#Fireproof Office | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yazmarina · 5 months ago

Text

feed your misery

oscar piastri x afab!reader, side lando x reader

oscar already feels as if he's taken everything away from lando. what's one more?

warnings/notes: smut, slight (?) angst, unprotected sex, creampie, reader is fwb with lando, post-hungary 2024

a/n: everything i write for this goddamn race is partly sad. but this is also sexy. i hope it's sexy enough :')

"Hey, race winner."

Oscar whips his head around, momentarily confused. He immediately grins upon seeing you, though he tries to conceal it, his face settling into a polite smile instead.

But you spot it, despite his fireproofs covering the majority of his neck. The deep blush creeping up to his face is just barely visible over the collar.

You stopped him just outside of his driver's room, his helmet in his hand and his race suit hanging off around his hips. He smells strongly of champagne and his hair is slicked back from all the liquor drenching it.

"Hey yourself," Oscar responds coolly, opening the door to his room.

"Congratulations again," you reply, your neck craning upward as you try to meet Oscar's eyes.

"Thanks," Oscar says, eyes scanning over your face.

"New hair?" He goes on to ask, tilting his head to the side to study you closer.

You nod. "Yep. I thought today might be special so I did something different with it. And, it turns out, today was special, with you winning and all."

You end your sentence with an innocent bat of your eyes as you grin girlishly up at Oscar.

Oscar bites down on his lip, forehead creasing, as if deep in thought, After a few more moments, he jerks his chin inward, gesturing you inside.

"Why don't you come in?"

You pause, glancing around to see if anyone from the team is nearby. You've never been inside either Lando or Oscar's room in the motorhome, despite the...situations you've found yourself in with Lando before. He always preferred to have you in highly private places, and you understand why.

Not that you were expecting anything to happen with Oscar at this moment, that would just be in bad taste, as if it wasn't bad enough that a press officer was sleeping with–

"You okay?" Oscar asks, already inside, his eyebrows raised. Your hesitation dawns on him quickly enough and his lips meld into a smirk.

"Why? Scared that Lando might see you?" he adds, depositing his helmet on top of his massage table.

You scoff, stepping into the small space of his driver's room. The door clicks shut behind you and Oscar just stares, waiting for you to say something.

"Why would I be scared of Lando?" You ask, a hand on your hip as if to challenge the driver.

"Well, you should be," Oscar warns with a laugh. "He's not in the best mood right now."

"And whose fault is that?" You question.

"Not mine," Oscar deadpans, expression turning serious. You pause, realizing that you've hit a sensitive subject matter.

"Sorry, I didn't mean it that way," you quickly apologize, pursing your lips.

Oscar chuckles and shrugs. "It is what it is."

"Though, seeing you might help him, you know...blow off some steam," Oscar continues, giving you a pointed look.

You force yourself to meet his eyes. "But I wanted to see you."

Oscar blinks, his mouth falling open at your admission. He snickers, as if in disbelief.

"Did the two of you fight or something?" Oscar mildly accuses.

"No, it's just...I thought it would be better if I left him alone for a bit," you explain. "Like you said, he doesn't seem too happy at the moment."

Oscar doesn't respond. He just looks, taking in the sight of you. You'd kill to know what's running through his head right now, with the way his eyes travel down your body. The urge to fidget with your McLaren uniform is strong, your skin growing warm under his hardened gaze.

"And you thought you'd come to me?" Oscar questions. "Like a rebound?"

You pout, but guilt pinches at your chest at his words.

You and Lando were never official, that was clear to you both. You only ever started messing around after his win in Miami, the celebratory dinner and partying leading to you joining him in his hotel room, fraternization clause be damned.

Then it happened again in Imola, and again in his apartment in Monaco. And so it went on like that for weeks, and it was only a matter of time before an unassuming hickey peeking over the collar of your McLaren polo caught Oscar's attention

"Any large mosquitos around here?" Oscar had asked on Thursday afternoon in Barcelona.

You looked up from your tablet, giving Oscar a look as the two of you walked the track. He gestured to his own neck and your hand practically flew up to your throat, your eyes going comically wide.

"That's just an allergy," you lied, ignoring the looks from Oscar's trainer and race engineer.

After the track walk, Oscar chanced upon you alone as you headed back to the motorhome. He fell into step beside you, nudging you lightly.

"Who's the lucky guy?" Oscar asked innocently enough, looking genuinely curious.

Just then, Lando came into view, walking straight towards you from the opposite side of the paddock. He flashed you a smile and a quick wink and all the words you had were lost to the wind. You stuttered, legs stopping altogether, your whole body rooted in place.

Oscar followed your line of sight and audibly laughed.

"No way." Oscar practically giggled. He gave you a long, hard look as you tried to gather back your bearings.

"I thought you were supposed to be my press officer?" Oscar asked teasingly.

"I am," you answered defensively. "What, you want a blowie, too?"

Oscar spluttered, obviously shocked, but he played it off with a nervous laugh.

"I mean, if you're offering," Oscar shot back, head tilted as if to challenge you.

It was your turn to balk at his words, your whole face morphed into surprise.

"Oscar Piastri," you began. "I never took you for one of those guys."

Oscar just shrugged before leaving you standing in the middle of the paddock, dumbfounded.

"I genuinely just wanted to congratulate you," you tell him now, crossing your arms over your chest.

Oscar nods. "You've congratulated me already. Anything else?"

The room falls silent again and you feel your frustration rising. What did you want? Are you so easy that you'd throw yourself at the nearest race winner, hoping that the adrenaline ends in a good fuck? Would you be so callous as to get in between teammates right after a race like that?

As if on cue, Oscar sighs, running a hand over his face.

"I already feel like I've taken something from him. You'd just be the nail in the coffin at this point," Oscar continues, watching you carefully.

You know what he's implying, and you know he's right.

But things have been different with Oscar for the past few weeks after Barcelona and the whole hickey incident. It's as if he refused to let you out of his sight, suspicious of every moment that you aren't in his presence.

'Were you with Lando?'

'Are you going home with him?'

'I'll take you home. No, Lando, really. I got her.'

Which could all mean nothing, really.

But you couldn't be too sure, either. There's a gnawing feeling inside of you, an itch you can't scratch, not until you find out if this is what you think it is.

So, you bite the bullet.

"He doesn't own me, you can't take what isn't his," you state matter-of-factly.

"That's not what I mean," Oscar deflects.

"Then what do you mean?" You press further, tired of whatever this back-and-forth is.

Something flashes across Oscar's face, something you've never seen from this gentle of a human being before.

"If I fuck you right now, will it change anything?" Oscar asks, voice sharp and eyes steely.

You're taken aback by his candor, but it's a relief to hear it outright, finally out in the open. What you both came here for.

"It changes everything," you declare.

Oscar sighs. Then swallows.

His hand reaches for you and before either of you can think much about it, your lips crash into his, your back slamming against the door. You hear the click of the lock and it's like a trigger, the way it strips you of your inhibitions, your hands reaching up to tangle roughly in Oscar's hair.

He licks into your mouth, messy and uncoordinated, but you gasp and pant all the same, relishing in the way he grinds against your thigh.

"Hurry up," you urge as he parts from you, lips attaching to your neck, well above your collar this time.

Oscar merely hums, taking your skin between his lips and suckling hard. You whimper, knees nearly buckling at the sensation.

"Oscar, you can't–"

He pulls away, hooded eyes admiring his handiwork.

"I can. And I just did," Oscar counters, reaching behind you and immediately tugging the zip of your skirt down. The garment falls at your feet and you kick it off to the side.

"You know he'll hate us both for that," you point out, touching right where you know Oscar marked you, a hint of regret in your voice.

You never meant for this to happen. You swear you didn't.

"I'll take my chances," Oscar says with a noncommittal shrug.

He kisses you again, fiery and impatient. Your own hands tug down at his race suit, a frustrated groan erupting from Oscar as he stumbles out of it, undoing his boots in a hurry as he does so.

You're overtaken by the smell of champagne, and you know you'll end up smelling like it too once you're done. Lando would be suspicious. He'd ask. He'd press. He'd beg.

Oscar's bottom fireproofs and underwear are peeled off, leaving him bare from the waist down. Your bottom lip fits between your teeth as you take in what's between his legs.

"Like it?" Oscar asks, voice dropping an octave, pressing himself flush against you. He reaches down and rubs his tip over your clothed cunt.

You gasp, hips bucking forward to meet the sweet friction against your clit. Your whole body rocks with his as you feel yourself swiftly soak through your panties.

"Oh god," you whisper, your fingers digging into Oscar's shoulders.

"So this is what Lando gets after every race," Oscar wonders out loud, taunting you. "This is what you've been keeping from me, huh?"

You shake your head, not trusting yourself enough to speak without stuttering.

"Y-You should've j-just asked," you manage between ragged breaths.

Oscar snickers. "That easy, huh?"

Before you could reply, you're pulled away from the door and shoved towards the massage table. You catch yourself, grabbing at the edge before you can topple over.

"Bend over," Oscar commands, palm flat against your back. He's not pressing you down, his expression stern but cautious.

You can refuse.

You do as you're told, laying your torso flat on the table. Oscar tugs your underwear down, letting it fall to your ankles before you sweep it away with your foot. You arch up as best as you can, just as you know Lando likes, and Oscar curses under his breath.

"Oh, muscle memory," Oscar jokes, aligning his cock with your entrance.

You huff, intending to bite back, but your words cut short when you feel Oscar sheath himself inside you, agonizingly slow, stretching you out completely.

"Fuck," you sob into your hand, a slight burn between your legs.

"You're okay," Oscar reassures, pulling back before fitting back in. The second time is less of a shock but you squeeze your eyes shut nonetheless, still not accustomed to Oscar's size.

"I got you," Oscar supplants. He leans down to kiss your shoulder.

"So good. So good for me."

You let out a breath, your body easing up as Oscar gently takes hold of your hips, going out and back in for a third time. It's easier now and you blink away the tears that have gathered in your eyes.

"Yeah?" He asks, burying his nose in the fabric your polo as he peers at your face. You gaze back at him as best as you can, given the awkward angle, your heart clenching as you catch him looking, eyes shining, even in the dim lighting of the room, imploring you, wide and vulnerable.

You nod.

"Yeah."

Oscar tightens his hold on you and slams his hips against yours harshly. He's relentless, setting up a pace that has your eyes rolling into the back of your head.

"Oh my god," you gasp, voice garbled with how hard Oscar's going.

All you hear from Oscar is his shallow intake of breath, an occasional grunt when you clench particularly hard. The massage table squeaks beneath you, and you hold on for dear life as you feel your knees tremble.

It's a dizzying feeling to have Oscar this close to you, something you never thought you'd experience. And predictably, you can't help but think of Lando, somewhere out there, maybe even in the next room over, hearing you gasp and moan over Oscar's cock.

This is so fucked. This is unfair.

You whine when you feel Oscar push particularly hard inside, burying himself impossibly deep as you clench and clench and clench.

"Christ," Oscar mutters, thrusting into you shallowly. "I'm not gonna last."

You whimper, reaching behind you. Oscar grips your wrist, using your arm to anchor himself as he tugs you backward. You lift slightly off the table, the new angle allowing him to reach even deeper. His other hand remains locked holding onto your waist.

You know you look absolutely debauched right now, Oscar fucking you from behind like some bitch, in your uniform, no less. It sends your brain into a frenzy, knowing what this means, what it will mean after.

It doesn't take long before Oscar's rapid movements stop, his dick twitching between your walls, his cum spilling inside. He immediately lets go of your arm and you slump forward, exhausted.

Oscar drags his cock in and out a few more times, riding out his orgasm. You feel some of him drip out of you and you both groan simultaneously.

"Don't step in it," you warn weakly. You try to straighten up, your legs quivering from the effort.

Oscar maneuvers around the mess before bracing an arm around your waist and helping you up on the massage table. You watch as he bustles about, looking for tissues, handing you a few once he finds the box.

He retrieves your underwear from the floor and offers it to you.

"Was that too much?" Oscar asks, surprisingly tender.

You pause, unsure what to make of his question. It's nice that he's asking, but not something you expected.

"No," you say with a shake of your head. You push yourself off the table before hurriedly pulling your panties back on.

You can feel Oscar's gaze on the back of your head as you grab your skirt, dressing yourself silently.

"Are you gonna tell him?" Oscar presses. You turn to look at him.

"No. It doesn't matter, anyway," you reason. "We're not doing this again."

Oscar seems genuinely surprised at this. He catches himself and nods instead, portraying his understanding.

"It might matter to him, though," Oscar suggests.

You shrug weakly.

"I'll deal with it."

#f1 x reader #f1 smut #f1 fanfic #op81 #oscar piastri x reader

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vivwritesfics · 9 months ago

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Military Flyover

The dagger squad don't want to do a military flyover of the Las Vegas grand Prix. None of them really knew much about and, those that did only really knew about Nascar.

She hated the Vegas Grand Prix as much as those doing the military flyover. But the cute WSO there to support his friends was making it bearable.

Robert 'Bob' Floyd x F1 driver!reader

5.6K

a/n: yes a military flyover doesn't make sense for vegas buuuut let a girl dream lol - i'm hoping I've managed to write this for an audience that might not really know f1 but idk how confident i am in my abilities lol

Bob couldn't quite believe what the two time Top Gun graduates were having to do. They had completed an insanely dangerous mission and returned to be permanently stationed in San Diego, except from when they were called away for deployment.

They were a part of the military, why were they doing this?

Well, at least Bob didn't have to actually fly. He was a Weapon Systems Officer, he didn't have to take part in this. But he still went, more to morally support his squad.

Nat wasn't happy about have to do a military flyover of the Las Vegas Grand Prix. She, Bradley and Jake were constantly complaining. None of them knew anything about Formula One, not enough to appreciate doing the flyover.

(May I just say, even if they did know about F1, they still wouldn't appreciate it. They'd train for years to be in the navy and now they were having to waste their time on this.)

The flyover was on the Sunday. Only Natasha, Jake and Bradley were taking part. Bob didn't have to go, didn't have to visit the track on the Friday and the Saturday with the three of them.

But Natasha had begged him. "Drive up with me," she'd said to him. "It's five hours and I could use the company."

So, Bob agreed. His dad had sometimes watched Nascar while he was growing up. He didn't know much of anything about motorsport but, if Nat wanted him there, he'd go.

The navy pilots didn't know they'd been invited to meet the drivers. Bob followed Natasha through the paddock. "Getting to meet the drivers might be the only good thing thing to come from this," Nat mumbled as she led the way.

The paddock was buzzing with life. There were cameras following people around, interviews happening as they walked through the paddock. Fans stopped men in team shirts and hats for pictures before letting them continue.

There was a familiar whistle, just loud enough for Natasha and Bob to hear over the crowd around them. They turned and saw Rooster and Hangman striding towards them.

"Where are we meant to be?" Asked Hangman as Rooster pulled off his aviators and looked around. The three of them (Natasha, Jake and Bradley) were in their overalls, looking proper in their uniform. Bob, though. He was dressed down, wearing jeans and a sweater (Vegas really wasn't that warm this time of year), his military issued glasses sitting on his nose. He looked cute, even if he didn't know it.

"Cyclone said the Ferrari garage, right?" She said as she looked between the other aviators. Bob, who had studied the itinerary, nodded his head and the four of them set off towards the red garage.

***

The Las Vegas Grand Prix was a joke. All of the drivers thought so.

The Ferrari drivers weren't happy about it (just like the rest of the grid). They had spent the season struggling behind the Red Bulls and driving on an unknown track wasn't going to help that.

She needed a lot of mental preparation for this one. Just like the other drivers, before the first practice session her only experience on the track had been through sim racing. She was nervous in a way she hadn't been before.

She donned her red fireproofs, the overalls hanging from from her hips. She pulled her cap onto her head when there was a knock on her driver room door. "Yeah?" She called and the member of Ferrari staff walked in.

"The navy pilots are on their way," she said and went to back out of the drivers room.

"What?" The Ferrari driver called suddenly, her brows furrowed. "What navy pilots?"

The member of staff gulped. "They're doing a military flyover before the Grand Prix," she said. "They're on their way here to meet you and Charles," she said.

The driver let out a huff. She grabbed her drinks bottle and marched out of her drivers room, heading to find her teammate.

Charles was doing an interview for Sky Sports when she walked through the garage. She didn't much care, though. She powered on, her hand on Charles's shoulder as she stood at his side. "Chuck," she said, looking at her teammate.

Lawrence Barretto moved his microphone back to his mouth. "Is that his official name for the Vegas Grand Prix?" He asked and moved the microphone towards her.

"Yes," she said as Charles shook his head, repeatedly saying 'no'.

She stood beside him until the interview was over, answering any question Lawrence sent her way. As soon as they were done she grabbed Charles and pulled him away, pulling him further into the Ferrari garage.

"What's up?" Charles asked. He was a brilliant teammate, one of her best friends. They'd known each other for yeas and were close enough for people to think they were together at one point. Brocedes 2.0, many commented on the pictures of the two of them posted on the Scuderia Ferrari Instagram account, as if they were a disaster waiting to happen.

"Did you know we're having to meet the navy pilots doing the military flyover?" She asked, hands on her hips.

Charles furrowed his brows. And then his face relaxed as he shook his head at her. "Start checking your emails, please," he said.

She gently pushed him as a member of the Ferrari staff, the same girl from before, approached them. "They're here," she said and left them to it.

Charles led the way back through the garage, heading to where the navy pilots were standing around his car. Three of them, the three that looked the part, chatted with Fred while one, one that was dressed down, stood to the side.

Suddenly, she pulled Charles out of sight. "What is it?" He asked quickly, concern written on his face.

She looked back around the corner at the pilots for just a second. "Holy shit, Cha, I think I'm in love," she said and Charles just laughed.

"Do you need a wingman?"

She furiously shook her head. "Don't you bloody dare."

She steadied herself and followed Charles over to the navy pilots. Fred spotted his drivers first. He gestured over to them as he back away from the pilots, letting the drivers take over.

Charles held his hand out towards them introducing himself first. She went next, giving them her name as she reached out to shake the woman's hand.

"Natasha Trace," she said with a smile as she shook her hand. "Callsign Phoenix."

She moved on to the man with the moustache. "Bradley Bradshaw, or Rooster," he said and shook her hand, his grip firm. He wore a smile, but it was respectful.

Unlike the man next to him. She could tell who he was from the moment she looked at him, wearing that flirty smile. "Jake Seresin," he said, pulling her hand up to his lips to kiss the back of it. "You can call me Hangman."

The smile dropped from her face and she pulled her hand away, clearly unimpressed. She looked past him, at the guy in the sweater and the glasses. "How about you?" She asked, completely ignoring Hangman. "Are you in the navy too?"

Bob blushed bright red as he stepped forward. "Robert Floyd," he said and shook her hand. "I'm a weapon systems officer."

"Oh," she said. Just that one word and she sounded incredibly fascinated. "Do tell me more."

She'd asked Charles not to wing man her, but he did it anyway. She might not have been aware as Charles spoke to the other navy pilots, doing the job for both of them. (Charles didn't know if Bob was the one she had fancied, but it was easy to guess. He looked like her type).

They spoke for a good twenty minutes before the drivers were told to wrap up the conversation. "You got a call sign?" She asked Bob as she crossed her arms over her chest and leant against the wall.

Jake had been wrapped up in the conversation he, Rooster and Phoenix were having with Charles until that point. Upon hearing her question, he placed his arm around the WSO's shoulders and grinned at the driver. "This is Baby On Board," he said with a grin, going to pinch Bob's cheeks.

Again, his cheeks were flaming as he stepped away from Jake. "It's Bob," he said. "Just Bob."

"Just Bob," she repeated as she smiled at him, completely ignoring everything Jake had said (something that Bob was grateful for). "It's simple, I like it."

Her engineer called for her. She turned and put her thumbs up before turning back to Bob. "Are you staying for the free practice?" She asked and Charles couldn't stop himself from answering.

"Sorry," he said to the pilots. "She doesn't read her emails."

She sent a glare in Charles's direction. The drivers said a quick goodbye to the navy pilots (although she hoped it wasn't for the last time), and got themselves ready for the first practice session in Las Vegas. They pulled up the red and white overalls and placed the balaclavas over their faces.

Bob watched as she pulled her helmet on, hiding her undeniably pretty face. He really did think she was beautiful, and she seemed interested in him, but he wasn't going to read too much into that.

He couldn't see as she gave him a smile from beneath her helmet. When she climbed into the red car with the number 53 on it, Bob knew which one he had to look out for.

The track wasn't ready, everybody knew it. But they didn't know how bad it was until they shower of sparks coming out the back of her car. "What the fuck was that?" She said to her engineer down the radio. "I just hit a fucking manhole cover."

The pilots were leaning forward as she stopped the car. The session was stopped, the other drivers coming into the pits. She jumped out of the car, waiting for it to be lifted onto the truck so that she could look at the extent of the damage beneath.

As the car was taken back to the garage and workers surrounded the manhole cover, she climbed into the medical car and was taken back to the pitlane.

Bob watched as she stormed into the garage, pulling off her helmet and balaclava. "Nine fucking minutes!" She heard her say to somebody in a Ferrari shirt. "I officially hate the Vegas Grand Prix."

She looked around the garage, eyes focusing in on the pilots. They were watching her, too, and she forced her expression to soften as she walked over. "Sorry you had to see that," she said, unzipping her race suit.

Bob shook his head. "'s no worries, ma'am," he said before he could stop himself. When his fellow aviators looked at him, his cheeks flushed red.

"We're just glad to know you're okay," Natasha said for him.

The driver smiled at them. But the interaction was short lived as she was called over to her wrecked car. (It looked fine on the top, but everybody knew the damage was beneath, invisible).

The nine minutes of practice wasn't enough to help the aviators get into F1. Rooster, Hangman and Phoenix wanted to head back to their hotels, but Bob wanted to stick around.

"My dad was into Nascar," he explained as the others left. They nodded, but they knew better. Their Baby On Board had a crush.

She hadn't expect him to stay, that much was clear. She'd seen the other aviators leave and had gotten on with what she needed to do, speaking to the mechanics about the parts they needed to replace and speaking to Fred about the potential consequences.

"Oh!" She said when she saw Bob still sitting there. "I thought you would have left."

Bob gave a polite smile and shrugged his shoulders. "I wanted to learn more."

The smile she gave him matched his own. "Well, you're not gonna learn much here," she said. "Let me get changed and we can get dinner."

Bob didn't expect dinner to be in the Ferrari hospitality suite. He'd didn't exactly think he'd be going out to dinner with her, but he didn't expect this.

She sat Bob down at a table and got a selection of food for them to share. "I can't exactly go crazy," she'd said as she sat down opposite him, placing the single plate in between them. "I still have a car to drive later."

Bob grabbed something from the plate. "Why does that mean you can't go crazy?" He asked curiously, innocently.

Every question Bob had, she answered. He told her that his dad watched Nascar while he was going up but he couldn't get into it. Didn't have the time once he joined the navy.

She asked him all about that, just as curious as he was about her job. Bob knew she was meant to be this big celebrity, but she was normal with him, and he really appreciated it.

He hadn't known who she was going into this weekend, but he heard the way the fans screamed her name. She was so famous, and he was just a boy from Montana.

"Are you and your friends watching anything else of the Grand Prix weekend?" She asked as she ate a piece of lettuce (literally just holding a big piece of lettuce to her lips and crunching on it).

Bob shook his head as he looked down at the table in front of him. "'Friad not, ma'am," he said, looking at her over the top of his glasses. Bob didn't know what compelled him to do it, but he took them off.

"Aw," she said with a pout. "I liked them."

"Really?" Bob couldn't hide the surprise in his voice. "I used to have ones with slightly thicker frames, but these are military issued," he explained, putting them back on his face.

She grinned at him. "They're cute," she said, resting her cheek in her hand. It was undeniably flirty, and her grin was only making it worse. Well, that would have been if Bob could have allowed himself to believe that was flirting with him.

"I could get you tickets, if you'd like," she said. "You and your pilot friends. You can come back back to the Ferrari garage, support us for the rest of the weekend."

Bob gave her a gentle smile. "I'd like that," he said.

They continued chatting until she had to head back to the garage. Bob followed her, walking behind her.

She took him back to the garage, leaving him to stand with the rest of the Ferrari guests while she disappeared into her drivers room. Bob couldn't help but think of her as she got herself ready, getting dressed into her fireproofs and race suit. If Nat was here, he could ask her for advice.

Ten minutes before the start of FP2, she walked over to Bob. He'd seen her dressed down in a Ferrari hoodie and cute cargos, seen her in her race suit, and seen her in her fire proofs, race suit sitting low on her hips.

That was how she walked towards him. He'd seen so little of her, but this was his favourite (and he certainly wanted to see more). "Want to sit in the car?" She asked, hands on her hips.

***

The first thing she did after FP2 was give Bob her phone number. He couldn't quite believe it, and made a mental note to recount everything to Natasha as soon as he got back to the hotel.

"Have you got a way back to your hotel?" She asked, her helmet tucked beneath her arm.

"I, uh..." No, he and Natasha had gotten a cab together.

She waved him off before he could give her a proper answer. "I can drive you, if you'd like," she offered.

That was how Bob found himself sitting in an F1 drivers car, telling her about his childhood as she took him back to his hotel. He told her about his big family and the mountains he grew up around. He told her about when he joined the military, about his first time in Top Gun and his permanent stationing in Coronado.

Before very long they were pulling up outside of his hotel. "Well, here we are," he said, patting his legs. He didn't move to leave the car, but she didn't much mind.

"I really liked meeting you today, Bob," she said as she tapped the heel of her hand against the steering wheel.

"It was lovely to meet you, too," he said.

"Promise you'll text me?"

"Promise."

She held out her pinky finger and Bob wrapped his own around it, sealing the deal. He looked at her one last time and climbed out of the car, heading into the hotel.

Bob couldn't hide his smile as he walked through the lobby and into the elevator. Just days ago he'd hated the thought of a military flyover for the Las Vegas Grand Prix. Now, he couldn't wait to get back to the track, back to the Ferrari garage.

Nat noticed it the minute he walked through the door of the hotel room they were sharing. "Had a good time watching the rest of it?" She asked as she pushed away from the desk in the room.

Bob nodded as he pulled out his phone, clicking on her contact. But, the moment he was there, he didn't know what to say to her. "Nat," he called, looking up at her. "I need your help."

He only needed Nat's help to get the ball rolling. But soon, she and Bob were sending messages back and forth with just a second long gap between. Sometimes Bob took a little longer to reply, but only because Nat was reading the messages over his shoulder and assuring him that she was flirting.

Bob couldn't believe it. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't.

"I'll go with you tomorrow," Nat said as she climbed into her bed. It was incredibly late and Bob was hyper-aware that they were still texting. "Find out if she really is flirting with you."

"Nat..."

"Goodnight, Bob."

Natasha went to sleep, but Bob stayed up. She was still replying to his messages, and he couldn't bring himself to not respond. At least until she turned around and wished him goodnight.

When Bob woke up, she had already texted him. I don't have to be on track until later - wanna get food?

Who was Bob to say no? Natasha grinned as he got himself ready, including his glasses. (He had brought his contacts to Vegas because of how much he hated wearing his glasses. He didn't have time to put them in before they headed to the track the day before, but Nat didn't expect him to wear them now).

He walked out of the hotel, ignoring Hangman and Rooster as they called after him. They sat in the lobby, do doubt waiting for Natasha as they whistled at him.

Bob kept going. He saw her car before he walked out of the glass doors, and had to stop himself from breaking into a small jog. As he approached, she pushed open the passenger side door. "Hey, Robby!" She called, wearing a grin.

"Hey," Bob said, wearing a smile as he climbed into the passenger side.

As soon as he was buckled in, she began driving. "Have you ever been to Vegas before?" She asked as she headed towards the strip.

Bob shook his head. "No, ma'am," he said. It wasn't in the same way he'd said 'ma'am' before. No, those time he had been nervous saying it. This time, it was so fucking cute and she loved it. "I don't get enough leave for that."

"Why do you call me ma'am?" She asked, but she never wanted it to stop.

Bob couldn't stop his smile. "My momma raised me right."

That much she could tell. She parked the car and climbed out as Bob did the same. "Come on," she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him along.

They went to a restaurant. Bob didn't catch the name of it as she pulled him through the doors. Even when sat gave the waiter her name, she was still holding his hand.

They sat down at a table for two. It felt far too intimate, almost like a date. She couldn't order a drink, but insisted that Bob did. He ordered one beer and made sure to make it last through their entire lunch.

She ordered a salad. Bob wanted to do the same, but she could see how conflicted he was. "Have whatever you want," she said, lowering her menu.

So, he did just that. Bob got himself a burger, the cheapest one on the menu (which was still incredibly expensive).

While they ate, Bob couldn't ignore the way her foot touched his knee beneath the table. He gulped as he reached for his beer.

While they waited, she told Bob about how she had grown up. Karting from a young age before moving onto single seaters.

The more she spoke, the more Bob could imagine getting into F1. Watching races, coming to see her in Vegas when he wasn't deployed. He just had to hope she still liked him enough to keep in contact with him.

They spent the entire afternoon together, until she was taking Bob to the track with her. Pictures of the two of them were taken as they walked through the paddock, too close to just be friends.

Once again, Bob stood in the garage while she completed the last practice session. She led, the fastest car until the Red Bulls were released onto the track.

But still, Bob couldn't stop watching the number 53 car. She came into the pits, had her tyres changed and went out a few minutes later.

Bob couldn't help but smile as he watched her climb the leaderboard. When practice ended, she didn't come in right away, doing a practice start with the other drivers.

When she got out of her car, she pulled off her helmet and balaclava, and spoke to her engineers. She had looked so happy when she climbed out of the car, but Bob watched as her face fell.

She walked over to him, unable to keep herself from sighing. The anger dropped from her face, replaced by sadness. "Wanna come sit in my drivers room?"

So, Bob followed her to her drivers room. She led him inside and shut the door behind him, letting out a breath as she leaned against it.

"Everything okay?" Asked Bob as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

She unzipped her overalls and let them fall to her hips. Bob shuffled over on the couch, giving her space. She sat beside him, shutting her eyes as she leaned back. "Because of the parts they'd had to replace in my car, I'm probably going to get a penalty later," she mumbled.

Her head fell onto his shoulder and Bob didn't move. He hesitated before wrapping his arm around her shoulder. That that, she shuffled slightly closer, which Bob didn't mind one bit.

Suddenly, she let out a weak laugh. "You're kinda making me want to stay in the states a little longer, Robby," she mumbled.

He looked down at her. "Would you? Seriously?" Bob could imagine it then, taking her to stay with him in San Diego, taking her to Montana to meet his mom at Christmas.

She shook her head. "I can't," she said and sighed through her nose. "There's one last race before the end of the season."

After that, Bob wanted to say. But he squeezed her shoulder instead.

When her trainer came in, Bob wished her good luck and headed back out to the garage. While he waited, he pulled out his phone and sent Natasha a text. She hadn't gone to the track with him, instead going with Bradley and Jake to the hangar they would be flying from.

If Nat showed Rooster and Hangman his texts, he'd never hear the end of it. But Bob realised he didn't mind. Let them talk, he was here with her.

The first round of the qualifying session was about to start. Bob sort of knew what to expect, she'd explained it to him while they sat in her drivers room, her head on his shoulder. He watched as she walked towards the car, her red, gold, black and white helmet on her head.

She climbed into the car and somebody strapped her in as somebody else spoke to her. She nodded at whatever they were saying and put her thumbs up.

Admittedly, Bob couldn't tell the difference between the practice sessions and the qualifying session. He watched as she went from having no time on the board to being the quickest car on track. But then she was knocked out of the top spot, down in eighth by the end of that session.

Bob had assumed that she was starting the race in eighth position after the eighteen minute long qualifying session. But then she and fourteen other drivers were going back out onto track.

Again she was at the top of the board, knocked out by the same driver. But she stayed in fourth, unable to get a quicker time in before the end of the session.

She went out for a third and final time. Bob heard her calling down the radio as somebody got in her way. But she put an impressive time on the board, finishing third.

It may have been obvious to everybody else in the garage, but Bob had to ask the girl standing next to him. She pushed her dark hair behind her ear and answered with a thick French accent. Bob thanked her and watched as the 53 car came into the garage.

She hopped out, did what she needed to do and came to find Bob.

It was near midnight and she couldn't quite believe he was still there, watching her. They'd spent the entire day together, and she'd loved every minute of it.

"Want me to drive you home?" She asked and Bob nodded his head.

She did just that, driving Bob back to his hotel. "They haven't confirmed if I've got a penalty or not," she said as she drove him. "So, for now I'm starting in P3." She quickly glanced at him and then looked back at the road. "Think you might be my good luck charm, Robby," she said and he blushed a deep shade of red.

She pulled up outside of the hotel, just as she had done the day before. And, like the day before, Bob was hesitant to climb out of the car.

As Bob reached for the handle of the door, she opened her mouth, ready to say something, and he stopped. But she closed her mouth. Still, Bob didn't move.

She sucked in a breath and tried again. This time, words came out. "Can I come up?"

Bob knew what that meant. How could he not? Some part of him had been wanting her to ask something like this for the last few hours. But still, he shook his head. "I, uh, I can't. I'm sharing my room with Nat."

"Oh," she said and looked down at the centre console between them. "Oh, shit. Are you and Nat- I didn't mean to overstep... I-"

Bob quickly shook his head. "No. No, Nat's my best friend, but only my best friend," he said. "But, her bed is a couple feet away from mine, so..."

She couldn't help but let a smile cross her face at that. "Can I kiss you, Robby?" She asked.

He leaned over the centre console. Her arms went around his neck, fingers playing with the short hair at the back of his neck.

Bob kissed her. He closed the gap between them, his arm awkwardly resting on her shoulders as his lips moved against her own. Her nose bumped the lens of his glasses, but neither of them minded.

If the expensive car left room for it, he would have moved her onto his lap. But he couldn't. He pulled away, staring at her as his eyes opened again. "Holy shit," he whispered and she grinned at him.

"I'll come and get you before the race," she said and Bob climbed out of the car.

***

He didn't wake up to a text from her. Immediately Bob's mind played tricks on him, telling him that, after they had kissed, she didn't want him.

He sat in the hotel for half of the day, in a perpetual state of anxiousness. Part of him didn't want to move until he heard from her, until he knew that everything was okay.

"You coming?" Nat asked him. He checked his phone one last time before following her out of the hotel room.

He didn't know what she was currently dealing with, that she had just found out about her grid place penalty. "This is such shit!" She cried as she and Charles walked through the paddock. She'd woken up to the news and hadn't had time to message Bob.

"Well, there's nothing we can do about it now," Charles said, stopping to sign things for fans (signs, hats, and even a packet of oreos). "How are things going with the navy guy?"

She grinned as they kept walking through the paddock. "We kissed, Cha," she said, suddenly much happier.

"Kissed and..." Charles tried to push.

She shook her head. "Just kissed."

Charles nodded as they walked into the garage. "Just kissed, but you wanted more," he said. "Are you gonna see him before we leave?"

"Yeah," she answered. "I'm gonna go and pick him up before the race."

Through the evening, she and Charles did what they needed to do for the race. When she got a minute, she texted Bob, but she didn't have many opportunities to check her phone.

As soon as she had a chance, she ran out of the paddock. She held her phone to her ear as she went, making her way to her car. Bob picked up on the third ring. "Hey," she said, opening the door of her car. "I'm on my way."

Bob hesitated before he answered. "I'm not at the hotel right now."

"Do you still want to come to the race?" She asked quickly.

"Do you still want me there?"

She let out a laugh. "Of course I do, Robby. Give me the address and I'll pick you up."

That was just what happened. She picked Bob up and took him to the track. She promised the other aviators that she would get him there to watch the military flyover and drove off with him in the passenger seat.

"Have you ever been to San Diego?" Bob asked as she drove. It had been playing on his mind a lot since they kissed, his best case scenario (which was currently happening. He could have laughed at himself for being so worried).

She shook her head. "I haven't had a chance to explore outside of the places we have Grand Prix," she answered.

"So, you haven't been to Montana?"

"Nope."

Bob couldn't help but smile. He sucked in a breath, steadying himself. "I don't know when you're gonna have time off, but I could show you Montana, if you'd like."

She grinned at him as she parked the car. "I'd love that, Robby," she said and climbed out of the car.

She checked the time on her watch, grabbed her hand and began running. "I'm late!" She cried. Bob was only happy to run beside her, heading into the Ferrari garage. He slowed to a walk, but she kept going, running to her drivers room to pull on her fireproofs and overalls.

Bob watched it all. He watched as she stood for the national anthem with her fellow drivers, watched as she completed the formation lap from the back of the grid (something he had to ask about), and watched as she raced.

Bob couldn't help but be impressed as she fought her way across the track, racing past most of the grid. She overtook ten other cars, finishing in 5th.

When she climbed out of the car, Bob could see just how happy she was from her body language alone. She did what she had to do, spoke to the team and was interviewed, before she ran over to Bob and threw her arms around him.

"That was incredible!" He cried, smiling down at her. "I didn't realise racing was so exciting."

She grinned and kissed his cheek. "Think you'll watch next weeks race?"

"Definitely," he said.

He hadn't expected her to kiss him in front of all of the cameras. But Bob didn't mind. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close until she pulled away.

"I leave in the morning," she whispered in his ear. "Stay with me, in my hotel. One last night."

"Until Montana?" Bob asked, his forehead against her own.

"Until Montana."

a/n: ok i loved this and it may need a part two lol

#bob floyd #bob floyd imagine #bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fluff #bob floyd x you #robert floyd #bob floyd smut #bob floyd x reader smut #robert bob floyd #robert floyd imagine #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd fluff #robert floyd smut #robert floyd x you #top gun #top gun bob #top gun maverick

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maxlarens · 6 months ago

Note

I got a lot to say so it might be long,

starting with, thank you for the Charles smau and the Lando fic <3

it took me time to choose an emoji lol but I've been doing an internship and time goes by way too quickly, but I decided to go for the strawberry one 🍓

and since you said you wanted to write for driver! reader, and that she was very intense about driving, maybe you can write something about her racing while she's sick/not feeling well but she still wins the race

woo hi again!!! literally no big deal! i hope ur internship is going well, it’s awesome that you’re doing one!! but yeah literally real life is always the priority as much as i’d also like to spend all my time on here lol. but anyway yay the strawberry is super cute 🍓🥺

and YES lol driver!reader is consuming my thoughts right now. i have other things i should be writing instead of this but i smashed this out in a few days😭 i decided not to make it a win because i have a thing brewing for driver!readers first win and i didn’t want to use up all my ideas for that. anyway!!! as usual thank u for the ask and pls enjoyyy 🤗

OP: extraordinary machine

pairing(s): oscar piastri x mercedes driver!reader

summary: you push yourself to your limits. (also sorry i simply don't know enough technical terms about racing for this to be fully accurate but i hope it works)

word count: 3.4k+

Here is a fact— you’ve got a fever of 39.4 degrees.

Here is another, indisputable fact— you’re racing in Imola today.

The fever had come on overnight after a persistent tickle in your throat all weekend. A mildly sore throat had turned rapidly to a snotty nose, full body chills and sweat pouring off you like you’d just run a marathon. You’re wearing a puffer jacket over your racing suit and it’s twenty-nine degrees out. You feel freezing, you feel delirious, and you’re eating Sour Patch Kids by the handful to keep the sugar rush going. Your race engineer, Rachel, keeps telling you that it’s okay if you can’t race. George can step in, I promise. You keep telling her I’m fine. I’m fine. I can race. But the expression on her face says she doesn’t believe you.

You’re telling practically everyone who’ll listen that you’re getting in that fucking car today. Rachel, George, your mum who keeps calling. Lewis keeps looking at you like you’re about to keel over and die and you want to scream at him you did this! Brazil 2015. You had a fever. You got on the podium. If I can’t do this and you can, what does that mean? But you don’t because that’s your 39.4-degree fever talking and this isn’t about being better than Lewis. It’s about knowing without a doubt that you can still get in that car and race your ass off.

Your phone keeps buzzing with texts from Susie that reassure you that you’d be disappointing no one at all if you had to let George take over this race. You’re not letting down women everywhere and you’re not letting down the team. I know Susie, you keep saying, but I’m still racing.

You know you’ve got to convince Toto when Rachel starts a hurried conversation with George and he starts grabbing his fireproofs like it’s a sure thing he’ll be driving in your place. Bundled up in your coat like it’s the middle of winter, you stomp over to Toto’s office and barge in.

“I’m racing,” you tell him without any preamble.

His head snaps to look at you, expression only mildly surprised— not that you would even notice if you didn’t spend so much time around him. He gives you a once over, eyes lingering pointedly on your jacket and then he raises his eyebrows, “It is twenty-nine degrees outside.”

You suck your teeth in frustration, “I know. The car will be hot. I can race.”

He frowns.

You plead, “Toto. Do not take me out of that car. I can do this.”

He shakes his head, “I can see you sweating from here. You’re not well.”

You shake your head frantically, ignoring how your vision starts spinning, “Let me race. If I fuck up you can put George in the car for Monaco. If I fuck up you can even replace me. I don’t care. Just let me drive today.”

Toto’s face pinches in the way it does when he’s considering something, you can see cogs turning in his head as he evaluates what you’ve said and decides if he should listen to it.

He sighs, “I am not putting that kind of ultimatum on you,” your heart stutters and stops in your chest, and you hold your breath, “Okay. Against my better judgement, I will let you race today.”

You let out an audible breath, it edges out into a sob that makes your aching body curl into itself. You press the heels of your palms into your eyes for a moment to suppress the urge to give in to your fever. It would be easier to give up, it would be easier to let George take your seat for the race so you could crawl into bed and cry the fever out. But none of this has ever been easy for you. You’ve fought tooth and nail to get here, you won’t forfeit a race and let people say you took the easy way out.

You look up. Toto looks concerned.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“You won’t.”

You practically stumble onto the asphalt before the national anthem, passing your coat off to Rachel while your trainer wipes your forehead with a towel as if you’ve just finished a full-body workout. Your shoulders feel tense, you can’t stand up straight without shuddering so you’re hunched over awkwardly hoping it doesn’t come off looking too strange.

People are still milling about, setting things up while the drivers assemble. You don’t really notice on account of the fever state you’re in, but you end up standing between the McLaren boys. You must brush against Oscar because he looks down at you, eyebrows furrowed, mouth set in a line and his eyes wide like a puppy dog. You get lost in them a little— because of the fever. Definitely.

“Dude,” Oscar says to you, “You’re really hot.”

On your other side, Lando breaks into a fit of laughter. You frown, your brain trying the puzzle through the sentence. You feel foggy, your eyes feel heavy. You need more Sour Patch Kids, or a shot of espresso, or five Red Bulls. Max could swing it for you.

Oscar leans past you and swats at Lando’s shoulder, “She’s burning up, stupid.”

Lando’s laughter pauses, and he says seriously, “Oh shit.”

Suddenly, you’re being twisted around and you’re wincing at the contact on your shoulder that makes it ache even more. Lando puts a hand on your forehead and then immediately rips it away.

“Eugh. You’re sweaty.”

The back of Oscar’s hand replaces it. You twist away, brushing it off.

“You’ve got a fever,” he tells you, his voice thick with concern for you, “Have you told anyone? Does Toto know? Lewis?”

Instead of answering you press a hand over your eyes and crack your neck, trying to work through some of the stiffness in your back. You roll your shoulders and stand up as straight as possible, pushing through that aching, sickly feeling that runs through your whole body. When you finally drag your hand from your face— a thin sheen of sweat coming with it— Oscar is staring at you with a deep-set frown on his mouth. At his shoulder, Lando looks at you with a markedly less severe, but still concerned, expression.

“I’m fine, Oscar,” you insist.

You’re not. He knows you’re not. It doesn’t matter, you don’t want to seem weak. Not barely thirty minutes before the race. You can’t have either of them thinking you’d be easy for an overtake or that you’ll back out of a fight first. Off the track, fine— you’ve been vulnerable and honest with both of them at times. On the track is a different story. This is Formula One. You’re not here to make friends. They are not here to make friends.

“Mm,” Oscar hums, “Pretty sure you’re not.”

“You’re sweating bullets,” Lando adds, “Can see it from here.”

Something white-hot and pissed off flares up your spine. Oscar is not this kind of person, even on track; but the suspicion that he’s just trying to eliminate you as competition rises anyway. You think it because if the situation were flipped, you’d be weighing the pros and cons of having a sick driver on the track. Their weaknesses, what it means if they’re distracted. It doesn’t make you a good person, but you’re already pretty sure you aren’t one.

“I am fine,” you bite.

Oscar’s expression drops. Into something not quite offended… accepting, maybe? Resigned? It closes off to you, is what you mean. That’s fine, you’re trying to close yourself off to him. You’re re-drawing a line that you’ve been crossing without a thought for at least two years now. You’re not here to make googly eyes at Oscar and let him put his hand on your fever-ridden forehead and have him reprimand out-of-line, so-called professionals for you. You’re here to get in that car every Sunday and put your life on the line for a shiny trophy and fucking glory. Even if you’ve got a fever. Even if you’ve got a weird crush on Oscar Piastri.

“I’m racing,” you add in a different tone, feeling as if you’ve been a bit harsh on a well-meaning Oscar, even if you mean what you’re thinking.

Oscar nods, and says, “Okay,” in a way that really means, ‘If you say so, then it is’.

In the car, on the tarmac, sitting in your starting grid position, you’re shitting bricks.

Your cheeks are squeezed tight into your helmet, you can feel sweat, slick and soaking through your balaclava. Your arms hurt, your legs hurt, your ass hurts where it’s pressed into the seat. You’re not crying, but your mouth— hidden away by your helmet— is open like you’re about to. Set into a grimace that you breathe raggedly out of. Toto says something over the radio before the lights go out, you don’t hear it. You’re too busy regretting how earnestly you’d begged him to let you race. It would have been better if George had taken over. It might have been better if you’d passed out during the national anthem so you really had no choice but to sit it out. No one could say you weren’t committed to this sport if that had happened. They’d have plenty to say about women and their weak constitutions though.

You’re on autopilot when the lights go out. One second you’re freaking out like it’s your first time in a car, the next second everything is fading into background noise and you’re fighting a Ferrari and a McLaren for your original grid position. Twenty of you tear down the straight to turn two and you find yourself slotting easily into what you think is P4. Ferrari— not the same one— in front of you. Your mirrors reveal the McLaren behind you. It’s Oscar, you’re sure. You can tell by the way he sticks to your ass. Every nudge of the car you make he makes with you.

You press the radio button, “That Piastri behind?”

Crackle, “Yeah.”

“Knew it. He’s up my butt, Rach.”

“Okay. Go faster then. Not sure what to tell you.”

You make a face. You weren’t looking for sarky advice, you were trying to commiserate. You press the button and make a vaguely mocking neh-neh noise that gets a laugh and then radio silence because you’re supposed to be fucking concentrating. Which, okay, fair.

You press the throttle, done with trying to manage your tyres for the moment and taking Rachel’s comment as permission. You tear away from Oscar, stopping his fight to overtake you through the chicane in its tracks. You start slowly gaining on the Ferrari in front of you, its red rear wing growing closer and closer.

“Sainz in front?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

“Yup,” Rachel confirms before rattling off some lap times when you ask for them.

By lap thirty-something, you’re on Sainz’s ass like Oscar was on yours. You’re fighting him through every chicane, threatening him on the straights and generally behaving in a way that you know for a fact is putting him on edge. But Carlos isn’t giving up P3 without a fight.

A safety car goes out around lap forty, and you pit. Everyone ahead of you does as well. Oscar doesn’t, Oscar is lucky to have gone in earlier. Rachel tells you he’d made up four places after being forced to box for some tyre issue. You feel a strange mix of pride and jealousy swirl in your chest as you all file into a discordant line behind the safety car.

Verstappen leads the pack, as per usual. Then Oscar, Sainz and you. Leclerc is behind you, then Lando. You’re in P4, right where you started and right where you’ve been fucking sitting the entire race so far. twenty-five laps to at least make it onto the podium. Then you’ll be happy. Or not quite happy, you’d need pole for that. Content. You’d be content.

Max starts weaving. The safety car goes off and Max keeps you all ready and waiting until the exact millisecond that he decides the race can properly begin again. You hate when he does this— you know that’s exactly why. Eventually, finally, he gets going.

You have to run defence like crazy for a few laps to keep Leclerc behind you until everything is warmed up. The gap widens as you drive. At some point, you stop worrying about the Monégasque so much and focus your attention on car fifty-five like your life depends on it. The laps fly by as time ticks on. Twenty-five to go, twenty, fifteen, ten. You’re back on Sainz’s rear wheel, a gap of 0.2 to 0.3 that’s been consistent throughout this last stretch of the race. You’re watching him like a hawk, waiting for the smallest slip-up to take advantage of. Somewhere you can push, somewhere he’s weak. It’s hard— he’s covering all his bases. Not giving you an inch so you can’t take a mile.

You’re closing in on sixty-four laps— with only three to go— when he gives you that fucking inch. It’s in the first chicane. His wheel locks up, and he jerks the car slightly the wrong way, something like that. You get in his space and you push and he backs out first. You press down on the throttle and rocket past him, shouting FUCK! FUCK YES! to yourself.

P3. P3. God, you hope it’s P3.

You press the talk button, “Rach?”

“Yes, P3,” she barks, “Fucking, focus. Three laps to go.”

Those last three laps of Imola are some of the hardest of your life. Defending against Carlos is a task, of course, but it’s not even that. The sickness starts to creep back into your awareness as the adrenaline that had hit its peak during the overtake starts to subside. Two laps to go and you’re remembering the fever again. The sweat soaking your hair and streaking down the back of your neck. Your whole body is on fire and it aches everywhere. It feels like someone has taken a sledgehammer to the inside of your skull. You want so badly to close your eyes and drift away to sleep, but the car is flying through the air demanding your attention with the way it thuds against the track. You’ve got one lap to go and Carlos is on you like white on rice. You can’t afford to make a mistake until you’re firmly over that finish line.

So you don’t. You grit your teeth and you refuse.

Carlos is downright reckless in the last chicane, he tries to bait you by moving to one side and pushing but you’re not going to fall for something like that even if you’re near delirious from the 39.4-degree fever. Though surely it’s higher now, the car temp can’t be helping. You hardly realise you’ve crossed the finish line because you’re thinking so hard about how lightheaded you feel. On instinct, you slow down to a safe speed as Oscar’s McLaren enters your vision, but you think your toes have pins and needles and there’s some feeling tingling up into your shoulders. You blink hard and take a long sip of water so you can make it to the pits before your head starts to spin.

Crackle, “Where are you going? That was P3.”

“Huh?” you realise you’re following the other drivers instead of heading into the pits where you’re supposed to go, “Shit. Sorry.”

You edge back as carefully as you can, avoiding other cars that pass by, lucky you’ve not overshot too far so you can turn into the pits and park your car in front of the P3 sign without going around the entire track. That would be embarrassing. Or that would be more embarrassing than how disgusting you’re going to look when you take your helmet and balaclava off.

Toto, Rachel and a few of your engineers are there to meet you at the barricade when you clamber out of the car, unsteady on your feet. Rachel’s eyebrows are furrowed as she tries her best to smile at you, trying to put on a brave face even though you can tell she’s concerned you’re going to keel over. You brace yourself with a hand against the gate and tear your helmet off, then your balaclava. You’ve never been so fast to put a cap on your head, trying to cover the sweaty mess that is your hair right now.

“That was phenomenal work,” Rachel says, reaching to put a hand on your burning hot bicep, “You look fucking terrible, though.”

You suck in a ragged breath and you nod in agreement, trying to keep the black tinging your vision from taking over completely.

“Get her something to drink,” you hear Toto bark, though it comes to your ears, muffled and staticky.

You’re fine. You’re fine. Until you’re not and your sweaty hand is slipping against the guardrail and your vision is fading into darkness and you’re falling face first into a metal railing. And, and, someone’s got their arm around your middle and you’re not on the ground with your face in the asphalt. You blink, hot tears— from what you assume is exhaustion— burning your eyelids. The arm around your middle is covered in something orange and black… Oscar. It’s Oscar who’s got you propped up, held firm into his body so your legs don’t collapse underneath you. The two of you sway and stumble for a second as you gain your footing back, your vision returning to normal, the buzzing in your ears going away.

“You’re good,” he breathes, “I’ve got you.”

You ignore the shiver that runs down your spine, you attribute it to your current state.

You remember the cameras that are on all of you right now. You try not to look panicked as you step away from him. You try to do it calmly and not frantically like you so want to. Toto has some electrolyte drink held out right in your face and you take it, chugging half of it straight away while you swivel around to face Oscar. You nod, feeling slightly better, but gripping the guardrail tight so as not to repeat earlier.

“Thanks,” you try a smile, but it’s just turning into a grimace because you feel like shit.

Oscar shakes his head, “Don’t mention it.”

“Great driving out there.”

His eyebrow goes up, touching the curl of his hair that peeks out from his cap.

“You’re kidding?” he says, tone laced with amusement.

You frown, which is much easier, “No. You drove great.”

He makes a face like ‘yes, obviously’, but somehow does it in a humble and endearing way that you find you like a little too much. It leaves you confused as to his point.

“No,” he scoffs, “Okay, yes. What I mean is that you just got P3 with a raging fever.”

You purse your lips, countering, “You don’t know I have a fever.”

His tongue darts out to wet his top lip, hiding the small smile that threatens on his face.

He shrugs, “Bit obvious, unfortunately.”

You roll your eyes. You think what he means is it’s a bit obvious because you look like absolute death. There’s probably sweat rolling off you in buckets, your cap is jammed on your head and your hair is probably sticking out at crazy angles. There were dark circles under your eyes before you left for the track this morning, they’re probably ten times worse now. He might also mean it’s obvious from the way your skin is burning hot, like touching a radiator in the middle of winter. Or, perhaps, the way you’d passed out into his arms a few minutes earlier.

You suck your teeth, “Well. I told you I was racing today.”

Oscar nods, biting the inside of his lip, “Yeah. You did.”

There’s more that neither of you are saying. A conversation that you’re trying desperately to have with prolonged eye contact, small little smiles and breaths out through the nose. You think it might be ‘I’m proud of you’ or ‘You’re very impressive and I’m going a little bit crazy about it’. That’s how you feel at least, somewhere in between the fever chills and the urge you’re suppressing to curl into a ball on the tarmac. This is okay, you think. You don’t have to be Oscar’s sworn enemy just because you’re both chasing the win. You can let him worry about you, but make sure he understands he can’t stop you from taking the things that you want. You can say things that mean other things and Oscar can smile at you like it’s something private for just the two of you.

You can be happy with that. Or not quite happy. Content.

🏎️ song inspo (fiona apple my Beloved) -> https://open.spotify.com/track/5h9Iek7Hp9wayRt7fBp7Ab?si=9PnuH5CDSC-qTurLPGiTwg

💫 fill out this form if you want to be added to my tag list: @clowngirlsstuff @leclercsluvs @c-losur3 @mael1pastry @papayamusha @mvk1ma

#🍓anon #oscar piastri #f1 #formula 1 #oscar piastri x reader #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #oscar piastri x driver!reader #oneshots:op81 #driver!reader

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butterymangowrites · 3 months ago

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dad thief

paring: dabi / todoroki touya x fem reader

warnings: smut, non-con/dub-con, cum eating, creampie, childhood friends to enemies to whatever this is, obsessive dabi, possessive dabi, jealousy, non-con filming, blackmail, endeavor is a shitty dad but you both have daddy issues, child abuse, domestic violence, hate sex

word count: 2.5k

Even captured by one of the most dangerous villains in Japan, you still had the audacity to smirk. He wanted so much to wipe it off your face, make you sullen, make you regret. You had always been a pain in the ass, a bitch, and a dad thief.

—

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked.

What Touya saw was you, a girl his age whom he had been friends with for a while now, wearing an Endeavor’s T-shirt two times your size. “That’s my dad on your shirt.”

“I know.” You smirked, didn’t tell him you stole it from someone, just like all the merches you had at home because you couldn’t afford to buy one. “He’s my fav hero after all.”

Having a fire quirk, you related so much to the number 2 hero. Meeting Touya was the best coincidence you could ever hope for.

But Touya hated it, your quirk was powerful, not more than his, but so much more stable. At Least you didn’t get burnt every time you tried to use it. His dad looked at you like you were a gift from God, given to him to replace his own incompetent children. You had become Endeavor’s favorite in such a short time.

—

“So you’re still my dad’s simp,” the white haired villain said, looking at you from an old couch where he lay down, shirtless, his torso patched up with staples holding burnt skins to the body so they didn’t fall off. He looked like a doll that the owner didn’t want to throw away and chose to keep repairing.

“Rich coming from someone with daddy issues.” Standing at his feet, you peered down at him. He had changed a lot, appearance-wise. Half of his face was burnt and stapled just like his body. With black hair, piercings, and impassive demeanor, he became someone else entirely, fooling everyone even his own family—he became Dabi. But those eyes, those were Touya’s eyes. “That was a desperate act back there, airing the plot twist on tv and shit.”

It was amazing how quickly you got on his nerves. Dabi pounced from the couch and grabbed you by the neckline of your hero costume. You staggered forward from his pull but let him drag you to the couch and down onto him who now had his head back on the armrest. His hands adjusted your legs to straddle his waist, positioning you to his heart’s content. Your skin-tight suit was for sure fireproof; yet, you still felt heat emitted from the bare skin of Dabi’s naked torso.

Seeing him face to face this close, you couldn’t help but tease your childhood friend a tad. “Fuck, you’re ugly. No wonder your dad didn’t remember you.”

“This mouth of yours,” Dabi tsked, placing his index finger on your hot lips, “fucking needs to be shut.”

He lifted the finger from your lips to point to the opposite side of the couch where a TV should be if there was one. Instead, there was a camcorder set up on a tripod, an ominous red dot blinking rhythmically.

“It’s recording us,” Dabi said. “I’m gonna fuck you on it.”

“Tsk, tsk. What happened to dates and dinners?”

His expression shifted dangerously. And you yelped, loud, when he suddenly snaked his hand around to unzip your suit from the back.

“Touya, knock it off!” You swatted his hand. But too late, you already felt the suit loosen.

“As I was saying,” Dabi continued, “I’m gonna film us fuck.”

Heat crawled onto your back when he slipped his hand under the open suit and started to skim around.

“But since I’m a generous man, I’m giving you two choices.” He tapped on your back once before saying, “Be a good girl and I’m keeping the footage”—he tapped twice—“or not, and I’m sending it to Endeavor’s office so he can see his favorite intern getting dicked up, down, six ways to Sunday by his eldest son.”

His body heated up a little more; you knew it was from excitement.

“Do you think you’ll still be his favorite after that? I don’t think so if you asked me.”

You were… speechless.

“Come on, am I really ugly?” He nudged his face against yours, which was so Touya of him. “I’ve heard people say I’m still hot, baby.”

“Yeah, hot like the fire that burnt you this bad,” you countered.

He guffawed. “So, what will it be?”

You thought about burning him, burning this whole place down, but your flame was no match for his. Having experienced what he could do firsthand on the battlefield, you would not withstand his flame—you would die.

Contrary to his belief, you were not Endeavor’s favorite. That spot belonged to Shoto since the day he was born. Touya was just dumb and blinded by jealousy and prejudice to actually see it. You were nothing compared to Shoto—you and Touya were nothing compared to the half-hot half-cold prodigy. But Touya was not totally wrong, you still wanted to be his dad’s number 1, not wanting to disappoint the only man you considered a father figure.

But fuck if you didn’t hate Touya. “I’m not choosing shit.”

So he chose for you, tongue plunging down your throat while his cock drove in and out of your cunt. Standing in front of the camera, Touya stood behind you with his scarred arms around your midsection, forcing your whole body tight against him. Every short thrust made your breasts jiggle and eyes roll. The camcorder got it all—the visual, the sound. Even with Touya’s kiss shutting you up, you weren’t really silenced. And without it, you were loud.

“Fuck baby, you like it that much?”

You would have closed your mouth if your hands weren’t stuck in his suffocating embrace. “Not—that good.”

Touya chuckled. “Yeah?”

He quickened the pace, and your brain almost shut itself down.

“Stop,” you cried, legs starting to shake. That was when he really stopped. That dickhole.

“This is what bad girls get.” He said, withdrawing his cock but still not releasing you from his clasp. When he walked back to the couch, he hauled you with him like a child hauling a big bag of toys to his secret lair.

Guiding you to sit on him—again—you still faced the camcorder.

“Dad, are you watching? Look at me. Am I doing good?” One of his hands mapped a path up to fondle your tits, switching left and right to pay his utmost attention into making you squirm out of your human seat.

But he didn’t plan to let you go. His other free hand jerked his cock once, twice, before rubbing it on your still-wet pussy. No one was gonna believe you did not want this. Endeavor would not.

“Have you fucked her yet? Do you want to?” He grinned against your temple.

You swore out a soft ‘fuck’ when his cock eased its way in. It was burnt, too. Not as bad that it had to be patched up, but you could feel the bumpy texture against your moist walls.

“You know my dad is an abusive bastard, right? Fucking neglecting his own wife and children. He beat mom, too, have you heard? Did he have the guts to tell you that?” he said, tilting your head up so you could see him looking down at you. You were so hot he prayed his dad hadn’t touched you, he might never let him, too good of a pussy to share.

“He’s not a good replacement for your scumbag of a father, trust me.”

—

“I can do that, too,” you said from behind the bush you had been hiding, starling the boy you directed the sentence to. He jumped. You laughed. You had been watching him practice for almost half an hour. He looked sort of tired now.

“Look,” you said before doing the same trick you saw him do, making a flame dance on one hand and moving it to the other hand like you were juggling a ball.

He frowned, not looking very impressed, but didn’t take his eyes off you.

That was the first day you met Touya—making friends with him—and after that, coming out to meet him almost every day. Soon after, you got to meet his family. Your eyes almost bugged out of their sockets when you saw who his dad was.

The big man spared you only a glance when Touya first introduced you to him. The second glance, however, came after Touya said you had a fire quirk.

Shoto was only two at the time, too young for his dad’s intensive training.

Two years later, when Endeavor asked if you wanted to train with his youngest who had just turned four and you said yes, Touya didn’t talk to you for three days. On the fourth day, he didn’t let you in when you rang the doorbell.

“Go away, dad thief.”

But you didn’t want to. The Todoroki house was your paradise, the highlight of your day. Since Touya brought you to his home, you had been here everyday, spending your weekdays’ after-school time and whole days on weekends playing with the Todoroki siblings—Fuyumi, Natsuo and Touya himself if he wasn’t a bitch, complaining that his sister and brother hogged you all for themselves, and leaving dramatically to play alone, expecting you to follow.

He was possessive like that. One time, he locked you in a room to only play with him. Rei—his mom—had to use a spare key to unlock the room and scolded her eldest.

Now, the table had turned. Since your weekdays’ playtime had turned into training sessions, Touya was shunning you.

“Go back to your shitty father,” he said through the crack of the side door before slamming it to your face.

He played dirty mentioning your dad like that when he was the one who followed you to your ratty excuse of a home one day and saw your dad slap you on the face for no reason. It was a low blow since he was the one who interfered just before your dad used his fire quirk on you and your mother who was trying to shield you from the oncoming flame. Despite being the one who helped you that day, he used the fact that you had one of the worst dads a child could ever ask for to hurt you. You hated him so damn much for that.

“Just you wait, Touya. One day, I’ll really steal him from you,” you said to the closed door, knowing he was still behind it. Tears were flowing down your face, but it was alright because Touya would not see them—because he would not open the door for you, and you resented him for it.

How… wrong you were.

“No.”

Just when you walked back to the hand-me-down bicycle you got from the person you were most angry at at the moment—he was kind for that; you had to admit—you heard him before you heard the door open. Wiping the tears off your face, you turned to him and haughtily asked, “No what?”

Touya didn’t answer. His eyes were locked onto your shirt.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” you asked.

“That’s my dad on your shirt.”

“I know.” You smirked. “He’s my fav hero after all.”

Touya scrunched his nose, his hair that used to be red at the ends was now full white. Then all of a sudden, he jumped you.

You shrieked. It must have been a jaw-dropping scene for a passerby if there had been one—two 12-year-old children grabbing each other’s hair on the floor, fighting with their little hands.

“Get off me!!” you screamed, but Touya who successfully got on top of you just laughed maniacally. Looking back, he sounded a bit too psychotic for a child.

He shouted into your ear, “Dad is mine! Dad is mine!”

From the corner of your eyes, you saw someone’s feet.

“Touya-nii! Stop!” It was Fuyumi. “Mom, help!”

The hands in your hair didn’t relent one bit despite the call for an adult who was soon surely going to rip his ears off if he didn’t get off you, but he did quiet down.

“You’re mine, too,” he said softly into the ear he was shouting into before. “Dad’s not home today. Let’s play. You and me, okay? No Fuyumi-chan and Natsuo-kun. Just you and me.”

The next thing you knew, he was pulled off you by his mother. Touya didn’t shed a tear when Rei spanked him in the ass, asking why he did that to you. She told him to apologize.

“I’m sorry.”

You knew he wasn’t. But he sounded genuine enough Rei let him off with only a one-week-no-tv punishment.

—

To you, he had been… off since that day. Today, he was full-blown unhinged.

Your legs were spread wide over his own open ones, basically preventing you from trying to close them and hide your fucked pussy from the camcorder. His hands were busy, one grasping at your waist for leverage while the other circling over your clit. You were all bare to the camera with Touya’s cock ramming in and out, concentration drifting like smoke in the wind, so close to coming.

“Such a good cunt. I’ll fuck it everyday”—he panted—“come in it. You can count on me.”

“Don’t—��

“I’ll be a good boyfriend. Will never fucking stray,” he prattled on. “Won’t hit you. Won’t be like dad. You’ll see.”

You tried to hold it, but the hand on your clit just didn’t stop, pushing you to the top and making your hips buck up uncontrollably Touya had to push you down so his dick didn’t slip out. You felt the throbbing when he spilled inside. The little shit really did it—he creamed your pussy.

“Want a taste?” Touya proposed, his hands spreading and closing your pussy to see the white thick cream dripping out.

“Don’t be disgusting.”

“Bet you drink his cum just to please him.”

“I never fucked your dad, you villain scum.”

“Mmmm.” You turned your head just in time to see Touya licking his fingers clean. When he saw you look, the menace put his tongue out to show his own cum on it. You knew what he would do next without a word being said and tried to turn away, but Touya grabbed your cheeks, stilling you, then he squeezed to force your mouth open.

His tongue invaded, feeding you his cum, and ending with a kiss. He took his time, like he had a lot on his hands, making sure you swallowed every drop.

“Not even sucking his dick?” He continued questioning you.

“No, you sicko.” You felt your body temperature rising, quirk activating, but didn’t let the fire come out.

“Bet you thought about it, dad thief.”

“Bet YOU thought about it, obsessive patchy bitch.”

He laughed with his whole chest, shaking your whole body with it. “Guess we both ain’t shit, baby.”

#dabi x reader #touya x reader #yandere touya x reader #mha x reader #bnha x reader #dabi smut #mha smut #bnha smut #bnha touya #yandere dabi #yandere bnha #yandere mha

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writerseclipse1 · 4 months ago

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lucky charm [max v.]

summary: max wins at the us grand prix (2021), and he can't help but insist you were his lucky charm.

warnings: making out, fluff.

word count: 0.7k

“…for the first time, on us soil, max verstappen wins the us grand prix!” cheers erupted from the fans and the redbull crew. you heard your father whoop, fisting the air in celebration.

all you could do was nod proudly, leaning against the wall with your arms crossed in front of your chest. you pushed yourself off of the wall, high fiving the crew and congratulating them on their amazing job during the race.

you all exited the pits a few minutes later, grouping up below the rostrum. checo waved to all the fans and took his place on the third podium step.

next up was lewis who, despite the rivalry between the two teams, he was your friend as well. he was one of the people who taught you how to drive a formula 1 car and actually be good at it.

and last, but certainly not the least to step onto the rostrum was max. you smirked, clapping along to the people beside you. he punched the air, grinning widely as he scanned the crowd, spotting you and winking discreetly. you only rolled your eyes and shook your head but clapped for him nonetheless.

he received his trophy from the one and only shaquille o’neal, the height gap between them despite max’s position on the top podium, making you snort. not long after their presentation of trophies, they started to drink and spray their champagne on each other, soaking their suits and no doubt their fireproofs.

after all the celebrations and the picture taking that led you to change your shirt, it was time for the interviews. max left for the interviews and you went to the red bull building, assessing the information gotten during the race, seeing what you needed to work on even if max drove without error. your typing on the keyboard of your father’s computer and the clicking of the mouse echoed in the room.

“so this is where you’ve been,” max mused, leaning against the doorframe of your dad’s office. you ignored him with a smirk on your face. you kept checking the data, not even sparing him a glance. you heard his footsteps get closer but you paid it no mind, feeling his arms slither around your waist.

“don’t ignore me, schatje,” you felt his breath on your neck, nudging your neck with his nose. “appreciate me.”

“i swear, verstappen, if my father sees you here,” you whispered, abandoning your work and turning in his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck regardless of your recent words. “you’re gonna get fired, probably die too.”

“i’ll take my chances,” he mumbled, tilting his head and his eyes darting to your lips. “besides, if this makes us official, even if i die in the hands of my boss right after, it would be worth it.”

you chuckle, his lips gently pressing themselves on your own. his mouth was gentle, taking his time with you, his hands slowly roaming your waist and pushing you back into the desk. your hands took his cap off, one hand holding onto it while the other combed his locks.

you detached your lips from his, chuckling when you saw his cheeks all red. you adjusted the cap in your hands, placing it on your own head and he bit his lip, fixing your hair.

“keep it. ‘looks better on you.” he complimented, tilting your head up so he could steal another kiss. you laughed, massaging his cheek as he leaned into your touch.

“you ever notice that whenever you attend my races, i win,” he spoke up, making you hum. “and if you weren’t here, i lose. badly, might i add.”

“huh,” you comment, raising your eyebrows. “you’re right. i wasn’t in silverstone but i was there in italy, i wasn’t in azerbaijan, but i was in france. now, i wasn’t in monza, but i was here. cool.” you add, making him throw his head back, laughing.

“guess you could say that you are my lucky charm, liefje.” he suggested and you agreed, nodding your head. you two were too focused on each other that you didn’t notice a third party wander into the room.

“what the fuck is this?”

you froze and max gulped, his gaze moving to the door, his eyes widening.

“oh shit.”

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ a/n: fic look familiar? this is an old work from my old account @/theonly1outof-a-billion!

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen fluff

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dilemmaontwolegs · 1 year ago

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Not A Verstappen: A New World {6}

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x fem!driver!reader x Lando Norris Summary: Last race before summer break begins. Warnings: 18+ only, nsfw, team friction, bad language, fluff WC: 2k F1 Masterlist NAV: Sibling Rivalry One || Two || Three NAV: Gridlocked One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven || Eight || Nine NAV: A New World One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six || Seven

Belgium Grand Prix Doctor Turner didn’t know where to look. She had started off looking at you but once Charles started to speak her attention was turned and then Lando chimed in too. Her poor neck was straining with flitting back and forth between the three of you sitting across from her desk.

“I think it is the stress,” Lando said as he squeezed your hand.

“I think it is the medication,” Charles countered, a familiar argument brewing. “Things started to change after she started taking it.”

Dr Turner hummed as she made her notes and prompted him for more as he fell silent. “Changes such as?”

You zoned out of the conversation. The whole appointment was a result of the family meeting they had called and the information was nothing new to you. You were moody, you were tired, you were hungry. Charles had been the one to suggest it was the hormones from the contraception. He had even gone so far as to unfold the very, very large sheet of side effect information hidden in the box.

“-and her weight.”

“Thanks, Charles. Love you too,” you muttered.

“Not like that, chérie,” he said as he turned to face you, cupping your cheek gently. “You are beautiful and I love your body, but you are training a lot harder with Kristian to maintain your race weight and you didn’t have to do that before.”

That much was true. The team had even stopped putting sandbags in the car for testing since the car was no longer underweight. You had thought your fireproofs had shrunk in the wash when you pulled them on in Hungary last weekend and the sleeves had cut into your wrists. There’s skintight and then there’s skintight.

”Those were all possibilities we discussed at the time,” Dr Turner said with a nod. “They are quite common with hormonal contraceptives so you likely wouldn’t find any change with the alternative options like the injection or the rods.”

“See, told you this was pointless. I just have to deal with it.”

“Or you could stop taking them,” Lando suggested.

“Given the choice…you want to go back to condoms?”

“As much as we enjoy the benefits, it’s not worth it if this is the cost,” Charles answered for the both of them. “Just stop taking the pills for a while and see how you feel.”

You sighed with defeat but you accepted the plan with a nod. “At least I’m stressed enough that there’ll still be no periods. Yay for me.”

Lando snorted a laugh at your sarcasm but Charles didn’t find the humour as he shook his head and thanked Dr Turner for fitting us into her busy schedule. It wasn’t as busy as yours since you needed to get to Côte d'Azur Airport to catch a ride with Max to Belgium, you and half the grid apparently.

“Well that was a waste of time, and now we need to go shopping for condoms,” you muttered as you left her office and got in your car. “Do you think Costco sells them in bulk boxes?”

“I am not buying cheap Kirkland branded condoms,” Lando said with a cringe. “Fuck that.”

“You also said you would never do dry July but here we are,” you pointed out.

“Except for that one night after Silverstone,” Charles added as he started the car.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m not risking anything less than Durex. I’d rather trust myself to pull out.”

You looked at Charles in the rearview mirror before you both broke out in a fit of laughter as you shook your heads at the idea.

Lando was offended.

“Hey,” he called as he turned in his seat to look at you. “I could pull out if I wanted to.”

“You’re lucky you’re handsome, because you can’t lie to save your life.”

“We both know how it is when you hit that sweet spot, mon cher,” Charles said as he reached across the gearbox and rested his hand on Lando’s thigh. “It’s too good to resist staying buried in her.”

“I said I could if I wanted to, not that I would or want to.”

By the time you arrived at the airport, and hustled your way through security, you found Max, Daniel and Pierre already seated on the plane and pointed to other empty seats. “Are you expecting the rest of the grid or what?”

“At the rate you're collecting them, maybe,” Max joked.

You laughed and dropped into the seat opposite your brother, kicking your feet up on his armrest. “You can’t say shit like that in front of Pierre, he gets far too excited. He might even wet your carpet.”

Pierre looked up from his phone and you could tell from the smile on his face that he had been busy texting Kika before he realised what you had said and his lips pouted. “You make me sound like a puppy.”

“Nawww, I wish you had that level of obedience, Gasly.” Your feet were roughly shoved off the seat and you narrowed your eyes at the culprit as the plane began to taxi to the runway.

“Safety first, zusje, haven’t you read the pamphlet?”

“Why would I do that?” you scoffed as you buckled the belt in. Charles was doing the same where he sat across from Pierre and Lando was next to Daniel. “If something happens at 36,000 feet, bracing isn’t going to save me. Now, are there any stroopwafels on board this thing or do I have to wait another two hours? I'm starving.”

“The last two races have seen a big drop in performance for both you and Lance, and only a few points added to the tally, and now - failing to finish the sprint with that crash. Is this something the team is looking into?”

You wanted to ask if the Sky Sports reporter had a brain cell but took a steadying breath instead and nodded. “Mhmm.”

“So what is Aston Martin doing to get back up where you were competing earlier in the season and what are your hopes for the race tomorrow starting 9th on the grid?”

“We are doing what is always done: look at the data, continue the upgrades, and keep pushing. Same goes for the race, I’ll try my hardest to make up some places and avoid the gravel. I’m usually good at getting off the start line, the car is great for short acceleration so if I see a gap I’ll be going for it. Plus, you know how turn one goes - that might make my job easier if the boys up ahead get greedy.”

“Speaking of boys, this time last year you were heading into the summer break looking for love. What’s the plan this year?”

“I don’t know, maybe I’ll take Max’s advice and adopt a couple of cats this time.” You laughed as Lando and Charles turned to you from their spots in the media pen. “Is that a yes…no…maybe? Oh, that’s their ‘we will talk about this later’ face. I’m going to go now before I get into trouble.”

The smile you had been holding onto fell away as you stepped into the Aston Martin hospitality building and you grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge before you navigated your way to your room. You almost made it there with no interactions, until your fellow driver caught up and clipped your shoulder as he passed by to his room.

Still annoyed at the reporter, you dropped your hand from the doorknob and turned to him. “What’s your problem?”

“You almost had points and you threw them away. That’s what.”

“I spun out, Lance,” you sighed, already exhausted with where the conversation was heading. “It’s wet and it’s Spa, it's easy to have an accident. It’s not like I saw you up there earning any of them.”

“It’s not my seat that’s on the line though,” he stated.

“Is that a threat?”

“No, it’s just the truth.” His lips curved into the pretentious smile you hadn’t noticed when you joined the team, but it had become irksome to see grow over time. “My seat is secure.”

“If that were true you wouldn’t be wasting your time hassling me over whatever issue you’ve made up in your head.” You enjoyed watching that smile fade.

“I don’t have an issue with you.”

“Then you feel threatened by me,” you said with a casual shrug. “It’s basic biology, animals attack when they feel in danger.”

“You should do something about that big ego of yours.”

“It’s big like my dick,” you said as you turned the door handle and shoved it open, “so choke on it.”

“Bitch.”

You gasped theatrically as you paused in the doorway. “Lance Strulovitch, do you kiss your mother with that mouth?”

“Did I offend you?”

Your laugh started as a tickle in your throat before your lips peeled back and bared your teeth at him. “Sticks and stones, baby, I kind of like it.”

Realising he wasn't going to get the reaction he wanted from you, he shook his head and stepped away. “You’re all kinds of messed up.”

“Thanks for the assessment, Freud.” You slammed the door shut before he could give a response and screamed as you threw your bottle at the body that suddenly appeared. “Jesus, fuck.”

“Nope, just me,” Max chuckled as he rose from the chair that had been hidden by the door. “Nice to see you get along with your team mate too.”

“Oh that, that was just a friendly sparring match. Nothing to worry about.”

“I did warn you, zusje.”

“Yeah, yeah, you love to say I told you so,” you drawled as you grabbed your drink bottle from the floor and cracked it open. “Anyway, what are you doing, hiding in here acting like the godfather?”

“Our mothers have been conspiring again,” he said with a fond smile. “Family dinner tomorrow night after the race.”

“Won’t you have a winner’s after party planned?”

“I don’t think my liver could handle another one so soon.”

“Serves you right,” you snickered as he opened the door. “Wait, can Pascale, Adam and Cisca come too?”

“I said family dinner, didn’t I? They’re pretty much your in-laws.” He pointed to your table and you followed his finger to see a box overflowing with stroopwafels. “Is that enough or should I get some more for the flight home?”

You grinned as you grabbed one and tore through the packaging, talking with a mouthful. “I thought I was walking?”

“With those manners, you should be.” He started to close the door but changed his mind and stepped back in to pull you into a hug. “I’m glad you didn’t hit the barriers, zusje. Drive safe tomorrow.”

You nodded against his shoulder as you hugged him back.

It was only two days earlier that you ran the track with Pierre in memory of his friend, Anthione, and only five weeks before that another driver had lost his life on the track too. You hadn’t been thinking about that when you spun out, it wasn’t like it was anything close to what Lando did two years ago.

But your brother would always worry about you.

“You too, Maxy.”

Fifth was the best you could do in the end but for once you weren’t weighed down by the result.

You sat beside Max, sipping from a glass of lemonade that should have been a gin and tonic, and smiled at the story he animatedly recalled from the race. On your other side was Charles, his dimples deepening as Max praised him for the perfect overtake he had made on Lewis to clench third place. Beside him, Lando was grinning proudly and draped his arm over Charles’ shoulder, his fingertips teasing your collarbone.

Your parents lined the other side of the table and you scanned their faces while they were engrossed with the story, not as accustomed to Maxsplaining as you and the other drivers were. No one would have ever thought that the parents of a Red Bull, a McLaren, a Ferrari and an Aston Martin driver would all come together and support them all equally. But there they were. One big happy family.

Click here for the next part.

#charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris imagine #lando norris x reader #charles leclerc x reader #Charles leclerc x reader x lando norris #formula 1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #f1 rpf #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you

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33max · 21 days ago

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winter warmers ☃️ - day two, coming untouched

max/gp, 800ish words, nsfw

Sometimes, just before the crowds of people have to leave the grid, when Max is already sitting in the car, GP will tap him gently on the helmet and lean underneath the metal frame of the halo to whisper something just for the two of them.

Earlier in the season it was all strategy.

Looks like Norris is on used mediums. Your tyres are two laps fresher.

Russell has added downforce overnight.

Watch the clutch positioning in the second phase.

But now that they’ve clinched the championship, now that they’re not fighting tooth and nail for points, GP leans close and whispers far dirtier things to Max before he’s ushered off track with the rest of the engineers.

Can you still feel my cock? Are you still open from this morning? If you win this I’ll play with your pretty little hole all the way to Abu Dhabi.

It makes Max blush. He nods and tries not to look too pathetic while he admits that he’s still open and damp where GP fucked into him before breakfast.

Bear down in turns 7 to 9 where the car has the worst of the vibrations. I want to see if you come all over yourself by the end of the race.

Max’s eyes go wide. His cock throbs. He’s never tried to orgasm during a race before. It has happened. Accidentally. And only once. In his first year at Toro Rosso when he was seventeen and he barely had a moment to himself to jerk off – back then the car used to edge him to oblivion until one time, in Malaysia, he tipped over the edge and throbbed jets of come into his fireproofs.

It was embarrassing then. But it’s different now. GP has changed everything.

Once the track is clear, Max adjusts himself. A quick squeeze to take the edge off. The throb his cock gives in return is how he knows he can do it, he can rise to the challenge GP has set.

“Radio check, Max,” GP’s voice’s echoes through his helmet. They’ve already done this. Twice. GP knows the radio is working perfectly fine.

“Yeah, I heard you,” Max replies.

“Excellent. Remember what I said, yes?”

“Understood.” Max tries not to stutter. He knows that nobody else will have understood GP’s message, but he can’t help but feel like his erection is on display to the entire fucking world.

He gets past Russell into turn one and then once he has broken out of DRS range, he does exactly what GP told him to.

He squeezes his lower muscles under the vibrations of turn 7 and his cock jumps dramatically. He does it again in turn 8. And then turn 9.

“Vibration in 7,” He reports on the radio. It must sound like he’s panting. Out of breath.

“Noted,” GP replies like it’s just another day in the office. Max knows GP is a professional, but even he is impressed by how unfazed GP has managed to sound.

Lap after lap he works his muscles until there are only 5 laps left, his cock is leaking precum and Max is certain he will explode on the next lap. But he doesn’t. Not the one after that, or the one after that. He feels like he’s teetering right on the edge of oblivion.

“I have vibrations at turn 13,” Max reports. It’s a lie. “Shall I manage like turn 7?”

“Go ahead, Max.”

With 2 laps to go, Max takes his hand off the wheel and squeezes his cock on the straight. He bears down in 7. 8. 9. 13. A desperate moan escapes him, he’s so close.

He’s starting to doubt if he can do this, it’s hard when he’s so focused on driving to let his body fully take over. He doesn't want to have to get out of the car in parc ferme with a raging boner.

“Everything you’ve got, Max,” GP tells him as they start the final lap of the race.

And Max can’t let GP down. So he rolls his hips up, grinding against the belts as he clenches those now overworked muscles around his groin.

He’s so close.

Desperate now.

“GP,” He moans, radio on.

“You’ve got this, Max. Bring it home.”

“Fuck,” Max practically cries as finally, finally, he tips over the edge. He feels his come soak his fireproofs, the material sticking to his race suit, and he trembles. His cock feels wrung out and oversensitive, and it’s understandable really – he’s never worked this hard for an orgasm before.

As he crosses the line, GP tells him what a good job he’s done and how they’ll celebrate on the plane to Abu Dhabi - Max plans to hold him to that.

#winterwarmers2024 #writing #idea is an 11/10 but unfortunately the execution is a 2/10 lol #I tried!!!!!#I ran out of time!

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sweetwolfcupcake · 1 year ago

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The Taste of Deceit(Hyungline Part Two-Finale)

Masterlist

The Taste of Deceit Masterlist

Hyungline- Part 1, Part 2: Hoseok, Namjoon

Warnings: Violence, Dark Characters with Darker Intentions. Disturbing imagery, allusions, blood, and slight gore. And the most important- DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT(Dub-con, Non-con).

This took me so long...It has been a long year.

Word Count: 13k-ish

Happy New Year Everyone.

Kindly excuse typos and errors. No advanced editing done.

(GIF credits to the owner)

"Where are the rest of them?"

The man leading the team asked as he inspected the bloodied bodies of his colleagues, keeping an eye on the cold corpses, while the rest of the team spread out in the house, in search of Officer (L/N)(Y/N).

They were not very hopeful regarding her survival.

The backup force in the adjacent house, who were allotted to keep a watchful eye, were all found on the floor--cold and mangled. It was a direct dent in the department. A declaration of war.

His eyes scanned through the bed, trying to figure out any oddity in the darkness. Switching on the lights would alert the lurking enemies. And he could not afford to lose more of his team members. Tentatively, his gloved hands ran through the bloodied sheet, the room stunk of it.

Finally!

He found something, a square–no, rectangular device. Fishing it out from below the covers, he inspected the device. It seemed akin to a voice recorder. Marred with blood, the man had every reason to consider if (Y/N) deliberately left it there for them to find her, or maybe a clue...they were too late.

Wiping away the blood, he switched it on.

There were a few muffled sounds and some glitches initially before he could clearly hear–

There was a continuous huffing before he heard a gasp and a moan.

"Who do you belong to? Huh–?"

"You-Oh my–ah!"

"Why–I thought y-you fucking worked for the authorities."

"I—Jin-hah! That's notyou, Please!"

It was somewhere between a beg, a cry and a moan. The captain stood still, blood beginning to boil. But he continued to listen.

Officer (L/N)'s gasps and the sound of skin slapping were clear to him as much as what was transpiring in the recording.

"Please Jin—just surr–surrender, this was—"

Smack!

"Tch! Shut it already—You– and I both know that they are never seeing us again!"

"Oh–my—"

"Right Baby, just let g–go–shit! Too much of this fuc-fuking game–yeah? It'sokay..."

The sounds that followed felt like a slap on his face. No, it was a slap on the whole fucking department's face.

"I forgive you, love."

That was the final straw, the officer rose his hands to smash the bloody thing on the ground. Kim Seokjin messed with the wrong person, he fucking spit on the Department. He was going to hunt—

He paused midway.

Kim Seokjin left the tape deliberately. It was an open challenge to the department, he even did not bother to clean up after the murdering two of the officers himself, not the rest too. The recording, the murder scene, the whole house— all these were powerful pieces of evidence.

So why would he just...Leave them behind?

That sly rat obviously did not want to get caught.

But the evidence...

Unless...

"Officers! Officers wherever you are get out of the building I said evacuate the buildings. Over."

He held the tape close as he rushed out of the room and into the hallway."

"Sir, what is wrong?" One of the officers asked through the device.

"It's a trap! I REPEAT IT'S A TRAP! EVACUATE THE—-"

BOOM!

The deafening boom was swift, followed by another within a millisecond, but the amber and the sparks were quicker.

And within a moment, the two buildings burst into flames. Fire and fireproof helmets flying out, some parts of burning cloths, burnt uniforms and perhaps some skin attached to them.

—---

Jin smiled at her sleeping form through the mirror before he felt his burner phone vibrating.

"Sir, it's done." A voice from the other side spoke as soon as he picked up the call.

"Good, now get out of there." Jin instructed before hanging up the call.

He could finally lean back. His eyes remained on the road ahead, along with a smile that he did not wish to wipe anytime soon.

—--------

Waking up was a slow process. But (Y/N) had not felt more blissful before. She felt like she was surrounded by soft clouds. She felt pampered, and it was not a feeling foreign to her but she was relaxed and—-

She woke up with a start, shaking the remaining sleep off her, though her mind was still a bit muddled. Flashes of the night before occupied her mind as she blinked to clear up her vision. He...What had she done?

Did she give in?

She just...She just laid there, under him, taking whatever he gave her

She put her whole department to shame and yet—

The gentle fingers brushing through her hair, detangling the tresses were all too familiar to even guess– she knew it was Jin. Laying behind her.

"How did you sleep?" It was the morning voice that she was used to, but this time, she was alert for a whole new reason.

Did he wish to play with her a bit before slaughtering her?

There was one thing that Kim Seokjin would never forgive, she had learnt in her two years with him– betrayal.

Expecting forgiveness from him after stabbing him in the back was like trying to dig up a well in a desert.

"You need to relax, Love. As I said yesterday, I forgive you."

She frowned but did not dare to turn.

"I forgive you..."

Was that what she heard before she fell into a tired, hopeless, dreamless slumber?

Even if she were to die, she knew that she was no coward. And she would not die like one. So (Y/N) turned around, facing the man who shaped her nightmares and dreams.

Turning around, she realised she was naked, while he was in his usual night pyjamas. And while she had been naked with him several times before, this made her feel vulnerable, exposed even.

"You did not give away the other pen drive, Jagi. Of course, I forgive you. How can I not?"

He looked soft, hair ruffled, eyes slightly swollen, and overall deceptively harmless.

"You killed them."

As long as she could remember, there were two bodies. Two of her seniors lay bloodied and dead on the bed.

"Yes, Jagi, I killed them all." Jin's smile was sweet, the one she had grown used to.

And so was it unhinged.

"You can't hide forever, you know?"

"We, Love. It's us against them. You proved your loyalty to me last night. The remaining doubts shall be dealt with effectively." He rose slightly with the support of his elbow and placed a quick kiss on her forehead. "I will be back, yeah?"

He left after that. Left her with her thoughts as she spiralled further and further down. All the things that had gone wrong and that she had done wrong. Two of the senior-most officers were dead. The department would hunt her down, hunt them down.

She had no clue how long it had been until Jin returned with a tray that she assumed contained breakfast.

"I had the maids prepare a light breakfast, did not want you to get your stomach upset again."

She frowned. Why did she not remember any of that?

"I–I threw up last night?"

"Yes, you did, even had a fever. Perhaps things were too much for you. Had me worried there for a while. Now, rise up, you must eat something."

"Why are you doing this?" She refused to believe that she was 'forgiven', she was not even apologising in the first place. "If this is your way of prolonging—"

"I could have killed you the day I found out who you were."

She stilled at his words. They were obvious but that did not stop the chill that descended into her spine. It was a strange cocktail of sadness and affirmation.

"But I didn't..."

I couldn't

The words lingered with uncertainty in the air.

"I wanted to see how far this little game goes. And then I saw it..." He tilted his head as his lips curved into a condescending smirk "...How naïve you were. It's pathetic actually. Thinking what you do is the 'right thing'."

"You run an underworld business of drugs and weapons Jin. No matter what you do, how you are, you cannot separate that from yourself...You have blood on your hands Jin and the only way to wash it—"

He interrupted her with a loud scoff that broke into a cackle.

"Honey, you don't wash it all off, it took my blood sweat and money to build this empire. And then I watch some puppet idealists coming to topple it...It's amusing."

He gently laid the breakfast tray on the foldable table placed over her lap.

"It's a game (Y/N). A big game where people like you are only disposable pawns...Why do you think the department is bothered about me now? Why not years back? I was easier to crush then."

When she only frowned, he continued.

"Because they are not hunting for sweeping the city, or the nation clean. They are hunting for those who cannot be loyal to them. Once you are ready to spend billions on election campaigns, domestic and international deals, give money to their pretty puppets and invest in their projects– be their loyal dogs, do the dirty work for them...You are free to do whatever the fuck you want."

He gently cupped her cheeks, leaning in to level with her gaze. "One Government topples, so does their favours upon their underworld allies, the next one would only want to uproot them all. It's not about just tice, or charity, or protecting the city. It never was. It has and always been about power...Once they find out that you have not handed over the other pen drive, you are going to end up with a 'criminal' bullet lodged into your head."

"What about the bullets in those officers' bodies?"

Jin only smiled "If my soul were made of what has shaped yours, Jagi...I would not have been where I am."

He placed a tender kiss on her forehead.

"Get something into your system. I will prepare a bath for you."

Standing up, he towered over her.

"For now, you are not allowed to step out of the room without my explicit permission. Not until my trust in you is restored completely. You still went to meet them, and I cannot risk another slip-up."

"So I am your prisoner."

"Of course not, Jagi. I have a special place for my 'prisoners'. You are the woman I love and refuse to lose. You are the one for me. But fortunately, love cannot blind me to the realities of your position. It is just a bump in the road, we will pass through this."

She could not even begin to decipher what odd amalgamation of emotions she was feeling at the moment. It was all too much. But she knew one thing...She was trapped. A trap she had willingly walked into.

"I will let you have the bath to yourself. Finish up, okay?"

With that, Jin walked into the bathroom. The little muffled sounds here and there let her know that he was doing what he said he would do. Exactly that.

—--

The water felt perfect against her skin, washing away the aches and clammy sensation. But nothing could wash away him. He was imprinted on her mind, and even if he had thoughtfully left her alone in the bathroom, (Y/N) felt him everywhere, in everything. It was like the whole place, not just the bathroom or the room, but each brick was breathing Kim Seokjin.

It was an odd situation. After everything she had seen and experienced, she knew that there was something going on in Jin's mind– he was concocting a plan and if he was not, then he had already emerged as victorious.

She would not be surprised though. He had himself revealed that he had known her true occupation for a while now. It was all a bait. Her two seniors were dead, and perhaps even her colleagues who were in the other house and—

The realisation hit her like a truck. Before she knew it, she was scrambling out of the tub, splashing water everywhere, slipping here and there. But she did make it back to the room, albeit with only a bath robe on, she rushed out of the bathroom, only to begin searching for a TV remote.

She finally found it on the nightstand.

"There are only speculations we can make as no confirmation has been provided by the Police Department or the intelligence. The intensity of the blast was moderate but enough to kill each and every officer present in the two buildings...."

The words of the reporter sank later than the pictures being displayed on the screen. There were all twenty of them.

Five of whom she had personally worked with on her previous missions. Out of the five, two were the ones she recognised as friends, close friends.

The rest of the six were acquaintances and the others, she could barely remember their names.

But all of them were her colleagues.

Her colleagues with families to look after, one of them was expecting his first child in the world, and another was the only hope for her aged and ailing parents.

And now, they all were reduced to nothing but burnt flesh and ashes.

"Jagi, I thought you were in for a nice, relaxing bath, why are you crying?"

She had not taken notice of his presence first, it was only after he gently wiped her tears did she realise her predicament.

It was like she had blood in her hands.

"Why?"

When she looked at him with the question, his unreadable eyes expressed the unexpressed. There was no other thought in her mind.

"They were innocent—"

Jin cackled– one that sounded everything that she had heard before when it concerned an expression of glee. But felt like nothing she had felt before. One that could inspire unadulterated fear. It was sinister– mockingly sinister at its best.

She had fallen in love with a cruel, cold and evil man.

"You have known me for years now, have you not...(Y/N). Have I ever been forgiving to obstacles? They were the wall between us, our love."

And yet he claimed to love her.

"It was a small warning, Jagi. You know that I could do worse."

He was right. She knew him, after all.

"Now, we would not have to worry about some petty people in uniform trying to come after us. Don't think too much about this and tire yourself out."

He took the remote from her grasp with ease and switch the television off before gently leading her back to the bathroom.

(Y/N) was in a daze, letting him take her out of the bathrobe with ease before he put her back in the bathtub after moderating the temperature again. But when he joined her, the feeling of his warm skin rubbing against hers broke her daze, but the faces of her colleagues never vanished from her mind.

She heard him sigh as he pulled her over his lap, relaxing in the perfectly warm water, basking in the soothing fragrance of lavender and pines. It felt like once she closed her eyes, she would be somewhere else, somewhere beautiful.

But she did not dare to close them.

(Y/N) knew that the moment she closed her eyes, the faces of her friends and colleagues would flash in front of her.

She felt his body against hers, roaming hands, fingers drawing circles over her shoulder to comfort her. But none of them worked.

"I know that there is a lot of questions in your mind, so may dilemmas. But you will see Jagi. You will see how much far we have come. You chose me. You made the right choice."

His voice was that of a siren– hypnotic, melodious, but one that would lead its follower to their ultimate demise.

That was Kim Seokjin.

He told her once that she was the one for him, and they would grow old together.

She knew that he would have it no other way.

He was not afraid to spark a bloody battle for that. But there was no line to it. He did not care who or what the price was-- he would have what he wanted, where he wanted.

She realised when he turned her head to land a soft but promising kiss on her lips.

He wanted a battle?

His lips were soft but firm, his hand on the side of her neck left no room for backing away.

She would give him war.

She kissed him back, cautious, but not empty of thoughts.

***

The days were humid, and the nights invited light to moderate rainfall. Life in the relatively remote town was peaceful, in a nutshell.

To live in innocuous obscurity, to work for nothing but to run her and her family was what (Y/N) needed after everything she and her sister had been through—her sister Chae, her only surviving family. The same family she had smashed someone’s heart for and perhaps ruined his life forever.

She might as well be a monster in his eyes. But with her experience through all this, she had learned that not all monsters were evil. And that just made everything much more complicated.

She never knew Min Yoongi.

Of course, she had heard of him, maybe even seen his pictures a handful of times, but never paid much attention.

Not until Chae, her sweet little sister, and her only family, was diagnosed with an illness that was slowly swallowing her up. And (Y/N)’s regular office job could not pay the bills for too long. Their savings were running out, and the treatment and medicines were weighing heavy.

She was desperate.

Truly desperate

And truly desperate people never weigh morals, risks, or possibilities.

They take any chance given to them.

So did she, when a decorated officer offered her a chance to save her sister and find a better life for both of them.

She took the chance; it only took her a day to think through everything. They were paying for her sister’s treatment and the medical bills; they were to overlook Chae and her security, and the net money to be transferred into her bank account after the work was done was good enough.

That one offer had everything she desperately needed. Not desired. Needed.

She was never worried about herself– walking under the shadow of a man like Min Yoongi, she had to have courage. And she was courageous because she was desperate. Whatever she had heard of the man was foul deeds and evil temperament; she had never let that diminish her courage.

To the officers, Min Yoongi was a monster. A clever monster who needed to be pulled out of the sea.

It was for the betterment of society– she was not doing anything morally wrong if perceived through those lenses.

But that was the catch.

People, morality and justice were not read through a single lens, they needed prisms to look at, to analyse.

She had learned that with her time spent with Min Yoongi. Her experience defied every other fact she had learned from her temporary employers. He was no monster. But as she dug deeper into his life and his personality, she discovered that the officers were no liars either.

Min Yoongi was a monster after all. But he was not evil. Not every monster was evil, not every evil looked like a monster.

Min Yoongi was an intimidating man. True to the officers’ words, he was a dangerous man too. Before she knew it, she was already praying that the assumptions about him would be proven false and that she would never have to hear his deeds from his lips.

The same lips that had kissed her so softly, the eyes that looked at her with such a distinct tenderness, closed when her fingers traced his scar. Her touch was soft, but his hold on her would be delicate. It always had been.

Until the doomed night.

She was frozen with shock when she looked into his eyes– the same eyes that once held tenderness seemed to belong to a true predator. For the first time, she truly felt the danger that she was in.

She was in a lion’s den. Unarmed. Unprepared. But desperate.

She saw the shadow fall over his face, she truly saw why even a decorated officer would not like to mess with Min Yoongi without an intricate strategy and heavy backup.

And yet, she had mouthed ‘Run’ to him.

As if she wanted him to get away. To be saved.

Perhaps he did need a second chance— to be saved from the chilling darkness she had seen merging with him.

But she was no saint, and definitely not his saviour.

She was his doom.

It was an opportunity too good, too bright a chance. And she took it.

Yes, she had grown to care for him, even sympathise with him, more than she would like to admit. But she loved her sister. And she did whatever she needed to do to save her only family.

She had religiously avoided watching the news for months. Three months since she had settled into town with her little sister. She did not want to burden herself anymore.

I did what I needed to. We needed to survive.

She told herself again as she prepared warm milk for Chae along with her medicine. It had become kind of a ritual ever since that night.

“Chae, get off the tablet now. Time for bed.” She called out from the kitchen before making her way to their room from the kitchen with the tray with her.

“Just a few more minutes!”

(Y/N) could not help but feel uplifted by the sound of her sister’s chirpy voice, it had withered so pitifully once. But now, as she was recovering, their trips to the hospital had reduced from every three days to twice a month.

“No. Screentime’s over. Give that to me.”

Despite her sister’s whining, she took the gadget from her tiny hands and replaced it with the cup of milk.

“Say ‘Aaa’”

Chae opened her mouth wide as (Y/N) put a circular tablet into it before helping her gulp it down.

She let out a soft sigh after she finished the cup– soft pink in shade with the partially protruding face of a smiling panda.

“Let’s get you to bed. Why don’t you show me how you make your bed before going to sleep?”

“Yes!” Chase jumped up, ready to show (Y/N) her newfound field of expertise.

“Look, you first, take off the pillows, clear off your bed…” She spoke as if there were cameras around, like the lifestyle shows and YouTube videos on ‘How to Do Household Chores Right’.

She had been watching such stuff lately. And while (Y/N) felt that her Chae might be a little too young to learn how to make pancakes, if her sister enjoyed the sense of independence and thrived in it, (Y/N) did not mind.

She watched her little sister work with a fond smile until she was done and was beaming with a smile that (Y/N) held the most precious to herself.

“And look, it's all done!”

(Y/N) clapped in appreciation and played along, before tucking her into bed and switching off the lights, keeping the nightlights that made the ‘Glow-in-the-dark’ wall stickers illuminate better before placing a goodnight kiss on the top of her and leaving the room.

—---

Laying on the bed after a long day felt good. She doubted that anything could even compare to the comfort and sense of safety a familiar, comfortable bed would provide after a long day of toil and trials.

Sighing, she let herself sink into a relaxed state of mind, welcoming the sleep that was rapidly filling her eyes– rapid but soft and—

Buzz! Buzz!

The vibration from her phone jerked her out of the sweet lull with a low gasp. Her senses stood alert as she blinked away the rest of the sleep. In the dark room, her phone’s screen illuminated in a way that there was no other way but to look at it. As if, it had a sense of urgency to it. as if it demanded for her to look into the text.

She knew, of course, that it was all but her imagination– the phone would not buzz a different way for different situations, and neither would it illuminate any brighter to alert her.

With a tired sigh and heavy eyes, she unlocked her phone and opened the message from an unknown number.

Indeed, it was a very important message.

—------

It was a nice place– at least nice in the sense that it served good food and had a warm and cosy atmosphere– something one would expect from a cafe in a fairly isolated town.

Not many people visited the town, neither tourists knew about it. A perfect hiding corner in the country indeed. They had considered sending her out of the country, and they had assured her that once things settled down, they would.

But here was the thing– she depended on one of the officers to inform her if the ‘things had settled down’. (Y/N) had consciously avoided any news or updates regarding Min Yoongi.

She was indeed afraid of coming across something upsetting. She already was miserable with guilt.

Sure, she never loved Min Yoongi, but she had grown to care for him, to understand him and truly see him for what he was– a love-starved, broken soul.

“So…”

She began, eyeing the door and the road outside for any sign of a vehicle with red and blue sirens.

“Is there something to be worried about?”

In her time with Min Yoongi, she had mastered the art of poise, to some extent. However, she never had the chance to master her fear– she never felt the need to. It was an odd sense of safety in his company, she knew that nothing could touch her when she was with him.

But he was an exception.

The man in front of him was an officer in disguise. She remembered him for he had been closely associated with Mission Raven.

“I have not been keeping track of any news regarding—”

“There’s nothing on the news Ms (L/N). Nothing at all. That night, the police station blew off.”

She stilled, slowly processing his words.

“There was no record of his arrest because he was to be shifted to a bigger, more secure station overnight but…”

“So…So everyone there…”

The officer sighed and nodded.

“Min Yoongi was never found. What a coincidence.” He shook his head with a bitter chuckle “When I joined the police force, I thought that I was going to be a hero– help the people in need, bring justice…That night, when my eyes met Min Yoongi’s, I felt my resolve faltering for the second time in my life.”

He shook his head with a sardonic tilt of his lips.

“The first time was while I shot a criminal dead.” He added before taking a sip of the coffee that no longer had steam rising from its surface. “Overall, I am glad that I and two of my teammates had gone out for a cigarette break…So we survived.”

He gulped and eyed his surroundings with a subtle nervousness that made her heart thrum with warnings.

“Though I have been transferred to some other city, I thought that I must warn you. I waited, did not want him to track you down. Miss (L/N), I suggest that you leave with your sister tonight, and leave the country as soon as you can. Min Yoongi’s men killed every person in the building. We hid, but we saw him walk out, saw them walk out…Oh–look, please don’t panic.”

It was when his flow broke did she realised that her cheeks were damp with tears.

“(Y/N), are you alright?” The young officer frowned in concern.

“I…I need to lea-ve.”She cracked up, as her voice crumbled.

With quivering legs and hands, she rose from her chair, uncaring of the loud scraping.

“I can drop you.” He offered.

“No…No, you…you should leave. We are no longer safe. Are we?”

The officer pursed his lips before shaking his head.

Picking up his card from the desk, along with her handbag, she rushed out of the place, gasping for breaths. She thought she might feel better with some fresh air in her lungs. But she had no time to think. She simply rushed to her car and drove away.

(Y/N) felt like she was in a daze.

It felt like a bad dream. An ominous one.

But it was no omen, it was no dream.

It was real.

During her two years with Min Yoongi, she came to understand him to some extent. Nothing slipped past his mind, ever.

A favour or a betrayal, he paid his debts. With interest.

And she had gifted him, on that night, one of the worst betrayals a man could endure. She had seen love in his eyes before that doomed night.

But that night, he had the misfortune to witness the flicker of madness– simmering, still tame, in control. There was an odd gleam in his eyes– one that reminded her why Min Yoongi was so feared after all.

Hastily parking her car, she rushed out of the vehicle and into her house. The setting sun cast an amber glow into the sky that was gradually descending into deep blue and lavender. It might rain heavily– not ideal for travelling, but she had no other option.

They had no other—

As soon as she entered the apartment, her thoughts turned silent.

Everything felt tense.

For once, her heart skipped a beat. But she was reassured by reminding herself that Chae would be usually taking a nap by this time.

For once, she thought that she finally had the peace she had always craved. But now as she moved towards Chae’s room to wake her up, she realised how wrong she had been.

With a plan still under construction in her spiralling mind, she opened the door to Chae’s room. The blinds were pulled down, plunging the room into an unusual darkness.

“Chae?” She called out tentatively before switching on the night light.

She noticed her sister’s face first, eyes closed and limbs hanging– and then the body–no, the man who had her in his arms.

Her mind, her thoughts, and her senses plunged into a heavy silence. A silence so profound that (Y/N) could hear a low but unending beep in her ears.

She could see the outline of a back, along with the hair just teasing his shoulders. She would recognise the profile anywhere, at any time. But when the man finally turned, she could not help but take a step back, gluing herself to the wall, under the shadows as her breathing hitched.

There was nothing significantly different, at least whatever view the limited light provided her with showed that. But somehow, his form seemed to swallow every corner of the room. The scar that ran through his eyes till his upper cheek was almost faded out by the shades of blue the nightlight provided.

But she could see his smirk– a crooked, twisted smirk that made her whimper. A sudden gleam had her eyes dropping to his hand that held her sister with a silver gun flat on her back, his forefinger already on the trigger.

“You never told me about your sister…(Y/N).” He drawled, and she thought his truest, rawest nature stood before her.

A predator that loved to chase but also took its time.

“No…No!” Her voice came out as strangled as her brittle knees gave out

“Shhh, you’ll wake her up. I read out a story to her before tucking her in.”

His voice was calm, hushed and steady– a sinister melody attached to it, following his movements as he looked above her. She had not even noticed the two men standing behind her. It was only after they walked past her and took her sleeping sister in their arms that the wheels began to turn in her head.

“W-where are you taking her? No!” With skidding legs and blurred vision, she rushed to them, trying to pry her sister away from them, only to be pulled back by the man whose presence overpowered everyone and everything in the house.

“Yoongi, please! She’s innocent, punish me but—”

Her words were caught in her throat when his gaze held hers. She was looking into the eyes of a creature of the night. The blue light only enhanced the sinister shade his face carried. He was perhaps paler, broader yet his face seemed sharper. No trace of softness.

“You know how many times I dreamt of that night over and over again?” He pushed her closer, so close that she could feel his quivering breath– as if he was barely restraining himself.

“My sister needed—”

“They were simply fishing for the right victim and you just took the bait. What do you think, they would come to ‘save’ you? They don’t fucking care!” He spat.

Under the nightlight, he looked rogue, savage, unfearing.

“You are a criminal Yoongi.” She had no idea where she had found the strength to speak those words, but she did.

He smiled coldly “Of course I am, Love. The one they fear and now won’t dare challenge. You see, there is nothing between us now.”

Her wall of protection had disappeared. (Y/N) knew that she could never depend on them for long, but everything toppling overnight? She had not seen this coming.

“You betrayed me, but also saved me.” He concluded and she felt his hold tightening on her arms like a python.

“No, Yoongi…I didn’t save you. I am not your saviour Yoongi.”

“Oh, Love…I cannot be saved anyway, I don’t want to be…All that is left for you is to accept me as I am. No ifs and buts.”

But how? She never wanted this…She never loved him!

“Y-Yoongi…I don’t–I don’t love you…”,

The silence made her stomach flip. But her proximity to him made her fear for her life.

“They really had filled your mind with filth…” He drawled before she felt the iron grip of his fingers on her jaws. It was not instantly painful, but with each passing moment, the ache rose.

“Look at me, look into my eyes and tell me.”

The simmering ambre flared into an all-engulfing fire in his eyes. Some strands of his hair fell forward, exposing the deranged lover that hid behind the poised man.

She peered into the rage and chaos simmering in his feline eyes- dark but raging with emotions, yet hollowed with loneliness.

“I cared Yoongi, I always did. That is why I wanted you to survive. I wanted you to run, despite knowing who you were, I wanted you to run. But I could never love you.”

It was an odd amalgamation– she feared him, yet pitied him. He, to her, resembled a lost predator. Surviving, hunting, doing what he was born to do…but lost, alone.

“Please Yoongi…Let Chae go…She’s a child. Let us go.” She begged again, her hopes flaring when his hold on her loosened, hands falling to his side as he took a step back.

He only chuckled and looked away.

“I guess our past actions do have consequences…”

In the silence, his lowly voice sounded ominous

“And I must reap them…” He paused before turning back to her “But so would you.”.

She watched the simmering ambre erupting into an all-consuming volcano before he tapped on the earpiece attached to his left ear.

“Is the child with you? Okay, take out your gun and shoot her when I command.”

“NO! NO! Yoongi, please! No”

She was already on her knees, she did not care as long as her only family was safe. His cold eyes peered down at her with a chilling poise before he bent down a bit and cupped her cheek, breaking the neverending stream of tears.

“Wipe off the tears and come with me. If anyone suspects something, you sweet little sister will pay.”

(Y/N) sat frozen, not even registering the thrumming on her knees.

Maybe she was wrong–

Min Yoongi was a monster after all.

And monsters were unforgiving creatures.

—------

Min Yoongi knew that he was not a saint.

He was not a kind man.

But he was also not evil. Not to the people he loved, truly loved and cared for. And definitely not to the love of his life.

He had no shame in admitting– he was a monster- the worst of them all. A walking, talking, repulsive nightmare.

But he loved her. He had forgiven her the very night he was ‘arrested’.

How could he not, when she looked at him with more kindness than he had ever known in this world?

But when she outrightly refused to have ever loved him, the illusion began to crack.

“They were right about you…I never believed them until now but now I do. You truly are an evil monster.”

She had whispered those words to him as soon as they were in his estate. Even with tears in them, her eyes were cold and raging.

“I could never love a monster like you!” She finally spat out when he refused to let her see her sister.

And he snapped. Something deep, dark, territorial and unhinged gnawed its way out.

But he only smirked. Even though he could feel the dull ache behind his eyes, a strange pit in his stomach, he smirked and let it grow into a chuckle.

He must have had his true face out as she took a step back with fear blooming in her teary eyes– he was a deranged, diabolic bastard. With each step he took to close the distance between them, she took several away, until the back of her knees bumped with the bed.

Pulling her flush against himself, he leaned near her ear.

“The officers who aided you are already six feet under the ground– half burnt, half crushed, but dead anyway. All you can do is believe in every word they told you about me…I am indeed a monster, honey. He worst one you will ever know. And you will have to live with this monster. No government, no decorated officer would dare to save you.”

He felt her stiffen and shiver like frightened prey. Indeed, she had fallen prey to his love. He made peace with their reality. She would too.

Humans were adaptive creatures after all.

—--------

The hanging lights on the ceiling were pretty– the crystals shining under the moonlight, but they seemed to swing slightly.

It was only an illusion, of course. It was she, who moved, and the bed while the man above her remained still, revelling at the sight of her rocking hips, spread legs and parted mouth with the dazed bliss in her eyes.

She could only watch the chandelier instead of looking into his eyes with the victorious gleam in them and the sadistic twinkle on watching her fall apart.

“Look into my eyes, Jagi.”

And she did before hot white pleasure surged through her.

“There there, aren’t you the most beautiful of all brides out there?”

“Why can’t I meet my own sister?” (Y/N) was only a thread away from screaming her lungs out all the awful things she could think of at the moment.

Yoongi simply sat, nursing his scotch on rocks, idly watching the part of the vast garden visible from his home office. The place that only a few had access to, the place she had barged in, his guards chasing after her, pleading for her to stop lest they would bear Mr Min’s wrath.

But she could not have it in herself to care. She had not seen or even heard of her Chae for two days in the gigantic estate.

When Yoongi finally looked at her, his stoic stare made something unpleasant steer within her. His eyes assessed her with a flick before it turned steely.

“Why are you in your bed clothes?” It was akin to a sneer. Or maybe it was.

The fact was, she did not give a fuck.

“What have you done to my sis–”

“Have you walked all the way here in this?”

She was wearing a thin camisole under a nightgown reaching beyond her knee. It was of satin material that was tightly knotted but had a plunging neckline she had never cared about.

She did not understand why this bothered him so much. She knew that he was twisted but this was madness.

“I want to see Chae! I have not even heard of her since I–you brought us here.”

Only she knew the anxiety clawing her from within

“She needs to take her medicines regularly Yoongi. She’s just eight, she is a child, an innocent child who needs me.”

Even when she would ask the guards, servants, or maids, they would not respond to her question– that was the only question they refrained from speaking about her sister, or even taking her name.

If Yoongi had the intention to break her down in a slow, painful way, he was on the right track.

He rose from the chair and walked to her “I assure you that she is safe and sound– she will take all her medicines on time, they will take good care of her.”

“Th-they?”

She did not even notice his other hand reaching for her until he wiped the single tear that had slipped from her eyes.

“The school staff. I have sent Chae to Rosenberg.”

“Indeed, you are.”

She felt his fingers slipping away before hearing the embarrassing squelching. Her eyes had closed without her notice, ready to fall into a blissful slumber. It was the second time he had pushed her over the edge of white pleasure.

But she was wrong to think that he was anywhere near done.

Feeling the tight knot snap, she withered under him, eyes still closed, mind still hazy.

Before the swing of the pleasurable high could slow down, she vaguely felt him putting her boneless legs over his shoulder before the ticking sensation between her thighs alerted her.

(Y/N)’s eyes snapped open, just in time when she felt something wet glide over her opening. The protest bubbling up to her tongue fizzled out like a burning matchstick against a storm and the only thing left for her was to moan instead– no matter how much she wished to resist it, she could not help the signs of pleasure tearing out of her mouth.

At first, she felt the odd but pleasurable sensation, almost flinching and jumping away. But under him, with his hands tight on her thighs, almost spilling the flesh between his fingers, it was difficult to even move. All she could do was to let her hands grip his hair. He did not seem to mind much.

His tongue focused on flicking her clit for a while, making her jolt each time with quivering gasps and moistening womanhood. This man surely knew how to overwhelm her own emotions.

“Ro-Rosember?”

“Rosenberg– Institut auf dem Rosenberg. It tops the list for a refined and elite schools, your sister will flourish there.”

He held an air of nonchalance around him as he refilled his glass. Yet Yoongi’s eyes never left her form.

(Y/N) licked her lips. Was it possible to get randomly admitted to any prestigious school so soon in the country?

“So, she will be going to a new school? I can meet her then, right?”

“I think you don’t understand Jagi. It is an elite boarding school, the best of the best. It’s in Switzerland. I sent her there yesterday.”

“You…You sent my Chae to…Switzerland?”

She had to repeat the words herself in order to fully grasp the situation. Yoongi sent her baby sister, who needed constant supervision and regular check-ups to another country-- to a boarding school she had never heard of.

“I have sent them the details and the list of precautions and medications. Besides that, I have connections, Jagi, she will be safe there.”

By the time he finished speaking, her legs turned lifeless and she found the floor. The warmth of the carpet could not subdue the sudden waves of chills and goosebumps enveloping her form.

“You sent her away from me…”

“I gave her a good life. Imagine if it were someone else in my place, Jagi…He would have gifted you your sister’s head first before taking yours.”

He bent down in smooth, silent motion before whispering to her with his arms holding her in faux reassurance.

Her eyes rolled back before the rawness of her throat was registered only after the rocking of her hips had slowed down. Her ears still echoed the short but sharp scream that had forced its way out of her throat like he had been forcing the pleasure out of her.

Her vision was blurry with the mix of tears and haze, but she could see him smirking– smug but somewhat unhinged.

Maybe he was indeed unhinged and cruel. He had punished her– not for her apparent betrayal. But for not loving him the way he had believed she would.

Min Yoongi had closed all doors for her, leaving her with no option but to hold on to the diamond wedding ring that now had its fangs buried on her ring finger– just as Min Yoongi had his claws buried in her life.

“Look at you~”

She heard him coo as her head fell back on the pillow, her movement growing slow and her eyes heavy.

“What has the child done to you? She needs me!” (Y/N) cried out in anguish.

Yet it did nothing to deter his cold gaze or falter the ghost of a smirk he sported with pride.

“Nothing Love, the child has done nothing. I am not her foe. I am giving her the life millions would die for– the best of the best. I would see to it all. But when would you see her again is in your hands Jagi.”

She frowned and blinked through her tears. Up close, his scar did manage to make him appear more sinister than anyone she had ever met before.

“What are you saying?”

“I love you Jagi, there is no limit, no boundary that I would not cross for you. You can meet her after we are married and you give birth to our first child. So it depends on you how soon you can do that.”

He sealed her fate with the offer. But she wondered, how could a confession of love make one’s heart quiver with fear?

“I love you, Jagi, you have no idea how much I do.”

She could smell the sweat and musk as he leaned down to kiss her forehead before guiding his manhood to enter her. Slow, but sure, a contrast of stiffness and tenderness that both frightened and baffled her.

“Oh—” (Y/N)’s voice quivered as she held onto Yoongi’s shoulders in order to keep herself grounded. It was devastating; it was delicious, it was almost divine.

But she knew that this was no more than a nefarious act of him sinking his sharp teeth into her– held down under his thumb forever. He had the advantage, the power and the last word. He was the lion, she was a helpless, powerless prey his claws dug into.

Min Yoongi was a man of his word.

He had told her once that he would marry her and live in his newly bought estate; they were indeed married, fucking on the bed that was flown all the way from a different country.

—---

The headlines flashed on the screen while wheels turned in her head. She sat stiffly without any movements as she watched the news.

“What are you watching?”

As if he were conjured, he walked into their room, some sandwiches on a plate, wearing the most innocuous-looking clothes. He had taken two months off from ‘work’, wishing to spend some quality time with his wife.

One week into the marriage, she was already wearing down. Both emotionally and physically. She doubted if there was any room in the mansion left where he had not taken her, or was there any corner of her mind where he had not wiggled his way into.

“Your company is taking responsibility for constructing new police quaters and renovating the old ones?”

“Yes, why are you so surprised?”

“There are others, older candidates. Why would they give the project to you?”

Yoongi smiled and sat down beside her.

“You are so smart, Jagi. It would be a sin to hide anything from my wife, would that not? Let's just say me and the Internal Affairs Ministry are friends now.”

He leaned in and kissed her cheek before handing her the sandwich he had put his time making.

“So, no one disrupts me now. For a long time.”

“You did this to make sure that no one comes searching for me, right?”

He grinned.

“I love you (Y/N). There is no limit that I would not cross for you. Eat up, I have a really good movie for us. You will love it. After that, we can have lunch, all your favourites.

He went on, while she spiralled further. Any hope of getting out of there was crushed then and there.

He had not taken his time to track her down. He had taken his time to plan. And execute the plan thoroughly. Tracking her down was child’s play for him.

Min Yoongi was indeed a monster—a clever, stubborn and dangerous monster.

And she was in his realm, and she was there to stay. He would make sure of that.

***

The rest of the parts will be published shortly. I am facing problems in saving the draft.

A very Happy New Year to all of you!

Banner by @cafekitsune

#yandere bts #bts yandere #the taste of deceit #yandere jin #yandere yoongi #yandere mafia bts #the taste of deceit hyungline #yandere hyngline #yandere suga #yandere yoongi x reader #yandere jin x reader #yandere yoongi smut #yandere jin smut #yandere bts x reader

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didgeriduwu · 7 months ago

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Tf2 Headcanons 2 bc I have a million of these

[Please if you haven't already go and sign the petition to save this goofy ass game!]

Pyro isn't covered in burn marks. What do you think the fireproof suit is for?

Pyro has actually worn their suit since they were a literal baby, and their parents noticed them trying to crawl into the fireplace. They still have all of their past suits ranging from itty bitty baby pyro size all the way up to their current size.

Sniper's slouch hat belonged to his (adopted) dad, who wore it as part of his uniform in WW2. Even though he doesn't approve of his son's job, Snipes' dad still wanted him to have his lucky hat to keep him safe.

Scout is pro-womens rights. He's still sexist (its the 60s/70s) but his Ma was an early Second Wave feminist so he just grew up believing in women's lib by default.

Heavy's dad was one of those high-ranking soviet officers who pissed Stalin off so bad he had them old-timey photoshopped out of existence.

Miss Pauling is tatted the fuck up, but only where it's not visible while she's wearing her work attire. She's a professional, god damn it.

Christopher Lee was a spy during WW2 (Its 100% true look it up) and so was Spy, and they were friends.

Spy's (real?) name is Jean Dupont because that's the French equivalent of "John Doe" and I like the idea of there being two does on the team (no relation).

Other Headcanons!

Misc.: Part 1,

Themed: Sex, Woodstock

#pyro tf2 #scout tf2 #team fortress 2 #tf2 #save tf2 #spy tf2 #tf2 heavy #heavy tf2 #miss pauling #tf2 pauling #tf2 scout’s mom #fix tf2 #sniper tf2 #team fortess 2 #tf2 headcanons #my headcanons

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everythingne · 2 months ago

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⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ ➛ kindred souls - f1a (1)

Vienna Alexandria Fisichella. The eldest daughter of Ludovica Davies (nee. Fisichella) and older sister of little Anaya Davies. Her life is a countdown of exact seconds, a calendar packed with dates--barely leaving enough room to sleep, eat, or shower. Between racing, working, and caring for her sister, there is no time for Vienna to just be Vienna.

And this year, like every year, was set to be the same old shit. Until it wasn't. And one, maybe two, phone calls changes everything Vienna's come to know.

masterlist (in progress) / next chapter

notes/warnings: implications of manipulative/neglectful parenting, past infidelity, vienna does not know her dad,

Camden laid in a quiet lull of the early winter night. Stars twinkling overhead as the old second-hand Mercedes compact car rolled to a stop in a parking spot, the cracked windows letting out the faint sound of some Chappell Roan song before they're abruptly rolled up with a thunk. The engine creaks as it's killed, the fan sputtering to a stop as the air condition stops blowing wildly in the car, and blonde hair falls to rest against it's drivers shoulders.

Vienna Alexandria Fisichella. Or, just Nini if you were the child in the backseat, sits there for a moment in the still silence. Willing herself to get out of the car even with her bleary eyes and aching legs. She's still wearing her fireproofs. She hadn't even changed after practice.

"Anaya..." The driver, Vienna, hums as she looks back at her baby half-sister. Anaya's face squished against the back door's glass, a teddy bear hugged to the six-year-olds chest, her older sister's big Fortec Motorsports hoodie enveloping her.

"Anaya." Vienna tries again, tapping her sister's knee with hopes to wake her up, to no avail. Huffing out a soft laugh, Vienna grabs her backpack from the front seat she gets out and shuts her door softly. Popping the boot to retrieve her over-the-shoulder bag. Vienna slams the boot closed, then moves to carefully open her sister's door, using one hand to make sure she doesn't fall out of the car.

"Anaya, hey, we're home." Vienna kneels down beside her car, gently shaking her sister awake.

"Carry me?" Anaya murmurs and Vienna sighs softly, dropping her bags into the backseat of the car--pausing to grab her keys, and then hosting her sister in her arms as she shuts the door. Within seconds, Anaya is asleep, her brown hair mixing with her sister's blonde as she's carried into the safety of a warm apartment building.

The front desk is vacant this late at night, with a little sign with the emergency number to call sitting in place of Felicia or Jaxx. The only sound was Anaya's soft snores and the soft tap of Vienna's sneakers, then the elevator's ding.

Luckily, the office is frgid, as is the elevator, so Vienna doesn't feel tired as she lumbers to her apartment with her sister in one arm and her bag in the other.

The lock clicks open with a beep, and with one hand and a prayer to not accidentally drop her sister, Vienna makes her way into the tiny three-bedroom apartment. All the lights are off, save for a soft one by the front door, so as Vienna navigates the immaculately clean halls, she clicks on each light as she passes.

"A'ight, Naya," Vienna hums, setting her sister down on her bed, "Ya' gotta get changed and int'a bed, okay?"

Anaya whines, curling up in a little ball, "Nini... I don' wanna... 'm tired."

Vienna chuckles softly, kissing her sister's head and taking off the girl's sneakers. She had such a soft spot for the girl it was hard to say no. So she murmurs into the girls brown hair, "Alright, alright. As long as you promise you'll brush your teeth extra long tomorrow mornin'."

"I promise." Anaya yawns as her sister tucks her in tightly to her bed, her little McLaren bear poking its fuzzy head out next to hers. Vienna leans down, pecking a kiss on her sister's hairline before leaving the nightlight on as she leaves the room--only partially shutting the door, because Anaya needed to see the hall night lights on to fall asleep.

With a shake of her arms, Vienna locks the door with a slight knee in the door to make sure it closes properly. She scoops her bags up from the doorway, the clicks of the lights being shut off follow Vienna down the hall. Retreating into the sanctuary that is her bedroom, Vienna slowly sinks to sit on her bed and groans as she pops her bags down by the foot of the bed.

She will have more training tomorrow. All day, wake up at 6am training, not just come in for a few hours after noon training. Which was okay, because Vienna loved her trainer Joella Kukrit with her entire heart. But she knew she'd be dead the next night when she had to work the night shift. Nine to one in the morning as a lead manager at a little corner store, which luckily gave her time to catch up on paperwork or any missing assignments from her online college courses.

Thank you United States Sports Academy for online courses, and a sports management degree could be Vienna's soon enough. So if all this driving didn't work out, maybe she could have her own team one day. Which seemed pretty fucking cool.

So, Vienna takes a shower, braids her hair back, brushes her teeth, and washes her face. She only does moisturizer tonight, too tired to bother with anything else. Then, when she gets back to bed, she doesn't even have time to scroll through her phone before she's out like a light.

And her alarm rings at exactly five thirty in the morning like it has every morning since she was fourteen.

She's showered again, teeth brushed, full skincare, and hair done by six-thirty. Her hair is down, now in waves from the braids, and she wears loose sport shorts and her team kit with the tightest sports bra known to man underneath. Yay gym days.

Vienna stands, sock clad feet still cold against the tile in the kitchen, watching the bacon pop in the pan, when her mother walks in.

Ludovica Davies was a single mom for about ten years before her new husband, and Vienna's step-father, Christopher, stepped into the equation. the Royal Air Force engineer had taken Ludovica, or Dove as she liked to be called, by the heart the first time they'd met.

Exactly two years and four months later, Vienna had a wedding to attend, a baby sister to take care of, and a step-father stationed in fucking Bahrain of all places on a joint leave with the United States military.

"You look good," Dove says, kissing her daughter's cheek as she tugs her own ponytail until her long brown hair tumbles out. She huffs, tangling her hands in her daughter's long blonde hair, "Just make this brunette."

"Momma." Vienna laughs softly, "I know you say it makes me look like my Dad, but... I love it."

It had been a lifelong fight. Not once had Vienna relented. She loved her hair because it made her look like her father, the man her mother refused to tell her anything about. The mystery of who her father was had always followed Vienna, her family often making comments about how she acted just like the man she had no connections to. Vienna had tried asking her Nonna and Nonno, even her Uncle Giancarlo, but had never gotten far.

Back when her mom still spoke to them regularly.

Before money got tight after she got herself disowned and took her kids with her. The reveal that Vienna's 'father', a man named Zander Moss, wasn't actually her father and had torn her family in bits.

And since her tenth birthday, Vienna had this mystery father in her periphery who she could never quite reach. The only thing she knew was that he had been a racer, whether it was Indycar, Motocross, NASCAR, Formula 1... she had no idea.

She had always assumed Formula 1 since her uncle had also raced in the sport but never had confirmation.

"Your father..." Dove sighs at her daughter, going to go on some long-winded rant about how he left her and Vienna, never cared, never looked back. But Vienna stopped believing that after she found out her mother had been lying about her heritage for years following her divorce from her first husband.

"Momma. Another time." Vienna sighs, then makes her way across the kitchen to the sink, washing off her hands. Dove relents, just for now, and goes off to make herself a coffee.

"Momma!" A little cry erupts, and giggles down the hall get closer as Anaya appears around the corner, "Are you home today?"

"Sorry, Anaya. I've gotta get in for a twelve by seven." Dove hums, leaning down to kiss her daughter's cheek, "I'm gonna take you to school though, and Miss Angela agreed to keep you late."

"Okay!" Anaya cheers, happily clinging to her mom's leg as the woman makes coffee. Vienna doesn't say anything for a moment, settling down to eat when she notices Anaya staring at her food.

"Momma, d'ya have time to make Anaya somethin' to eat?" Vienna hesitates to ask, already knowing the answer will be no. Dove huffs, then turns to her daughter and swaps to Italian quickly to scold her daughter about how she was the breadwinner, how Vienna was wasting her time with racing and not going to university full time, blah blah blah.

She scolds Vienna for a long enough time to make Anaya breakfast.

And then she leaves, without taking Anaya to school. And Vienna puts her head in her hands and lets out the deepest sigh she's let out in a few weeks. Then pops her head up with the biggest smile she can muster and leans down to tickle her sisters sides, the little girl squealing as she tries to get away.

"Alright." Vienna stands after a moment--collecting herself, "Anaya, you can have the rest of my food." Or, all of it. Vienna had protein bars in her bag she could eat instead for today. "Eat that, I'll get your uniform."

And as Anaya goes to eat, Vienna rushes off to her sister's room. In what is probably world record speed, she packs up the girl's bag and grabs her uniform. By the time Anaya comes back with a full stomach, Vienna rushes her into the bathroom to get ready for her morning.

Vienna ends up being exactly five minutes and thirty-six seconds late to her practice.

Luckily, Nina isn't there yet either. But Kai and Alex have started getting dressed for some simulator practice, while Nina and Vienna will have to run laps and do endurance for being late.

Then, Nina appears as Vienna's shoving her stuff in her locker.

"Do you think they'll be pissed we're late again?" Vienna laughs softly, kicking the locker closed as she leans on the front half of Fortec's logo printed on the metal.

"You have a genuine excuse with Anaya." Nina shrugs, "I just slept in."

The girls share a soft laugh before Nina gasps and quickly begins to open her phone. When Vienna teases about a new partner on the horizons, Nina shakes her head and then holds out her phone to Vienna to display a graphic, "I wasn't sure if you got this email, but it's a message from Mrs. Susie Wolff. The Academy is working to bring in more female drivers, and guess what?"

"Hm? What?" Vienna hums and Nina's grin almost doubles as she sing-songs,

"They're doing open tryouts! Just show up, they'll give you a car if you qualify, and scouts from each F1 team will be there to watch and see what happens!"

"When's the tryout?" Vienna finds herself immediately asking, even though she knows her mother would say no.

"Saturday at six in the morning," the girl replies to Vienna, now going to shove her own stuff in her locker.

In five days.

Between work, college, and taking care of Anaya, Vienna can't imagine she has enough time. But the chance to race in F1 Academy?

Shit. She's so willing to skip work for this.

And so, on Friday night, Vienna asks her mother.

"For Formula One?" Dove says, setting down her drink, "No. You can't skip over F3 and F2."

"No no," Vienna sits down, setting down the drawing Anaya had given her after school that was definitely going to be pinned up with all the others in her bedroom, "F1 Academy runs Formula 4 cars. I'd be on the same level."

"Vienna..." Dove sighs, putting her head in her hands, "No. No, I'm not letting you skip work for some tryout. What if they don't want you?"

"They won't want me at all if I don't show up, plus Susie Wolff herself-- the like.. director of the entire thing, is expectin' me." Vienna emphasizes, "Momma, please. If I don't make it, I'll never ask again."

"No, end of." Dove stands, taking her dish to the sink and unceremoniously dropping it in. Expecting Vienna to clean it later like she always does.

"Momma, why won't you let me advance? You wrecked my chances with Rodin for F3 this season, and now this? I want a career in racing. Not just some fun side gig to do." Vienna huffs, standing up as her mother stops in the doorway.

"Vienna Alexandria." Her mother turns around, "My word is final, do you understand?"

Vienna sighs, moving forward, practically begging "Mom, please."

"No, enough." Dove waves a hand, "If I hear anything about skipping work or anything, I'll pull you from Fortec."

And as her mother disappears down the hall. Vienna knows she's gonna call out of work the next morning. She has a shot here. She and Abbi have been neck and neck all season, winning race after race with only thousandths of seconds between them.

She wakes up at four the next morning as she should, calls out of work as soon as she can to use her groggy morning voice as cover, and then gets dressed.

And she feels bad, laving a note on the fridge that says she was called in to work early, but she has to try.

Her racing bag is tossed over one shoulder, her backpack in the other, her racing shoes in one hand, and keys in the other as she almost runs out of the lobby. The morning chill is welcome, and she starts her car before taking a slow breath.

Her sponsors ended this season. She'd saved up enough to have one more season. This was it.

Vienna shows up a little early to the Silverstone track, sitting in her car for a moment as she watches a bunch of people mill about. Even Sky News cameras and ESPN reporters. With a slow breath, Vienna shuts her phone off and stores it in her backpack, making her way up and into the cheers from her friends as they wait at the gate to be let in.

"Dude," Chloe says, "Everyone's here. We just saw Toto, Fred, and James walk in."

"Seriously?" Vienna asks, shoving her racing shoes in the side pocket of her bag as she brings her hands up to tie up her hair.

"And your favorite early 2000s driver." Nina nudges her teammate's arm, "Mr. Jenson Button."

"Shut up." Vienna gasps and the girls break into giggles and softly speak amongst themselves. Since her tenth birthday, when Vienna spent the weekend watching F1 from either Renault or Ferrari, she'd always loved Jenson. She wasn't sure what the immediate liking was, but she had always found something intriguing. Familiar. She'd met the man at the races a few times as a child, but she doubted he'd recognize her now. It had been almost a decade.

Vienna follows Nina in when the gates are open, settling in the unmarked garage they've been given to use for this event. A few camera operators are milling about, and she tucks under the arm of Joella and her Fortec Head Engineer Kyle and into a driver's room to change.

An hour later she's adjusting her helmet, tapping her hands along her suit in her usual checks, before looking back at Kyle.

"Everything secure?" He asks, tugging on her radio cord. She nods when it doesn't budge and he bids her good luck with a tap to her helmet. Nina passes to get to her own unmarked F4 car for the race, the two bumping knuckles before Vienna turns to climb into her own car.

And across the track, she catches the eyes of none other than Jenson, before she's forcing herself to concentrate. This is her only shot. She can't blow it because of some starry eyes.

Jenson keeps his hands stuffed in his pockets for a few moments, humming, before turning over his left shoulder and moving back to where Williams was. The race starts by the time he's made his way up. The race itself is only one forty-minute session, which Jenson thinks is a little idiotic.

How are they supposed to know the full capabilities of a driver after only forty minutes?

Watching the unlabeled car-- only with the number '13' hastily smacked on, Jenson hums. The car zips around the corner, perfectly hitting the apex, and he leans forward from his spot next to James and some of the other various Williams engineers who've come to watch.

"Hm." James comments softly, "That's a perfect apex and an immediate overtake in the next turn."

"She's pushing that car for as much as it'll give her. Get her in something more powerful and she'll be hitting these with ease." He says softly, looking back down at the driver profile--Vienna Fisichella, 21, racing for Fortec in British Formula 4. Giancarlo's estranged niece if he remembered the story from Fernando right. The girl's an Italian native, who grew up between England and America, her childhood home placing her right outside London. But that doesn't explain why Jenson can't shake the idea of somehow knowing this girl. Maybe it was just from the times he'd met her as a kid.

"She's pushing, but losing a lot here in the chicane, and turns four and seven." A random engineer says.

"But she catches it in straight." Jensen counters, the engineer humming in thought.

James nods, "She's never competed on this track in these cars, and she's giving Abbi and Doriane a run for their money."

James and the others comment on all the drivers, impressed or disappointed in their performances. The race ends with that girl, Vienna, Jenson reminds himself, in a comfortable P3 with a considerable gap from Lia behind her.

"Get her information." James says to a nearby engineer, "I think she'll be worth looking into."

As the team moves forward, Jenson catches the girl's eye yet again and gives her a nod of approval. Something about her is so familiar, it almost makes him feel sick.

Sitting outside the exit, Lia whacks Vienna's arm as she approaches with a tiny grin, "I see you figured out that brake managing."

"Li, that car sang." Vienna chuckles, "It was nice to have you behind me for once."

"We miss you over in the States." Lia pops down next to her previous rally car teammate, watching as Nina and Abbi come out of the gate laughing, Chloe trailing behind with Doriane waving goodbye as she jogs off to an awaiting car.

"I miss rally," Vienna huffs, looking over as the other girls bid each other goodbye, but she waits for Nina to drive her to the train, "if only I had the funds to keep doing it."

"You know my mom would pay for you in a heartbeat," Lia says softly and Vienna shakes her head. Back when both of them had been racing rallycross together, it was before Vienna's step-father Christopher really forced himself into the family, and before her 'father' Zander pulled out of child support the moment his not-kid had turned eighteen. She and Lia had tried for months to get any sponsor to cover the price for Vienna to race, but between traveling, the car, and other things... it never went through.

And so, Vienna made the transfer to Formula Racing, much to her mother's chagrin but to her own delight. With a grimace, Vienna huffs out, "If only my mom hadn't literally committed infidelity."

Nina scoffs as she approaches with Abbi in tow, "Speak of the devil."

The little black Honda pulls to a stop and Vienna curses, standing up and making her way across the expanse of the little benched area to where her mother gets out of her car and slams the door.

"What was the one thing I fucking told you, Vienna Alexandria!" Dove shouts, grabbing her daughter's arm to tug her closer as she drops her voice, "And now your sister has to witness this? I thought we kept this from her."

"Wow, thanks mom. Oh, I had a great day, I got third, does that matter?" Vienna snips, yanking her hand back from her mother.

Dove scoffs, glaring at her daughter as she scolds, "I told you not to do this! Why can't you listen to me?!"

"You are the reason I had to leave rally. You are the reason I had to leave everything I knew behind!" Vienna jabs a finger at her mother, "So sue me if I want to actually make a career good enough for me to move out and not need to panic over sponsors!"

"You are not moving out. You know that." Dove laughs cruelly, "Your sister needs you."

But a white shirt behind her mother catches Vienna's eye, along with someone loudly announcing Jenson's approach on purpose. With a soft curse under her breath, Vienna begins to walk away from her mother, "No. She needs a mother or a nanny. I'm not either of those things."

"Vienna Alexandria!"

"Miss Fisichella!"

Both Jenson and Dove make eye contact, the woman tearing herself away the second Jenson steps towards her with a half-outstretched hand. The moment killed by Vienna turning to say,

"Yes?"

Jenson shakes his head, moving to tightly shake Vienna's hand, "You did wonderfully today. I just wanted to congratulate you."

"Thank you, Mr. Button." Vienna's smile nearly doubles but she stammers as she lets go, "If I could just get a bit more speed on turns four and seven... I can't leave opportunities for other drivers to get through."

"It was a short race," Jenson shrugs, "I don't know what we would've been able to see in just one forty-minute session, but regardless, I hope I can see your growth within Williams soon."

With a wink tossed over his shoulder, Jenson calls for Lia, who quickly stands and makes her way over. Tossing a goodbye and a wink in Vienna's direction.

It takes Vienna a moment to pick her jaw up off the floor.

Her phone rings.

After a moment of pause when the noise startles Vienna, nose deep in homework, Vienna answers with a soft, tired, "Hello?"

"Is this Miss... Vienna Fisichella?" The voice says on the phone as Vienna plops down on the edge of her bed, trying to fight back her tears.

"Yes." She manages in a strained voice, clearing her throat as she brings her knees up to her chest and flops to lay on her side.

The source of the voice clicks as he introduces himself, "I'm Jenson Button, calling on behalf of Williams Racing."

"Oh, Good evening!" Vienna tries to cheer, but it falls flat. And she quickly clears her throat once more before settling into her sheets, "It's nice to hear from you again."

"It's nice to be the one to make this call, Lia told me I should." Jenson says and Lia shouting a complaint in the background is covered by Jenson laughing, "Miss Fisichella, I wanted to welcome you to Williams' Formula One Academy team alongside Lia."

"Oh. Oh my god." Vienna starts to laugh, "Wow, I... thank you, thank you, Jenson. And Lia."

A few plans are made, conversation quick, and when the call is dropped the swirl of emotions makes Vienna break down in tears. But the patter of her sister's feet dancing and the melody of her voice singing along to some old Disney CD music makes Vienna swallow her tears and get up.

"Hey, Aya." Vienna steps out of her room, wiping her tears onto the back of her hands before turning the corner, "D'ya have school tomorrow?"

When Anaya shakes her head, Vienna kneels down and takes her sister's hands into hers, "Wanna see what I do for work?"

"Vienna!" Anaya squeals, running up to her sister's legs as the two stand by a gate. Two cars whip past on a small track and Anaya screams, jumping up and down happily.

"Those two cars are driven by Logan Sargeant and Alex Albon." Vienna kneels down as she explains, a hand on her sister's back, "They drive for Formula One. Which is three stages above what I drive."

"When will you drive one of those?" Anaya asks softly, and Vienna shrugs.

"Maybe one day. But I'm kinda old now, a lot of the Formula One rookies are my age." Vienna picks Anaya up as the two cars come past them again. Anaya waves, as if the drivers will see her, making Vienna chuckle softly before she starts walking towards Williams. She can see Lia outside and smiles, setting down Anaya who screams and runs up to Lia.

"Aya!" Lia cheers, jogging to meet the six-year-old halfway, kneeling down to scoop Anaya up in her arms, "Oh my gosh! How are you!"

"Lia!!" Anaya just squeals her name again, making Lia laugh as she opens an arm to hug Vienna once she's close enough. Setting an impatient Anaya down, the girl runs over to the fence to watch Logan and Alex practicing again. Lia gives Vienna a tighter hug this time, sighing happily.

"Oh, Vienna." Lia steps back, squeezing her friend's hands, "you look sick."

"So much happened last night. So, so much. I've been crying for like... hours." Vienna wipes at her face. smiling sadly at her friend, "Uhm. My mom's really behind on rent. I had to pay five thousand pounds just to hold our apartment for three months. But it's like... sixteen thousand overall."

"Holy fucking shit, Vienna," Lia whispers, looking over at Jenson who is slowly approaching the two as he speaks with James. They're close enough to hear, but Lia feels like this is a moment where... maybe she should let Jenson hear.

"Oh, also, Chris dipped. Took my mom's money and ran. We literally don't have enough money to live, I don't know if... if I can even take this opportunity. I might have to quit. Or try and reach out to my family in Italy, but I don't even know if they'll want to talk to me after everything with my mom." Vienna sighs as she runs her hands through her long blonde hair, pausing to call Anaya over as the girl strays a bit too far. Giggling, Anaya comes bounding to her sister's side and hides her face in her sister's dress pants as she looks up at Lia as the girls continue to speak.

Across the lawn, Jenson looks like he's gonna have a stroke, James grimacing, "Oh dear. This might've been a mistake."

Jenson doesn't even have to think before he says, "I'll cover it."

The two share a look, then turn back, watching the girls talk amicably as Anaya tugs at her sister's hand. Jenson watches as Vienna kneels down to grab her sister and tuck her in her arms. There's some sort of tug in his chest, something he only feels at home when he's with his wife, with his dog and kids when the world is quiet. A warmth.

Jenson shakes his head, "I'll cover her costs. Send the check to me."

"Jenson." James tries to stop the retired driver, but the man shakes his head. Moving forward quickly, Jenson turns to the side as he shouts back at James.

"Trust me!"

tag list (open, thank you !!)

@marshmummy

general tag list (open!)

@d3kstar

#f1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction #jenson button fanfic #<technically?#f1academy fanfic #f1a fanfic #nicole wrote this #f1 fic #formula one fanfic #formula 1 fanfiction #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fic

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perpetual-enjine · 11 months ago

Text

Shouto: I’m sorry Bakugou and I fought and made a mess, Principal.

Nezu: Aww, honey, don’t worry, you behave way better than your dad did when he went here.

Shouto: What??

Nezu: His first day on hero work study, he got surrounded by ten villains and asked them how many were fireproof. They didn’t answer, so he checked it experimentally. The answer was zero.

Shouto: Typical Dad.

Nezu: By week two, if I heard “Todoroki” on the phone, I just hung up and unplugged my office phone for two hours. I’m so glad you’re not a fire user, go off, you adorable little ice child.

Shouto: Um, hehe…

Later

Nezu: (watching the festival) Haha that’s so nice of you. Thanks Midoriya. Thanks a lot, Midoriya. Hahahaha this is fine. Just perfect. Just what I wanted to see at mY CAMPUS, ANOTHER TODOROKI! WITH A FUCKING!! FIRE QUIRK!!!

Aizawa: Hey Princ- ah nevermind bye.

#principal nezu #shouto todoroki #enji todoroki #endeavor #aizawa #mha #bnha #my hero academia #mha chats #boku no hero academia

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skyward-floored · 10 months ago

Text

This is the longest one yet, buckle up (comes before the one where Volga confronts Cia)

———

Skyloft is beautiful.

...Or, at least, Link thinks it would be, if there weren’t currently a battle sweeping across its placid fields.

He wipes some dirt off his cheek as he slices past another monster, the warm sunshine and springlike weather in sharp opposition to the blood and screams surrounding him. A flower gets crushed under a moblin’s foot as Link goes to attack it, and he distantly wishes he could have come here before all of this destruction and death swept through.

The Skyloftians aren’t letting their islands being overtaken without a fight though, and they fight just as fiercely as the men Link brought with him.

One cuts down a bokoblin that was trying to sneak up on him, and Link nods his thanks before spinning around and slashing at another. He can’t help feeling the pressure of leading his men here without any higher officers above him and an unfamiliar force as their allies, but they’re making it work, and the battle is close to being won.

But if they’re going to win, they need to defeat the commander of the enemy forces.

A sudden roar rings out from somewhere outside the keep they’re fighting to take, and Link’s heart wrenches into his throat, the sound horribly familiar. He leaves the keep in the other soldiers’ capable hands and runs outside, making his way along charred grass and scorched earth.

Fire shoots into the air nearby, and Link freezes as he reaches a plaza, locking eyes with Volga when he turns his way.

He’s only seen the dragon knight once since Cia spilled the secret of his parentage, but only from a distance. He hasn’t fought him at all since that first day, merely watched Impa fight him from a distance, busy with his own mission and battles, but that was it.

This is the closest he’s gotten to Volga since he learned who he is.

Link hesitates as he looks at the dragon knight, his throat growing strangely tight, but Volga has no similar reservations, charging forward with his spear raised.

The first thrust nearly takes off his head, but Link dodges, and the two of them whirl around each other, Link avoiding flames and jabs from the spear while Volga dodges his sword. Link falls quickly into the familiar rhythm of battle, ignoring the thoughts crashing through his head and the endless echoes of both Cia and Impa’s words.

He has a job to do, and he won’t let the fact that something in his chest feels like it’s going to either shatter or explode stop him from doing it.

He refuses to think about who Volga is to him right now.

Volga swings his spear and Link blocks it with his sword, grunting as their weapons lock. Link is by no means weak, but Volga is incredibly strong, probably due to being a literal dragon, and Link finds himself being pushed backwards, scrambling for purchase.

His foot slips just the smallest bit as he tries to make a move, and Volga sees the opportunity and leaps on it.

He roars as fire explodes around them, and Link cries out as he‘s thrown backwards from the force of the flames, heat and light and pain whirling around him.

Proxi yelps in alarm, and Link’s skin aches, the fire searing through his gloves and no doubt forming burns on his hands. Volga’s flame is so intense that even Link’s practically fireproof skin can’t stand up to it, and he’s almost afraid to look at the impact it left. Link dizzily raises his head, and feels an almost tingly feeling run up his hands where he’d lifted them to try and shield himself.

He hazards a glance down at them, and stares, eyes going wide at the orangey-red scales shimmering over his fingers like the lava in the Eldin caves.

Every other thought in his head is immediately silenced.

“What..?” Link whispers, lifting a shaking hand closer to his face, spreading his aching fingers.

Upon closer inspection, it doesn’t look like his hands have actually grown scales, merely gained a faint impression of them, shimmering and glowing in the sunlight. His skin is doubtlessly burnt underneath, but he can barely tell through the almost jewel-like luster that’s fallen over it.

Link doesn’t have time to examine his hands further though, as something else slams into him, throwing him backwards and sending him crashing into a wall.

More fire accompanies it, and Link coughs as pain sears up his middle, the edges of his tunic singed. He clutches a hand around himself, ignoring the pain from the burns and the strange appearance of his hands, and curses his distracted state as he feels around for his sword.

Weird hands can come later, Link!

Footsteps approach, and Link scrambles to get to his feet, biting back a cry when he ends up sliding back to the ground. He looks up and sees Volga staring at him, his spear raised as if to run him through.

But he doesn’t attack, merely stands in front of Link, smoke trailing from his form.

Link blinks, then realizes Volga is also staring at his hands, the faint shimmer of scales fading, but still visible. His stomach suddenly heaves with nerves, and Link swallows, Cia’s words flashing through his head again.

Apparently there’s a bit more to being half dragon then he thought.

“What are you?”

Link looks back at Volga at the words, the dragon knight still staring at his hands. His brows are drawn with an emotion Link can’t puzzle out as the scales finally fade, nothing but reddish skin left in their wake, and Link drags in a shaking breath.

“Your hands should be nothing but charcoal right now,” Volga continues as Link tries to sit up, gritting his teeth when his middle flares with pain again. “Yet your skin... what are you?”

Link bristles a little at the question, and tries to draw on the legendary courage he supposedly possesses in order to get his thoughts in order and actually speak, instead of continue to merely stare.

“I... I’m part dragon,” he says finally, unsure of how else to put it.

Volga tilts his head, still staring, face expressionless. Link is reminded of his conversation with Impa as he looks at him, where the Sheikah leader had told him of the darkness she’d observed surrounding Volga, unlike when she knew him.

Looking at his shadowed eyes, Link sees what she means.

“How is this possible?” Volga rumbles, voice impossible for Link to read.

Link swallows. He can think of several ways Volga could take what he’s about to say off the top of his head, none of them good. Proxi softly chimes from inside his hat, quietly encouraging him, and Link closes his eyes.

“You... it’s because you’re... my father,” he says thickly, still breathing heavily through the pain, his arm curled tightly around his middle. “I’m— I’m your son.”

The words feel strange as they leave his mouth.

Volga stares at him, his eyes narrowing as the silence stretches between them.

Link sits quietly as he waits for a reaction. If Volga decides to attack in any way, Link won’t be able to dodge in time, Volga too close, the pain in his middle too intense. There’s a potion in his bag, but he doesn’t have time to pull it out and drink it. His sword is out of reach on the ground behind Volga, and none of his men are in the direct area, busy taking keeps further away or blocked off by the wall he’s been slammed against. Link and the dragon are alone for the moment.

He’s entirely at Volga’s mercy.

“Who told you this?” Volga rumbles finally, his voice low and stern. “How do you know?”

“Cia,” Link gets out weakly, fighting the urge to cough. “Weeks ago.”

Volga is silent, smoke trailing from his nostrils, and Link watches him in silence, breath hitching when a tremor runs through him. The dragon knight appears deep in thought, his thumb lightly rubbing his spear, and doesn’t say anything for such a long time that Link isn’t sure what to do.

“...Impa,” Volga murmurs finally, voice distant as his spear lowers a hair.

“Yes,” Link says quietly, trying to see Volga’s eyes through the shadows that lie over them. “She... she’s my mother.”

Something in Volga’s disposition seems to shift at the words, hard lines easing, his tense posture softening, expression turning into one that seems almost wistful, in a way.

Link watches him cautiously, unsure of what’s going through Volga’s head. He’s never seen the knight act like this, still and quiet. And despite the part of his brain reminding him of their first encounter and yelling at him to fight back and get out of here, he remains where he is, watching Volga think in silence.

“A hatchling,” Volga murmurs after what feels like forever, so soft Link almost doesn’t hear him.

Then suddenly Volga whips around and leaps into the air, turning into a dragon with a burst of flames.

He flies away without so much as a backward glance, and Link watches him go, a bit stunned at the abrupt departure. He stares at Volga flying away until all he can make out is a faint impression of fiery wings, then leans back against the wall, breath still shaking in his throat.

Proxi pokes out of his cap as he finally pulls his potion from his bag, and she sits on his knee as he drinks it, watching him in silence.

“Are you okay Link?” she asks softly.

Link exhales as the potion does its work, soothing his aching hands, healing the burns and weaving through the pain in his middle. A cheer goes up from somewhere nearby, which probably means that the battle has been won, the monsters in disarray without their commander.

Link stares up at the sky, looking back at the spot where Volga disappeared.

“Link?” Proxi asks again, her tone much more worried then before.

“I’m alright,” he says quietly. “Sorry Proxi.”

“It’s okay. He sure left in a hurry,” his fairy notes, wings fluttering in the breeze. “Do... do you think he believed you?”

Link sighs, thinking back to what Volga said. His reaction had seemed so incredulous, but he hadn’t attacked him again, despite Link being cornered and unable to easily fight back. And had he merely imagined the softness in his tone when he’d spoken of Impa and a hatchling, or had Volga truly..?

Link shakes his head, brushing the thought aside.

“I don’t know if he did or not. But at least he knows now,” Link says, Proxi fluttering into the air as he raises himself upward. “And he heard it from me. Not Cia.”

He can’t help but smile just a hair at that realization. Impa had told him that she assumed Cia didn’t want Volga knowing anything about a son, but now he is fully aware of the possibility, even if he didn’t believe him.

Your move, sorceress.

Proxi settles on his shoulder, and Link sighs, realizing now just how how weary he is from the battle. He looks at his hands, now healed from any marks from Volga, then turns to retrieve his sword and prepares to head back.

The wind blows his bangs, and Link pauses for a moment, glancing back at the sky where Volga disappeared.

Then he turns away, footsteps lightly crunching across the burnt grass.

#lot of plot coming together in this one ohhh boy #Hyrule warriors #hdw au #legend of zelda fanfiction #fic #loz Volga #link #tw injury #tw burns #tw violence #writing from the floor #I need to write something fluffy set in this au there hasn’t been much of that ksdbdjdbdjdjd

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