Daniel’s, neat in its absence. To the gray of campfire smoke winding into the white-speckled sky, burning away the chill in the air. Warding off the spectators and the clamor and the awful, twisting feeling of waiting.

This is what it’s about, right?

The rush. The thrill.

The hitch in the air as her hand tightens on the rigging one last time. 

A grin splits her features.

She winks.

And then she’s gone. The gate swings open and the bucking mare takes off with her on its back and the world bursts back into a mess of color and noise. Eight seconds.

You’re yelling—you’re not sure what you’re yelling, but it’s loud enough to leave your throat raw and earn some sideways looks from the flock of buckle bunnies pressed up against the railing alongside you. 

Seven.

Part of Pour Some Sugar on Me blasts from the staticky speakers, and Abby appears on the jumbotrons in perfect detail. 

Six.

The bay mare thrashes into the air, but Abby’s faster, stronger, the muscles in her arms pushing against the seams of her shirt as she holds her free hand held up in the air. 

Five.

The snarling wolves engraved on her belt buckle flash under the lights. 

Four.

Every kick whips the fringe along the edges of her shotgun chaps, but the timer ticks down anyway. 

Three.

She holds on, anyway.

A closer shot brings her face into focus: grit teeth, a furrowed brow, a muscle ticking along the edge of her jaw. 

Two.

Sweat runs down the side of her features and into the scar on her cheek beneath the shadow of her hat’s brim. 

She’s in the middle of the arena now, gritty sand flying up around her. 

One?

If you could tear your eyes off of her, you’d check the time to make sure you’re counting right.

The music stops. An airhorn sounds. She’s still the rider—some distant, mythical thing up on a screen and down in the dirt.

Abby’s mouth opens in a shout when the second set of floodlights kick in, raising her head only to lock eyes with the pair of wranglers who burst out of the chutes after her to rope the bronc back in. She rocks forward with the mare’s motion one more time before swinging herself off its back and bailing into the sand. 

You finally get a breath out, resting your head against your forearm on the railing and heaving a sigh.

The announcer’s words retreat to the back of your thoughts again, but not before you catch her score. 95.

Ninety–fucking–five. The day’s record.

Just as the stadium begins to die down, the strangers beside you erupt into another round of cheers. Abby’s on her feet again, dusting herself off and sweeping her hat off of her head to shake out the loose strands of hair framing her face. And she’s walking. Jogging. Full-on running, back towards the chutes.

Or maybe not. 

She vaults the rickety fencing at the edge of the ring like she’s been practicing and hauls herself up into the stands. You can’t bite back your smile at the sight of her, shoulders heaving, beaming, alive. The crooks of her boots expertly find the backs of the plastic stadium seats between spectators’ shoulders. As she makes her way over, the strangers along the railing surge towards her, arms outstretched over the section’s edge. 

Abby doesn’t even see them; her stare never leaves yours except to glance at the railing before stepping up on the platform and hooking an arm through the top metal rung. 

She’s real again then—the world in flannel and denim and muddy boots, inches away.

Abby. Your Abby.

You’re breathing it in. Smoke from the night before. Pine and sweat.

Then, you’re tasting it. Whiskey and winning.

Her hat settles atop your head. Calloused, resin-stuck fingers thread through your hair at the back of your neck and reel you in. Your lips are on hers—or maybe it’s the other way around—and you laugh against each other.

Heat creeps into your cheeks long before you pull away.

“You shouldn’t be up here,” you scold, but your smile chases off any thread of sternness your voice might’ve held.

“Agree to disagree.” She wipes her forehead on her sleeve and huffs, one brow arched. The rosy blush in her features lingers even when the sweat is gone. 

The screens over her shoulder change to show two familiar shapes. 

“We’re on the jumbotron,” you say. 

Abby doesn’t bother looking back. Just laughs “Good,” then kisses you again. This one is quicker, lighter, but your stomach flutters all the same.

“Go.” You squeeze her arm. “I’m sure you’re gettin’ somethin’ good for a ride like that.”

She scoffs. “I do this for no damn awards,” she drawls.

“Can’t all be adrenaline,” you murmur, tugging at her bandana.

That sly, smoky look creeps across her features again as the hat lifts from your head and sinks back down onto hers.. The corner of her mouth tugs upward. Her eyes dart over your face. Stepping down, she leaves you two more words and a pounding in your chest:

“It ain’t.”

[magicfootballstuff]

Derby Day - ona batlle x reader

You don’t talk to each other before the game on derby day. That’s the rule you put in place two seasons ago after a Manchester derby that ended up with a pre-match argument, a reckless challenge mid-game that earned you a yellow card, and a week of making Ona breakfast in bed to apologise for taking out your frustration on her on the pitch.

Since then, the no talking rule has been effective. No more arguments, no more stupid tackles, no more letting the Manchester rivalry cross the threshold into the apartment you share with your girlfriend.

Another unspoken rule of the derby day is that the player on the away side stays with a friend the night before the match, mostly to aid the 'no talking before the game' rule, so you crash in Leila’s spare bedroom the night before this one and catch a lift with her and Laia to meet the team bus that’ll take you to Leigh Sports Village. You’re strangely blissful as you board the coach with a coffee in a paper cup, and though thoughts of Ona cross your mind, you’re mostly focused on the game ahead. It’s a must-win for both teams in the fight for trophies and Champions League places, but you don’t allow yourself to stress about the what ifs and the knowledge that either you or Ona will end the day bitterly disappointed with the outcome.

Before the game, when both teams are out on the pitch inside a still empty stadium, you pretend that you don’t know Ona. There’s a bit of mingling between the two teams, some of the Lionesses chat with each other and Lucia says a quick hi to you. But when Leila and Laia approach Ona, you hang back and talk to some of your other teammates instead.

The no-talking rule, no matter how tempting it is to break when Ona looks so good in United’s brand new white training kit, is in place for a reason.

You don’t make eye contact with her during the warm ups, nor in the tunnel before the game. Especially not when you go down the line to fist bump each member of the United team. She’s not your girlfriend for the next two hours, just another red opponent on the pitch.

After three years of playing against Ona instead of by her side, as you did at Levante and Barcelona before that, you’ve reached the point where you can compartmentalise your relationship fairly easily. It helps that the match is so intense - an early goal, a late goal, a red card, and plenty of drama between all that - that you completely forget you’re competing against your girlfriend for large parts of the game. There are only a couple of moments where you get caught off guard, accidentally making eye contact with Ona after forgetting she’s there, and getting distracted for the briefest moment by how fucking good she looks with her hair tied back in a braid and her shirt hanging open at the collar.

When the final whistle blows, you’re gutted about the result. You left everything out on the pitch and to lose it right at the end after going down to ten players and equalising from behind. But the overwhelming feeling is one of relief. You no longer have to pretend that Ona is just another opponent, no longer have to pretend that you’re not head over heels in love with her after ninety minutes of fighting against her.

After the team huddles are over and Ona finishes giving an interview for the television cameras, you find your way to each other, desperate to return to the normality of talking, of even being able to acknowledge each other. She’s clutching a Player of the Match trophy in her hand, and despite the on-pitch rivalry and your disappointment with the result, you can’t stop the pride that swells within you and you have to admit that she’s earned it.

“I hate derby day,” you say, as Ona’s arms wrap around you and you nuzzle your face into her neck.

“Last one,” she replies, referencing your imminent transfers.

Manchester has been your home with Ona for three years, and the Manchester derby, as much as you don’t like having to play against your girlfriend, has been a part of your relationship for those three years. You don’t know if you’ll be sad to see the back of this particular fixture when you return to Spain with Ona to play on the same team next season, but you’ll definitely be sad to say goodbye to this team and this city.

“Never again,” you tell her, as you pull out of the embrace. “Same team for life now. I might even let you put this up in our new apartment.”

You gesture at the trophy in her hand, and she grins back at you as she asks, “So that you never forget that Manchester is red?”

“Okay, you’re sleeping at Lucia’s tonight.”

“No,” Ona protests, her free hand snaking around your back and squeezing your waist. “One night apart was already too much.”

She blinks at you with pleading brown eyes, a dirty yet entirely successful tactic to win you over, though you can’t deny the absolute truth to her words.

“Derby day always makes you clingy,” you tease her.

“I hate playing against you. I hate beating you.”

“Shut up,” you wriggle free from the arm around your waist and give her a playful shove. “This is the first time you’ve beaten us in the league. And the last time you’ll beat me.”

“Can’t beat you again when we play for the same team,” Ona points out. “Maybe I should sign for Madrid…”

“No,” you’re quick to protest, forgetting your faux annoyance as it’s now your turn to pull Ona closer. “Same team from now on, we agreed.”

Ona presses her lips to your temple, then murmurs in a low voice, “And you said I was clingy.”

“Stop it!”

You’re certain that even though you won’t be playing on opposite teams from next season, you and Ona will continue to find other things than the colour of Manchester to bicker and tease each other about when you move to Barcelona.

[thicctails]

><((((º>‿︵‿︵‿︵Undercurrent‿︵‿︵‿︵<º))))><

A Merformers x Reader Fanfiction

Chapter 2 ° Coastguard

Blessed be Randy the coffee machine, your holy god of caffeine. May His hazel liquid flow eternally into graceous Bartholomew, vessel of Randy's divine lifeblood; discount noname brand coffee that had expired last week.

Taking another sip of your beloved breakfast drink, you forced yourself to walk towards the greeting area of your clinic, praying to any deity that was listening that you looked at least passably presentable. You'd taken far longer to pull yourself away from the tender embrace of your nearly flat air mattress than you should have, and both your nerves and back were paying for it.

The head researcher of A.E.R.O. was meeting with you today to discuss your collaboration effort with them, and finally tell you exactly what species you'd be getting to work with. You hoped it would be something exciting, like sharks, dolphins, whales, or nudibranchs.

Taking a shaky breath, you shoved your anxiety down into the pit of your gut where it could, hopefully, only be noticed by you as your hand grasped the handle of the door. You pulled, ready to take the first proper step towards your new life.

Ka-thunk!

Ah. It was a push door.

Willing the colour that had suddenly flooded your cheeks to kindly fuck off, you meekly pushed the door open.

A man was standing in the main entrance room, leaning against Desk the desk and scrolling through something on his phone. He was dressed fairly casual for someone in his position, sporting tan cargo shorts, a forest green t-shirt, and a black lab coat, his company's acronym emblazoned in crisp vinyl across his breast pocket. He had tousled light brown hair and deep brown eyes that were framed by square glasses. At the sound of your approach, he lifted his gaze from his cellphone and gave you a warm smile, pocketing the device and turning his body towards you.

"Doctor L/N! It's nice to finally meet you!" he greeted, extending his hand to you. "My name is Dr. Burns, but please, just call me Graham."

Though it had been difficult to tell sometimes, you had not actually been raised by a pack of rabid wolves, so you returned the gesture, gripping the man's hand and giving it a shake.

"It's a pleasure to acquatence your make."

Oh, Jesus Christ.

Hey, God? Could you do a little smiting? Yeah, right here please.

"I- I'm so sorry, I swear I didn't mean to say that." You managed to get out, almost shocked that you hadn't fucked that sentence up as well.

Breaking News! Local PhD holder flubbs basic greeting! Becomes World Champion speedrunner for ruining first impressions and instantly loses any chance of being considered for further employment and any shred of respect this man had for them!

"It's fine. Honestly, I was just as nervous as you when I first started." Graham laughed, startling you out of your own mental spiral, "I was so preoccupied with my own worries that I tripped and fell face first into a pool on my first day."

You stared at Graham for a moment, stunned that he was still talking to by choice and not out of obligation, before a small, strangled chuckle left your throat, sounding more like the dying squak of a strangled seabird than a laugh.

"Come on, the rest of the team is waiting for us in town." the brunette said, gesturing for you to follow him.

You arched a brow but obediently followed after him, trailing after the researcher like a duckling waddling after a pair of boots.

"Oh? I was under the impression this meeting was to discuss my contract." you replied, trying to scrape together a professional-ish sentence while simultaneously praying that you weren't coming off as rude.

"It is, but once everyone got wind that we would be working with someone new, they got a little," he paused, hand waving about as he searched for the right word, "excited. It's been a while since anyone besides Marissa worked close enough for us to talk to them on a semi-regular basis."

"Can't wait to meet them!" you said cheerfully, lying through your teeth.

The idea of having to interact with another human being today had been draining enough, but to have to converse with several? When their opinions of you could impact your career?

Your hands twitched around Bartholomew's smooth, ceramic body, wishing you'd added a few ounces of pure caffeine to your coffee. Maybe you'd get lucky and get struck by a bus.

Unfortunately, God wasn't known for being kind to you, so you arrived at a small diner completely unharmed.

The worn bell above the door dinged as you and Graham stepped inside, the smell of greasy fries and cheap burgers wafting all around you as he led you over to one of the booths, the cracked red leather seats occupied by three other people in various states of dress.

There was a younger woman with russet skin and shockingly red hair that was pulled back in a loose ponytail, a few hairclips keeping her bangs out of her bright blue eyes. She was dressed in a cream and light orange dress, matching knee-high boots complementing her outfit. She was scrolling on her phone, but put the device down when she noticed your approach.

Ah, the mortifying feeling of being known. It never failed to make you uncomfortable.

The other two, who were seemingly in the middle of seeing who could chug a milkshake faster, were men, light skinned and with almost identically brown hair. It was easy to pick them apart, though, seeing as one was built like a brick shithouse and looked as though he was cosplaying some strange cross between a soldier and a Ghostbuster, and the other was a twink that also happened to be absolutely rocking some sun-bleached overalls and a set of the most obnoxiously yellow rubber boots you'd ever seen in your entire life.

"Hey, dingbats!" the woman hissed, nudging her closest colleague, who happened to be the rubber boots guy, "The new vet is here!"

While the two guys attempted to swallow their drinks without getting a brain freeze, Graham gave you a somewhat sheepish smile. "Dr. L/N, I'd like to introduce you to Doctor Sari Sumdac, Doctor Spike Witwicky, and Doctor Blaine L. Parker."

"Mainframe." Blaine said, slamming his cup down with a satisfied sigh, "Call me Mainframe. Only my Mama calls me Blaine."

"I'm still good with Spike." the other man chimed in, extending his hand to you as you and Graham slid into the opposite booth seat. You shook it, quickly repeating the action with Sari and Mainframe.

"So, you're the new guy, eh?" Mainframe asked, "We've been waitn' for Marissa to finally pick someone. She's too picky, if you ask me."

"Not picky enough if she hired you." Sari shot back, and for a moment you stiffened, afraid you were about to have front row seats for a fight, but Mainframe's laughter and Sari's teasing expression quickly calmed your nerves. She looked back at you, her face taking on a more genuine look, "He's not wrong about us waiting, though. A.E.R.O. has been around for a few years now, but you're the first vet we've gotten assigned to work with us."

Your eyebrows shot up, mouth opening slightly in surprise before you remembered to shut it, "Really? Why?"

The gathered marine biologists looked at each other for a moment, before Spike leaned in closer to you. You matched his action, wondering what exactly he had to say.

"Did Marissa fill you in on what exactly A.E.R.O. means?" he asked in a low whisper.

You thought for a moment, then shook your head. Actually, your employer had told you very little, just enough to get you to sign a contract with her. You didn't regret your decision; anything would be better than the place you'd come from, but this secrecy did make you wonder what exactly you'd gotten yourself into.

"A.E.R.O.," Spike continued, "stands for Aquatic Extraterrestrial Research Outpost."

You blinked, leaning back as you turned over what Spike had just told you. Had you heard him correctly? No, surely not. Clearly you hadn't had enough coffee yet.

"I'm sorry," you apologized, chuckling a little "I must still be a bit groggy, because I thought you said extraterrestrial for a moment there."

The four shared another look, then once again focused their attention back on you.

"You heard correctly, Dr. L/N." Graham said, producing an envelope from the interior of his jacket. He quickly glanced around the diner, before sliding the envelope over to you. He continued speaking as you picked it up, hands shaking slightly.

"Five years ago, several objects from deep space suddenly entered our atmosphere and crashed into the Atlantic Ocean. It was presumed that they were abnormal meteors of some kind, but a government owned dive team discovered that they were actually pods of some kind, made of materials not found on Earth.

"They were empty by the time they were found, but not long after they were discovered and retrieved, strange signals began to be picked up by sonar sensors, and sailors around this area began to report seeing bizzare creatures swimming beneath their boats, some of them claiming that their vessels were attacked, which was corroborated by several documented cases of boats coming in with scratch marks on their hulls."

You opened the envelope and reached inside, withdrawing several polaroid photographs. Each one was of a different boat, ranging from dinky little sailboats to bulky fishing trawlers. However, they all shared one unique feature; a set of deep gouges that tore through wood and metal, left behind by something that had to be absolutely huge.

Well shit, slap a tinfoil hat on your head and call you a believer, because there wasn't much in the ocean that had claws to begin with, and certainly nothing with claws large enough to do that kind of damage.

As you began to tuck the photos back into the envelope, you noticed that one of them was drastically different. It was blurry, taken on the coast during what looked like a storm, but not even those hindrances could mask the appearance of the... thing that had been captured on camera.

It was big. Like, really big.

The closest thing you could compare it to would be some kind of whale, but it looked so wholly unlike any species you knew of that you immediately tossed that idea out the window. It had a long, silvery body, covered in large, armour-like scales that almost gave the appearance of it being segmented. Thick, spiny fins jutted out along most of its tail, purple webbing torn and ragged. It's upper half was obscured, as the creature was diving back down beneath the surface, but the very beginnings of its torso hadn't quite been submerged when the photo was taken, and you could see a long row of crimson gills that glowed in the moonless dark.

"What the fuck." you breathed out, shoving the photos back into the envelope before tossing it away from you like you were playing the world's strangest game of Hot Potato.

"Yeah, that was pretty much our reaction too." Sari said, picking up the envelope. "We've been calling that one 'The Meg', since you could almost mistake it for an overgrown shark, if you only caught a glimpse of it.

You pinched the bridge of your nose and groaned softly as you considered everything you'd just been told.

"Let me get this straight," you started slowly, dragging your hand down your face before resting it on your chin, "You and Marissa want me to find a way to study and treat a highly aggressive, barely studied, extremely dangerous alien, let me repeat that for you, alien species with no prior experience and, since you four work at a separate facility, no team?"

A pregnant silence met your question for a moment, before being broken by a very timid, very nervous "Yes?" from Graham, who was rubbing the back of his head.

You looked at him, looked at the rest of his team, looked at the exit of the diner, and considered your options; accept this batshit insane, borderline suicidal offer and risk getting torn limb from limb by sea monsters from beyond the stars, or move back in with your parents.

"Well Christ on a bike, sign me up." you replied, before snagging the nearby coffee pot and, after checking that it wouldn't give you third degree burns, chugged the whole damn thing, determined to get enough caffeine in your body to drown out that little voice in your head that alway nagged that you should have been a lawyer.

[gavisuntiedboot]

Familiarity

A/N: guys sometimes I just have ideas that MUST be shared with the class

Okay guys I'm going to paint a picture for you all and I need you to stay with me

It's summer break in those two weeks where the boys actually have free time right

And it's after a really spectacular 23-24 season (please Lord my knees are bruised from begging)

Because of how close everyone has gotten, the pretty boys (aka Gavi, Pedri, Ferran, Fermin, Joao, etc) all are vacationing together for a couple of days

Because ya know

Hot single champions league winners (Lord I'm looking at you again)

They're just ready to have a good time being hot and young

As Ariana said, it feels so good to be so young and have this fun and be successful

So they go to Ibiza (ofc)

And they're just out just making the lives of the PR team hell

Shirtless pics on the Insta story every day

Yacht, club, another club, another club, pass out in a luxury hotel

Wake up and repeat

And one night they go to ushuaia

That club that everyone and their mothers went to this year

Gavi, Ferran, George Russel, Daniel Ricciardo

Just really expensive and hip and fun place to listen to music and get turnt

But ofc they're not like paying entry to get in

Oh no, they've been invited as part of an event with, as Pedri so eloquently put, some magazine

Did they care who was paying for their liquor? Absolutely not

So they're all there in pressed shirts with the top two buttons undone (whores)

And having a great time watching girls fall over themselves to come talk to them or get a spot at their table

And then Gavi, trying to remedy the onset of his social anxiety, looks over to the next table and sees you sitting there looking like a slice of heaven

Short black Mugler dress (you know the one with all the see-through paneling? Yeah.)

Heels giving your legs a sculpt and your ass a lift that was borderline illegal in his opinion

And you were just leaned over the table sipping on your drink and swaying by yourself to the music

So Pablito decides that, since you're already in the VIP section, he really can only fall upwards by flirting with you a bit

At least it would be better than whatever Tiktoker Pedri pulled

So he walks over and introduces himself, pushing his glasses further back on his head so you could get a proper look at his face

And our boy is charming and cute and you're ready to have a good time in Ibiza, so you reciprocate

And y'all are just talking and laughing it up and he already has your number to "see you again"

But you're starting to think the "again" is going to be 60 minutes from now in his hotel suite

So now you're both on the same side of the table, his arm is around your waist, fingers dangerously close to your ass

And every time you want to say something, you're getting closer than necessary to his neck and ear and just letting your lips "accidentally" brush across.

And then the rest of F.C. Pretty Boy walks over to interrupt the moment because of course they had to

Professor Pedri had reminded the gang "hot girls have hot friends"

And now Gavi, who was playing with the exposed skin of your thigh, was introducing you to the other wildly famous teammates.

And that's when it happened

It was surprisingly Fermin who finally said "you look really familiar"

And that's when 5 pairs of eyes started to examine you more intensely

Pedri agreed, unable to place you

Gavi knew he had seen you on Instagram before, but didn't want to come across as weird

Ferran was the bravest, asking the question that the others were thinking

"Are you a model?"

"Um, yeah, I guess I'm a model."

The redness in your cheeks and the giggle at the end of the statement had all their eyebrows raised.

"So you're an Instagram model then?" Gavi followed up

"Careful, that's Pedri's type"

The resounding laughter almost drowned out the speakers

"No, I do print as well. I work with brands and stuff but I'm mainly a shoot model. You know, magazines and stuff."

They boys all sent praises your way, exclaiming how they knew you were too hot for just Instagram.

"Pedri here is also a model. His friends over at Men's Health got us in." Gavi smiled widely with his attempt to embarrass his older friend

"Oh, I saw that cover! All of my friends sent it in the groupchat."

Wolf whistles for Pedri and palpable jealously across the group. The other four made mental notes to get a camera and some baby oil asap.

"And what about you, Gavi? When are we going to see you on the cover?"

"Ah, maybe if they get us into another event with you, I'll consider it."

You laughed louder than the generic line deserved, but you were ready to fall to the floor chuckling and snorting to go home with this boy.

"Ah, that might be possible actually. Men's Health is owned by Hearst, and they just bought our magazine. They actually invited me and the girls out tonight."

"Wait, which magazine?" You had been staring at Gavi and didn't place who asked the question

"Um, a men's magazine, you might have heard of it. Do you guys know Playboy?"

Everyone went silent all at once at the realization

So that's why you looked so familiar

"I'd offer you all free subscriptions but it looks like you guys are already avid readers." Your teasing made all of them go red in the ears.

"Is Gavi even old enough to buy a Playboy?"

Despite being a valid question from Fermin, he received a smack on the arm as a response.

"Wait, you also did a campaign for that lingerie brand right? The Rihanna one?" Gavi asked, face brighter than the red lights at the club

"Yeah, back in December! I wore their 'Naughty' line."

Gavi then went off in a tangent, explaining that's where he knew you from (and that maybe he followed the Playboy instagram on his private account)

As the two of you walked off, there was still a tension between the other four

"So..." It was Joao that started

"You guys are jerking off with magazines like we're in the 80s?"

"Hey! Playboy also have a porn channel!" Pedri responded angrily before taking in what he had said.

"So you've been watching her in action and didn't recognize..."

"Okay listen I'm not usually looking at her face!"

Ferran slumped against the table

"All of us out and Gavi picks up a fucking pornstar. He lost his virginity last week and now he's going to fuck a Playboy bunny."

"Guys, did you not hear the part where she said she was here with other girls?" Fermin reminded the group

In conclusion, I would give anything to lock these five in the Playboy mansion for a day. The end.