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pucksandpower · 1 month ago

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A Royal Surprise

Max Verstappen x Princess of Wales!Reader

Summary: in which Max 1) forgot to tell his team that he has a girlfriend and 2) forgot to tell his team that the girlfriend in question is the future Queen of England … oops?

One of Red Bull Racing’s PR officers, Leslie, sits in the back of the conference room, her pen poised over her notepad as she listens to the team debrief. It’s a typical Thursday morning, with engineers and drivers discussing the upcoming race weekend. Leslie’s eyes flit between Max Verstappen and his teammate as they offer their insights on car performance and track conditions.

“The balance felt off in turn three during the sim,” Max says, leaning back in his chair. “We might need to adjust the downforce.”

Leslie jots this down, already planning how to phrase it for the press conference later that afternoon. Just another normal day at Red Bull Racing, she thinks.

But then, Max casually adds, “Oh, and by the way, you might see some extra security around this weekend. My girlfriend’s coming to watch the race.”

Leslie’s pen stills. There’s something in Max’s tone that makes her look up sharply.

“Girlfriend?” Christian Horner raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone seriously.”

Max shrugs, a small smile playing on his lips. “Yeah, it’s been a few months now. We’ve been keeping it quiet.”

Leslie leans forward, her PR senses tingling. “Anyone we know?” She asks, trying to keep her voice casual.

Max’s grin widens. “You could say that. It’s Y/N.”

The room falls silent. Leslie blinks, sure she must have misheard. “I’m sorry, did you say Y/N? As in ...”

“The Princess of Wales, yeah,” Max confirms, as if he’s just mentioned dating a local girl from down the street.

Leslie’s notepad slips from her fingers, clattering to the floor. The sound seems to break the spell of silence that’s fallen over the room.

“Max,” Christian says slowly, “are you telling us that you’re dating the future Queen of England?”

Max nods, still looking far too relaxed for someone who’s just dropped a bombshell of international proportions. “That’s right.”

Leslie’s mind is spinning. Images of tabloid headlines and diplomatic incidents flash before her eyes. She stands up abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. “I need to make some calls,” she says weakly.

But before she can escape, Christian holds up a hand. “Wait, Leslie. We need to handle this carefully. Max, how long has this been going on?”

“About six months,” Max replies. “We met at a charity event in London. Hit it off right away.”

Leslie sinks back into her chair, her head in her hands. “Six months,” she mutters. “You’ve been dating the Princess of Wales for six months, and we’re just finding out now?”

Max has the grace to look a bit sheepish. “We wanted to keep it private for as long as possible. You know how it is with the media.”

Oh, Leslie knows. She knows all too well. “Max,” she says, trying to keep her voice steady, “do you realize what this means? The security implications alone ...”

“It’s all been taken care of,” Max assures her. “The palace has been very discreet.”

Leslie laughs, a slightly hysterical edge to it. “The palace. Of course. Because now we’re dealing with actual palaces.”

Christian clears his throat. “Right. Well, this certainly changes things. Leslie, I think we’re going to need to reschedule the rest of this meeting. Can you get started on a press strategy?”

Leslie nods numbly, her mind already racing with potential scenarios and damage control plans.

As the room begins to clear, Max approaches her. “Leslie? Are you okay? You look a bit pale.”

Leslie takes a deep breath. “Max, I appreciate you telling us. But next time you decide to date royalty, maybe give us a heads up a bit sooner?”

Max chuckles. “Sorry about that. If it helps, you’re handling it better than your counterpart at the palace did when you found out.”

“Oh God,” Leslie groans. “I’m going to have to coordinate with the royal PR team, aren’t I?”

“They’re actually pretty cool,” Max says. “A bit stuffy at first, but they loosen up after a while.”

Leslie shakes her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe this is my life now. Okay, Max, I need you to tell me everything. How did you meet? How have you kept this secret? What are the security arrangements?”

For the next hour, Leslie grills Max on every detail of his relationship with you. She learns about secret rendezvous in Monaco, carefully orchestrated “chance” meetings at public events, and the challenges of dating someone whose every move is scrutinized by the world.

“And you’re sure about this?” Leslie asks finally. “Dating her ... it’s not exactly going to be easy for you.”

Max’s expression softens. “I know. But she’s worth it. We’re worth it.”

Despite her stress, Leslie feels a twinge of sympathy. It can’t be easy, trying to nurture a relationship under such intense pressure.

“Alright,” she sighs. “I’ll do everything I can to make this as smooth as possible. But Max, promise me one thing?”

“What’s that?”

“No more bombshells, okay? My heart can’t take it.”

Max grins. “Well, actually ...”

Leslie’s eyes widen in alarm. “What? What is it now?”

“Her father ... he’s a big F1 fan. He’s been hinting that he’d like to attend a race.”

The room starts to spin. The last thing Leslie hears before everything goes black is Max’s concerned voice saying, “Leslie? Leslie, are you okay?”

When Leslie comes to, she’s lying on the conference room couch, with Max and Christian hovering over her anxiously.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” Christian says, relief evident in his voice. “You gave us quite a scare there, Leslie.”

Leslie sits up slowly, her head still spinning. “Please tell me I dreamed all of that,” she mutters.

Max shakes his head, looking apologetic. “Sorry, it’s all real. Are you okay? Should we call a doctor?”

Leslie waves him off. “No, no, I’m fine. Just ... processing.” She takes a deep breath, her PR training kicking in despite her shock. “Okay. Let’s take this one step at a time. First, we need to draft a statement.”

Christian nods. “Good idea. What are you thinking?”

Leslie stands up, pacing as she thinks out loud. “We need to confirm the relationship without making too big a deal of it. Something like ... ‘Red Bull Racing confirms that driver Max Verstappen is in a relationship with Her Royal Highness, the Princess of Wales. We ask for privacy as they navigate this new chapter.’”

Max frowns. “Isn’t that a bit ... formal?”

Leslie sighs. “Max, you’re dating the future Queen of England. Everything’s going to be a bit formal from now on.”

“She hates that, you know,” Max says softly. “All the formality. It’s why she likes being with me. I treat her like a normal person.”

Leslie pauses in her pacing, struck by the vulnerability in Max’s voice. “You really care about her, don’t you?”

Max nods. “More than I’ve ever cared about anyone. She’s ... she’s amazing. Smart, funny, kind. When I’m with her, I forget about all the titles and protocol. She’s just ... her.”

Christian clears his throat, looking uncomfortable with the display of emotion. “That’s all well and good, but we need to think about the bigger picture here. This relationship could have major implications for the team, for Formula 1 as a whole.”

Leslie nods, her mind already racing ahead. “We’ll need to coordinate with the palace on all public appearances. Security will need to be completely overhauled. And the media ... oh God, the media is going to have a field day with this.”

“Hey,” Max says, placing a hand on Leslie’s shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. You’re the best in the business, Leslie. If anyone can handle this, it’s you.”

Despite her stress, Leslie feels a rush of affection for the young driver. “Thanks. I appreciate that. Now, let’s get back to work. We have a lot to do before this news breaks.”

As they settle back into planning mode, Leslie can’t help but shake her head in disbelief. A Formula 1 driver and a princess. It sounds like something out of a fairy tale or a cheesy romance novel. But as she watches Max’s face light up when he talks about you, she realizes that sometimes, reality is stranger — and more romantic — than fiction.

“Oh, and Leslie?” Max adds as they’re wrapping up. “About the King wanting to attend a race ...”

Leslie holds up a hand. “One crisis at a time, Max. Let’s get through announcing your relationship before we start planning any more royal visits to the paddock, okay?”

Max grins. “Fair enough. But just so you know, he’s particularly interested in the British Grand Prix. Says it would be ‘jolly good fun’ to present the trophies.”

Leslie closes her eyes, already imagining the logistical nightmare. “Max, I swear, if you’re joking ...”

“Would I joke about something like this?” Max asks innocently.

Leslie looks at him for a long moment, then turns to Christian. “I’m going to need a raise. And possibly a personal team of therapists.”

Christian chuckles. “I think that can be arranged. Welcome to the new era of Red Bull Racing. It’s going to be an interesting ride.”

As Leslie gathers her notes and prepares to face the whirlwind that’s about to engulf them all, she can’t help but smile slightly. It’s going to be challenging, stressful, and probably more than a little crazy. But as she watches Max’s eyes light up at the mention of your name, she realizes that maybe, just maybe, it might all be worth it in the end.

After all, who doesn’t love a good fairy tale?

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little-pondhead · 2 years ago

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DP x DC idea:

Paulina Sanchez becomes the Wayne family's new PR manager. She works hand-in-hand with Alfred and Tim's secretary (maybe another Amity Parker?) to coordinate meetings with the press and keeps a lid on the family's more unique civilian adventures.

Everything is going well until she suddenly comes onto the comm system late at night, startling Nightwing so badly that he almost misses his next flip.

"Robin, don't forget to assist the civilian. They're recording the fight and will probably post it on their Instagram later."

"Batman, turn to the left a little bit. The street lamp is casting an ugly shadow; you need to seem more mysterious."

"Red Hood, don't forget to return the heads of the gang leaders in a canvas bag this time, not polyester. It'll add to the ambiance of the situation."

Little snippets like these filled their ears each and every night, despite all surveillance indicating that Miss Sanchez was home asleep in her bed. Was someone copying the manager's voice on purpose? Why couldn't they trace where the extra comm signal was coming from? Was Paulina Sanchez a spy sent to rattle their resolve? What was going on???

It was a lot more innocent than the paranoid-stricken Waynes thought. Paulina was simply doing her job according to Amity Park's logic.

Most people didn't have some weird lair in their basement, usually filled with world-ending secrets. But 9/10 Amity Parkers did, so it was a cinch to find the entrance to the Batcave on her first day. And when Paulina signed on as a manager, she didn't realize that the job did not extend to the family's nightlife. Nor did she realize that no one else knew who the Batfamily were since Amity Parkers could clock secret identities in an instant. (Thanks for that wish, Wes.)

So while the Waynes are freaking out about the breach in their system, Paulina is mentally patting herself on the back for being so good at her job. She even utilized her hard-earned sneaking-out and liminal skills to create a fake body double to confuse any aggressive intruders that crept into her apartment while she was gone. And honestly, the Bats have never had such a positive online reputation! Getting Tucker to encrypt her secondary social medias was the right call. Now she can post about her bosses without anything being traced back to her.

Paulina is a little peeved about her overtime pay not showing up on her paychecks, however. Maybe she'll bring that up to Mr. Wayne the next time she sees him.

#pondhead blurbs #dp x dc #danny phantom #dpxdc

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 5 days ago

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what do you think the third years would be like 10 years from now?

What comes after Ever After?

You’re looking at the new buff baker that helps man the Clover Patisserie. He’s beloved by the local housewives and school girls— His parents are getting up there in age, so Trey has taken up a bulk of the responsibilities: ordering supplies, prepping ingredients, baking, stocking, and customer service.

After hours, Trey experiments with new recipes and leftover ingredients. Sometimes he comes up with some truly awful inventions, but other times they end up working out really well. Who knew that adding oyster sauce would enhance the flavor of this bread? He calls these the “Clover Specials, Piping Hot and Fresh Off the Trey” (yes, that was a pun).

He tries to make the bakery more whimsical for the customers. Little seasonal decorations, cute little doodles on the placards that indicate what each item is, a sign that reminds folks to brush well after eating sweets, etc. (Trey claims he doesn't really care for little flourishes like this; it might just be the nostalgia of the unbirthday party days getting to him.)

If there are things that haven’t sold at the end of the day, he’ll offer them for a discount in a blind box style. You’ll never know what you’ll pull, but it’s always delicious, if not a little stale or slightly lumpy looking. Waste not, what not!

Every so often, he has nights out with his childhood friends Chenya and Riddle. Trey's responsible for bringing the snacks (he uses his friends as a test audience for his experiments), and the three spend that time drinking, sharing stories, and catching up on each others' lives.

Cater’s a social media manager and agent for various influencers. His career allows him to basically work from anywhere (which is convenient because he travels to various promotional events) and to be on his phone 24/7, monitoring stats, attending strategy meetings, and coordinating with PR teams.

Keeps up with the latest trends! He's not one of those "how do you do, fellow kids?" types though. Cater is genuinely on top of what's cool--so much so that he's sometimes contacted as a style consultant. It feels like he's got his hands in many facets of the entertainment industry.

He regularly sees a therapist (although he doesn't let any of his friends or family know) to talk through his insecurities and other darker thoughts. It's really been helping him sort out these complex emotions he's been sitting and stewing in for the longest time. He's hoping that, someday, he can reach the point where he can open up to everyone about this other side of himself.

Every now and again, the thought to text an old NRC classmate strikes him--but something keeps Cater back. Doubt, apprehension. The worst that can happen is being left on read, but to Cater the consequences feel so much worse than that. It's a huge relief to him when he gets a text out of the blue from Trey one day--an excuse to text back, to make that connection. Though it's still difficult for Cater to gather the courage to initiate another conversation, this is still a foot in the door for him, the potential start of something new.

Cater still has the Magicam accounts of his school mates. He'll sort of like... cyberstalk their pages just to keep up with their lives, to feel a sense of closeness with the people he failed to reach out to during his NRC days. When he stops to reflect on it, he really regrets his inaction--and, on some nights, he scrolls and scrolls until the dread and the loneliness lulls him into a comfortable, dreamless sleep.

It took a lot of resistance and arguing, but--much to the delight of Kifaji and his family members--Leona has (begrudgingly) taken on the role of a royal advisor to support Sunset Savanna. There were of course some growing pains, especially with Leona's callous and arrogant attitude clashing with those of the other (older, much more conservative) advisors--but for the most part, it's been a net positive.

His focus is on improving infrastructure while also conserving as much of the environment as they can. The knowledge and experience he has gained from his 4th year internship comes in handy here, and thankfully they've been able to take small but steady steps to modernize the country.

In addition to improving infrastructure, Leona has made efforts to strengthen the Sunset Savanna's soft power. He has established new schools and food banks, particularly in impoverished areas, and started magift/spelldrive teams. This has made him popular with certain groups, such as the hyena beastmen and children.

Leona loathes putting on airs, but it's a necessity when facing the public so he manages. Unfortunately, he's still in the habit of skipping meetings and ceremonies he deems unnecessary or a waste of his time, which earns him pockets of ire. He usually just shoots back with, "Yeah? So what? I'm still gettin' results, ain't I?"

Political demands? Not a problem for him. But family? That's the real pain in his tail. Cheka, now an energetic 15-year old, has not let up on bothering him one bit. Then there's also the affectionate Falena, who is trying to desperately reconnect with his estranged brother. Leona just tosses out the excuse of "being busy" to dodge the both of them.

Vil continues to be an A-list celebrity and triple threat--actor, model, and influencer. He has racked up several more leading roles since his school days, including non-traditional bad guys. Vil has been an anti-villain and sympathetic villain.

Having aged like fine wine, he was able to play the character of a father too, just like how he dreamed of as a third-year student. When Vil got the call about the role, he excitedly told his own dad about it, who was so ecstatic and joked that Vil "takes after his old man". They went out for a little father-son bonding time to celebrate, dining at a high-class establishment and having a toast to Vil's future.

It was a Big Deal when Vil was offered his first-ever hero role. Social media and news outlets were popping off about it, and Vil himself was so excited he actually squealed. To this day he still considers it a turning point in his career and one of the most fun characters he ever played. Since then, he's been getting much more diverse roles, which has really opened up the door for him to expand his skills.

Vil is also a business owner now, having several brands under him. A skincare brand, a clothing brand, a makeup brand… Despite them being celebrity owned, the products are actually high quality (Vil won’t sign his name off on subpar products) and very popular, particularly whenever his face is plastered on the marketing campaigns.

These days, he allows himself to be a little less guarded with his front-facing persona. Vil still comes off as cool and regal, but notably laughs more, smiles more, even giggles more. He has a bit of a youthful sparkle to him and talks openly about his own struggles, fears, hopes, and dreams. Fans praise him for being so much more "relatable" and honest.

Rook claims that he is a globe-trotting archeologist now, but you get the feeling that he’s not telling the full truth. What kind of archeologist carries around a belt of weirdly invasive tools on it? Are those teeny-tiny listening devices? And why is his camera (which he says is strictly for his photography hobby) loaded with shots of suspicious characters taken from a distance?

He shares all kinds of crazy stories, like about the time he swung from a vine with a family of gorillas or how he discovered a lever that revealed a roller coaster to a secret underground laboratory. “Um, are those the kinds of things an archaeologist does…?” you ask him. Rook just smiles and laughs, but doesn’t provide a clear answer.

His stealth and marksman skills have developed to a scary degree. You sometimes forget that Rook is even standing beside you, and you've witnessed him kill bugs with frightening precision with nothing more than his gloved fingers. He brushes it off as abilities he sharpened "on the job".

... In any case, whatever Rook's actual occupation is, it requires a lot of travel. He lavishes his friends with souvenirs and post cards of the loveliest sights, then babbles on and on about local attractions, culture, art, and charming hole-in-the-wall destinations. It seems like he has accumulated a lot of knowledge about Twisted Wonderland in the 10 years since you've last seen him, and he's all too eager to blab about it all.

He's become an artist, although he operates under a pen name. You'll find paintings, sculptures, or collages he has assembled in various small exhibitions, and poetry he has penned where you least expect it. Rook puts his talent out in hopes of beautifying the world.

Idia has succeeded his father as the Director of S.T.Y.X. There’s a lot riding on his shoulders, but the pressure surprisingly never really gets to him. He’s cooler, more methodical now—almost as though he were a machine himself, set so clearly on his task that he won’t budge until it is completed first. (He worries that he has become just like his downer dad 💀)

Sometimes he spirals and his nerves get the best of him. In those cases, he has to resort to the text to speech device he invented back at NRC to get through his meetings. The staff at S.T.Y.X. get used to it and are largely alright with it.

He has the habit of snacking on the job. There's chip crumbs and gummy worms scattered on his desk, which is already messy enough with important documents. (He complains that this should all be digitalized anyway!) Idia keeps even more snacks in his pockets, munching on them whenever he’s annoyed or needs to give himself something to do.

The dark circles under his eyes get way worse. With work eating up so much of his day, Idia has less free time to games and other hobbies. That just means he ends up staying up super late into the night to catch up on his dailies and to grind out events, read manga, watch anime, etc. (“Sleep is for the weak!” he insists.) It’s a miracle he can still get up in the mornings to clock in for his next shift!

Shockingly, Idia takes breaks to go outside and touch grass soak up some (artificial) sunshine. He has learned from past experience that being locked up indoors all the time isn't exactly healthy. That, and his Chief of Cybersecurity (Ortho) pesters him to put himself out there more! Sometimes Idia even awkwardly tries to converse with his coworkers around the water cooler, though that's never quite as relaxing as him just chilling by himself in some quiet corner of the Island of Woe.

Make way for the reigning king of Briar Valley! Maleficia has finally retired, passing on her title to her grandson Malleus. There was a coronation ceremony (now recognized as the holiday or Ascension in Briar Valley), which you were of course invited to as a guest. You had a seat up front and were one of the first to congratulate him right after he was officially crowned.

As a relatively young king, Malleus isn’t the perfect ruler right away. Learning about ruling is nothing close to actually ruling. He stumbles and has to adjust to the role and, most of all, he has to balance the conservative values of his country and his people with the ever-changing lands beyond his home. Not an easy task, especially when he has only just gotten used to the concept of change himself—but with the support of his like-minded retainers, Malleus knows he isn’t alone in his endeavors for a brighter tomorrow.

His power also poses another challenge. Malleus is so used to solving his issues by casting a spell or terrifying his opposition into backing down. He’s no longer in a position to do such things or to let his emotions run wild, lest he risk tearing apart his own court and driving a wedge between the valley and other countries. A leash on his temper, a regal demeanor—this is how a mature adult presents himself. The anger only truly comes out when his people are in danger or he is deeply insulted.

His top priority once he is in power is restoring the bonds that were put in jeopardy on account of his… “oopsie” in his third year at NRC. There’s still lingering distrust between him and other nations due to that incident, so Malleus makes it clear that he’s apologetic and willing to come to the table for discussion, should other countries wish. His schedule is jam-packed with meetings with foreign dignitaries.

Massive and sweeping reform is not happening—not anytime soon. No opening of the borders, no sudden introduction of new technology. There would be massive outcry and resistance from the public + senators, not to mention that Malleus himself isn’t entirely comfortable yet with the concept. However, he has put together incremental proposals and tries convince others of the benefits, implanting the seeds in the minds of the people. He’s also supportive of initiatives which promote learning and cultural exchange, such as the import of reading materials from overseas (Sebek’s idea) and has even appointed Silver as Briar Valley’s very first human ambassador.

Lilia has comfortably retired to the Land of Crimson Long. He lives in a little hut far removed from civilization, but he ventures out into the town to pick up the essentials and to play board games with the local retirees. For the most part, it’s just Lilia and the wilderness! ... Which has led to rumors of a monster haunting the forest. This, Lilia entertains in by dropping down from the trees and frightening any hooligans who come close to his territory.

Though his magical abilities have been in decline, he does his best to stay active and in shape! Lilia once snuck into a nearby military camp, disguising himself as one of the new recruits, and partook in their training with them! He even stopped to lend extra help to the recruits who seemed to be struggling the most--though he still came first place in all of their exercises and holds the record time for climbing to the top of a pole to retrieve the arrow there.

He delights in partaking in the local customs and cuisine. Lilia loves to travel to shrines and admire the temples built to honor ancestors. He lights up some incense and joins others in prayer, knowing that he, too, will one day be among the dead. Best to pay respects now! Lilia has also taken to several cups of tea (as recommended by his doctor) with his meals, and has rice porridge with sunnyside egg eyes and bacon smiles whenever he needs something comforting.

Lilia of course keeps in touch with his loved ones! He's still gaming with his online companion Gloomurai and texts his Diasomnia boys all the time. Lilia also sends cards for special occasions, putting much love and care into his notes and the pictures + souvenirs he attaches to them.

His whole face lights up when his friends are able to make the time to pay him a visit. Lilia makes a big show of it, insisting to arrange a big feast or to play a tune for them—oh, and how about a fireworks show?! But his guests just tell him to sit down and take it easy while they take care of everything for him. It’s his turn to be doted on!

#disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst #twisted wonderland #Malleus Draconia #Leona Kingscholar #Lilia Vanrouge #Trey Clover #Cater Diamond #Rook Hunt #Vil Schoenheit #Reader #self insert #twst headcanons #twisted wonderland headcanons #after ever after #curiouser and curiouser #book 7 spoilers

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arieslost · 8 months ago

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reader and little leclerc meeting at a karting comp when they were tiny and growing up charles developed the fattest crush on the reader but only later in his f1 career does she find out. not from charles himself but from carlos who ‘accidentally’ slips up and mentions it

i’m assuming by little leclerc u meant arthur so i hope i was correct 🤞🏼🤞🏼

crush | cl16

you always thought charles leclerc had some sort of underlying hatred for you, even though he was nothing but kind to you every time you interacted. maybe it was the way he’d always look at you with what you could only describe as a pained expression, like it hurt to even be in your presence.

not that he had much choice, considering you’d been racing with his brother arthur since the beginning of time.

it never evolved into a career for you, but having formed such a close bond with arthur, as well as the rest of the leclercs, you stuck around. you remained a close friend even after arthur was promoted to single seater racing and you never left karting, not until their father passed and you dedicated all of your time and effort to comforting the family and helping however you could. eventually, that evolved into you working for ferrari in pr and other various communications a year after charles signed to ferrari.

wherever a leclerc was, you were bound to follow.

which leads you to now, having landed in imola a few days before most of the team (including the drivers) to coordinate interviews, filming, photography… the list is endless sometimes, but you love your job. even more so when you’re given the privilege of briefing the drivers on what to expect for the day.

except for the fact that charles comes in and sits down without sparing you so much as a fleeting glance.

that’s how your suspicions had started— when he stopped looking you in the eye. it used to be you who was intimidated by eye contact, those green eyes of his never failing to make your cheeks heat up. but eventually you got over it, and one day you fixed him with a brave stare that left him unable to mask his surprise. and then he stopped looking at you. then the incoherent mumbling started, then the abrupt “i have to go” in the middle of a conversation. you never understood why he was acting the way he was. you still don’t.

“good morning, querida,” carlos greets you smoothly as he enters the room, and you swear you see charles’ brows furrow for a split second.

“good morning,” you smile at him, chancing a look at charles, who is still deeply engrossed in whatever’s on his phone. “there’s a decent amount of things i want to go over with you guys, so i really need you to pay attention.”

you went through the itinerary, pausing every now and then to make sure both drivers were paying attention. charles had shut off his phone, but he was still looking anywhere else but at you. when you caught his eye upon glancing upwards, he looked down at his lap like you had told him he massively screwed something up.

you’ve often thought about confronting him, but to be honest, you could never really come up with a solid reason to do so. if he didn’t want to look at you, that was more his problem than it was yours.

“okay, i think that’s all i have for—” you’re not even finished with your sentence before charles is uttering a hasty “thanks” and rushing out the door.

“you’d think he would’ve caved and told you by now,” carlos muses when the door clicks shut, shaking his head.

“told me what?”

“you know,” carlos begins, rising from his seat, “that he’s madly in love with you.”

“what?!” you exclaim.

“oh, dear,” he continues dryly. “did i say that out loud?”

“carlos sainz, so help me—”

“you’ll have to excuse me, i don’t want to be late to the media pen,” he interrupts, making to leave as well. “i suggest confronting him, that’s probably the only way to get him to talk.”

your opportunity comes after the free practice sessions the next day, where you manage to corner charles as he’s leaving his driver room.

“is it true? do you—” you want to say love me, but the words just won’t come out. they feel too intimate. “do you have feelings for me, charles?”

he opens his mouth, but you don’t give him the chance to respond. “you won’t look at me, you barely talk to me anymore, and it feels like you hate me. so honestly, just tell me anything other than saying you hate me.”

“i don’t hate you,” he says immediately. “not at all— why don’t you come in so we can talk? i don’t want to have this conversation knowing someone with a camera could come around the corner.”

fair point. you allow him to guide you into his driver room, watching as he shuts the door behind him.

“who told you?” he asks.

“carlos. in a weird, unnecessarily cryptic way.”

“classic carlos,” charles huffs, raking a hand through his hair.

“is it true?” you repeat quietly, beginning to fear his answer.

he looks at you. “what if it was?”

“charles—”

he interrupts you now. “i can’t look at you because every time i do i think about how much i want you. i look at you and i wish more than anything that i could hold you, kiss you, make you laugh. things just haven’t been the same since… since papa.”

you reach for his hand, squeezing it tightly in your own.

“and eventually i just couldn’t talk to you, because if i did, everything i want to say would come out… like it is right now,” he smiles shyly.

you never thought you could make charles leclerc shy.

“anyway, i like you. a lot.” he declares, taking on a confident tone. “i’ve had a crush on you for a while, and i’m sorry that it manifested as something else. i don’t expect you to forgive me.”

“maybe…” you begin slowly, watching his eyes light up. “maybe you could take me out.”

he smiles widely, squeezing your hand. “i think i can make that happen.”

“good. i’ll be waiting for your call.” you lean up, pressing a brave kiss to his cheek before exiting the room.

the blush creeping over his cheeks stays imprinted on your mind for the rest of the day. it won’t be the last time you see him that way.

word count: 1,041

masterlist — join my tag list here!

note: this was such a cute request. i hate the ending (when do i not, honestly) so if this flops it’s fully my fault

my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika

tags: @venusacrossthestars @67-angelofthelordme-67 @emails-i-can-send @nelly187 @cixrosie @fangirl-dot-com @sainzluvrr @imheretoread @mellowarcadefun @yourbane @monsieurbacteria6 @c-losur3 @papayatori @ssprayberrythings @namgification @maih23 @evlkking @witchycarmen @ilovethispookie @maxverstappenfan79 @sya-skies @sweatrevenge5436-blog @kimis-gloves @mia-rrrs @decafmickey @customsbyjcg-blog @bigheartsthings @tania2748 @scuderiadevils @iloveyou3000morgan @ctrlyomomma @hiireadstuff @daemyratwst @arian-directioner @evelyn-ny @avg-golden-retriever @likedbygaslyy @vintagefucksstuff @piastorys @jisungstuff @personwhoisther @bernelflo @ahgase99 @ferrarisfailedstrats @levidazai @brune77e @watersquirtpewpewboomm

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a11eya · 1 year ago

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TITLE: lights will guide you home

CHAPTER: 8

PAIRING: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader

SUMMARY: Soul-lights aren’t as common in this day and age as they were in the past, before quirks, but they’re common enough that people do still find their soulmates.

At thirteen, you meet Bakugou Katsuki, and he lights up for you in orange and gold. You tell him he's your soulmate. He sneers and tells you that you aren't his. He makes your adolescence miserable until you part ways.

You meet again as adults, late at night, in a grocery store, over a pile of bok choy. He apologizes for how he treated you when you were children.

(In which you have a choice—to reject Bakugou's apology, reject him, or to let him show you the man he's become, to learn with him what it means to love and forgive.)

TAGS: soulmate au, trope inversion/subversion, slow burn, getting together, falling in love, fluff, aged up characters, pro-hero characters, eventual smut, mild bullying

NAVIGATION: Series Masterlist

Ikeda tells you that two of the pictures—only two!—you took of Bakugou are viable and that one of the videos is passable. It’s a little harsh, in your opinion, especially considering who your subject was.

She also asks you for the name of the organization you used to foster the kittens. You tell her the organization name, and, a little sheepishly, that the adoption and foster program’s called Save the Meow Meows. It makes her laugh.

“Next time, try to get Dynamight to smile, okay?” she says after her laughter dissolves into a grin, audible even over the phone. “He looks like he’s being held hostage in 90% of these.”

“I know. I tried, but you know how he is.” It takes a half-second for the entirety of her words to process. You blink. “Wait, next time?”

“Well, yeah!” she says, sounding amused. “This first post we just put up on Dynamight’s socials is already doing well, and your pictures with him at the pet store are in the rearview mirror. Who knew that people would like them so much? No accounting for taste, I suppose.”

Well. You knew, the moment you saw Bakugou pick up Mikan. There’s one photo in particular that didn't make it to Dynamight’s social media because Mikan’s mid-motion in it, but something about Bakugou’s expression… You’ll never tell him, but the two of them together make such a pretty picture that you favorited it on your phone.

You try to pay attention as Ikeda continues, “A couple more posts should suffice, so we need more photos with him in different clothes, maybe in a different spot in your apartment, individual shots with each kitten… and definitely better expressions. Only makes sense, right?”

“Right…”

“You can go ahead and let him know about the additional shoots; you did a great job of coordinating things between you. And good job wrangling him so far! Keep up the good work! ”

“Thanks,” you say, after a pause, to the dial tone. You wonder if Bakugou knows how much Ikeda dislikes him.

Grimacing, you type out a message and send Bakugou the bad news.

You: Hey. Just finished talking to Ikeda. She says we need to take more pictures 🙏

Not a minute passes before your phone begins vibrating in your hand. You eye it like it’s a snake and answer hesitantly.

“…Hello?”

“What’dya mean, more pictures?” Bakugou snaps.

“Literally, there are no other meanings for that statement.”

“Call her back and tell her to fuck off.”

“Bakugou,” you sigh in exasperation. “I’m not gonna tell her to fuck off. Also, she’s your PR person. If you have complaints, shouldn’t you tell her directly?”

“The fifty pictures you took weren’t enough?” he demands.

“She says we need to take pictures of you wearing different clothes, in different spots in my apartment, so it’s clear they happened on different days. She also says you need solos with each of the kittens. And that you need to smile.”

Quietly, you mutter away from the receiver, “Like I told you to.”

Bakugou must have the ears of a bat because his tone lowers, dangerous. “What’d you say, brat? Come and say that to my face.”

“Make me,” you say immediately, then close your eyes, feeling embarrassed. He really does bring out an unfortunately childish side of you.

The line goes silent.

You wait, wondering if you pissed him off.

“Text me when you’re free this week,” he says abruptly. “I’ll come by for the damn pictures.”

He hangs up before you can reply.

Bakugou: I’m outside.

Standing from your couch, you walk over to your front door and pull it open.

“Hey,” you tell him, but you stop in confusion when you notice he has a duffle bag in one hand and a reusable bag, the kind you’d put groceries in, in the other. His expression is pinched when your eyes meet.

“Here,” Bakugou says, and shoves the reusable bag at you. You automatically grab at the handles and make a sound when he lets go; it’s heavy.

“Gotta reschedule the dumb photos. I was called in for work,” he says.

Bakugou steps back, clearly moving to leave, and you grab his wrist.

“Hold on,” you say. You let your hand fall from him and raise the reusable bag. “What is this?”

“Nutrients instead of the garbage you usually have. Be grateful,” he tells you, baring his teeth in a mean smile. You make a face at him, instinctively, and the mean fades from his smile, shifting to an amused twist of his lips. He looks at you as if he’s going to say something more. He doesn’t.

Bakugou turns and makes his way down the hallway.

You stare at his back, then duck your head to look at the contents of the bag.

There are several bentos in there, stacked neatly, easily a week’s worth of lunches. The ones at the top have sticky notes on them, labeled with a number and what looks like a list of ingredients.

When it finally clicks what you’re holding, your eyes widen.

You shove your feet into some slides, grabbing another shoe to hold your door open, and chase Bakugou down the hallway, lugging the bag with you.

“Bakugou, wait,” you call, catching up to him where he’s waiting at the elevator, duffle bag on the ground.

He turns to look at you, eyes narrowed. You come to an abrupt halt in front of him and try to give him the bag back.

Bakugou crosses his arms, a refusal. “The fuck are you doing?”

“I can’t accept this,” you say. “It’s so much food! And was probably a lot of work to make!”

“S’why you should shut up and keep it,” he growls. “Go back.”

You scrabble about for a more convincing argument. “You should keep it. You’re going to work, right? You need lunch!”

“Already got lunch. This shit’s just because I made extra meal prepping this week,” Bakugou says.

Your mouth opens, and you furrow your brow, looking down at the bag. Uncertain, now.

“If you don’t want it, toss it,” he tells you, rolling his eyes.

“I can’t do that,” you gasp, just as the elevator arrives and opens.

One of your neighbors, coming back from walking her dog, blinks at the both of you from inside the elevator.

You quickly step closer to where Bakugou’s standing so she can pass. Bakugou picks up his duffle bag so it isn’t in the way, and you exchange greeting smiles with your neighbor as she slips by. Her big dog stops to sniff at the bag you’re holding, no doubt detecting the food, but your neighbor tugs at the leash and away.

Feeling self-conscious now that you have an audience, even if she is getting further down the hall, you turn back to Bakugou. He’s looking at you already, an exasperated expression on his face.

“Stop being stubborn,” he says, mouth a downward slash. “Gotta go. Eat that shit or don’t. I don’t care.”

He steps into the elevator and jabs the button for the ground floor. He’s gone before you can come up with a response.

You stack the bentos in your fridge, taking care not to jostle them more than you had during your jog down the hallway. As you place the last one inside, you trace the edge of its lid thoughtfully.

You weren’t sure, at first, why these bentos bothered you, why your first reaction was to try to give them back. But the longer you sit on it, the more clarity you have.

You feel a little guilty, that Bakugou keeps doing things for you, giving you things. The feeling has been building, especially over the past couple weeks since you’ve been messaging him, talking to him. You talk to him nearly every day. You’ve learned he prefers phone calls to texts—not surprising, considering how brief his messages usually are. He’s become part of your routine, and you find yourself feeling like something’s missing when a day passes without a snarky message from him or a phone call where you update him on the kittens, despite his claims of disinterest.

You don’t want him to think that you only want him around because he gives you things and does stuff for you. You hope nothing about you gives that impression.

You’re not sure how to tell him this. It makes your stomach swoop, just thinking about bringing it up. Because you know you’ll have to tell him what you just realized: that you like him for who he is. That you like him in your life. That he doesn’t have to earn your time or attention or—or forgiveness with things or by doing things.

At work the next day, you sit and eat in the break room for the first time in several weeks, nearly crying over your first bite of a bento. It’s so good.

You figured out the numbers on the sticky notes indicate the order in which you should eat the bentos. Even though the ingredients are listed on the notes, you’d been tempted to crack open each bento to see what you’ll be eating later in the week. But so far, you’ve been able to control yourself. It’s kind of nice. Like a little surprise to look forward to each day.

You finger today’s sticky note, taking in the words crossing it. For some reason, you’d assumed Bakugou would have messy, wild handwriting. But the kanji are precise, neat. You wonder what he’s doing right now.

The break room door opens, and you look up to see a colleague from a different department.

“Hey!” he greets you, crossing the room to fill his water bottle at the fill station. He turns to face you as he waits, and you panic internally, struggling to remember his name. Sato? Suzuki?

“Surprised to see you in here,” he remarks. “Usually you eat in your office.”

“Yeah!” you say. You had no idea he took so much notice of where you ate. When were you first introduced? A couple months back? You feel worse about not remembering his name.

You give him a smile, hoping the guilt isn’t on your face. “Just felt like a change of pace today.”

“That bento looks good! Do you like to cook?” he asks.

“Oh! No, a friend made it for me.” Your smile shifts into something more genuine. “He said I’ve been eating garbage, so. His attempt at trying to make sure I don’t die prematurely, I guess.”

“Oh, gotcha,” Sato or Suzuki or something else entirely says, tone shifting, and he picks up his now-full water bottle and twists the cap back on.

“Well, enjoy your lunch!” he says, waving goodbye as he leaves the break room.

You stare at the closing door for a brief moment before shaking your head. You need to find out that guy’s name before you see him again. He totally clocked you for not recognizing him, because what was that weird look on his face as he left? You decide to ask your team—discreetly!—what his name is after your lunch break.

When you’re finished eating, you snap a picture of the empty bento and send it to Bakugou.

You: Thank you for the food! 🙏

You: You know, if you ever change your mind about the hero thing, I think you’d get a job as a chef, easy

After a moment, you decide to send another message. You want to bring up the thoughts you’d had the other day, about how you don’t want him to feel compelled to keep doing things for you, but you feel like it’s a conversation better had in-person. Or on the phone, at least.

It takes you several minutes of deleting and drafting before you settle on something inadequate.

You: Sorry I was so weird about it yesterday

Standing abruptly, too chicken to wait to see if he replies, you clean up your area and get back to work.

It’s at the end of the work day, on the train, when you check your messages again. A text from Bakugou is waiting for you in your inbox, and you’re definitely not nervous when you tap on it to read it.

Bakugou: Better be sorry. Next time, don’t be a brat about it

You exhale, huffing a laugh, relieved. You type out a response.

You: Yes, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight sir

He doesn’t reply. One thing about Bakugou is that he leaves his read receipts on—intentionally, you suspect, because it’s just like him to make sure you know he’s ignoring you, even through texts. It makes you grin.

The week passes, and you find yourself staring at a pile of empty bento boxes, hands on your hips.

You: Hey, when can I return the bento boxes? Washed them and everything!!

Bakugou: I’d fuckin’ hope so

You: 😒

You: Should I drop them off at your agency?

Bakugou: No, bring ‘em to my place

He sends you an address.

A part of you is a little relieved he’d suggested you not bring them to his agency. Thinking about it, going there to drop off a bag of empty bento boxes feels a little too… revealing. That people might see that you have the kind of relationship where he makes you lunch. You don’t want to cause trouble, especially since the pet store fiasco is just starting to fade from people’s memories.

You: 👍

“Hi.” You feel a little out of place, standing in the hallway outside Bakugou’s apartment. You hold up the bag of bento boxes. “I brought the goods.”

Mentally, you’re kicking yourself. You’re always saying such dumb shit in front of him.

Bakugou’s gives you a deadpan look, an I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that look.

“Well don’t just stand there,” he says, and moves back to give you some room.

You step past the threshold, and he closes the door behind you. He grabs the bag from you and heads deeper into his apartment. Hurriedly, you toe off your shoes and follow him.

He’s gone into his kitchen, you realize, and he has a cabinet open, where he’s placing the bento boxes inside, one by one. He meets your gaze as he’s putting one away, and while maintaining eye contact with you, he opens one of them and makes a show of inspecting it for cleanliness.

“Very funny,” you say dryly.

Bakugou barks out a laugh and you smile, despite yourself.

As he continues to put away the boxes, you take a moment to glance around his kitchen while he’s busy.

It’s big. It has some fancy-looking appliances you wouldn’t typically find in a home kitchen. The stove looks top-of-the-line, and you see an impressive-looking knife set displayed on the counter. There’s even a stand mixer in one corner. You wonder if Bakugou bakes.

“Y’want water, tea?” he asks, closing the cabinet and turning to you.

“Oh, water’s fine, thanks,” you say. You’re chagrined; even Bakugou’s a better host than you are.

You lean your side against one of the counters, watching as he grabs a pair of glasses and fills them up.

He’s the most dressed down you’ve ever seen him, in a faded shirt and worn pants that he easily could’ve slept in. His hair is nearly flat, falling in relaxed strands, softening him. All his edges are blunted, here, in his apartment.

You murmur a thank you as he gives you your water, and you subtly study his face as he drains his glass. He leans a hip against the counter.

He looks a little tired, slight bags under his eyes. The way he’s holding himself is relaxed, but his shoulders slant, droop in a way you haven’t seen before. When he leans over to place his cup in the sink, his shirt lifts a little, exposing a glimpse of skin and the lip of his boxers rising above the waistband of his pants. His lights are gentle swirls around him, bathing him in a soft glow.

He’s handsome, it dawns on you. The thought flusters you, and heat begins to rise to your cheeks.

What the hell? You’ve seen him in casual clothes; you’ve seen him in his hero suit. Objectively, people are more attractive when put together, right? Presentable. There’s nothing about him, now, that you should find attractive. He’s just some guy, standing in his kitchen.

But Bakugou in his off mode, at home, does something to you. It’s like wires rearrange in your head, and you can’t stop looking at him.

“Hey,” you say—anything to leave this train of thought behind, because nope. “Thanks again for the food. This week was the best I’ve eaten, like ever.”

“You’re damn right it was,” he says, and you roll your eyes, smiling.

“Alright, alright, Mr. Ego. I did want to talk about something else, too, while I’m here. If you have a minute.” By the time you’re finished talking, a serious note you’re unable to help has crept into your voice.

An expression you’re unable to decipher flickers across his face. Bakugou crosses his arms. “Spit it out.”

You put your glass down on the counter, fiddling with it. Stalling, you realize.

“I want you to know… you don’t have to do all this for me, okay?” you say, glancing up at him.

His eyes narrow.

You continue, hurriedly, to clarify. “I mean, like buying me the couch protectors, or making me lunches. I appreciate it all, I do.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Bakugou says, a little growl on the end of his sentence.

“I just don’t want you thinking you need to do these things for me,” you say, voice faltering, quieting. “Even if you don’t cook me another meal, or buy me a single thing, ever, that’s fine with me.”

Please understand, you will to him, watching him. Your thoughts feel clumsy, your words clumsier, like it’s a monumental effort just to string two sentences together. You can’t find the words to tell him what you mean: that you think he’s funny when he quips at you and that you know he’s observant, thoughtful. That you like talking to him, spending time with him. It’s enough.

Maybe you have found the words, but you can’t say them aloud just yet. Not yet.

“I know I don’t need to do shit. I only do shit I wanna do,” Bakugou says gruffly.

You open your mouth to argue, to try again to make sure he understands you, but he interrupts, puts a hand on your head. He’s a little rough, but his hand is warm. Reassuring. There’s a softness in his eyes that you’ve never seen before. You could fall into them, like this.

“You think too much,” he tells you, but peering into his face—you think he’s heard you, loud and clear.

You do think too much, you acknowledge on the train ride home.

You’d left his apartment soon after your conversation; he’d needed to get ready for work. But your thoughts still buzz with him.

You think about how the shape of your life has changed with him in it, within just a couple weeks. You think about the fact that he’s your soulmate but you’re not his, how this is something that can’t be changed, no matter how well you get to know Bakugou and how well he gets to know you. It’s been a long time since this—that you can see his lights but he can’t see yours—bothered you. You thought you’d accepted it, moved on from it.

It really, really bothers you.

#is this our first 'finally!!' moment? 👀#this baby really is a slow burn huh #but this chapter marks a shift!!! things are going to pick up very soon hehe 💕#bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x you #bakugo katsuki x you #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou x you #bakugo x you #bnha #jess scribbles #fic: lights will guide you home #soul-lights #also save the meow meows is the name of the actual program i used to adopt my cat lol

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leclsrc · 2 years ago

Text

wait and see ✴︎ cl16

genre: enemies to lovers, fluff, angst barely, other drivers appear

word count: 2.5k

The grid recounts the evolution, nature, and many ups and downs of your and Charles' vague relationship.

auds here... req'd, this was p fun to write i hope u guys like it! :) short bec if it was any longer it wouldnt have been as nice to read i think? anyway... i love u guys. title from this.

Lando takes a seat. “Is this the thingy for…? Yeah? Okay. What am I supposed to do again?”

“Just describe the two of them.”

“Easy. She was always pissing him off.” He rubs his chin, lost in thought. “But… in a good way?”

—

“I told you a hundred times I didn’t want this to be the soundbite you published.” Charles chases after you, his footsteps quickening like a lost puppy as you wrestle your way into the media pen. “A hundred times, and you said okay, and you still published it. Che succede?”

You turn, crossing your arms over your torso. “Look. I said yes, but when I looked it over, nothing else you said was really worth it. It was all just repetitions of the same PR bullshit that makes you look good on camera.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, exhaling with frustration, watching his biting comment on Iñaki rack up hundreds of thousands of views. “This was not a good idea!” He repeats, the same sentiment he’s been telling you in the half-hour he’s known of this video’s publicity.

“But it happened.” You adjust your mic and gesture to Lando, who’s awkwardly waiting for the cameras to roll so you can start the post-FP2 interview and he can talk about his shit car. “I’m busy, so deal with it. Your fans will appreciate you not riding Ferrari’s dick all the time.”

Charles opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it, shoving his way back outside and into the motorhome so he can cooperate in damage control. He doesn’t admit it—to you, to Carlos, to anyone—but the PR that comes of it is more good than it is bad in the end. He doesn’t admit it because it means admitting you’re right, and God if that’s the last thing he’ll ever do.

—

“They were always butting heads,” George says, laughing as he soaks in the memories of it. “Always fighting over something. Anything. Whatever there was that could be disagreed on—they’d be disagreeing.”

—

It started harmlessly enough. Seb walked in with two swatches of color—a blue and a purple—and addressed the room with a light tone, asking what color would best suit the tablecloths at his wedding. And then, as it always did with you and Charles, chaos ensued.

“Blue suits green better.” You wave the blue in his face. “You’re busy thinking of red all the time so you don’t understand color theory.”

“It’s not about coordination! It’s about creating a highlight!” He gestures with his hands, aggressively gesticulating to try and get his point across. “Highlight!”

“Oh, bullshit! Blue!”

“Purple!”

“Are you crazy?!”

Across the room, Seb and George watch in mild horror at the two figures caught in a needlessly intense argument over colors at a wedding that isn’t even theirs.

An AlphaTauri engineer comes in to refill his coffee for the third time, finds the two of you still fighting and is genuinely stupefied. He turns to the two onlookers, asks, “Bridezilla, huh? Happened to me once, too. I swear the grooms always try to weasel their way in to seem more involved but their choices never make sense.”

“Oh, no. They, uh, they’re not together.” George clarifies quickly.

“They’re not?!” The engineer and Seb ask at the same time.

They all watch the argument, bemused, but secretly they all wonder just how correct George is.

—

“We have a saying in Spanish. Del amor al odio hay un paso. Neither of them will understand it—it’s in Spanish, obviously—but I think that applies to them. One minute you think they hate each other, and the next…” Carlos lets himself taper into silence, smiling softly.

—

Being around Charles feels like karmic retribution, a constant eternal push and pull. But it makes the both of you better, even if neither of you admit it in the end. You can’t really grasp why, or how it started—it might take ages if you do so much as try—but you’re content with letting things happen the way they do.

Or maybe you’re not. “You ruined my fucking broadcast, dickhead!”

You toss your earpiece at his chest, body welling up with annoyance. Your segment was being casted live until Charles insisted he take up your airtime to do whatever-the-fuck, you honestly don’t care. And yeah, sure, he’s way more relevant, but the less airtime you get, the less easily you get the exposure you need.

“It happened one time.” He sounds amused, and it patronizes you, sets you on fire. He clutches your earpiece to his chest and hands it back to you.

“Fuck you.” You tug it toward yourself, and suddenly you’re closer, noses almost touching. You step back, but it’s not enough. “You have no idea how much that mattered to me.”

His eyes flit toward your lips, your bodies melting together. “If it really did…” he says, inhaling, “you would’ve just ignored me.” And damn, he’s right.

Charles does not like you. He just knows you well. But then one might argue—isn’t that the same thing?

—

“They have trouble not calling the shots, is the thing,” Lewis offers. “So put them in a team, in a room together, and boom.”

—

“…We didn’t agree on this script.” You underline the problematic lines and toss it onto Charles’ lap from where you stand in front of the sofa. “You want your fans to hate you?”

“The questions were clumsy. I asked you to reword them, but you didn’t.”

“You didn’t ask, to be clear. You demanded.” You click your tongue.

Lewis is in the middle of posting on Roscoe’s Instagram account and manually making typos, but he looks up, interest piqued by the increasingly heated conversation.

“I asked,” Charles insists stubbornly. “Plus, this is a Ferrari segment. You get hired to write on Ferrari, you follow Ferrari.” He points to the yellow logo on his shirt. Ferrari, he mouths. Lewis stifles a chuckle at the sarcastic exchange.

“Jesus.” You reread the script. “Fine. I’ll reword this and this.”

“And that.” He points, tapping the paper.

“Only if you edit this and this. Oh, God, and this.”

“Fine. Wait, that?”

“Are you serious? It’s the corniest statement ever. Edit that or I edit nothing.”

“Okay, bossy.”

Lewis exits Instagram in favor of texting Seb to ask if you two are dating. The response he receives is equally unhelpful: Nobody knows mate.

—

“You know, for all the disagreeing they did, they actually agreed on so much of the same stuff. If they stopped fighting for two seconds they would agree on most things.” Alex muses. “But they never did, so. Or maybe a few times.”

—

Media is a tricky thing. It’s either on your side, or it isn’t.

And this weekend, Charles has drawn the short straw, subjected to bouts of backhanded journalists and tweets for his strategy during quali. You know this especially well—you’re media, for Christ’s sake—and you’ve seen your colleagues hound Charles for how he chose to tackle the session.

Alex is in the middle of a FaceTime call with Lily when he hears it. “Wait—I think they’re talking,” he says to his girlfriend when he hears you approach him, carefully maneuvering himself into optimal eavesdropping position.

“Is this the right thing to do?” Lily’s voice comes through like static.

“I know it’s wrong,” Alex confesses. “But—”

“No, I meant I can’t hear properly. Move the phone closer, you dick.”

So he does, and the two of them listen intently to your talk. You go first, a few shuffling footsteps and an adjustment of your media pass, then. “Will’s been all over you today.”

“Yeah,” comes Charles’ voice, tired if anything. “I, uh… I just hope I can understand where I went wrong and, uh. Well, uh.”

“No, I…” There’s heavy silence. “I think you did the right thing. You didn’t get pole, but it was a good strategy. Better than what was being proposed, anyway. I think that would’ve landed you at the back of the grid, to be honest.”

You both laugh. “Thanks,” he croaks.

“You did great. Don’t, um… don’t let them tell you otherwise. I’m proud of you.”

Alex never tells anybody what he heard. But it inspires many long-winded conversations with Lily about the nature of your relationship. Each time, though, they never arrive to a solid answer.

—

“Hey, listen. I always knew something was there with those two. They had the kind of dynamic you only find once in, like, a million instances.” Daniel says firmly. “But I also kept thinking… poor Charlotte.”

—

You’re half-sure Pierre was the one who bought you all shots. Or a quarter-sure. Okay, you’re not sure at all. Your mind’s cloudy, your inhibitions lowered, tongue loose and laugh contagious. Around the table everyone is laughing, some others have gotten up to dance, but you, Daniel, Lewis, and Charles are all conversing about work, albeit while drunk.

“Is… tequila… plant-based?” Lewis grimaces as he throws another shot back and you all laugh mindlessly.

“Danny,” you say, tapping his shoulder. “Any plans once you’re out of the paddock next season?”

“Ah,” he hums. “Self-discovery and a shit ton of shrooms.”

You all cheers to the epiphany, shots once again entering your system. “And a party again tomorrow!” Daniel adds half-jokingly, much to your delight. Charles, right beside you, throws an arm over your shoulder as he laughs. You’re unfazed.

Daniel’s gaze lingers on his arm a little too long, especially because your own hand reaches upward to wrap around his wrist, to make sure he doesn’t pull away. But you’re both drunk, he reasons. And plus, you can’t usually stand each other’s guts.

“I’ll pass, mate, if it happens,” Charles says, his tone clearly inebriated.

“You’re no fun,” you say lightly, laughing and turning to him. Your eyes are on the other’s, dark, lips almost touching as if you’ve forgotten Daniel and Lewis are even around (though the latter is as good as dead, honestly.)

“Invite Charlotte instead,” Daniel says with a smile, to try and test your reactions. “How long, now? Three months?”

You clear your throat, looking away with a faux smile.

“Oh. We’re not doing so well, to be honest.” Charles smiles, tight-lipped. He hopes Daniel doesn’t ask why. He can’t think of a lie quickly enough to cover how Charlotte told him I love you, Charles, but this is over. I hope you end up with her someday.

—

Seb takes some time to think about it. “Those two always fought. Everyone said that, didn’t they? All the time, disagreeing.” He hums. “I could tell very early, though, that they were also the only two who could truly understand the other. Figuratively, obviously—but as a result, also literally.”

“Elaborate?”

“When you understand someone that well, inside and out, you end up understanding everything they say.” Seb smiles. “That was them, I think.”

—

“It’s impossible to transcribe your interviews,” Will says to Charles. It’s that hour on the paddock where everyone’s waiting for the pre-race bustle to start, so small talk is what’s keeping them busy.

You’re reviewing a few clips from practice on your phone and Seb is chipping into the conversation, which has moved from Mick’s future to F1 into Sky Sports into this.

“What do you mean?” Charles asks.

“You’re always sliding in and out of your three languages!” The Englishman laughs. “I have to consult a native speaker of both Italian and French each time. And you’re always going I, I, I, or we, we, we… but hey, the fans dig it, innit?”

“I think I sound perfectly understandable.” Charles smiles. You’re still busy, unfocused on the conversation at present.

“Like, okay. Look at this.” Will retrieves his phone, opens his voice memos app, and plays one of the audio recordings there. It’s a scratchy one of Charles describing his quali session, and sure enough, even if he’s speaking straight English, the adrenaline and exhaustion have him sounding totally indecipherable.

We—we had gasjdhfhs and I, I, I… I think we need to rejshdhs and thijsjsh about the hsfhdh, yeah? And, and, uh, we ajhshajs. And

Will closes it. “Sebastian, can you tell me that said?”

He shrugs, amused. “Sorry, Charles. I genuinely can’t.”

“See?!” Will makes a voila motion. “Nobody understands this.”

“He said we had good traction and I think we need to recalibrate and think about the boxing strategy, yeah? And we need that mindset.” You’re still going over your phone, busy and not 100% invested. “You two just aren’t listening.”

Charles doesn’t take his eyes off you, or the smile off his face, the whole hour.

—

Pierre comes last, clearing his throat. He’s ready. He knows exactly what to say, so he says it. “Those two are fucking soulmates.”

—

It’s three-thirty when somebody knocks on your hotel room.

But your body still feels like it’s five in the evening, your brain’s stuck at two in the afternoon, and your sleep schedule thinks it’s nine in the morning, so you’re not asleep but instead rewriting notes from the weekend prior.

You’re horribly disoriented when you grab your pepper spray and unlatch the door, and even more disoriented when you see Charles on the other side of it.

“Am I crazy?” He asks, breathless, like he’s been waiting for you all his life. Maybe he has.

“You’re at my hotel room at three a.m., so… a bit.” You rub sleepiness and jetlag out of your eyes. “Charles, what’s going on?”

“I love you.” There it is. “It sounds so stupid. But I love you. And it’s almost—I can’t bear it. I woke up this morning? You, on my mind. Lights go off after a race? You. I go to sleep? You. It’s always you. And I know, I know it’s—I know, with Charlotte, and—but it’s true. I, I, I—I think about you every minute. And usually this happens accidentally. Nous sommes tous des idiots quand il s’agit d’amour... moi y compris.

“But this was… I knew I was falling in love and I let it happen. And so I thought, why keep waiting? Why let it drag on and on and fight over and over when I can just come and tell you how much I—and maybe, hopefully, see if you feel the same?”

He pants, tired from his clearly rambled and unplanned confession.

“I love you, too,” you say, struck. Oh God.

“Can I kiss you, then?”

“It’s may,” you breathe. “May I kiss you.”

“You may,” he whispers.

“Right now?”

“Anytime.”

“So now.”

“It’s now or next Tuesday,” he jokes.

“Now is… the best. Now would do.”

“Now would do.” So you cross the threshold and let him scoop you into his arms so he can well and truly kiss you.

—

“Is that all?” The interviewer asks Pierre. “Just… those words? We need a bit more for the article on this event.”

“Oh, yeah.” He gets up, straightens his tie. “Don’t worry. You’ll hear the rest during my best man speech.”

Del amor al odio hay un paso – From love to hate, there is one step.

Nous sommes tous des idiots quand il s'agit d'amour... moi y compris – We are all fools in love... me included.

#f1 #leclsrc2000 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc smut #f1 x reader

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the-offside-rule · 5 months ago

Text

Fernando Alonso (Aston Martin) - I Don't Wanna Live Forever

Requested: no

Swift Series

Warnings: age gap, cursing, forbidden love, cliffhanger

*he's fine asf in this gif*

Fernando sighed contently as he walked through the paddock, the all too familiar buzz of a new season on the horizon. The new season was about to begin, and with it came new challenges, new cars, and, as he had just been informed, a new assistant. His previous assistant had moved on, and Fernando was curious about the person who would now be helping him navigate the whirlwind of his career. He walked into the new hospitality, looking around at the slick interior design of the building. He looked over to see his PR manager stood up, waving towards him. He smiled, walking over towards him. "Alright Fernando, how's it going?" She asked as he hugged her. "Yeah, pretty good. Yourself?" She smiled. "I'm doing well. I actually wanted to introduce you to someone-" She paused, turning to the young woman stood behind her. "Fernando, meet Y/n. She'll be your new assistant."

Y/n extended a hand with a confident smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Alonso. I'm excited to work with you." Fernando shook her hand, noting her firm grip and steady gaze. "Please, call me Fernando. And welcome to the team." Y/n nodded, mentally noting the informal tone. "Thank you, Fernando. I've already familiarized myself with your schedule and preferences. If there's anything specific you need or any adjustments, just let me know." Fernando was impressed. "I appreciate that. It's a demanding job, but I'm sure you'll handle it well."

As the days went by, Y/n quickly adapted to the fast-paced environment of Formula 1. She managed Fernando's schedule with precision, coordinated media engagements seamlessly, and ensured he had everything he needed before and after races. Her efficiency and calm demeanor under pressure did not go unnoticed by Fernando. One afternoon, during a break between practice sessions, Fernando found Y/n in the team lounge, engrossed in her laptop. "How are you finding everything so far?" He asked, sitting down across from her. Y/n looked up, a hint of surprise in her eyes. "It's intense, but I love it. The energy, the speed, the team, it's all very exciting." Fernando smiled. "That's good to hear. It's important to have someone who enjoys the chaos as much as the rest of us."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

While Fernando was no stranger to the hectic life of a racing driver, he found a peculiar comfort in the presence of his assistant, Y/n. She was efficient, calm under pressure, and always seemed to know exactly what he needed. Over time, Fernando had developed feelings for Y/n, but he kept them hidden, fearing it would complicate their professional relationship. Y/n, on the other hand, had admired Fernando since the day they started working together. His dedication, passion, and charisma made it hard not to fall for him. But, like Fernando, Y/n kept these feelings concealed, believing it was best to maintain their professional demeanor.

This particular day had been nothing short of exhausting with back-to-back media obligations. Interviews, photoshoots, and press conferences filled the schedule, leaving little time to breathe. Fernando signed the final cap and packed it off to the side. He looked out the window, the sun had set, and the team was packing up. "Finally." He sighed. "Y/n!" Fernando called out. Y/n peered in the door. "Done?" He nodded. "Perfect. You can leave them there, and I'll get them to marketing first thing tomorrow." She said walking towards him. His eyes wandered down her body. He stopped himself, feeling bad. "Stay back for a bit, would you? I think we both could use a drink."

"I can't. You have media day tomorrow, and I think a good nights sleep would do you best." Fernando sat back in the chair. "Come on. Just one." Surprised but curious, Y/n agreed. "Sure, Fernando. A drink sounds good." He smirked. "That didn't take too much convincing."

Fernando stood up and headed downstairs, grabbing a bottle of red wine and twk glasses before making his way back up to the office. "I hope you like wine." He chuckled. She sighed. "Not really, but it's a drink from the Fernando Alonso, so who can complain?" He closed the blinds, trying to block out the world, away from the prying eyes of fans and journalists. Fernando poured the glass and handed it to her, before taking his own. They sipped at their drinks, and for a while, they sat in comfortable silence, savouring the moment of peace. "Do you mind if I ask you something?" Y/n nodded. "Shoot."

"How did you end up in the world of Formula 1?" Fernando asked, genuinely interested. Y/n smiled, taking a sip of the drink. "It was a bit of a twist of fate, really. I always loved motorsports, and when the opportunity came up to work with a team, I took it. And here I am. I didn't think I'd be working for you, though." His brows furrowed. "How come?" She shrugged. "I always loved watching you growing up, so it just seems a bit surreal, I guess." He groaned. "What?" She chuckled. "You're making me sound old." He replied. "You're not that old."

"I am 43 years old. That's old." She eyed up his lips subtly, her finger tracing the rim of her glass. "I don't think so, but okay." Fernando nodded, his eyes never leaving Y/n's. "You're 25. You have no say in this."

As the night went on, the conversation flowed easily. They talked about their childhoods, their passions, and their dreams. The more they shared, the more they realized how much they had in common. "Sometimes, I wonder what life would be like if I hadn't decided to race." Fernando admitted, a rare moment of vulnerability. Y/n reached out, placing a hand on his. "I think you'd still be the same incredible person, just a little less stressed." Fernando's heart raced at the touch. "Yes, but I wouldn't have met all the people I have. We wouldn't have met." Y/n's breath caught. "You'd live without me." Fernando took a deep breath, his eyes locking with Y/n's. "I don't think I could." Y/n's heart swelled. "Fernando -" Fernando leaned in, his lips hovering dangerously close to hers. Their eyes scanned each other, both wondering if they should move closer or simply walk away and pretend it hadn't happened.

Y/n's eyes fluttered shut as Fernando's lips met theirs in a tender kiss. The world around them faded, leaving just the two of them in that moment. She set her glass to the side, her hand flying up to his face, pulling him in closer. He felt euphoric. She was everything he could have asked for and more. He deepened the kiss, pushing her back until she was laying on the couch. Her hands roamed under his Aston Martin shirt, trailing up his tone back. He loved it,every touch, every sound she made below him, he loved it all. That was, until Y/n came to her senses and pulled away. "Wait, stop!"

Fernando's heart sank as she pulled away. "We can't. I can't. It could ruin your career, and it could cost me my job. I've worked too hard for this job for it to be thrown away over a stupid kiss." His brows furrowed. "A stupid kiss?? Is that what you would call this?" She stood up, straightening her skirt out. "I say it as it is. It was a mistake, and it will remain that way. It has to." Fernando shook his head, his eyes pleading. "Y/n, listen. I like you, I like you a lot. I don't care about the risks. I care about you." Y/n looked at him, unsure. Unsure if he was telling the truth or if he was drunk. "I care about you too, but we have to be realistic. This-" She pointed between them both. "This could destroy everything we've worked for." Fernando took her hands in his, his grip firm but gentle. "I'm willing to do anything for you, Y/n. You're worth everything to me." She sighed, closing the door behind her and leaving the spaniard there, drunk, alone and pondering.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Y/n lay in bed, the soft glow of the city lights seeping through the curtains and casting delicate patterns on the walls. Despite the late hour, sleep eluded her. Her mind was consumed with thoughts of the kiss she shared with Fernando earlier that evening. She could still feel the warmth of his lips, the gentle yet passionate way he had held her. She sighed and turned onto her side, pulling the blankets tighter around her. But no matter how she tried, she couldn’t shake the image of his face, the intensity in his eyes as they parted. Tossing and turning, she fought against the whirlwind of emotions swirling within her.

Finally, unable to bear the restlessness any longer, Y/n sat up, her heart racing with indecision. Should she go to him? Confront these feelings head-on? She hesitated, her fingers gripping the edge of the blanket. But the pull was too strong, the need for clarity too overwhelming. Taking a deep breath, she threw the covers aside and slipped out of bed. She threw on her cardiganHer footsteps were light, almost silent, as she reached her door. Her heart pounded with every step, the anticipation building.

Reaching for her door, she paused, her hand hovering just inches from the wood. She closed her eyes, gathering her courage, then reached for the handle and opened it, her eyes widened in surprise. There stood Fernando. He was dressed as he was earlier, as if he had been up and about, unable to sleep just like her. For a moment, neither of them spoke, the air thick with unspoken words and emotions. “Y/n…” he breathed, taking a step closer. “I-"

It didnt take long for her to wrap her arms around his necl and lock her lips with his again. She had needed this. He pulled away first, looking deep into her eyes. "I need to tell you-"

"Tell me in the morning. I need you now."

#f1 imagine #f1 blurb #f1 oneshot #f1 x y/n #f1 x reader #f1 oneshots #fernando alonso x y/n #fernando alonso x oc #fernando alonso x reader #fernando alonso x you #fernando alonso x female reader #fernando alonso imagines #fernando alonso imagine #fernando alonso fanfic #Fernando alonso x yn #fernando alonso

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lokideservesahug · 3 months ago

Text

Undescribed Avoidance

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Pairing: Jenson Button x reader, Mark Webber x reader (implied)

Warnings: None that I can see?

Notes: Thank you so much for the support on this, I'm so glad you like it! Still not the big one but I think that'll come fairly soon... I really quite like the ending of this and please let me know what you think!

Summary: You just can't seem to get Mark's attention in the way you want... But poor Jenson is trying his hardest to just have a conversation with you.

Part 1 Series Masterlist

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

You're quite surprised with how different your rookie season is to your second season. Despite there still being low murmurs of doubt, you certainly proved to most that you are worthy of being here.

You walk into the paddock, head held high, ready for media day. You chose to coordinate your outfit with the car, half wanting to feel a connection to the team and half wanting to show everyone just how focused you are on the end goal this year; winning that world championship. Many would say that wearing white shoes and a white shirt is a recipe for disaster but you (and later the media agree with you) think that it not only creates a good tone for this year but also makes you look damn good.

You've ignored Jenson since the start of the season. Not deliberately per se but more so in an attempt to focus. You've fallen back into a routine not dissimilar to the one you had last year and Jenson wasn't in that routine last season, simple as. One person who was however was Mark. He was always there to congratulate you, looking out for you etc yet you cant help but notice that he seems a bit... distant? You shake your head. It's probably because of how busy the start of the season is. Ross manages his team very differently to how Frank did and goodness knows all eyes are on you. On all of you; Michael, Ross, the team and especially yourself. There have been a good number of articles stating how confident they are that you'll win the world championship this year... Not that you've looked (especially if your PR officer asks, she does not want you to read any articles about the team, something about being detrimental for your mental health or something like that...) You usualy space out during PR meetings so it should be no surprise that you don't remember every word said...

You break out from your thoughts as you hear a familiar laugh. Your head whips around and you see Mark stood outside of the red bull hospitality, talking to another red bull worker. You contemplate whether to approach him but all doubtful thoughts are pushed down as you approach him with a grin. "Hi Mark." He smiles back at you as your eyes meet and it feels as if you hadn't had any worries about growing distant. He appears to be the same old Mark that looked out for you at every turn last year. "Heya Y/L/N, how are you today?" You smile and continue to make small talk. And so what if you're a tiny bit late to hospitality, Mark is finally talking to you again so nothing else matters.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

The first race comes and goes in a flash of champagne, confetti and celebrations that follows into the second race as well. And now, you've currently started a winning streak by winning at Australia for the second year in a row.

A slightly overeager fan even approached you when you were walking with Michael and said in an excited voice "Gosh if you win next year, we might have to call you the Queen of Australia." You all just laughed at the awful pun, both signed their cap and continued walking. Which brings you to now, and once again, you can't seem to find Mark.

You laugh at the thought. If you weren't weren't busy you'd almost thing he was avoiding you... Yet before you can continue that thought, a flash of motion catches your attention. You look to your right with an unimpressed grin. "What if I was cooking up some amazing strategy and you just distracted me?" Michael throws his head back in laughter and pats you on the back. "Good one. Ross said he wanted a team meeting in a few minutes." You roll your eyes and stand up, your knees cracking beneath you. "He always wants a meeting. You'd think it's the only reason he does this." Michael just tilts his head and you give him a funny look. "Well he hasn't changed much since his Ferrari days." You exhale slightly as the two of you continue to walk in step. "Gosh, you've been dealing with this for years?" The German just gives you a small nod and you grin at his misfortune.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Honestly, you blink for a moment and then suddenly Mark is racing away. It's the third race in the season and you can now confidently say, Mark Webber is in fact ignoring you. You place down the empty bottle down on the top step of the podium where you were standing moments ago and turn to race after a charging Mark. "Y/N?" You whip your head to meet Jenson's eyes as you finally reach the edge of the podium. "Sorry I've just got to chase something. Is it alright if I catch you later?" You leave Jenson no time to awnser as you're already walking off, desperate to find Mark, unknowingly also leaving a deflated looking Jenson behind you.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

You fall back on the sofa with a groan. When Michael invited you to have dinner with his family, you assume that he expected to moan about your problems. Well regardless, you're doing it. Your teammate just chuckles and sits at the armchair as his children scatter through the door. You move your legs slightly and Gina sits at your side and Mick at his father's and your feat on a precariously placed cushion on the floor.

Gina holds out her hairbrush and bobble and you take it in a wordless gesture, the routine coming naturally to you at this point. You continue to talk to Michael as you begin to brush Gina's hair. "I just don't get what I've done wrong. I've been friendly, kept in touch over the break, all of the normal things until he still ignores me. I thought that he was better than being bitter over someone else winning." Michael laughs as you begin to separate Gina's hair into three sections. "It's not that." You look up at him, briefly pausing from plaiting his daughter's hair. You groan "I hate when you get all cryptic." Michael just grins as you feel Gina's head shake slightly in a giggle, clearly used to her father's antics. "You'll understand eventually." You tie the end of the plait as you roll your eyes and see Corrina enter the room in your peripherals. She places a tender hand on her husband's shoulder and gives you a knowing look, clearly agreeing with Michael.

Gosh, you wish you could be so in love and in sync with someone like they are, one day.

Gina mutters a small thanks and she leans her head on your shoulder. "Well don't get too comfy because otherwise dessert will get cold." At Corinna's words, Mick bolts up and starts running towards with a happy exclamation. You all breathe out laughs and follow after him, but at a much more sensible pace.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Silverstone. The heart of British Motorsport and one of the most iconic circuits in history. You take a deep breath, taking in the smells and sights of Thursday. A track untouched this weekend with a clear scent onto to be tarnished with burnt rubber and oil by the end of the weekend.

You meet the eyes of a young girl.

Her eyes dart around as if scared and you watch as the familiar back of Mark bends down to speak to her. You walk towards them to see if you can help the situation in any way (and you feel very thankful that you might finally be able to interact with Mark for the first time in what feels like forever). The girl backs up slightly but as you get closer, she looks up at you and meets your eyes. The girl looks to be about six and you wave at her now awestruck figure. Her mouth splits into a toothy grin and you slowly walk towards her. "Hi, I'm Y/N what's your name?" The girl giggles "I know you. I'm Charlotte." You give the small girl a smile. "That's a lovely name Charlotte. Is this your first time at Silverstone?" She nods her head and then furrows her brows as if suddenly coming to a realisation. "Yeah... my daddy wanted to take me." You smile at the girl. "Oh yeah. Is your daddy around here somewhere?" You lift your eyes and scan the surroundings. No sign of a spectator or even a frantic parent looking for a missing child.

Charlotte shakes her head and shrinks in on herself. You stand up and hold your hand out for the younger girl. "Well, shall we try and find him?" Charlotte just nods timidly and the two of you begin to look around for her father. "Can you tell me what your daddy looks like?"

You turn to Mark to ask of he'd seen the girl's father only for Charlotte to hide her face in your side and mutter something into your shirt. You gently lean away from the girl slightly and ask he to repeat myself. "My daddy said to not speak to strangers." She casts Mark a wary, almost scared look. You think for a moment and can't help but blurt out "But I'm a stranger?" Charlotte's eyes meet yours again and she shakes her head. "No you're not. You're Y/N from the racing at the weekend. I know you!" You give a soft smile at Charlotte, who is very quickly melting your heart. "Oh that's lovely. Charlotte but you can't always trust everyone you see even if they're on the telly." Charlotte pouts "But I want to be like you when I'm older. And my daddy has posters of you and that man in red in his office."

You're confused for a moment as to what she means by the 'man in red' until you draw the conclusion that she must be talking about Michael. So Charlotte's father must be a Mercedes fan then... At least that somewhat narrows it down you think?

You look around and hold your hand out again for Charlotte to take. "Well Miss Charlotte, what better way to find your father than give you a V.I.P tour of the paddock?" Charlotte's jaw drops in shock and you give a small nod to Mark who stands up and walks with the pair of you, keeping his distance to scan the surroundings for Charlotte's father. He just gives a small smile back and you feel your heart flutter at the small exchange. Charlotte clears her throat slightly and speaks in a quiet voice. "Who's that?" You tilt your head and point to Mark. "Who, him?" Charlotte nods and you can't stop yourself from smiling at the thought of the man. "That's Mark Webber, he drives for Red Bull."

Charlotte's lips form a tiny 'o' in realisation and she let's out a small exhale. She glances at Mark again and turns to you in a loud whisper (that probably seems quiet to a six year old). "Is he your boyfriend?" You feel your cheeks warm at the question and both you and Mark freeze for a moment. You refuse to meet his eyes and just the both of you splutter for a moment. You force out a small "No... no he's not." You try and shield your face from the red bull driver and you see Charlotte cast a wary glance at Mark again. She whispers to you again "My daddy said all Australians are upside down? Is he ok?" This time, Mark clearly overhears her and chuckles. You shake your head and when Charlotte catches sight of a food cart tucked to the side of the McLaren hospitality, she races towards it, pulling you along with her.

Mark trails behind and unbeknownst to you, stares at the two of you with a look of longing. A dream future suddenly flashing before his eyes, hitting him with yet another harsh realisation of his feelings. Mark continues to look ahead at the two of you. He can't help himself from grinning yet the domestic moment is quickly broken by a man's frantic shouts.

"Charlotte!" The younger girl, now with a muffin in hand turns and widens her eyes. "Daddy!" The man runs towards his daughter and scoops her up in a protective hug, hand resting on the back of your head. His eyes are shut in sheer happiness to have his daughter back and he finally meets your eyes. "Thank you so much..." He pauses, the weight of who exactly finally found his daughter finally sinking in. You just give him a smile. "Hey, no worries. It was a pleasure to have her." The man looks down at his daughter and grins. "I'm impressed by how quickly she found the two of you. I've heen looking all morning and haven't found a single driver." You chuckle at the man, understanding exactly how little most drivers want to stop and converse with fans so early in the morning.

"Well, Charlotte here was more than exemplar at seeking us out." You reach out and rub a hand over the top of her head, making her giggle. The interaction brings you such joy and as you come to the realisation that your little moment with her and Mark is coming to an end, an idea strikes you. "Hey, how would you like to come and sit in my garage for the weekend!" Charlotte's father's jaw just drops as the girl nods happily at you. "Please, please, please!" She tugs on her father's hand "Please daddy can we?" This clearly wakes the man from his shock and still speechless, he nods franticly and you. You laugh at the grown man, who is now reduced to simple cognitive behaviour and turn towards the Williams garage. You expect to see Mark at your side and at some point in the conversation you must have failed to see him leave as the Aussie is no longer at your side. You try and ignore the pang of emotion you feel as you begin to lead the father and daughter duo to the Williams hospitality.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

Silverstone brings yet another win and a healthy few points to add to your championship lead. And yes Sebastian Vettel is going to be a pain in your ass but when is he not...

But now is nit the time.to worry about that as you sit alone in a pub. The team had insisted on coming out and at first you'd enjoyed the evening, celebrating, singing along to your favourite songs etc. But now, you're sat alone in the corner of a dark room all alone. Your mind briefly flashes to last year at the end of the season and you try and push away the memory. At least then you were on civil terms with Mark. Now it seems like he can barely look at you. A cough makes you look up and you meet the familiar eyes of Jenson Button.

"We need to stop meeting like this." You roll your eyes at the cliché. And tilt your head "Well maybe you need to stop following me then." And for once in your life, Jenson Button makes you laugh because his dumbfounded look deserves to be placed in a museum. He grins at your laugher and quickly recovers, holding out a hand. "Well, we can't have our winner sulking in a corner. You need to celebrate!" You roll your eyes and take Jenson's hand, shaking your head as you speak "Just to clarify, this is because I have nothing beeter to do not because I want to spend the evening with you." Jenson grins. "Sure love, keep telling yourself that." And as you let Jenson lead to to the dance floor, you try and distract yourself from Mark and his recent behaviour and instead focus on Jenson. Someone who has tried to put in effort to cheer you up and be friendly towards you.

☆-☆-☆-☆-☆

You meet Jenson's lips in a sultry kiss. "Don't think this means anything Button." You pull aways lightly and are met with the sight of Jenson's signature grin. "Of course not love." You just shake your head and snake your arm around his shoulders. Jenson carries on kissing you as if it would win him the world championship a hundred times over. And depsite the fact that yourself a year ago would have a fit at the thought, you must admit. Jenson Button is a damn good kisser. The sound of a distant knock sounds and the two of you pull away, your lower lip dragging between Jenson's own as you distance your faces. "Who is it?"

A second passes until you hear the familiar sound of your teammate. "Just me, Hase. Is everything alright in there?" You hum in agreeance and push Jenson oit of sight from the door. You pull down the handle and stick the top half of your body out of the door and are careful to shield Jenson from sight. You give Michael a smile and he furrows his brows before giving you a grin back. "Ah." You tilt your head at his clear realisation. "What?" The German shakes his head and grins. "Nothing Hase, just glad to see that you're alright. Are you going to go to sleep soon then?" You nod your head. "Here abouts. The race was pretty tiring and you know and just want to be ready for all of the practise Ross will no doubt make us do." Michael laughs at your repsonse, clearly used to his Ross and his intensity. Jenson also snorts at your remark but fortunately enough, Michael must not hear him over his laugher. You walk the Brit slightly, makinghim quietly grunt at the impact. "Well keep youreslf rested. And see you tomorrow." You give the older man that has become not only your mentor, but near family a soft smile. "Night, Schumi and tell Corinna and the kids I said hi." Michael smiles and walks a few steps and then lingers. "Y/N?" "Yeah?" "Don't stay up too late hm?" You sharply inhale. "What do yo-" You cut yourself off ad you see Michael's knowing look. You go to string together a coherent thought to respond but he beats you to it. "I've been there once too. Just make sure you get some rest, it's the most important thing. The both of you." You feel your cheeks warm and you look down in embarrassment as the German bids you goodnight once more and finally leaves.

You step back and gently click the door closed. Suddenly, you feel warmth around your waist. Jenson enveloped you in his arms and you hum. "He's a perceptive one." You chuckle slightly and Jenson begins to leave open mouthed kisses on the expanse of your neck. "Yeah- well I suppose you don't get 7 world championships for nothing." Jenson pauses and meets your eyes with yet another grin. "Yeah, well I'd be well on my way if there wasn't such a gorgeous distraction on track." You roll your eyes but let yourself grin this time. "Don't be rude Jense, there are far nicer ways to talk about Fernando."

-°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°--°•°•°•°•--•°•°•°•°-

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed!

As always, likes, reblogs and especially feedback is always welcome!

Taglist: @nikfigueiredo @mysoulispainted @leclercings @d3kstar @hiireadstuff @a-beaverhausen @nichmeddar @lozzamez3 @stinkyjax @marymustdie @littlesatanicassholebitch @mehrmonga @insanedeathwish @ems-alexandra @a-disturbing-self-reflection @cherry-piee @thatgirlmj

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #jenson button x y/n #jenson button x you #jenson button fanfic #jenson button x reader #jenson button #mark webber x y/n #mark webber x you #mark webber fanfic #mark webber x reader #mark webber

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hsdigitalmedia · 1 year ago

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clarekirener · 2 months ago

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Maybe I've missed the posts on Tumblr but if you're not on Twitter you might have missed the marketing on the official social media accounts. I'll post some. Amazon knows the Haladriel fanbase exists. That's what the marketing told me: they've learned what's popular and what gets them views. I don't know how much of what's popular will influence the writing and I'll do a post on my speculations in light of delayed renewal- things I've said on Twitter for 2 months.

But right now here's some of the digital marketing:

On the official The Rings of Power account, The Haladriel Nation tweet (4.1k likes) and the tweet with the BTS video of Charlie Vickers and Morfydd Clark (6.9k likes) were among the posts that got the most engagement.

The only two posts with greater likes were a BTS video about the Siege of Eregion (5.7k likes) and one thanking viewers (7k likes). Their other posts average around 2k likes.

The shift was unmissable when Prime Video was comparing Sauron and Galadriel to Daisy and Billy from Daisy Jones & The Six, a romantic couple.

Another account (Amazon MGM Studios) in on the action.

The Rings of Power account social media manager addressing us as Haladriel Nation on the official account and then on his personal account. He got people trying to get him fired for this post by the way.

International Prime accounts on Twitter, TikTok, Insta, and YouTube Shorts.

Prime Mexico calling Sauron and Galadriel "my parents"

Prime Video Brazil made a YouTube Short saying "the love of Sauron and Galadriel speaks louder"

The Rings of Power account on Instagram:

Prime Video Australia/NZ posting Haladriel edits on TikTok:

There are a lot of official accounts associated with Prime Video, Amazon MGM, and then there's the TROP account. They've all been posting edits of the fight from different angles regularly and this is just some of the digital marketing. They do post other dynamics of course but none this shippy and none as much as the Haladriel dynamic. The TROP account started a Fan Artist Friday 3 weeks ago to highlight fan art. They picked a canon compliant non-shippy Silvergifting fan art and they did the same for the Haladriel fan art as well. It was definitely carely chosen to avoid accusations of bias Irving Lopez got over the official account shouting out Haladriel Nation lol. The rest were just character art- they posted Adar fanart last Friday.

Unlike other marketing formats which requires more planning and time to coordinate, digital marketing is the most reactive to fan response. These official accounts were lurking on Haladriel fan accounts and responding to them during S2, and reposting Haladriel fans but it shifted post-s2 into overtly shipping material.

And baiting only works for so long before folks stop buying. I've said this before. When people hear there's only one scene, they'll just watch that scene on YouTube or TikTok. This happens a lot with other fandoms. Folks posting YouTube scene playlists and TikTok outright posting everything. But I'll save this for a post about PR in the context of the flux the show is in.

#I debated doing a longer post but there's so MUCH #haladriel #saurondriel #the rings of power #trop #rings of power

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forsoobado137 · 2 months ago

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It has just crossed my mind but do you think pr relationships between nations are a thing in the nation revealed au like two nations pretending to date for social,political,economical...purposes the more i think about it the more i see germany and France in this kind of situation like they are both the leaders of the EU so everyone has to see how they are united and all so their gouvernements go : you know what screams unity,equality and cooperation A relationship!!! , also in real life the french media often uses the term (couple franco-allemand) which means (franco-german couple) so in the nation revealed au that basically confirms that they are together . Like i can see Francis playing into it and being purposefully affectionate with Ludwig in front of the cameras just to poke fun at the media and watch everyone go crazy over it and read way too much into it while Ludwig is sooo embarassed but has to keep up the pretense to make his gouvernement happy .

Absolutely. After all, what better way to show off your alliance than to have your nation personifications hanging out? France and Germany are definitely a good example. They make a lot of visits to each other. Some are carefully coordinated by their bosses and PR teams. Other times, it's as simple as France taking a train ride to Berlin to bring Germany some delicious bread.

France definitely makes a big show for the media. He holds Germany's hand, gives him affectionate nicknames like "Lu-lu", and loves taking him to dinner at fancy restaurants. It's all very on-the-nose, but there's just enough ambiguity to leave things up to interpretation.

Germany sees the relationship more as a professional thing. France is a coworker. He needs to maintain a positive relationship with him as an ally. Not to say that he doesn't enjoy France's company, but he's really annoyed with the media making it seem like they're soulmates. Some news outlets use the term "couple franco-allemand" a little too literally for his liking.

France really just loves to create an interesting story for the media. When asked about Germany, he'll be like "Oh...Ludwig means so much to me...and our bond has never been stronger...especially after last night..." and he'll refuse to elaborate. Then he sits back and watches as everyone starts speculating. Germany has told him to tell the truth, but it's already too late.

#hetalia #forsoobado answers #anon #hetalia headcanons #aph france #hws france #hetalia france #francis bonnefoy #aph germany #hws germany #hetalia germany #ludwig beilschmidt #gerfra #nations revealed au #hetalia public au #France is the master of starting rumors about himself #Germany low-key hates it #but he can't do anything because then it would be a bad look

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mariacallous · 1 month ago

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“She’s really giving throwback oblivious mean girl, it’s kind of amazing.” “Omg her saying she got her husband involved, she is SO that woman.” I would love to tell you that these comments, written this summer about Blake Lively, the lead actor in domestic violence drama It Ends With Us, were posted on Reddit by some anonymous misogynistic troll.

Lively had made what looked like tone-deaf promotional appearances to push her haircare and drinks line alongside the film. It was revealed that she had had a scene rewritten by her husband, actor/director Ryan Reynolds, and that she took control over the final cut, which also featured a song by her best friend, Taylor Swift. Everything from Lively’s conduct to her predilection for florals seemed like fair game, spawning a vast amount of negative discourse and tanking her reputation. But the comments above were texts written by me, made in my most active group chat.

On Saturday, Lively filed a complaint with the California civil rights department against Justin Baldoni, both the film’s director and her male co-lead, producer Jamey Heath, production company Wayfarer Studios and its public relations/crisis management retinue, alleging that they actively sought to harm her reputation to pre-empt any possibility of her going public with an HR complaint she made during the film’s making.

Alleging the violation of physical boundaries, sexual and inappropriate comments and the absence of intimacy coordination, the court filing is an astonishing read. It claims that Heath showed Lively unsolicited footage of his wife giving birth as they filmed a scene where her character does so; that Baldoni’s “best friend” was drafted in to play the obstetrician-gynaecologist in that scene, in which Lively was “nearly nude” in front of dozens of crew; that Baldoni talked to her about non-consensual sexual encounters; that he wept in her trailer over reactions to paparazzi photos from shooting that called her old and unattractive, prompting her to remind him that in those scenes her character had just been abused by her husband, and that she should look authentically distressed, not “hot”.

In January, prior to resuming filming after the Writers Guild of America strike, a meeting was held in which Lively sought to have 30 new set protections implemented. Wayfarer said: “Although our perspective differs in many aspects, ensuring a safe environment for all is paramount, irrespective of differing views. Regarding your outlined requests, we find most of them not only reasonable but also essential for the benefit of all parties involved.” One of those protections was that Lively should not be subject to retaliatory action for speaking out. Instead, her complaint seeks to illustrate that the parties behind the film allegedly engaged PR and crisis management – including a company that has represented Johnny Depp and is partly funded by music mogul Scooter Braun, who bought the masters to Swift’s first six albums – to destroy Lively’s reputation via media and social media manipulation.

“You know we can bury anyone,” crisis management expert Melissa Nathan wrote to PR executive Jennifer Abel, one of thousands of messages subpoenaed by Lively. (Bryan Freedman, a lawyer for Baldoni, called the accusations “categorically false”, saying a crisis manager was brought in due to “multiple demands and threats” allegedly made by Lively.)

In a subsequent message, Nathan told Abel that Baldoni didn’t realise how lucky he was given the allegations they had heard about his on-set conduct: “the whispering in the ear the sexual connotations like Jesus fucking Christ”.

While the film’s stars were told to keep their promotional activities positive and uplifting – “grab your friends, wear your florals and head out to see it,” Lively said in a promotional video – Baldoni, who most of the cast had unfollowed on social media, as fans had noticed, positioned himself as a feminist ally engaged with domestic violence issues. In response to the social media response “really ramping up” in terms of criticism of Lively, Nathan texted Abel: “It’s actually sad because it just shows you have people really want to hate on women.” A “scenario planning” document by Nathan’s firm, TAG PR, said it could “explore planting stories about the weaponisation of feminism and how people in [Lively’s] circle like Taylor Swift have been accused of utilising these tactics to ‘bully’ into getting what they want.” Baldoni told Heath that he “didn’t love” the document because it didn’t leave him feeling sufficiently protected.

“The weaponisation of the ‘weaponisation of feminism’.” That is how a friend in our group chat put it as we pored over the New York Times report that broke the news of Lively’s allegations and the subsequent release of her entire complaint; as we looked back, horrified, on what we had said about her in recent months (entirely in private, I hasten to add). We realised the degree to which a group of supposedly media-literate journalists were potentially manipulated by a confected misogynistic narrative; how persistent and pernicious internalised misogyny can be when another woman doesn’t meet your standards.

Of course, feminism can be weaponised and leveraged for personal gain. The flourishing of pop-cultural feminism a decade ago paved the way for “girlboss” and lean-in “feminism”, which didn’t fight for much more than a woman’s right to act and earn as rapaciously as men; it’s now considered a joke, with even girlboss creator, Sophia Amoruso, distancing herself from it in … interviews to promote her new venture capital firm. These are nuanced conversations about not allowing a fight for equality, respect and safety to be seized for self-gain. But the idea of the Hollywood and PR machines perverting that concept to discredit a woman apparently intent on ensuring the safety of herself and others – on the chaotic set of a film about ending cycles of domestic abuse – is a level of 4D chess that is terrifying in its imperceptibility, effectiveness and potential prevalence.

There is a chilling disconnect in the way the crisis and publicity parties rejoice in their apparent PR victory – “So much mixed messaging It’s actually really funny if you think about it,” Nathan texted Abel – and the covert warfare they allegedly used to manipulate the tabloid media into parroting their narrative. “This went so well I am fucking dying … We have the four majors standing down on HR complaint,” Nathan told Abel. When MailOnline published a piece in August asking “Is Blake Lively set to be CANCELLED?” Abel texted Nathan: “You really outdid yourself with this piece.” These methods are deadly, acutely attuned to how to form and nurture media and social media sentiment against a woman. As Taylor Lorenz writes in her newsletter User Mag, it takes its cues directly from the Gamergate playbook.

How many women has this happened to? How many smear campaigns have seduced our most base and ungenerous instincts into swallowing their line? How many male directors and actors successfully positioned themselves as feminist allies post-#MeToo for cynical reasons? Beyond celebrity narratives, how has this affected how we perceive the women in our own lives? Culturally, we seem to have progressed – rather,regressed – from ostracising figures who act badly to grasping for politically legible ways to take against anyone whose greatest crime might be “seeming a bit annoying”. Is someone “not a girl’s girl”, as you often hear online, or do they just have different values to you? Does their behaviour just feel confrontational and uncomfortable to you because it might reflect your own insecurities?

Lively’s complaint has left my head spinning. What can you really trust? How do we question accepted narratives without descending into tin-hatted conspiracy theory? Why do so many people hate women this much? How much internalised misogyny roils under my own skin every day? I’d like to reach for a cute ending, to say that through assiduous, informed questioning and acute media literacy, cases like Lively’s might, you know, end with us. But the truth is I don’t think we stand a chance.

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askagamedev · 2 months ago

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Summer 2025 Game Development Student Internship Roundup, Part 2

Internship recruiting season has begun for some large game publishers and developers. This means that a number of internship opportunities for summer 2025 have been posted and will be collecting applicants. Internships are a great way to earn some experience in a professional environment and to get mentorship from those of us in the trenches. If you’re a student and you have an interest in game development as a career, you should absolutely look into these.

This is part 2 of this year's internship roundup. [Click here for part 1].

Associate Development Manager Co-op/Internship - Summer 2025 (Sports FC QV)

Game Product Manager Intern (Summer 2025)

Music Intern

EA Sports FC Franchise Activation Intern

Associate Character Artist Intern

Client Engineer Intern

Visual Effects Co-Op

Associate Environment Artist Co-Op (Summer 2025)

Game Design Intern (Summer 2025)

Game Design Co-Op (Summer 2025)

Concept Art Intern - Summer 2025

UI Artist Intern - Summer 2025 (Apex Legends)

Assistant Development Manager Intern

Global Audit Intern

Creator Partnerships Intern - Summer 2025

Technical Environment Art Intern - Summer 2025 (Apex Legends)

Intern, FC Franchise Activation, UKI

Tech Art Intern - Summer 2025 (Apex Legends)

Software Engineer Intern

UI Artist Intern

Game Designer Intern

FC Franchise Activation Intern

Software Engineer Intern

Product UX/UI Designer

Software Engineer Intern

Enterprise, Experiences FP&A Intern

Game Designer Intern

Software Engineer Intern

Development Manager Co-Op (Summer 2025)

Software Engineer Intern

PhD Software Engineer Intern

Character Artist Intern

2D Artist Intern - Summer 2025

Software Engineer Intern (UI)

Entertainment FP&A Intern

Game Design Co-Op (Summer 2025)

Data Science Intern

Production Manager Intern

Software Engineer Intern

Channel Delivery Intern

FC Pro League Operations Intern

World Artist Intern

Experience Design Co-Op

Media and Lifecycle Planning Intern

Software Engineer Intern - Summer 2025

Intern, FC Franchise Activation, North America

Creative Copywriter Intern

Game Design Intern

Social Community Manager Co-Op

Business Intelligence Intern

Software Engineer Intern (F1)

Total Rewards Intern - MBA level

Intern - Office Administration

Digital Communication Assistant – Internship (6 months) february/march 2025 (W/M/NB)

International Events Assistant - Stage (6 mois) Janvier 2025 (H/F/NB)

Intern Cinematic Animator

Research Internship (F/M/NB) - Neural Textures for Complex Materials - La Forge

Research Internship (F/M/NB) - Efficient Neural Representation of Large-Scale Environments - La Forge

Research Internship (F/M/NB) – High-Dimensional Inputs for RL agents in Dynamic Video Games Environments - La Forge

Research Internship (F/M/NB) – Crafting NPCs & Bots behaviors with LLM/VLM - La Forge

3D Art Intern

Gameplay Programmer Intern

Intern Game Tester

Etudes Stratégiques Marketing – Stage (6 mois) Janvier 2025 (F/H/NB)

Localization Assistant– Stage (6 mois) Avril 2025 (F/H/NB)

Fraud & Analyst Assistant - Stage (6 mois) Janvier 2025 (F/H/NB)

Payment & Analyst Assistant - Stage (6 mois) Janvier 2025 (F/H/NB)

Media Assistant – Stage (6 mois) Janvier 2025 (F/H/NB)

IT Buyer Assistant - Alternance (12 mois) Mars 2025 (H/F/NB)

Event Coordinator Assistant - Stage (6 mois) Janvier 2025 (H/F/NB)

Communication & PR Assistant - Stage (6 mois) Janvier 2025 (F/H/NB)

Brand Manager Assistant - MARKETING DAY - Stage (6 mois) Janvier 2025 (F/N/NB)

Manufacturing Planning & Products Development Assistant - Stage (6 mois) Janvier 2025 (H/F/NB)

Retail Analyst & Sales Administration Assistant - Stage (6 mois) Janvier 2025 (H/F/NB)

UI Designer Assistant - Stage (6 mois) Janvier 2025 (F/M/NB)

Esports Communication Assistant

Machine Learning Engineer Assistant – Stage (6 mois) Janvier/Mars 2025 (F/H/NB)

Social Media Assistant – Stage (6 mois) Janvier 2025 (F/H/NB)

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