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pucksandpower · 21 days

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Black Widow

Toto Wolff x black widow!Reader

Summary: Lewis Hamilton and George Russell are convinced you’re trying to kill their team principal, and, to be fair, you do have a trail of seven dead extremely wealthy husbands behind you … but it’s not what they think, you promise

The soft beep of medical equipment provides a rhythmic backdrop as you sit beside the ornate mahogany bed, your manicured fingers intertwined with those of your latest husband, Reginald Worthington III.

At 89 years old, Reggie, as you affectionately call him, is by far your oldest conquest yet. His wrinkled face, now gaunt from months of illness, still manages a weak smile as he gazes at you.

“My darling,” Reggie wheezes, his voice barely above a whisper, “I hope you know how much joy you’ve brought to these final months of mine.”

You lean in, your silky hair cascading over your shoulder as you press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Oh, Reggie. The pleasure has been all mine.”

It’s not entirely a lie. While you don’t love Reggie — or any of your previous husbands, for that matter — you’ve grown fond of the old codger. He’s certainly been the most amusing of your elderly spouses.

Reggie’s eyes twinkle with mischief, a ghost of the rakish playboy he must have been in his youth. “Now, now, my dear. We both know this has been a mutually beneficial arrangement. But I do hope I’ve provided some entertainment along the way.”

You can’t help but chuckle. “You’ve been a delight, darling. Truly.”

As if on cue, Reggie is seized by a coughing fit. You quickly grab a glass of water from the bedside table, helping him take small sips until the spasms subside. When he catches his breath, he fixes you with a serious look.

“Y/N, there’s something I need to tell you. About the will.”

Your heart skips a beat, but you keep your face carefully neutral. “Reggie, please. We don’t need to discuss such morbid topics.”

He waves a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. We both know why you’re here, and it’s not to admire the wallpaper. Now listen, because this is important.”

You lean in closer, curiosity piqued despite yourself.

Reggie’s voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. “In addition to the usual — the houses, the cars, the offshore accounts — I’m leaving you my stake in the Mercedes Formula 1 team.”

Your eyes widen in genuine surprise. “The racing team? Reggie, I had no idea you were involved with-”

He cuts you off with a wheezy laugh. “Oh, my dear. There’s so much you don’t know about me. Did you think I made my fortune selling denture cream?”

You can’t help but smile. “Well, I did wonder about all those trophies in your study.”

“Remnants of a misspent youth,” Reggie says with a wistful sigh. “But this, this is my crowning achievement. A 33% stake in one of the most successful F1 teams in history.”

Your mind reels at the implications. This is far beyond anything you’d anticipated when you’d set your sights on Reginald Worthington III.

“Reggie, I ... I don’t know what to say.”

He pats your hand affectionately. “You don’t have to say anything, my dear. Just promise me you’ll make the most of it. I’ve always admired your ambition. It reminds me of myself at your age.”

You lean back in your chair, studying the old man before you. In that moment, you feel a surge of genuine affection for him.

“I promise, Reggie. I’ll make you proud.”

He nods, satisfied. “Good. Now, tell me about the others. I want to know how I measure up to my predecessors.”

You laugh, shaking your head in amazement. “Are you sure? It’s quite a list.”

Reggie’s eyes sparkle with interest. “My dear, I’m on my deathbed. Regale me with tales of your conquests.”

With a theatrical sigh, you begin. “Well, if you insist. Let’s see ... first, there was Harold.”

“Ah, the virgin husband,” Reggie interrupts with a knowing nod.

You raise an eyebrow. “And how did you know that?”

He winks. “I have my sources. Go on.”

“Right. Well, Harold was a sweet man. A bit naive, perhaps, but genuinely kind. He left me his tech startup. It wasn’t worth much at the time, but I sold it for a tidy sum a year later.”

Reggie nods approvingly. “Smart move. Who was next?”

“After Harold came George. He was ... intense. A retired army general with a penchant for war stories and expensive scotch. Left me his collection of rare military memorabilia.”

“Fascinating,” Reggie murmurs. “And the others?”

You tick them off on your fingers. “Let’s see ... there was Joaquin, the passionate Spanish chef. He left me his Michelin-starred restaurants. Then came Dmitri, the Russian oligarch. That was ... an experience.”

Reggie chuckles. “I bet it was. What did he leave you?”

“A series of shell companies and a rather gaudy yacht. I sold the yacht, kept the companies.” You pause, lost in thought for a moment. “After Dmitri was William, the British lord. Lovely man, terrible teeth. Left me his crumbling estate and title.”

“So you’re technically a lady now?” Reggie asks, amused.

You nod. “Lady Y/N, at your service. Though I don’t use the title much. It tends to raise questions.”

“Understandable. And the last one before me?”

Your expression softens slightly. “Ah, that was Hiroshi. Japanese tech mogul. Brilliant mind, but so lonely. I think I was the first real companionship he’d had in years.”

Reggie studies you carefully. “You were fond of him.”

You nod, a bit surprised by the lump in your throat. “I was. He ... he understood me, I think. More than the others.”

There’s a moment of silence as Reggie processes this information. Finally, he speaks. “And what did Hiroshi leave you?”

You smile wryly. “His AI research company. It’s been ... interesting, to say the least.”

Reggie nods slowly. “Quite a collection you’ve amassed, my dear. But tell me, what drives you? Surely it’s not just the money.”

You’re taken aback by the question. No one has ever asked you that before. You take a moment to gather your thoughts.

“I suppose ... it’s the challenge of it all. The thrill of reinventing myself with each new husband, of navigating these complex worlds they inhabit. And yes, the wealth is nice, but it’s more about what I can do with it.”

Reggie leans forward, intrigued. “And what is it you want to do?”

You pause, realizing you’ve never really articulated this to anyone before. “I want to make a difference. Real, lasting change. These men, they’ve all built empires in their own ways, but they’ve been limited by their own mortality. I don’t have those limitations yet. I can take what they’ve given me and create something ... more.”

Reggie’s eyes light up with understanding. “Ah, now I see why I was drawn to you. You’re not just a pretty face or a clever mind. You’re a visionary.”

You feel a flush of pride at his words. “I try to be. Each husband has taught me something new, given me tools I never had before. Harold showed me the potential of technology. George taught me strategy. Joaquin, the importance of passion in one’s work. Dmitri, how to navigate the murky waters of international business. William gave me a glimpse into old-world power structures. And Hiroshi ... well, he opened my eyes to the future.”

Reggie nods slowly. “And what have I taught you, I wonder?”

You smile softly. “Patience, Reggie. The long game. And the value of a good sense of humor in the face of adversity.”

He chuckles weakly. “Well, I’m glad I could contribute something to your education. Now, about this F1 team ...”

You lean in, eager to hear more. “Yes?”

“It’s more than just a racing team, you know. It’s a pinnacle of engineering, a testament to human ingenuity and the constant push for improvement. I think you’ll find it fits quite well with your ambitions.”

You nod slowly, mind already racing with possibilities. “I can see that. The technology, the global platform, the prestige ...”

Reggie grins. “Exactly. And who knows? Maybe you’ll find husband number eight in the paddock.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Oh, Reggie. Always thinking ahead, aren’t you?”

He winks. “Someone has to. Now, promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” you say, and you’re surprised to find you mean it.

“When you’re accepting that championship trophy — because I know you will — wear something fabulous. Give those stuffy old men in the paddock something to talk about.”

You can’t help but grin. “Oh, don’t worry. I intend to shake things up a bit.”

Reggie nods approvingly. “That’s my girl. Now, I think I need to rest for a bit. But don’t go far. I want to hear all about your plans for world domination when I wake up.”

As you watch Reggie drift off to sleep, you can’t help but feel a mix of emotions. Sadness at the impending loss of this charming old rogue, excitement at the unexpected opportunity he’s given you, and a renewed sense of purpose.

You glance at your reflection in the ornate mirror across the room. Lady Y/N Y/L/N, soon-to-be racing magnate. It has a nice ring to it.

As you settle back into your chair, you begin to plan your next moves. The motorsport world won’t know what hit it.

***

The sleek boardroom of the Mercedes-AMG Petronas F1 Team headquarters buzzes with hushed conversation. Around the polished mahogany table, team executives and board members huddle in small groups, their voices low and urgent.

Toto catches snippets of conversation as he reviews his notes for the meeting.

“Did you hear? She’s actually coming today,” whispers Bradley, the team’s financial officer.

Sarah, head of marketing, leans in. “I can’t believe Reginald left her his stake. What was he thinking?”

“Probably wasn’t thinking with his head, if you know what I mean,” chuckles Thomas, the technical director.

Toto clears his throat, silencing the gossip. “Let’s keep things professional, shall we? We have important matters to discuss today.”

As if on cue, the boardroom door swings open. The room falls into an immediate, almost eerie silence as you stride in, turning heads with every click of your Manolo Blahnik heels against the polished floor.

Toto finds himself holding his breath, caught off guard by your presence. He’s seen photos, of course, but they didn’t do you justice. Your tailored Armani suit exudes power and confidence, while your eyes scan the room with a shrewd intelligence that sends a shiver down his spine.

You take your seat at the far end of the table, directly opposite Toto. “Good morning, everyone. I hope I’m not late.”

Your voice, smooth as silk with a hint of amusement, breaks the spell. The room erupts into a flurry of awkward greetings and nervous coughs.

Toto clears his throat again, trying to regain control of the situation. “Not at all. We were just about to begin. Welcome, Lady Worthington. We’re honored to have you join us today.”

You smile, a dazzling display that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Please, call me Y/N. We’re all colleagues here, after all.”

Toto nods, fighting to keep his composure. “Of course, Y/N. Shall we begin with the agenda?”

As the meeting progresses, Toto finds himself increasingly distracted. He’s used to being the most commanding presence in any room, but your arrival has shifted the dynamic entirely. Every time you speak, offering insights or asking pointed questions, the rest of the board seems to hold its breath.

“I’ve been reviewing our sustainability initiatives,” you say during a lull in the conversation. “While I applaud our efforts so far, I believe we could be doing more. Formula 1 has an unique platform to drive innovation in green technologies. We should be leading the charge, not just following along.”

Bradley shifts uncomfortably in his seat. “With all due respect, Lady- I mean, Y/N, implementing new sustainability measures could be quite costly. We need to consider the bottom line.”

You lean forward, fixing Bradley with an intense gaze. “And what about the cost of falling behind? Of being seen as out of touch with the concerns of younger fans? Sometimes, you have to spend money to make money.”

Toto finds himself nodding in agreement before he even realizes it. “Y/N raises an excellent point. Perhaps we should form a task force to explore more aggressive sustainability options.”

You flash him a grateful smile, and Toto feels his heart skip a beat. He quickly looks down at his notes, trying to regain his composure.

As the meeting continues, you consistently challenge the status quo, pushing for bolder strategies and innovative approaches. Toto watches in fascination as you deftly navigate the complex dynamics of the board, alternating between charm and steel as the situation demands.

During a discussion about driver development, you interject again. “I’ve been looking into our junior driver program, and I think we’re missing opportunities. We’re too focused on traditional racing backgrounds. What about sim racers? Or scouting karters from developing countries? We could be tapping into a whole new pool of talent.”

Sarah, the marketing head, perks up at this. “That’s ... actually a brilliant idea. It could really broaden our appeal, especially in emerging markets.”

You nod appreciatively. “Exactly. And imagine the stories we could tell. The sim racer who became an F1 champion or the kid from a small village who rose to the top of motorsport. That’s the kind of narrative that builds brand loyalty and inspires the next generation of fans.”

Toto finds himself leaning forward, completely engrossed. “I love this direction. Y/N, would you be willing to work with Sarah to develop a proposal for expanding our driver search?”

“Of course,” you reply with a smile that makes Toto’s pulse quicken. “I’d be delighted.”

As the meeting winds down, Toto realizes that the entire dynamic of the board has shifted. The initial wariness towards you has given way to a mixture of respect and curiosity. Even those who seemed most skeptical at the start are now hanging on your every word.

“Well,” Toto says, glancing at his watch, “I think that concludes our agenda for today. Unless anyone has any other matters to discuss?”

The room is silent for a moment before you speak up. “Actually, if I may, I’d like to address the elephant in the room.”

A tense hush falls over the gathering. Toto holds his breath, unsure of what’s coming next.

You stand, your posture relaxed but commanding. “I’m aware of the rumors and speculation surrounding my ... personal life. I want to assure all of you that my presence here is purely professional. I’m not here to cause drama or upheaval. I’m here because I believe in the potential of this team and this sport. I hope that over time, you’ll come to judge me based on my contributions, not on gossip or hearsay.”

The sincerity in your voice is palpable, and Toto can see the effect it has on the room. Shoulders relax, expressions soften. There’s a collective exhale, as if a weight has been lifted.

“Thank you for your honesty,” Toto says, standing as well. “I think I speak for everyone when I say we look forward to working with you and seeing what fresh perspectives you can bring to the team.”

There’s a murmur of agreement around the table. As the meeting officially adjourns, people begin to gather their things and file out of the room. Toto notices that several board members linger, clearly hoping to have a word with you. He feels an unexpected twinge of jealousy.

Before he can second-guess himself, Toto makes his way around the table to where you’re chatting with Sarah about the junior driver program idea.

“Excuse me,” he says, feeling uncharacteristically nervous. “Y/N, I was wondering if I could have a word?”

You turn to him with a smile that makes his heart race. “Of course. What can I do for you?”

He takes a deep breath, acutely aware of the curious glances from the remaining board members. “I was impressed by your insights today. I think there’s a lot we could discuss further about the future direction of the team. Would you perhaps be interested in continuing this conversation over dinner?”

A hush falls over the remaining occupants of the room. Toto can practically feel the weight of their stares, but he keeps his eyes fixed on you.

You raise an eyebrow, a mix of surprise and amusement playing across your features. “Dinner? My, my, Toto. Aren’t you afraid of me? I do have quite the reputation, you know.”

There’s a challenge in your voice, but also a hint of vulnerability that catches Toto off guard. He realizes that beneath your confident exterior, you’re testing him, gauging his true intentions.

Toto meets your gaze steadily, his voice low but firm. “I don’t put much stock in rumors. I prefer to form my own opinions based on what I see and experience. And what I’ve seen today is a brilliant, passionate individual who could be a tremendous asset to this team. That’s the person I’m interested in getting to know better.”

The room seems to hold its breath, waiting for your response. You study Toto for a long moment, your expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a genuine smile spreads across your face.

“Well, in that case, I’d be delighted to have dinner with you. Shall we say eight o’clock?”

Toto feels a rush of relief and excitement. “Eight o’clock sounds perfect. I know just the place.”

As you gather your things and prepare to leave, Toto can’t help but feel like he’s standing on the precipice of something monumental. He’s built his career on calculated risks, on seeing potential where others see danger. Looking at you, he knows that this might be the biggest gamble of his life.

But as you turn to give him one last smile before exiting the boardroom, Toto is certain of one thing: it’s a risk he’s more than willing to take.

***

The Monaco Grand Prix paddock buzzes with excitement, a hive of activity as teams prepare for the most glamorous race on the Formula 1 calendar. Lewis Hamilton and George Russell huddle in a quiet corner of the Mercedes garage, their voices low and urgent.

“I’m telling you, mate, something’s not right,” George insists, his eyes darting around to ensure they’re not overheard. “Have you seen the way Toto’s been acting lately? It’s like he’s under some kind of spell.”

Lewis nods grimly, his usual pre-race focus replaced by concern. “I know what you mean. Ever since she came into the picture, it’s like he’s a different person. Always distracted, making decisions that don’t quite add up.”

“Exactly!” George exclaims, then quickly lowers his voice again. “And have you noticed how she’s always around now? At every meeting, every strategy session. It’s like she’s trying to learn all our secrets.”

Lewis furrows his brow, deep in thought. “You don’t think ... I mean, surely she wouldn’t actually try to ...”

“Kill him?” George finishes, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t know, mate. But look at her track record. Seven husbands, all dead within months of marrying her. And now she’s got her claws into Toto.”

As if summoned by their conversation, you appear at the entrance of the garage, Toto at your side. The team principal’s hand rests comfortably on the small of your back as he leads you through the bustling workspace.

Lewis and George fall silent, watching intently as you make your way towards them. Your designer sundress and oversized sunglasses scream understated elegance, but to the two drivers, you might as well be wearing a black widow’s web.

“Good morning,” Toto calls out cheerfully. “Ready for qualifying?”

Lewis forces a smile, his eyes never leaving you. “Morning, Toto. Yeah, we were just discussing strategy.”

You step forward, flashing a dazzling smile. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything important. I’m still learning all the intricacies of race weekends.”

George clears his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. “Not at all. We were just finishing up.”

Toto beams, looking from you to his drivers with pride. “Isn’t it wonderful having Y/N here? She’s already brought so many fresh ideas to the team. I don’t know how we managed without her.”

You laugh, a sound that sends chills down Lewis and George’s spines. “Oh, darling, you’re exaggerating. I’m sure these boys were doing just fine before I came along.”

As you speak, your hand reaches up to smooth Toto’s collar, a gesture that seems innocent enough but makes both drivers tense.

Lewis clears his throat. “Actually, Toto, could we have a quick word? About the, uh, tire strategy?”

Toto looks surprised but nods. “Of course. Y/N, would you mind giving us a moment?”

“Not at all,” you reply smoothly. “I’ll just go chat with the mechanics. I’m fascinated by all this technology.”

As you saunter away, Lewis and George exchange a meaningful glance. This is their chance.

“Toto,” Lewis begins, choosing his words carefully. “We’re a bit concerned. About you, actually.”

Toto’s brow furrows in confusion. “Concerned? What do you mean?”

George jumps in, his words tumbling out in a rush. “It’s just that ... well, things have been different since you started seeing her. And given her history ...”

“Her history?” Toto repeats, his voice taking on an edge. “What exactly are you implying?”

Lewis takes a deep breath. “Toto, we care about you. And we can’t help but notice that Y/N’s previous partners have all met with ... unfortunate ends.”

For a moment, Toto just stares at them, his expression unreadable. Then, to their surprise, he bursts out laughing.

“Oh, boys,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I appreciate your concern, truly. But I assure you, it’s misplaced. Y/N has been nothing but a positive influence on both me and the team.”

George persists, his voice urgent. “But Toto, you have to admit, the pattern is alarming. Seven husbands, all dead within months of marriage. And now she’s here, learning all about our team, our strategies ...”

Toto’s amusement fades, replaced by a stern look. “That’s enough. I understand you’re worried, but I won’t have you spreading baseless rumors. Y/N is here because she’s a part-owner of this team and because I invited her. End of discussion.”

As Toto walks away, Lewis and George share a look of dismay.

“He’s in too deep,” Lewis mutters. “We need to do something.”

George nods grimly. “We can’t let her hurt him. Or the team. We need a plan.”

Throughout the day, as qualifying unfolds, Lewis and George find themselves constantly distracted. Every time they catch a glimpse of you in the garage or on the pit wall, their imaginations run wild.

During a brief break between sessions, they overhear a snippet of conversation between you and one of the engineers.

“So, if something were to go wrong with the car during the race,” you’re saying, “what would be the most catastrophic point of failure?”

The engineer launches into a detailed explanation of various mechanical vulnerabilities, unaware of the horrified looks on the drivers’ faces.

“She’s gathering intel,” George whispers to Lewis. “Probably planning some sort of accident for Toto.”

Lewis nods, his jaw set with determination. “We need to warn him again. Make him see reason.”

But their attempts to get Toto alone prove futile. You seem to be constantly by his side, your hand on his arm, whispering in his ear. To an outsider, it might look like the actions of a loving girlfriend, but to Lewis and George, every gesture seems calculated and sinister.

As the day wears on, their paranoia grows. They start seeing threats everywhere. When you hand Toto a bottle of water, they’re convinced it’s poisoned. When you suggest he take a look at something in the back of the garage, they’re sure you’re luring him away to do him harm.

Finally, as the sun begins to set over the Monaco harbor, they decide they can’t wait any longer. They need to confront you directly.

They find you alone in the hospitality area, reviewing some papers. As they approach, you look up with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes.

“Lewis, George,” you greet them warmly. “Excellent qualifying today. You must be pleased.”

Lewis takes a deep breath, steeling himself. “Cut the act. We know what you’re up to.”

Your expression doesn’t change, but something flickers in your eyes. “I’m not sure I understand. What exactly am I up to?”

George steps forward, his voice low and intense. “We know about your husbands. All seven of them. And we’re not going to let you add Toto to that list.”

For a moment, you just stare at them, your face unreadable. Then, to their surprise, you burst out laughing.

“Oh,” you chuckle, shaking your head. “Is that what this is all about? You think I’m here to kill Toto?”

Lewis and George exchange confused glances, thrown off by your reaction.

You lean in, your voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Let me tell you a little secret. Those men? They were all terminally ill when I married them. It was a business arrangement, pure and simple. They got to spend their last months with a young, beautiful wife, and I got their fortunes. No foul play involved.”

The drivers stare at you, speechless. You continue, your tone becoming more serious.

“As for Toto, well, that’s different. For the first time in my life, I’ve found someone I genuinely care for. Someone who sees me for who I am, not just what I can offer. I’m not here to hurt him or the team. I’m here because I want to be part of something meaningful.”

Lewis and George exchange uncertain glances, their convictions shaken.

“But ... all the questions about the car, the team strategies ...” George begins.

You roll your eyes, a hint of amusement in your voice. “I’m a part-owner of this team now, remember? Of course I’m trying to learn everything I can. How else can I contribute?”

As the truth of your words sinks in, Lewis and George begin to feel a creeping sense of embarrassment. They’ve let their imaginations and preconceptions run wild, seeing threats where there were none.

“I ... we ...” Lewis stammers, struggling to find the right words.

You hold up a hand, stopping him. “It’s alright. I understand. My reputation precedes me, and you were just looking out for Toto. I can respect that.”

George rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “We may have gotten a bit carried away. I’m sorry.”

You smile, and this time it reaches your eyes. “Apology accepted. Now, what do you say we put this behind us and focus on winning tomorrow’s race?”

As if on cue, Toto appears, looking between the three of you with curiosity. “Everything alright here?”

You stand, moving to his side and slipping your arm through his. “Everything’s perfect, darling. In fact, I think Lewis and George were just about to share some ideas they had for the race strategy. Weren’t you, boys?”

Lewis and George nod, grateful for the out you’ve given them. As they launch into a discussion about tire management and overtaking opportunities, they can’t help but marvel at how wrong they’ve been.

Watching you interact with Toto, they see not a black widow spinning her web, but a woman genuinely in love, bringing out the best in their team principal. They realize that sometimes, people can surprise you. And sometimes, the most unexpected additions to a team can be the most valuable.

***

The soft glow of chandeliers bathes the exclusive Monégasque restaurant in warm light, casting elegant shadows across the faces of Monaco’s elite. Grigori Volkov, a grizzled veteran of the Russian underworld, sips his vodka, his weathered face a mask of careful neutrality as he surveys the room.

His eyes narrow as they land on a familiar figure across the crowded dining area. It can’t be, he thinks, leaning forward for a better look. But there’s no mistaking that face, those eyes that have haunted his dreams and nightmares for years.

You.

Grigori watches as you laugh, your hand resting lightly on the arm of a tall, distinguished-looking man. He recognizes him vaguely. But what catches Grigori off guard is the easy intimacy between you, the matching wedding bands glinting in the low light.

For a moment, Grigori considers slipping out unnoticed. But curiosity gets the better of him. He signals the waiter, ordering another round of drinks to be sent to your table.

As the waiter approaches with the drinks, Grigori sees your posture stiffen slightly, your eyes scanning the room until they lock onto his. He raises his glass in a small salute, a wry smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

You lean in, whispering something to Toto. The man looks surprised but nods, and together you make your way towards Grigori’s table.

“Grigori,” you greet him, your voice a mix of warmth and wariness. “It’s been a long time.”

Grigori stands, bowing slightly. “Indeed it has, my dear. You’re looking well. And who might this be?”

Toto extends his hand, his grip firm. “Toto Wolff. And you are?”

“An old friend of your wife’s,” Grigori replies smoothly, noting the flicker of surprise in Toto’s eyes at the word ’wife’. “Grigori Volkov. I knew Y/N back in her Russian days.”

You gesture to the empty chairs. “May we join you?”

Grigori nods, waving expansively. “Please, be my guests.”

As you settle in, Grigori can’t help but study Toto more closely. He’s younger than expected, vital and alert. Not at all what he’d imagined for your latest conquest.

“So, Toto,” Grigori begins, his accent thick with amusement, “how long have you and our dear Y/N been married?”

Toto smiles, his hand finding yours on the table. “Just over two years now. Best decision I ever made.”

Grigori’s eyebrows shoot up. “Two years? My, my. That’s quite impressive.”

You shoot him a warning look, but Toto just looks confused. “I’m not sure I follow. Why is that impressive?”

Grigori chuckles, taking a long sip of his vodka. “Oh, forgive me. I just meant that Y/N here has always been something of a ... how do you say ... free spirit? Never one to be tied down for long.”

You interject quickly, “People change, Grigori. I’ve found what I was looking for.”

Grigori nods, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Indeed they do. And what of your ... other interests? The ones you inherited from dear Dmitri?”

Toto’s brow furrows. “Dmitri? I’m afraid I don’t know much about Y/N’s ex-husbands.”

“Ex-husbands?” Grigori repeats, feigning surprise. “Oh, but Dmitri was special, wasn’t he? After all, not every day one inherits a slice of the Bratva.”

The color drains from Toto’s face as he turns to you. “The Bratva? As in, the Russian mob?”

You sigh, shooting Grigori a glare that could freeze vodka. “It’s complicated, darling. And very much in the past.”

Grigori leans back, thoroughly enjoying the drama unfolding before him. “Oh, come now, Y/N. Surely your husband deserves to know the truth? About your colorful past, your string of deceased husbands, your unexpected rise to power in certain ... shall we say, unofficial circles?”

Toto looks between you and Grigori, his expression a mix of confusion and growing concern. “Y/N, what is he talking about?”

You take a deep breath, squeezing Toto’s hand. “Toto, there are parts of my past I haven’t told you about. Not because I wanted to keep secrets, but because I wanted to leave that life behind.”

Grigori interjects, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “Oh, but my dear, can one ever truly leave such a life behind? Especially when one has risen to such ... prominent positions?”

Toto’s eyes narrow as he looks at Grigori. “And what exactly is your role in all this?”

Grigori smiles, all teeth and no warmth. “Let’s just say I’m an old associate of Dmitri’s. And by extension, of Y/N’s. Though I must admit, I’m surprised to see you still among the living, Mr. Wolff. Our dear Y/N has quite a reputation, you know.”

You slam your hand on the table, your voice low and dangerous. “Enough, Grigori. That’s not who I am anymore.”

Grigori holds up his hands in mock surrender. “Of course, of course. I meant no offense. I’m merely ... surprised. After all, your previous husbands weren’t quite so fortunate. Or so young and vigorous.”

Toto’s jaw clenches, his eyes darting between you and Grigori. “I think it’s time we left.”

As you stand to leave, Grigori calls out, “Oh, but we’ve only just begun to catch up. There’s so much your husband doesn’t know, Y/N. About the power you wield, the empire you inherited. Don’t you think he deserves to know the truth about the woman he married?”

You turn back, your eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something deeper, more dangerous. “The truth, Grigori, is that I left that life behind. I found something real, something worth living for. And if you or anyone else tries to drag me back into that world, you’ll regret it.”

Grigori leans forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Is that a threat, my dear?”

You smile, cold and sharp. “Consider it a friendly warning. From one old friend to another.”

As you and Toto walk away, Grigori can’t help but feel a shiver run down his spine. He’d forgotten, in the years since you’d left Russia, just how formidable you could be.

He watches as you and Toto have an intense, whispered conversation by the exit. To his surprise, instead of storming out, Toto nods, takes your hand, and leads you back to Grigori’s table.

“Mr. Volkov,” Toto says, his voice steady and controlled, “I think it’s time we had an honest conversation. About Y/N’s past, about your ... association, and about how we move forward from here.”

Grigori raises an eyebrow, impressed despite himself. “Well, well. It seems you’ve found yourself a man with a spine, Y/N. Very well, let’s talk.”

As the three of you settle back into your seats, Grigori can’t help but feel a grudging respect for Toto. Most men would have run for the hills by now, but here he is, ready to face the truth head-on.

“So,” Grigori begins, pouring fresh vodka for all of you, “where shall we start? With Dmitri? With the Bratva? Or perhaps with the mysterious deaths of Y/N’s previous husbands?”

Toto takes a sip of vodka, his eyes never leaving Grigori’s. “Let’s start with the truth. All of it.”

You sigh, your hand finding Toto’s under the table. “Alright. Dmitri was my fifth husband. He was a high-ranking member of the Bratva, and when he died, I inherited his position and his connections.”

Grigori nods approvingly. “She’s being modest. Y/N didn’t just inherit Dmitri’s position — she expanded it. Forged new alliances, eliminated rivals. She became a force to be reckoned with in our world.”

Toto looks at you, his expression unreadable. “And the other husbands?”

You meet his gaze steadily. “They were all older men, all terminally ill. It was a business arrangement. They got to spend their last months with a young wife, and I got their fortunes. No foul play, I swear.”

Grigori chuckles. “Oh, come now. There were rumors, whispers of poison, of accidents arranged just so ...”

You whirl on him, your eyes flashing. “Rumors started by people like you. People who couldn’t believe a woman could gain power without resorting to murder.”

Toto squeezes your hand, his voice gentle. “Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

You turn back to him, your expression softening. “Because I wanted to leave it all behind. When I met you, I saw a chance at a real life, a real relationship. I didn’t want my past to taint that.”

Grigori watches this exchange with growing fascination. He’s never seen you like this — vulnerable, open, genuinely in love. It’s... unsettling.

“And now?” He asks, unable to keep the curiosity from his voice. “What becomes of your empire, Y/N? Your power? Your connections?”

You straighten, your voice firm. “I’ve been systematically dismantling it all. Using the resources to fund legitimate businesses, charitable foundations. I’m out. For good.”

Grigori leans back, genuinely surprised. “You’re serious, aren’t you? You’re really walking away from it all.”

Toto speaks up, his voice steady. “We’re building something new together. Something honest, something we can be proud of.”

Grigori studies them both for a long moment, then throws back the last of his vodka. “Well, I’ll be damned. You’ve actually done it. You’ve found a way out.”

You nod, a small smile playing at your lips. “I have. And I’d appreciate it if you’d spread the word. Y/N Wolff is retired. Permanently.”

Grigori stands, straightening his jacket. “Consider it done, my dear. But know this — there will always be those who remember who you were, what you were capable of. Be careful.”

As he turns to leave, Toto calls out, “Mr. Volkov?”

Grigori pauses, looking back. “Yes?”

Toto’s voice is calm, but there’s steel beneath the surface. “If anyone from Y/N’s past tries to cause trouble for us, they’ll have to deal with me. And I assure you, I can be just as formidable as my wife when necessary.”

Grigori studies Toto for a moment, then breaks into a broad grin. “I believe you, Mr. Wolff. I really do. Take care of her, won’t you? She’s one of a kind.”

As Grigori walks away, he can’t help but shake his head in amazement. You, the Black Widow of the Bratva, settled down and in love. Will wonders never cease?

He glances back one last time to see you and Toto deep in conversation, your hands intertwined on the table. There’s an openness to your expression that he’s never seen before, a vulnerability that speaks volumes.

For the first time in years, Grigori feels a twinge of envy. Not for your power or your wealth, but for the genuine connection you seem to have found. As he steps out into the cool Monaco night, he wonders if perhaps it’s time for him to consider a change of his own.

After all, if the infamous Y/N can find redemption and true love, maybe there’s hope for an old dog like him yet.

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imthebadguyyy · 2 months

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I Can Do It With A Broken Heart

pairing : f1 drivers x reader fandom : f1 synopsis : the grid is there to watch you flourish with a broken heart. warnings : angst and insane amounts of platonic fluff

I can read your mind, "she's having the time of her life", there in her glittering prime.

The press conference room was buzzing with excitement. Cameras flashed, microphones were adjusted, and reporters shuffled in their seats, eager to ask their questions. You sat at the table, the only female driver on the grid, proudly representing Mercedes. Beside you were Lewis Hamilton and George Russell, both offering reassuring smiles as they prepared for the barrage of questions.

The session began with the usual inquiries about strategies, car performance, and race predictions. You answered confidently, drawing on your experiences and expertise. The lights refracted sequined stars off your silhouette every night, making it seem like you were having the time of your life, there in your glittering prime.

But then, a reporter in the back stood up, his tone sharp and probing. "I can read your mind," he began, a smirk playing on his lips. "She's having the time of her life," he quoted, a mocking tone in his voice. "But given the recent incidents, do you think you're emotionally strong enough to handle the pressures of Formula 1, especially as a female driver? Some might say you're struggling to keep up."

The question hit you like a punch to the gut. You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of anger and hurt. How dare he question your strength, your dedication? You squared your shoulders, looking the reporter straight in the eye.

"I can show you lies," you said, your voice steady and strong. "One, two, three, four. You don't get to tell me about sad," you continued, your gaze unwavering. "I've faced challenges and pressures just like everyone else on this grid. My gender doesn't make me weaker or less capable. If anything, it makes me stronger."

The room fell silent for a moment, the tension palpable. But then, Lewis leaned forward, his expression fierce. "We all face immense pressure in this sport," he said, his voice calm but firm. "And she's proven time and again that she belongs here. Her strength and resilience are unmatched."

George nodded in agreement. "She's one of the best drivers I've ever had the privilege to race alongside. Her gender has nothing to do with her capabilities. She's here on merit, just like the rest of us."

Sebastian Vettel, sitting a few seats down, chimed in as well. "Respect is crucial in this sport. We support each other, and we stand by her. She's earned her place on this grid, and nothing can take that away from her."

Valtteri Bottas added his voice to the mix. "We all have our struggles, but it's how we handle them that defines us. And she's handled everything with grace and determination."

Checo Perez, who was at the press conference as well, spoke up. "It's easy to criticize from the outside. But we know what it takes to be here, and she has it all. She's not just a great driver; she's an inspiration."

The support from your fellow drivers warmed your heart. You felt a surge of gratitude and pride. They saw you for who you were—a talented driver, a fierce competitor, and a valuable member of the F1 community.

The reporter, realizing he had crossed a line, shifted uncomfortably and mumbled an apology. The press conference moved on, but the impact of that moment stayed with you. It was a reminder of the solidarity and respect that existed among the drivers, a testament to the bond you shared.

After the press conference, as you walked back to the paddock, Lewis put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "You're stronger than any of them know," he said with a smile.

You nodded, feeling a renewed sense of confidence. "Thanks, Lewis. And thanks to all of you," you said, looking around at your fellow drivers. "I couldn't do this without your support."

As you prepared for the next race, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you had a team of incredible people standing by your side. And that made all the difference.

'cause I'm a real tough kid, I can handle my shit

The race had been intense, a whirlwind of speed and strategy. You pushed your Mercedes to its limits, navigating the twists and turns with precision and skill. As the only female driver on the grid, you had a point to prove, and today, you were doing just that.

But then, in the final laps, an incident occurred. Another driver made a reckless move, causing you to swerve and lose valuable time. Despite the setback, you fought your way back up, crossing the finish line in third place. The cheers from the crowd were deafening as you made your way to the podium, your heart pounding with a mix of triumph and exhaustion.

Standing on the podium, you felt a surge of pride. You had earned this. But as the ceremony began, an official approached, a somber look on his face. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, "but you've been given a penalty for the incident on the track. You've lost your podium place."

Your heart sank, but you quickly composed yourself. 'Cause I'm a real tough kid, I can handle my shit, you reminded yourself. The decision was unfair, a blatant disregard for the fact that you were the victim of the incident. But instead of letting it break you, you chose to rise above it.

With a defiant smile, you raised your trophy high, celebrating as if nothing had happened. The crowd roared in approval, sensing your silent rebellion against the FIA. You waved to your fans, your expression one of unwavering confidence and determination. You were here to stay, and no unfair penalty could take that away from you.

Lewis Hamilton, standing beside you, exchanged a glance of admiration and support. He knew the situation was unjust, but he also knew you were strong enough to handle it. As you all sprayed champagne, the message was clear: you wouldn't let anyone diminish your achievements.

After the ceremony, as you walked back to the paddock, Lewis was waiting for you. He pulled you into a warm hug, holding you tightly. "You were incredible out there," he whispered, his voice full of warmth and pride. "I'm so proud of you."

You hugged him back, drawing strength from his support. "Thanks, Lewis. It means a lot coming from you."

He pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes with genuine affection. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. You've got the heart of a champion, and no unfair penalty can change that."

Oscar Piastri, who had finished second, gave you a nod of respect as he approached. "That was a tough break," he said quietly. "But you handled it with more class than most could."

You smiled at Oscar, appreciating his support. "Thanks, Oscar. It’s moments like these that show what we're made of."

As you walked away, Lewis kept his arm around your shoulders, a silent but powerful gesture of solidarity. "Remember," he said softly, "we're a team. And we're all here for you."

You nodded, feeling a renewed sense of confidence and camaraderie. "I know. And it makes all the difference."

As you prepared for the next race, you knew that the road ahead would be filled with challenges. But with your resilience, the support of your team, and your unwavering determination, you were ready to face whatever came your way. And that made all the difference.

babe, you gotta fake it 'til you make it" and I did

The season had been a rollercoaster, filled with highs and lows, but you had handled it with grace and determination. As the only female driver on the grid, you constantly faced scrutiny and doubt from the pundits who seemed to neglect your achievements. Every podium finish, every hard-fought point, was downplayed or overshadowed by your male counterparts.

Despite this, you kept your head high. One particular pundit, known for his sarcasm, had once sneered, "You just have to fake it 'til you make it, right?" His dismissive comment stung, but you channeled that frustration into every race, using it as fuel to prove your worth.

Then came the breakthrough. Four consecutive wins. It was a streak that left everyone in awe, and there was no denying your dominance on the track. Each victory was sweeter than the last, a testament to your skill and resilience. But what you relished most was the silence from the pundits who had so often dismissed you.

After your fourth straight win, you stood on the podium, the crowd roaring in approval. You soaked in the moment, knowing you had earned every bit of it. As you descended the podium, your eyes locked onto the group of pundits, including the one who had made that sarcastic remark.

With a confident stride, you walked straight up to them. The surprise on their faces was evident as you approached. You could feel the tension, the unspoken acknowledgment of your triumph hanging in the air.

"You remember that comment you made?" you asked, your voice clear and unwavering. "About faking it until you make it?" You let the words hang for a moment, letting the weight of your achievements settle in. "Well, I did just that. And look where it got me."

Lando Norris, standing nearby, gave you an encouraging nod, his eyes filled with pride. Carlos Sainz, too, offered a smile of respect and admiration. They had witnessed your journey, your struggles, and your victories, and they knew how much this moment meant.

The pundits, momentarily speechless, nodded in acknowledgment. You didn't need their praise or recognition anymore. You had shown the world what you were capable of, and that was enough.

As you walked away, you felt a surge of satisfaction and confidence. The road ahead would still have its challenges, but you knew you could face them with the same strength and grace that had brought you this far. And with every race, you would continue to prove that you belonged at the very top of the sport.

Lando joined you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "You handled that perfectly," he said, his voice full of admiration.

Carlos came up on your other side, grinning. "They won't underestimate you again."

You smiled, feeling the camaraderie and support from your teammates. "Thanks, guys. It means a lot."

As you prepared for the next race, you knew that the future was bright. You had the talent, the determination, and the support to achieve anything you set your mind to.

lights, camera, bitch smile, even when you wanna die

The Monaco Grand Prix weekend was in full swing, and the glamorous event was bustling with high-profile guests, flashing cameras, and a sea of paparazzi. You, the only female driver on the grid, were attending a high-profile gala, and while the event was supposed to be a celebration, it quickly turned into a showcase of unwelcome comments.

You walked into the venue, dressed in a stunning outfit that was both elegant and bold. However, instead of admiring glances, you were met with snide remarks and superficial comments about your appearance. People were whispering about your body, your outfit, and your presence, making jabs and sarcastic remarks about your place in the spotlight.

“Lights, camera, bitch smile,” you thought to yourself, trying to maintain your composure. Even when you felt like the criticism was overwhelming, you knew you had to keep up a brave front.

Charles Leclerc and Lewis Hamilton, who were both at the event, noticed the uncomfortable atmosphere surrounding you. They were determined to support you and stand by your side.

As you mingled through the crowd, a particularly obnoxious guest made a loud comment, “Nice outfit, but are you sure you’re not just here to be a pretty face?”

The remark stung, but you refused to let it show. Instead, you turned to the person with a sarcastic smile. “Oh, absolutely. I’m just here to make up the numbers. But hey, if looking good and putting up with this nonsense is part of the job, I guess I’m killing it.”

The crowd fell silent, taken aback by your sharp retort. Charles, standing nearby, stepped in with a smile that was equal parts supportive and mischievous. “You know, I think she’s doing a lot more than just looking good. It’s impressive how she handles this kind of stuff.”

Lewis, also by your side, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, and I’ve seen her drive circles around the competition. I’d say she’s got more than enough talent to match that smile.”

The remarks were met with a stunned silence from the onlookers. The shift in tone was palpable, and the crowd seemed to recognize that they had crossed a line. You gave Charles and Lewis a grateful smile, appreciating their support.

As the night went on, you continued to navigate the event with a blend of poise and sarcasm. The comments faded into the background as you enjoyed the company of those who genuinely respected you.

Charles, as you were leaving the event, put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You handled that like a pro,” he said, his tone warm and sincere.

Lewis joined in, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “You were amazing out there. Sometimes, all it takes is a little bit of sass to set things right.”

You smiled, feeling a renewed sense of confidence and camaraderie. “Thanks, guys. I’ve learned that sometimes, you just have to give as good as you get.”

As you left the gala, you knew that the road ahead would still have its challenges. But with the support of your friends and the strength you had shown, you felt ready to face whatever came your way.

im so depressed i act like it's my birthday everyday

The breakup had been brutal. Your boyfriend, a famous tennis player, had ended things in the most public and humiliating way possible. Since then, he’d been making snide comments about you in interviews, trying to tarnish your reputation. Despite the heartache, you continued to show up and perform on the F1 circuit, determined not to let his words break you.

"I'm so depressed, I act like it's my birthday every day," you thought bitterly, putting on a brave face for the cameras and the fans. The Monaco Grand Prix was approaching, and as always, the media was in a frenzy. You had a press conference lined up, and you knew that questions about your ex were inevitable.

You took your seat at the press conference, flanked by Lewis Hamilton, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, and Max Verstappen. The room was buzzing with anticipation as the questions started to roll in. It wasn’t long before one of the reporters brought up your ex-boyfriend’s recent comments.

“Your ex has been quite vocal about your breakup, making some rather harsh remarks. How do you respond to that?”

You took a deep breath, feeling the familiar sting of his words. But instead of letting it show, you decided to turn the tables with a sarcastic comment. “Well, he’s clearly got a lot of time on his hands now that he’s not busy winning matches. Maybe he should consider a career in stand-up comedy.”

The room erupted in a mix of gasps and chuckles. Before you could say more, Lewis jumped in, his expression serious. “He’s too stupid for his own good if he thinks he can undermine her. She’s shown more strength and class than he ever will.”

Charles nodded in agreement. “He let a gem slip out of his fingers. His loss is the racing world’s gain.”

Carlos added, his voice full of warmth, “She’s got more talent and heart than he could ever understand. We’re lucky to have her here.”

Max leaned into his mic, a rare smile on his face. “And let’s be honest, she’s the one who’s truly winning. Both on and off the track.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at their support. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.”

The bond between you all was palpable. The camaraderie and mutual respect you shared were evident, and the crowd could see it. The reporters seemed taken aback by the united front, realizing they wouldn’t get the reaction they’d hoped for.

As the press conference continued, the focus shifted back to racing, and you felt a sense of relief. You answered questions about your performance, your strategy for the upcoming race, and your goals for the season. With each answer, you felt stronger, more confident.

After the press conference, the guys surrounded you, offering words of encouragement and support. Lewis gave you a reassuring pat on the back. “You handled that perfectly. Don’t let anyone get to you.”

Charles grinned, his eyes full of mischief. “Yeah, and if he keeps talking, we’ll take care of it.”

Carlos laughed. “I don’t think he stands a chance against all of us.”

Max added, his tone sincere, “You’ve got us. We’re in this together.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of their friendship and support. “Thanks, everyone. It means a lot.”

As you prepared for the next race, you knew that with the support of your friends and the strength you had shown, you could face whatever came your way.

i cry a lot but I am so productive, it's an art

The morning of the race, you found yourself hiding in the bathroom, tears streaming down your face. The pressure of the season, the recent breakup, and the constant scrutiny had finally taken their toll. You sat on the floor, head in your hands, sobbing uncontrollably. "I cry a lot but I am so productive, it's an art," you thought bitterly, trying to pull yourself together.

Outside, the sounds of the paddock were a blur, but the faint knock on the bathroom door was unmistakable. "Hey, you okay in there?" It was Lewis's voice, filled with concern.

You tried to steady your breathing, wiping your tears. "Yeah, I'm fine," you lied, your voice trembling.

The door creaked open slightly, and Charles's worried face appeared. "We heard you crying. Do you want to talk, Speedy?"

Carlos and Max were right behind him, their expressions mirroring Charles's worry. "You don't have to do this alone, Champ," Carlos said softly.

Unable to hold it in any longer, you broke down again. "It's just... everything. The pressure, the breakup, the constant comments... I can't handle it."

Lewis stepped inside, kneeling next to you. "We're here for you, Superstar. You’re stronger than you know."

Max nodded, his usually stern face softened with empathy. "You don’t have to be perfect all the time, Ace. It's okay to have moments like this."

Oscar, who had just arrived, added, "And after all this, we know you’ll go out there and show everyone what you're made of, Rocket."

Their words, their presence, it all felt overwhelming in the best way. You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. "Thank you, guys. I just... I need to get through today."

Lewis helped you up, giving you a reassuring hug. "And you will, Star. We believe in you."

With their support, you made your way to the grid. The race ahead seemed daunting, but you channeled all your emotions into your performance. Lap after lap, you pushed yourself to the limit, determined to prove to yourself and everyone else that you could rise above it all.

When the checkered flag waved, you had done it. You won the race. The crowd erupted in cheers, but all you could think about was the breakdown you had just hours before. As you climbed onto the podium, flanked by Max and Oscar, you felt a mix of triumph and relief.

During the podium ceremony, the emotions threatened to overwhelm you again, but you managed to keep a brave face. When it was your turn to speak, you decided to lighten the mood. "I cry a lot, but I am so productive, it's an art," you said with a smile. The crowd laughed, appreciating your honesty and humor.

Max and Oscar both hugged you tightly, their support evident. "You did amazing, Lightning," Max whispered.

Oscar added, "We’re so proud of you, Champ."

The three of you stood there, arms around each other, a united front against the world. The bond you shared was clear, and for a moment, all the pain and pressure seemed to fade away.

As you looked out at the cheering crowd, you knew that the road ahead would still have its challenges. But with the support of your friends and the strength you had shown today, you felt ready to face whatever came your way. And for now, that was enough.

i was grinning like I'm winning i was hitting my marks, cuz I can do it with a broken heart!

The final race of the season was here, and Abu Dhabi was buzzing with anticipation. You stood on the starting grid, feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders. The breakup, the constant pressure, and the emotional toll of the season had been overwhelming, but you had kept pushing forward.

As the race began, you found your rhythm. Lap after lap, you were grinning like you were winning, hitting your marks perfectly. The focus, the drive, the determination—it all came together. "I can do it with a broken heart," you thought, channeling all your pain into every turn, every straight, every maneuver.

When the checkered flag waved, it was you crossing the line first. The roar of the crowd was deafening as you realized you had just won the World Championship. Tears of joy and relief streamed down your face as you brought your car to a stop. You had done it. Despite everything, you had achieved your dream.

Climbing out of your car, you were immediately swarmed by your team, who lifted you high in the air, cheering your name. Amid the chaos, you saw Lewis and Charles running towards you, their faces lit up with pride and excitement.

As you stood on the podium, the reality of your accomplishment sinking in, you took the microphone for your victory speech. "This season has been the toughest of my life," you began, your voice wavering with emotion. "I’ve been through hell and back. Heartbreak, pressure, and so many nights where I didn’t think I could keep going. But I did. Because I’m stronger than my fears, stronger than my pain."

You paused, looking out at the sea of faces cheering for you. "To everyone who ever doubted me, who said I couldn't make it—look at me now! I was grinning like I was winning, hitting my marks... because I can do it with a broken heart!"

The crowd erupted in applause, and Lewis and Charles were the loudest, hollering and cheering for you. They rushed onto the podium, drowning you in hugs, their pride and love for you evident in their eyes.

Lewis pulled you into a tight embrace. "You did it, Superstar! I knew you could!"

Charles joined in, wrapping his arms around both of you. "You’re incredible, Speedy! We’re so proud of you!

The three of you stood there, holding each other as the celebration continued around you. The bond you shared was unbreakable, forged through countless races, challenges, and triumphs.

As the champagne flowed and the confetti rained down, you felt a sense of peace and fulfillment. Despite the broken heart, you had achieved your greatest dream. And with Lewis and Charles by your side, you knew you could face anything the future held.

This moment, this victory, was yours. And it was sweeter than you could have ever imagined.

try and come for my job

The afterparty in Abu Dhabi was in full swing. The entire paddock was buzzing with excitement after the thrilling end to the season, and tonight was all about celebration. You had just won the World Championship, and the energy was electric.

Dressed in a dark pink glittery dress, you let yourself get swept up in the festivities. The music was loud, the drinks were flowing, and everyone was ready to let loose after a long, grueling season. Your team was gathered around you, along with many of the other drivers, all celebrating your incredible achievement.

As the night went on, the mood became more jubilant. Someone handed you a shot, and you raised it high, feeling a surge of adrenaline and joy. The crowd around you cheered as you climbed up onto a tabletop, ready to make a statement.

Holding the shot glass in one hand, you looked around at the sea of faces, all eyes on you. You grinned mischievously, feeling a boldness take over. "Try and come for my job!" you shouted, downing the shot in one go.

The room erupted in cheers and laughter. Lewis and Charles were right there, cheering the loudest, their faces beaming with pride. The moment was captured on video by several people, and within minutes, it was already going viral on social media.

You continued to dance on the tabletop, feeling the music pulse through you. The crowd chanted your name, the energy infectious. Lewis and Charles joined you, clambering up onto the table and dancing alongside you, their arms around your shoulders.

Lewis leaned in close, his voice filled with laughter. "You’re unstoppable, Superstar!"

Charles, grinning from ear to ear, added, "No one’s taking your job, Speedy! You’re the best!"

Max and Oscar were below, cheering and laughing, capturing the moment on their phones. Carlos handed you another drink, shaking his head in amazement. "You’re a legend, Rocket!"

As the night went on, the party showed no signs of slowing down. You felt an overwhelming sense of camaraderie and love from everyone around you. The hardships and struggles of the season melted away in the light of this celebration.

Later, as you finally climbed down from the table, breathless and exhilarated, Lewis and Charles stayed close, their support unwavering. "We’ve got your back, no matter what," Lewis said, his tone sincere.

Charles nodded, his eyes filled with admiration. "You’re a champion in every sense of the word. Never forget that."

You smiled, feeling the warmth of their words. "Thanks, guys. I couldn’t have done it without you."

The night continued, filled with laughter, dancing, and countless toasts to your success. The viral video of you downing a shot and declaring your dominance spread like wildfire, capturing the essence of your fearless, unstoppable spirit.

As the party finally wound down, you knew that this was just the beginning. With your friends and teammates by your side, you were ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. And for now, you were content to bask in the joy of this unforgettable night.

a/n : ahhh I've been waiting for this one!! happy reading 🩷 and as always, comments likes reblogs feedback etc is always appreciated 🤍

TAGS

f1 : @ivegotparticulartaste @moon-enthusiast @superlegend216 @theonly1outof-a-billion

ttpd series - @ateezseonghwanot @khaylin27 @imgondeletedis @jj-ever-lovely-jewel @stylestastic

charles : - @chanshintien @eternalharry @janeholt @magicalcowboyarbiter @oneafterdark @leclerc13 @moon-enthusiast @crlsummer @superlegend216 @electrobutterfly @formula1mount @f1lover20 @livsters @inkfable @ssararuffoni

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beiasluv · 1 year

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forbidden fruit pt.2 | charles leclerc

part 1

a/n: i wrote last part at like midnight, apologies for any typos 💀 enjoyy 🤍

‘y/n l/n and charles leclerc. forbidden love, rival or lovers?’

front line mercedes driver, l/n, and the ferrari driver, leclerc, had been seen having a conversation together before the grand prix in italy…

“y/n, question for you please.”

the conference room. same old same old. lewis, you, and george were seated together in front of thousands of lenses, ready to pick each and every length of your skin just to get a piece of information they could sell to the media.

it was the day before the big race in italy, the media was catching their eyes closely at all the drivers - especially you know which two.

“..yes?”

“about the incident after the qualifying round, what had happened with charles?”

the clicking of the pens and the scratching of the notebooks were starting to get you any minute. clearing your throat you grabbed the mic closer to your mouth,

“i’m sure charles meant no harm..we’re racers..erm…rivalry isn’t the furthest thing from us.”

“are you dating charles, y/n?”

alarms were set off in your mind. it would be a crime if george and lewis couldn’t hear them. you were nothing with charles leclerc. he’s the reddest flag of all. really. you were nothing.

"we," clearing your throat and grabbing your mic closer to your dry lips. "we're not talking on any terms."

smile, y/n. smile for the cameras.

"what are your thoughts on the ferrari team this season? any comments?"

the journalist raised his hands through the crowd, his pen almost fell off his lap from the enthusiasm.

"it was always a challenge to race with any team on the track, ferrari included," you nodded. "the ferrari has a strong car, they are one of the many tough contenders. obviously, every team wishes to win...and so does mercedes," glancing a tight smile at the interviewer who took the answer down the notebook. perhaps a little bit too messy for your driver's head to decipher.

"how about when leclerc saved you? any additional comment?"

"i.."

you caught lewis shifting in his seat; his hands started to calm up together in front of the mic, seated between the three drivers and the whole internet. you could only pray your zoning out was missed by the media and you know who.

if only you could express your infinite pain of being the only female in the male-dominant sport, no paper could ever hold just a nick of the feminine rage pregnant inside you.

how come the only question you got asked was about 'charles,' 'men,' 'dating' and never the sophisticated 'performance car racing' or the ones filled with personalities?

george russell, for the record, your biggest shipper, even chipped in. he pushed the mic closer to his face and looked dead into the camera - if looks could kill - "please, this is a mercedes drivers' briefing."

the tension is sky-high, or you could say: rocket-sky-high. george settled back in his seat as you threw him a quick thankful smile. only god knows what the media is going to make up this time.

'george to the rescue'? bullshit.

"lewis, over here please."

"y/n, leclerc's getting aggressive. be careful for an overtake-"

"copy-"

the adrenaline is rushing, flowing, and doing whatever the heck it can in your bloodstream. pushing the pedal as hard as your baby could possibly could, the wind rushed against your face. if it wasn't for the helmet you had on, your face would've been cut like it were a thousand knives thrown at you.

looking to your right you see the infamous red ferrari again, surging with the wind and springing out against the green grass beside the track.

"leave space! you fucking-" you muttered as your fingers tick all the necessary buttons of the formula 1 car in order to keep your position above the ferrari. "what the fuck is he doing!"

praying the car tires could take a bit more, you applied as much pressure you felt comfortable on your baby for the first place behind the checkered end line. you glanced at the body behind the mask of the helmet as you continued to push and pray, push and pray.

if only you knew the ferrari was reciprocating the act.

what was important was you finishing above leclerc - mercedes finishing above ferrari, of course.

"leclerc! y/n! leclerc! who's going to win?! would he complete the overtake?!"

holding on to your steering wheel for your dear life, you saw something of a maroon color rushing to your side. perhaps it was the speed of the car that distorted your vision or was it something in your cheeks?

shut up-

"leclerc! leclerc! leclerc! ferrari have gained another victory home! ladies and gentlemen, charles leclerc!"

"fuck!"

the cracking sound from your radio chimed in your ears - at the worst time possible - "y/n! 0.02 second behind leclerc! P2!"

yeah, thanks. thanks for rubbing it in your face that leclerc had beaten you once again.

"..thanks," slowing your car down against the wind, you came to a halt after the race line; obviously at a considerable distance behind the red ferrari. climbing out and plastering on a fake smile for the media and your beloved fans.

the monégasques national anthem was blasted through the speaker throughout the whole podium. any fan knew this song belonged to any of the leclerc and ferrari, for now.

holding your hands in the comfort of in front of you, you tried to remain calm throughout the whole song. nevertheless, your heartbeat was beating fast for the obvious reason after the race.

the shit-eating grin was plastered on the driver standing on P1. can you even blame him? congratulations, you had beaten your rival for the longest time and were placed on P1 while wearing your infamous red suit.

while you were wearing your notorious mercedes's fire suit on your waist, just like all the drivers on the grid (and charles), you grabbed the champagne bottle as the others did so.

"good one, leclerc.”

you sprayed the champagne straight onto the monégasques’s back, maybe it was a little intentional that you shook the bottle a little harder for more pressure of the liquor.

no hard feelings, of course. you only knew his hair was soaked under the cap on his head and the tingling of the bubbles down his neck.

how unfortunate.

charles smirked back as he aimed his half-empty champagne bottle at you, "it's still not a date."

what.?

seeing you in your stunned state, he lowered the bottle to an acceptable level. leclerc cleared his throat and wiped the foam of champagne off his upper lips and chin; looking back with the biggest annoying grin on his face, "congrats on the podium. next race?"

oh, how you wish you could smack his grin off his mother fucking face again. rubbing it into your face.

the media..the media. breathe in, breathe out.

"will do, 16."

"congratulations on P2,"

toto patted your back as he entered the mercedes's headquarters. how lovely it is to see his drivers bundled up in his room, once again, after a race 'gone wrong.'

"what is it this time," he sighed as he lowered himself to his chair, not ready to be resigning the team principal position for a therapist for his driver.

the room was your comfort zone, safe to say. the picture of toto's kid, susie, and all of his essentials to complete the job for a team principal. crashing into his room with george wasn't an abnormal thing in your team, nor was it the first time of your career with him.

"they kept asking if you're dating charles, huh?" toto grinned as he faked wipe his mouth for the dramatic effect.

"i'm sick of it-"

the environment of the room shifted - for the better, surprisingly. also. did you mention the fact that this room felt more like a therapy session than a team principal's room?

and. wikipedia got it wrong, it was: toto wolff, team principal and CEO of mercedes, and a part-time therapist.

perfect.

"i'm sure we've put on a great fight," toto nodded towards you, the unspoken tension of the media was killing you inside out.

"i'm sick of the media, toto-"

george shifted next to you on the black sofa, "who knows, they're just trying to write a story out of nothing."

"it'll be the death of me if I have to continuously declare my love life on the internet," resting your head back on the back of the couch you did.

the coldness in the room was cleared by a bit as george snaked his arm around the back of the couch, he whispered into your ear, "you don't have a thing for charles..do you?"

"i hate you."

"night, toto. night, george."

bidding toto and george goodbyes, you grabbed your bag from the floor and beeline for the exit door.

the hotel bed is calling your name like a mantra at this point. the race was mentally and physically exhausting, what could be better than a nice, warm bath and a soft bed waiting for you?

the sky was pitch black, darker than your deepest thoughts in solitary, but the pitch was never dark. thanks to the eyes-scorching light to illuminate the track during the night races.

“sup lando..sup daniel”

“good race, l/n.”

walking past a couple of drivers, quick and friendly nods were exchanged as you head for the garage for your beloved mercedes.

and for the love of god, the eyes of the ferrari next to your mercedes were ignited.

how could this get even better?

making your way into the garage, you tried to be as quiet as you possibly could. digging in your purse for the key was a painful ride to ride.

'ah, found it.'

your fingertip dug into the muscle memory as you press the button you hoped was coded with 'unlock.'

fuck.

how gracious of mercedes to make the unlocking sound so loud. so loud that it caught the attention of the ferrari driver. so loud that leclerc's neck flicked towards the sound of your car and you swore you could feel his grin growing.

the second slowed down by a quarter as you seized the handle for the door and swung your bag and body inside the car. perhaps it was not fast enough for the P1 winner today as he made his way next to your car before you could even shut the door. ignoring his steps as he teasingly walked over to his ferrari and played with the key in his hand.

"you put up a great fight for the first place," he grinned. "next time.." he opened his ferrari,

“eyes on the track, l/n.”

"how-...don't you worry about it, leclerc," you scoffed, hiding the beating of your heart. fucking hell- stop beating so fast-

raising his eyebrows in one quick, swift motion, he entered his ferrari, "of course." the driver was fully engulfed by the shadows of the vertical door, but his eyes were still looking into yours, "nice drive today."

"you too."

your phone screen screamed it was 2 in the morning, but who cares? the tiktok on your phone was a little more entertaining than seeing charles off the track - okay, maybe a lot less - but the thing so addicting about tiktok was a life mystery for you.

curling up to your side, your phone was plugged into the wall next to your bed, your hand starting to get numb from holding your phone for too long.

asmr. f1 edit. asmr. f1 edit. asmr. f1 edit. you were going to go mad. for the love of anyone, if you see one more edit of charles leclerc on your fyp, you are going to throw your phone out-

honestly, you wouldn't lie that you enjoy an edit of yours once in a while, but hell, charles leclerc..fucking leclerc...who told him that he can look so fucking fine after a horrible race from the ferrari?

you were almost tempted to slam your phone on the nightstand and get some sleep for the night. also. who cares if you wake up late tomorrow?

knock..knock

"oh, come on," you cursed. the audacity to knock at 2 in the morning?

you swung yourself off the comfort of your hotel bed and tiptoed towards the door of your room. your pajama short and oversized t did not help with providing the necessary warmth.

peaking through the cat-eye, you saw the last thing you were expecting.

charles leclerc, in the flesh. he was leaning one of his arms on your door as he was about to raise his hand for another knock.

"gasly! open the door-"

"have a problem, leclerc?"

gosh, you wished you could take a pic of how terrified he looked. shit. was he looking at the unbearable state of yours, or what? short shorts, oversized t, and your hair-

"y/n- i'm-"

squinting your eyes, you adjusted to the light of the hallway, "gasly's not here."

silence engulfed the air between you like a buffet. he continued to stare blankly at you. gosh- could he stop with his dark, green, eyes- fuck. "…leclerc?"

was it the tension or your ears going deaf - you weren't sure - that made you couldn't even hear his - probably lame - excuse of why he knocked at your door at 2 in the fucking morning.

what did matter was the blabbering of his mouth traveled through one ear and straight to the other, just like an f1 car, speeding on any straight path-

"-i think i'm fucking in love with you"

"charles...don't."

charles stopped - his breathing, his steps, his brain, and whatever he could be conscious of. you started - started leaning onto the door, started clutching the other hand to the door blocking the other half of your heart from his.

"what d'you mean 'don't'?" leclerc's mouth was gaped, letting the least amount of air in to keep his heart beating - for you.

retracting your hand, and the door, away from him; you still found his hand in the comfort of over yours, the one that you held onto the door to not fall onto the wooden floor of your hotel room.

every breath you took was a sharp nick on your lungs, but you've managed to heaped out, "i'm sorry, charles-" just in time before your lungs would betray you.

"why?...why?...please-"

"why? -really? why?"

finally regaining the willpower to look back at him, and not cry, you were greeted with his reddened eyes, "what the fuck do you want with me-?"

"you- you could go around and tell me all these nice things in front of my face and- and god knows what you've been calling me behind my back-"

his grip on your hands tightened as he opened his mouth again, but you cut him short- "it drives me crazy- fucking crazy that you act all so nice to me when we've fought our whole lives against each other."

"...what ever happened to all of your loathing glares when i'm on the podium?"

who cares what the sleeping people, ghosts, or whoever the fuck on this floor hears. you were done with cradling your heart as far away as you could from the pitch. it was stupid. fucking humiliating, at least, that you've found yourself back - back at the start.

all the effort to fight for your place on the grid as the only female driver and all of your effort to carry your dignity above all the scandals came crashing down just for a second of your selfish desires. was it so bad to want love from someone who really cares for you all your life?

dancing, kissing, crying, loving. was it so hard to deny when it is literally in front of your fucking face? under the reddest flag of all.

you wished and prayed every day that the races would be over soon so you could stop seeing his shit-eating grin, his eyes, his remarks, his cologne filling the air whenever he walked past.

charles stood in silence, unmoving, as if the time had stopped. if only you knew he was trying- trying to find the right word to express this weird sensation in his brain, his chest, his fucking heart. they all just ended up tangled in italian, frech, and english. mon amour. my life-

"..is that how you really think of me-" he felt slightly betrayed by his wrong tone, but even more by your thoughts.

"you think- y/n- you think i'm just trying to tick you off the podium?"

"..are you?" wiping the tears that betrayed you and escaped from the comfort of your eyes. "look- look at all the headlines- 'mercedes and ferrari.' is this really the- the condition you want to love under?"

"i'll love you under any condition i want," he breathed shakily as he continued to hold the door of your room open. who cares about the ruffled sheet you left or your phone uncharged by the bed?

"there's nothing between us-"

"you have a girlfriend for fuck's sake!"

"it's a PR relationship! and who cares what the media thinks? i'm not doing ferrari any good by confessing my heart raw to you-"

"you think mercedes is getting anything out of this but rumors? i've fought the press for all my fucking life from the scandals inside the pit-"

"this isn't about mercedes, and this isn't about the goddamn media-”

charles ran his hand through his messed up hair, "and I would have thought you knew that..."

"maybe- maybe i don't. maybe i'm too scared to love again. maybe i'm too scared of what would happen if we ended on a bad note. maybe i'm a coward for not wanting to open my heart for you.

-maybe i'm stupid...for you"

"you're not stupid," he said- decreasing the gap between you two, trying his hardest not to reach to wipe your tears.

"we won't work out," you sighed. "we'll focus on our drives, we'll fight, you'll leave."

"please," charles grabbed your waist and pulled you in, once again - you gave in. "i'll make it work."

all your walls came crumbling down as you broke down like a dam on his shoulder. you buried your face onto his chest and gripped his shirt until you didn't care it would crease. a mantra of apologies came out of charles's mouth that you wouldn't even waste an energy to decipher.

his hands found their natural comfort in your lower back, rubbing in lines of traces and tracks you'd spend the rest of your life trying to decipher.

tucking a piece of your hair behind, he kissed all of your tears away. his mustache which had grown since the karting days grazed your skin like they were made for each other. his cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling too much like an idiot in front of your hotel room..106.

you were still gripping his shirt hard, as he closed the space between your lips and his. it seemed like all of your walls were crushed to the point of no returning; towering over you, he pressed his body against yours like there was no more- like the last lap of the race.

the level of oxygen in your lungs was starting to set off an alarm in your head, but you didn't care. you were kissing the reddest flag of all in the grid and you were not regretting anything.

pulling away for air, he smiled against your lips; sending a wave of breath onto your chin.

"you have a lot to explain to toto."

"i'll have my ways..."

oh my goodnesss. if you like it, please do whatever you want to, I’ll appreciate it 🫶🏻

today’s a great day to take care of yourself, luvv 🤍

tag: @leclerclvr @buendiabebeta @be-your-coffee-pot @al-luvx

1K notes · View notes

pierregazly · 1 year

Text

all of you ꨄ george russell

george russell x fem!reader

warnings: smut (18+ only), unprotected sex, slight dom!george, ass slapping, typical smut warnings. mentions of anxiety, hateful comments, self-conscious thoughts [4.2k wc]

in which george has to prove to his girlfriend she's the most precious person to him and the only one for him (aka pure filth)

The comments didn’t happen often, as least not as often as they used to.

He had told you from the start what may happen, the things people would likely say, the looks people would give; you could never deny that he forewarned you as much as he possibly could about the inevitable. The inescapable unkindness and negativity that came from people who didn’t even know you, people who had never met you, and would likely never meet either of you.

They were ruthless.

At times, the comments were laughable, the extent that strangers would go to attempt to put you down. The humour in them could only be seen for so long when they continued to come, what seemed like a never-ending stream of notifications clogging up your phone as you tried to ignore the comment after comment, message after message.

It was easy to try and convince yourself that it happened to everyone. You saw the damage it did to certain relationships, the way girls would question if they were enough for their famous partners, the way accounts would go private days after their boyfriend’s introduced them to the world.

Even with that in mind, it was hard not to feel as if every rude comment, every ignorant message, every untrue word was coming from an unspeakable truth that George himself actually thought.

That’s how you found yourself here. Wrapped up in the blankets of your shared bed, your phone thrown lazily on the side table next to your head. The rabbit hole of scrolling had been too enticing, yet again. One comment led to ten, that led to thirty and then eventually you found yourself so deep in a Twitter thread about your relationship that you couldn’t pull yourself out of until it was over.

George had only been gone for half-an-hour when you found yourself scrolling through everything. It was impossible to do it when he was home, your physical and emotional reactions to everything you read a clear indicator of what you were doing.

He was a good boyfriend, a great one, even. Kind, loving, attentive to all your wants and needs, he tried to do everything in his power to protect you from the messages and words he regularly heard about from other drivers on the grid.

But he couldn’t be there every second of every day. You definitely didn’t want him to be, either. You didn’t want him to see the sadness in your eyes when your phone was carelessly thrown onto the table, the subconscious scratching of your forearm as you tried to calm yourself down, the way your eyes would search down your skin for any imperfections, anything that would convince George that you weren’t enough for him, that you weren’t perfect enough to be the girlfriend of a Formula 1 driver.

Your thoughts were rudely interrupted when you heard the front door of your apartment open and then close shut. Looking at the clock, the numbers looked back at you as a soft groan fell from your lips.

You had spent the last 3 hours going through an array of emotions, not even realizing how much time was surging past. George had told you three times what time he would be home, even going out of his way to text it to you just to make sure you remember.

The bedroom door opened, the soft light from the hallway flowing into the darkened room prompting you to curl tighter into the blankets held in your fists.

“You’re still in bed, my love? It’s going on two in the afternoon, darling,” George murmured into your ear as he pressed a gentle kiss to the side of your forehead, his lips peppering down your cheek as you swatted at him jokily.

The concern emitting from him was evident when he pulled back from your skin, lightly pushing on your shoulder so that he could look you in the eyes. You held back the sigh as you looked up at him, your lower lip finding its way between your teeth as his thumb moved to glide down your jawline.

“What’s wrong? Why do you look so sad? Have you been crying?”

The questions shot out of George’s mouth instantaneously, his hand cupping your face as he sat down on the bed next to your curled up body. He was always so bloody attentive. You hated it. But you loved him.

Shrugging your shoulders, your teeth continued to gnaw on your bottom lip as you attempted to keep the quivering at bay. You didn’t want to tell him what you were doing before he got home, you couldn’t tell him. He’d be upset at you for doing it again, inevitably frustrated that you continued to go back and hurt yourself this way.

“Talk to me, sweet girl. Something’s wrong, I can see it. I can’t read your mind, though. Not yet at least,” he ended his sentence with a wink, trying to prompt at least a giggle from your quivering lips.

Closing your eyes as you felt his thumb continue to glide across your cheekbone, “I just… I saw some things, online. Like, not nice things, and it just kind of bothered me, I guess. I don’t know. It’s not a big deal, don’t worry.”

George’s reaction time was too quick for your attempt to turn your body to face away from him, his arm instantly encircling you and trapping you from moving. What seemed like annoyance was present on his face, his lips pursued, his nose scrunched, and a slight red hue sliding down his cheeks.

“What kind of things did you see online? Comments again? Messages?”

He was annoyed, it was obvious now. His voice had taken on that tone he gets after every bad race, angry with a bit of slight frustration at the circumstances.

“Just comments about me again, on one of those wives and girlfriends Instagram and Twitter accounts. You know how it is… It’s not a big deal, I shouldn’t have even been scrolling down them, I know,” you couldn’t look him in the eye as you mumbled through your sentence, the quiver in your lip becoming more obvious as you continued through your words.

Something that sounded like a groan and a growl mixed came from George’s throat, his hand that was cupping your cheek forcing you to look up at him. The tears glistening in your eyes instantly made any reprimand he was about to give dissipate, his concern for you taking over.

“What kind of stuff, sweet girl?”

Shrugging again, your words came out soft and sad, “About how I’m not good enough for you, how it would make more sense if you were still with Nick’s sister. Stuff about how obvious it is the other girlfriends don’t like me, how I’m probably such a stressor for you and that’s why you haven’t been doing well lately.”

Your voice choked off at the end. Your hand reached down to scratch at your forearm, the subconscious coping mechanism to keep the tears at bay being prevented when George intercepted your hand with his unoccupied one, interlacing your fingers.

It was hard to decipher the emotion that was floating in the Brit’s eyes as they looked down into your own. He didn’t give you much time to examine them before he was pushing his head into the column of skin where your neck and shoulders met, his hand that was previously cupping your cheek moving so that it was gently playing with the accessible strands of your hair.

The light peppering of open-mouthed kisses on the exposed skin of your neck had you sighing again, George’s body moving so that it moulded around your own. His head moved up so that it was pressed beside yours, his lips pressing gentle kisses across your cheeks and nose.

“I wish you wouldn’t read those things; I don’t like you submitting yourself to that kind of emotional torture. It’s not fair to you, and it’s surely not fair to me.”

You couldn’t stop the sad sound that bumbled out of your throat at his words, but before you could get an actual word out, he continued.

“It’s not fair that I can’t stop you from feeling like this, or from seeing the comments or getting the messages. I know you didn’t sign up for this, when we started dating, you didn’t ask to be treated the way you are by strangers and see things that are so unfathomably untrue about yourself.”

Humming at his words, all you did was nod your head sadly as you looked at him, “I guess, yeah. I did it to myself, I don’t even know how I ended up on one of those accounts again.”

“Let me prove that everything they’re saying is wrong.”

It wasn’t a question, but a statement, that fell from his lips as he pulled back to look down at you. A fire was ignited in his eyes, his hand that was in your hair moving to caress lightly down your side.

“You don’t need to prove anything, Georgie. It’s okay, I’ll get over it.”

Shaking his head adamantly, his hand moved back up to cup your cheek as his eyes bore into your own, “Please let me prove that they’re wrong, that you’re the most perfect person for me, let me prove how I feel about you every single time I look at you; or think about you.”

His head moved down, his lips hovering over yours as soft breaths fell from your open mouth. All it took was a soft agreement from you before his lips descended, all the passion and love he could give pouring into the kiss. His tongue gently prodded at your bottom lip, asking for permission to enter as you opened your lips slightly, allowing for your tongues to battle against each other for dominance.

George nipped at your bottom lip, his teeth pulling it back slightly as his head moved up to look down at you, the hunger and adoration present in his eyes. You couldn’t help the small whimper that fell from your lips at the way he was looking at you.

The noise prompted him to push his head back into your neck, sucking, kissing, biting, licking, whatever he could do to prompt little noises out of you, he was doing. His hands, previously placed lovingly on different parts of your face were pressing into your hips, gliding up and down the skin under your shirt.

As his hands pushed up the shirt, the ministrations from his lips and mouth continued their path down, his teeth gently nipping at the skin of your bare stomach. The grin was evident on the lips that were currently pressed to skin above your ribs as his hands finally reached their destination.

He gently plucked and pinched the rosy bud of your nipple, his unoccupied hand pushing the hem of your shirt all the way up to your neck so his eyes could get a look at what was hidden below.

“You know, sometimes after a bad race I think about these pretty things. I think about how beautiful they look when you’re fresh out of the shower, glistening, so hard and perky, basically begging me to wrap my lips around one of them and suck.”

George emphasized his final word by doing exactly what he had said, wrapping his lips around the rosy bud of your nipple, his teeth lightly scrapping against the skin as a small moan erupted from your lips. His hand gently kneaded the other, plucking and pulling on it. You couldn’t contain the lower half of your body as you pushed up into his thigh that had found itself between your legs, an easy object to press your core into for a sense of relief.

He alternated between both, now very hard, nipples, always emphasizing that he couldn’t leave one for too long as it just wasn’t fair.

“I think about how they’re going to look in my face, as you bounce up and down my cock, making the most pretty of sounds. It makes me have to pull up the photos of you sometimes when I’m in my driver’s room, makes me wish you were there with me, so I could bend you over the couch and make you feel as good as you always make me feel.”

Another whimper fell from your lips at his words, the room spinning around you as you tried to process everything he was saying. You could feel the sweat starting to bead on your forehead, the heat of your body’s pressed against each other causing you to push at the sweater that was still covering his chest. He took the hint, pulling back to shove it and the shirts underneath off, as you did the same with your own top.

Your hands immediately went to his abdomen, running across the hard muscle that was present there. He was just so beautiful; how did you deserve someone as amazing as this?

It was like he could sense your thoughts, his hands reaching down to pull your own off his body, moving them so they were trapped above your head.

“None of that, sweet girl. This isn’t about me, this is about me proving how you are the one for me, how the only stress you could ever cause me is if I made you cum hard enough, or if I made you cum enough times.”

Your hands remained trapped by one of his larger ones, his lips moving back to gently kiss and suck at the now-fully exposed skin of your stomach. He was inching closer and closer to where your body was craving him most, the heat of your core obvious to him when his unoccupied hand moved down to rub your most sensitive part through the panties that still covered your core.

The small moans continued to fall from your lips, practically begging for him to do more, to pull your panties to the side and touch you exactly where you were craving him, where you needed him. Except, he refused. George continued to pepper kisses across your stomach, occasionally far enough down that his chin was touching the fabric of your panties, but never close enough to where you were practically begging for his mouth.

Finally, his hand pulled your panties to the side, his reaction to your soaking core a mystery as an individual finger gently glided through the wetness. Bucking your hips up towards his hand, begging for any release was useless, the hand that was previously trapping your own above your head had moved to hold your hips down, a small smirk prominent on his face.

“Sometimes, more often than not, I think about coming home to this pretty pussy. I think about how you’re going to taste on my tongue, the pretty sounds that are going to fall from your lips as I glide my tongue through all of this waiting here for me. I think about you sitting on my face, your hands gripping our headboard as you ride my tongue, moaning my name as you take your own pleasure for yourself. I think about the sounds it makes when I finger you at the same time, how you gush all over my fingers and tongue. It drives me wild, baby.”

He was driving you wild. George was not usually one for dirty talk, was not usually one to articulate what he was doing or wanted to do. This… this was new.

The finger that was previously gliding through the wetness of your core gently prodded at the entrance, his eyes meeting yours as he pushed the single digit inside of you. Your eyes rolled back at the feeling, your lips opening in a silent moan.

George didn’t give you time to process before he was ducking his head, press an open-mouthed kiss to your inner-right thigh, then your inner-left, then the smooth skin beside your entrance. His finger was joined by another, the digits pumping into you, hitting the spots inside you that always made you cry out for him.

His tongue finally pressed lightly against the hood of your clit, the tip dragging against the bundle of nerves as your hips attempted to push up closer to his face. You hadn’t even realized his hand was still holding your hips down, a small groan of frustration leaving your lips at the realization.

He continued to lightly drag the tip against the bundle of nerves as his fingers stimulated the spots inside of you that you could never reach with your own fingers, it was so much and so little all at once. George knew your body like it was his own, knew what would drive you insane, how much teasing you could take, how much pressure and stimulation you could and couldn’t take, he knew exactly what would have you begging for him.

“George… baby please, please I need more.”

The humming that erupted from his throat against your clit launched a load moan to fall from your lips, the stimulation almost too much as you cried out. You could practically feel the grin on his lips as he finally flattened his tongue against your core, lapping up the wetness that was falling from your entrance every time his fingers pressed into you.

The sounds, the feeling, the groans, and grunts that fell from George’s lips as he pressed his own pelvis into the bed, his hips trying to find a little reprieve for the tent you were sure was present in his trousers; it was all too much.

Your core was seizing up, your previously empty hands had found themselves gripping the locks of George’s hair, pushing, and pulling his head in whatever direction they thought he was needed in. The feeling in your stomach was starting to grow as George’s tongue continued to lap at your clit, occasionally exchanging his tongue for his fingers to gather up more of your juices before they pushed back inside of you, loud moans falling from your lips each time.

Barely getting the chance to warn him as your legs started to tremble, your hips attempting to arch up, trying to push yourself closer to his face, his tongue, whatever you could. The euphoric feeling washed over you as you cried out, the orgasm ripping through your body. Your mind wandered as George’s fingers and tongue slowed down, gently licking you through your first orgasm of the night. You finally had to push his head away, your body slick with sweat as you looked down at him hazily.

“Was that good, baby?”

Nodding your head at him, you internally moaned as you watched him push the fingers that were previously inside of you into his own mouth, licking the essence of your body from them as he moved back up your body. You could feel how hard he was, the tent in his pants pressed up against your core as he gently pressed his lips to yours.

“I think about the face you make when you cum, all the time. Especially on the planes when we’re flying back from a long week away, I think about how I can’t wait to watch your eyes roll back, to watch your hips push up and your body quiver. How you have to push me away because you get so sensitive, how your pretty body can’t handle everything I’m trying to do to it.”

Whimpering at his words, you gently bit at his bottom lip, your hand snaking down in-between the both of you to pop the button on his trousers. He took the initiative to shimmy his pants down his legs, letting them fall to the floor before he instantly ground his core into your own; simultaneous moans falling from both of your lips.

“Gonna let me fuck you now, pretty girl? Let me make love to you, show you how you’re the only one I wanna do this with? How you’re the only one for me, period?”

Nodding your head eagerly at his words, he pressed his lips against yours again, continuing to press his core into your own as he ground down again. The only thing covering the both of you was his briefs and your soaked panties, your nails scratched down his back as his cloth-covered cock pressed against a particularly sensitive spot.

The Brit rolled off you to tug his briefs down, pulling your panties down your legs immediately afterwards. A frown marked your lips as you waited for him to get back on the bed, a smirk from him the only response.

“I want you on top, sweet girl. I wanna see every part of this beautiful body as I fuck up into you,” flopping down on the bed, he grabbed at your hips, his strength easily rolling your body over.

Situating yourself on top of him, you gently began to grind yourself against his member, the juices from your core making him slide through your folds easily. You groaned as the tip of his cock pressed against your clit every time you moved your body, George’s hands falling to your hips as he helped your body move.

It didn’t take long before your entrance was sliding down on his cock, the stretch as blissful as always. Your nails scrapped down his chest, your body getting used to his size, your eyelids half closed as you looked down into his eyes.

The only thing you could see was pure adoration, and lust. A smirk notched itself on his cheeks, one hand moving to your back to pull your chest down, so it was touching his, his lips attaching to your own as he began to push his hips up into you.

You tried to meet every thrust, the feeling of his member sliding in and out of you as he pushed up into you causing you to moan into his mouth. He took advantage of your mouth being open, his tongue finding its way inside to press against yours.

A squeal dropped from your lips, pulling you away from the kiss when his large hand connected with the cheek of your ass, an inevitable handprint likely forming as he grinned up at you. He did it again, lightly rubbing against the spot he hit as he continued to fuck up into you.

You pressed your chest back against his, your lips finding their way to his neck as your bodies moved in sync. His hands were now gripping your hips as he used his lower-body strength to thrust up into you, the speed and roughness of it all prompting sounds of pleasure to fall from both of your lips.

With the angle, your clit was pressed directly against him, the stimulation of his hips moving causing you to cry out. You could feel the euphoria coming back, the feeling of him drilling his hips into yours, his member sliding in and out of your soaking core, the press of his pelvis against your clit, it was all becoming too much.

George’s hips started to stutter, a good indication that he was about to cum as well. He pressed up into you, hard, a loud groan falling from his lips as he pulsated inside of you, emptying himself in your core as you leaked out around his cock.

He was breathing heavy as his hips fell, one hand lightly running down your spine as you tried to catch your breath against his shoulder. You could barely process how you were feeling right now, the words he had spoken during it all coming back to you as you tried to wrap your head around everything he had said.

Pulling back to look down at him, he smiled up at you, his hand going to cup the side of your cheek prompting you to subconsciously lean into it. “Did you mean what you said?”

“Which part, darling?”

“All of it, all the things you said like… during all that.”

A smug grin spread across his face at your words, prompting you to roll your eyes at whatever remark was about to fall from your boyfriend’s lips.

“You mean all the things I said while I was trying to make you soak my face?”

Groaning at his words, you slapped his chest at the vulgarity of them, the feeling from before not clouding your judgement any longer.

“I meant everything I said, my love. You mean the world to me, I don’t care what strangers on social media have to say about you, or about who I should be dating or what ‘make’s sense’. You’re all I want, you and this cute tush,” patting your ass in conjunction with his words, you smiled softly at him.

A quick peck to his lips was your only response, the smile remaining on your face as you took in his words.

this was pretty much just me having no self control lol, i havent written smut in ages so i apologize if it's a little rough. i hope everyone enjoyed!!

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#george russell #george russell x reader #george russell smut #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 smut #george russell x you #formula 1 x reader #george russell imagine #formula 1 #smut #gr63 #george russell fluff #f1 imagine #f1 one shot #my writing

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zepskies · 3 months

Text

Every Second Counts - Part 4

Pairing: Russell Shaw x F. Reader

Summary: One date with your best friend’s brother leaves you wanting more, even though his questionable job and vagabond lifestyle make you want to guard your heart. When your brother falls into trouble, however, Russell is the one you trust to help you find him.

AN: No cliffhangers this time, I promise. 😘

Word Count: 4K

Tags/Warnings: Perilous situations, blood and violence, some more protective Russell, angst, hurt/comfort, and fluff.~

💜 Series Masterlist

Part 4: “Mountain Man”

You were running for your life.

Blood dripped down into your line of vision, but you swept it away from your face with a haphazard hand, along with your tears as you nearly stumbled on the path.

A gunshot rang in your ears and hit a tree instead of your head.

Shit! You screamed and ducked, but you kept running…

After you tumbled down the hill, it was a small mercy that you didn’t break any bones when you eventually landed at the bottom. You’d stared up at the sky, winded, your back aching. Until you noticed Rick, one of Eddie’s men. He was sliding down the hill after you.

You didn’t know what happened to your brother after he attempted to push you out of harm’s way. That thought alone gripped your heart like a vice, but you knew you couldn’t stay here on the ground either.

You forced your body to move, whimpering at the pain and stiffness. Shakily you pushed onto your feet and slipped on dead leaves as you went. You moved your legs faster, until you were able to take off running deeper into the forest.

You gasped when your foot caught on a large rock. It sent you crashing into the ground. With your hands still bound, it made pushing yourself back up that much more difficult.

You spat out a couple of leaves. Fuck…

When Rick caught up to you, fear made you jolt into action. You wrapped your gathered hands around the rock that felled you and tossed it at him with all the strength you had. He blocked the projectile with the same hand that held his gun, like an idiot. You really couldn’t be blamed when the gun went off in his face.

He screamed, and so did you on reflex. Though his cheek and brow had been grazed by the bullet, he was lucky he still had both eyes. He blinked a bit of blood out of his left one. You scrambled back onto your feet and meant to keep running, but Rick still managed to surge forward and get a hold of your hair.

Uttering a short scream, you grabbed his shirt and kneed him as hard as you could between the legs. You hoped you crushed his dick and balls.

“Oh, f—” He went down to the ground, sinking onto his knees as he dropped his gun. He glared up at you. “You little bitch!”

You were panting for breath, but you didn’t wait for him to recover and grab his weapon again.

You ran.

You ran, even though you had no idea where you were going. You just knew that you couldn’t stay in one place. But if you couldn’t find your way around a college campus, how the hell were you supposed to navigate the damn Medicine Bow National Forest?

Along with your desperation and fear, tears kept filling your eyes whenever you thought of Charlie.

Please, please, please…

“Goddamn, they could be anywhere,” Russell groused, as he and Colter hiked through the forest. He was, admittedly, breathing a bit harder from the trek uphill. “It’s been hours already.”

“It’s barely been an hour,” Colter reminded him. And he didn’t look winded in the least.

Bastard. Russell glanced at him, but then he focused on the horizon. The sun was finally starting to come up, which was good for them. They could see the trails more clearly.

“Remember when Dad used to make us free-climb the cliffs in Sierra?” Russell asked.

“Yeah,” Colter said. “You used to beat me every time. Wonder what happened to that guy.”

His tone was teasing. Russell shot him a look, half annoyed, and half amused.

“Yeah, well, he turned 40,” Russell replied.

Colter smiled, but both of them paused when they heard a gunshot ring out, followed by two more.

“That was close,” he said.

“Yeah,” Russell agreed, drawing his own gun. Colter did the same, and they hurried up a roaming hill that had Russell briefly peering over the side. In his mind’s eye, he had to shutter away the memory of seeing a body flung over the side in the dark and the rain. Then him looking over the edge of that cliff and recognizing his father’s twisted body.

And Colter, shouting up at him with angry, tearful, accusing eyes.

A male groan broke Russell out of his thoughts as he and his brother came up on a grim scene. Two men laid dead, and another young man with dark hair was lying prone on the ground, clutching his wounded leg. He’d been shot, though a gun also was held tightly in his own hand. He aimed it at the newcomers.

“Charlie?” Colter asked. He recognized the other man from your family photos.

Charlie blinked up at him in surprise, but not without a grim set to his jaw.

“Who the hell are you?” he asked.

Russell let out a subtle breath. Colter was relieved as well.

“I’m Colter. This is my brother, Russell,” he said. “Your sister asked for our help to find you.”

Charlie’s eyes widened. All of them slowly lowered their weapons. Russell gestured at the bodies lying yards away from him.

“I’m guessing one of those guys is Eddie Mendez?” he said.

Charlie nodded, gesturing at the man closest to him with his gun. He groaned at the agony in his right thigh. Colter quickly went to his side and began to wrap a tourniquet around his leg to stem the bleeding.

“Did the bullet go through?” Colter asked.

“I think so,” Charlie replied.

“Where’s your sister?” Russell asked, his impatience evident in his stance and the way he held his gun while scanning his surroundings. His frown deepened when he didn’t see you.

“Oh, fuck!” Charlie said, and not at the pain of Colter wrapping his leg. His eyes were wide with panic. “Rick’s after her. I clipped him, but he slipped by me.”

“Where?” Russell asked. Charlie pointed down the side of the hill.

“Down there. Headed north I think, but I’m not sure,” he said quickly. “Help her, please!”

Russell didn’t need any encouragement. He started down the hill first.

After making sure Charlie was stable for now, Colter followed after his brother a few minutes later.

Russell called your name as he searched through the dense trees. Sunlight was beginning to filter through their leaves in dappled color on the trail. It gave him a better view ahead.

He stopped short when he saw a splatter of blood on the ground, painting the dirt and some dead leaves. A well of unease rose in his gut.

He headed toward the sound of running water, and he soon found another cliff. Just beyond it was a waterfall, and river below. Seeing no signs of life, he pulled back and continued to call your name, and all the while, pushing down his worry.

“Russell?!”

He turned sharply to see you coming out of your hiding place—a large fallen tree. A smile started to raise his lips, but no sooner had he taken one step in your direction, when he almost got a bullet in his head for his trouble.

“Watch out!” you yelled. Rick came out into the clearing and aimed at you next.

“Get down!” Russell shouted.

Without blinking, he shot Rick three times: once in the shoulder, twice in the chest.

The man went down. He was dead before he even met the ground.

It was then that Colter finally caught up. Russell nodded at him, but his focus was on heading for the fallen tree after he stowed his gun.

The moment he took a step over it, you popped up with a yell, ready to smack him with a tree branch. He leaned back raised up his hands in defense.

“Whoa, hey, it’s okay! It’s just me, slugger,” he said with a grin.

You let out a sharp sigh of relief. The branch fell from your loose fingers. As you caught your breath, your mouth trembled, and your eyes filled with tears at the sight of him.

Russell softened. He reached for you.

“Come ‘ere,” he said. Your hands slipped into his, and he helped you over the trunk of the tree. After using his handy pocketknife to cut through the zip ties binding your wrists together, you landed right into his waiting embrace. There, you spilled hot tears into his bulletproof vest.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ve gotcha,” he said. His voice was low and soothing. “You’re okay.”

You raised your head with a desperate question in your eyes.

“Charlie?” you asked.

“Charlie’s okay too,” Russell assured. His hand soothed over your tangled hair and down your back. He could feel you trembling as you rested against him and sobbed. He held you tight, safe, as he rocked you a little from side to side. His own relief was a weight off his chest.

Colter stood by and watched with a secret smile.

With his bare hands clawing into damp soil, Colter dug up the crate Charlie buried near the base of the waterfall. True to his word, it was filled with precious artifacts.

“Just, please be careful,” you warned him again over his shoulder. “These are quite literally hundreds of years old.”

Before Colter could assure you, again, that he’d be careful, you actually set a hand on his shoulder and implored him to move back.

“Matter of fact, sorry, let me do this part,” you said. “I’m the only one who’s really trained to handle these. Plus, your hands are dirty.”

Colter raised a brow, but he obliged you. He glanced over at his brother. Russell just watched in amusement while you opened the crate.

You wished you had gloves on for this, but you supposed it couldn’t be helped. You stopped just shy of touching them—a bow and arrow, three spears, and a couple of knives. Each were crafted with wood and bone, with designs carved and accented in faded red and blue.

“Wow,” you whispered. Your historian heart was singing right now.

You made sure each artifact was intact and hadn’t sustained water damage, then you covered them back up with the lid to the crate.

“Okay, now you can take it, thank you. This thing is heavy,” you said, with a pat on Colter’s shoulder.

His lips played at a smile, but he accepted the responsibility of carrying the crate.

Russell rested a hand on the small of your back to subtly help you back up the hill. You couldn’t help walking closer with him, your arm brushing against his side. You glanced up at him with a smile. He matched you, then looked up ahead.

Charlie was waiting for you all while leaning against a tree. He still looked like utter hell—cut up, bruised, bloody, and now shot in the leg. You went to his side and gently grabbed his arm.

“God, Charlie. You sure you’re okay?” you asked. He curled an arm around your shoulders and flashed you a familiar grin.

“Oh, yeah. I’m like a cockroach. Just keep coming back,” he said.

You had to agree with that, laughing through the spark of your tears. Russell came on his other side and shouldered most of your brother's weight off his bad leg.

“Okay, here we go. One step at a time,” Russell said.

Slowly, painfully, Charlie managed to make it back to Colter’s truck with you and Russell supporting him. Colter brought up the rear with the artifacts in tow.

And behind you all, the sun broke more fully across the dewy trees in a morning swathed with orange and gold.

After Colter drove you and Charlie to the hospital, he and Russell took off again soon after to do something with the three bodies hidden under a tarp in the bed of the pickup truck. The thought made you shudder, along with the fact that the Shaw brothers knew how to hide bodies.

But you supposed it was better than the alternative.

As it was, you, Colter, and Charlie had to lie to the hospital staff about how you both had earned your injuries—in a brutal mugging, where Colter was able to scare off the men that got the jump on you and Charlie.

"I never saw their faces," as he'd later told the police, while the nurses prepped him for surgery. "I just tried to protect my sister the best I could."

You backed him up on the story, even as the lie felt bitter on your tongue and made you nervous (especially when you thought of poor Dr. Feinman).

Despite that little break-in at the museum yesterday, you'd never been good at being a rule breaker. Fortunately, Colter's calmness when he gave his corroborating statement helped you. Like Russell, he was a solid, anchoring presence...if in a different way.

For the crate of relics, Colter advised Charlie to ship them back to the museum anonymously. It would be the easiest way to encourage the police to lose steam on looking for who took them in the first place. You and your brother begrudgingly agreed, even if you had a secret thought of sending the artifacts to the NMAI. Maybe you could convince Charlie to send them there instead, or to one of the local Native American tribes here in Wyoming.

Hours later, however, you were able to finally be with your brother when he came out of surgery. In that time, your own bruises and the cut above your brow had been tended to in the Emergency Department. Now, you sat by his bedside while he slept off the anesthesia. You stroked his scuffed hand on the bed.

He really was a mess, you thought, as a tear rolled down your cheek. But he was alive. That was what mattered now.

A quiet knock at the door had you looking up, and then smiling to see Russell.

“Hey,” you said quietly, and in surprise. “Everything…went well?”

Russell’s lips quirked. “Yeah, we’re all set.”

No one would be finding those bodies anytime soon. He had a buddy in Denver, Colorado who happened to be a cremator. It was only a couple hours over from Laramie. He and Colter had just gotten back from driving the bodies there.

Before Colter drove over to Dory's apartment next, both to check on her and to fill her in on everything, he'd dropped Russell off at your house so he could get his car. He hadn’t felt right about leaving you in the hospital by yourself, even if you did have your brother.

Not without saying goodbye, at least.

“You know, I need to ask his doctor a question about his post-op care,” you said, gesturing at Charlie. “Can you stay with him for a minute while I go find a nurse?”

“Sure,” Russell agreed. You smiled gratefully and touched his arm as you passed him.

When you were gone, it left a heavy silence in your wake. Russell looked over at Charlie’s sleeping form. Russell sighed and sunk down into the chair beside the bed. He rubbed his tired face with both hands.

Shit. Now that he thought about it, he could’ve just told Colter to bring Dory here. He pulled out his phone to call his sister, when a low groan caught his attention.

Aw geez. What kinda timing, Russell thought, as he realized Charlie was waking up. His eyes slowly slid open, brows furrowing at the bright lights above him, then at the man beside him.

“Hey, man,” Russell said. “You’re okay. You’re in the hospital.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Charlie said, with another groan as he tried to stretch his body. He found he couldn’t yet move his leg. As awareness blinked back into his eyes, he settled on Russell with resignation.

“Thank you,” he said. “What you did for me, for her…I sure as hell didn’t deserve it, but thank you for saving her.”

Russell shook his head. “No need. Just get better.”

“Yeah. The doc says in a few months, I’ll be able to learn how to walk again,” Charlie said.

Russell gave him a firmer look.

“No, I mean get better,” he said. “You know you nearly got your sister killed.”

Charlie’s gaze fell. His face tightened, but really, he couldn’t even be upset at the accusation. He knew it was true, and his guilt already threatened to consume him. He also knew he should be in jail for what he’d done, and what he’d facilitated for months. After what nearly happened in the past twenty-four hours, he wasn’t sure how you could ever forgive him.

“Look, I served too. I know what you’re going through, being back here,” Russell said. “It feels wrong and right, don’t it?”

After a beat, Charlie nodded. “What branch?”

“Special Ops. I hear you were a pilot, Captain.”

“Yeah, I was,” Charlie said, his eyes lowering. “Now…now I don’t know what I am.”

“You’re her brother,” Russell said. Both his tone and his gaze all but demanded that the other man look him in the eyes. “Not her father or her son, her brother. I know you’ve been struggling. But I think you already know what you need to do, and figure out who you’re gonna be today, tomorrow, and the next.”

Charlie took in those words, and tried not to chafe at them coming from a near stranger. He knew, deep down, that all of it was right.

You came in a moment later with two cups of coffee. You brightened with a gasp when you saw that Charlie was awake.

“Hey.” He found a smile for you. You gave Russell the coffee you’d brought for him, but you quickly set yours down on the rolling tray so you could sit beside your brother.

Russell stepped out to give you two some privacy. You thanked him again and watched him go. Then, you turned back to Charlie with a tearful smile.

“How’re you feeling?” you asked.

“Have I said how much I love morphine?” Charlie remarked.

You rolled your eyes and took his hand in yours. “Yeah, how can I forget your thing for hard drugs.”

That hit sharper than a mere joke. His eyes fell away from yours. You sighed and bit your lip.

“I’m sorry,” you said. Charlie shook his head and covered your hand with his.

“No, I’m sorry. For everything I’ve put you through. And I don’t just mean today,” he said. “I’m going to make it up to you.”

“All that matters is that you’re here, and you’re going to be fine,” you said. “I’ve already put together a list of what you’re going to need when we bring you home—”

Charlie stopped you with a squeeze of your hand.

“I’m not going home just yet,” he said.

“Well, no, not until they discharge you, but—”

Again, he gently cut you off. “You were right. I need treatment, and not just for this damn leg.”

He swept a hand through his hair and sighed.

“When they let me out of here, I’m going back to rehab,” he said. “After that, we’ll see.”

Tears stung in your eyes…but you nodded in relief. You held both of his hands then.

“You’re not doing this alone,” you told him. “I’ll be with you, every step.”

Charlie let out a self-deprecating chuckle. He felt he didn’t deserve that, but he smiled at you.

“I know. You’ll be nagging me in my head, even when you’re not there,” he said. You smirked and brushed his greasy hair away from his face.

“Damn straight,” you replied. “I’ve finally become Mom.”

Charlie shook his head in amusement, but he leveled you with a pointed finger.

“But for now, you need to go home and get some rest,” he said.

You reluctantly agreed with that too. After a full twenty-four hours without sleep, you realized that you were exhausted. You leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“I love you,” you said. “I’ll come back to see you tomorrow.”

“Good. Love you too,” said Charlie. His eyelids were starting to droop from the pain medication, but he forced himself to stay awake for a little while longer. He even helped you back onto your feet with a guiding hand on your back. “Wait, is someone staying with you tonight? I don’t want you to be alone.”

You grabbed up your purse. “Don’t worry. I think I’ve got that covered.”

Your brother quirked a suspicious smile at the look on your face. The one you tried to hide from him when you noticed his scrutiny.

“What, is it one of those guys who helped us?” he asked. “Is it the blonde one—Ken doll? Or the mountain man?”

Of course he knew their names, but he just wanted to mess with you. He could already see you getting flustered while you twisted the strap of your purse between your fingers and glanced at the door.

“What? No! Just go to sleep. Take advantage of the morphine while you’ve got it,” you said. “Don’t worry. I’ll call Dory.”

Charlie leveled you with a look. “Mhmm.”

He pulled the blanket higher on his chest and watched you leave. When the door swung open, he saw Russell leaning against the wall, waiting for you.

Charlie huffed. He should’ve known.

Okay, mountain man.

That was the last thought he had before he drifted off.

You left your brother’s room just about overwhelmed with a maelstrom of emotions. However, the moment you saw Russell waiting for you, leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, it all distilled into one simple thing.

He met your gaze and started to smile.

You smiled back, and you went to him.

You reached up to frame his face with both hands, and you searched for something in his eyes. They were tinged with surprise, but he waited on you, wondering what you were about to do.

When you thought you found what you were looking for, you raised up on your toes and pressed your lips to his.

His hands unconsciously found your waist and held you to him. He met your lips in kind, and even deepened the connection. Your fingers slipped into his hair, lightly dragging your nails against his scalp. He hummed in pleasure.

When your lips eventually parted from his, it was still too soon, he thought. Russell stared down at you with a question in his eyes—one he couldn’t help voicing.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “Thank you for everything.”

Ah… Russell’s smile evened out and faded slightly.

So that was just a gesture of gratitude. He hoped you didn’t decide to thank Colter that way.

“You don’t need to thank me,” Russell said. “I’m glad Charlie’s all right.”

“No, I do need to. So thank you,” you said. Your hands drifted down his chest, plucking at the edge of his jacket.

“I don’t really want to be alone today, to be honest,” you admitted. “Would you…want to…keep me company for a while? You could rest up at my place.”

Russell’s brows raised. His lips curved.

“Well, sure. I could do that. Your couch seemed pretty comfortable,” he said.

“You don’t have to stay on the couch,” you replied.

And then, Russell finally read your meaning. He saw it in your eyes, staring up at him through your lashes.

Maybe that kiss was exactly what he thought it meant. His smile became more genuine.

“Well, okay,” he said eventually. He wrapped an arm around your waist. “Let’s get you home then.”

You leaned against his side and gave him a lazy salute. “Aye, aye, Captain.”

He shook his head. His smile deepened into a grin.

“You’re a little delirious, aren’t you?” he asked.

“Probably need some water,” you said with a giggle. “And God, I’m starving.”

Russell laid a gentle kiss to the side of your head that wasn’t bruised.

“All right, we’ll take care of that too,” he said.

“You know what I’m craving?” you asked. He looked down at you questioningly, and again he found your smile.

“Sriracha fries,” you said.

Russell busted out laughing at that. He fist-pumped the air with his free hand.

“Hell, yeah.”

For that, and much more, he would count today as a win.

AN: There we go! A nice fluffy finish for you. How did you like how Charlie's arc wrapped up, along with her reunion with Russell? 💜

But just wait. We're not quite done yet...

Next Time:

He took in your hesitant face, then the pretty dress you had on. The color matched your eyes. Soulful eyes.

He smiled when you let him see them again.

“Can you see the bruises? I think I covered them up well enough,” you said. You turned to look at yourself in the mirror again, touching your jaw carefully.

Russell’s hand raised to find your cheek, earning your attention with wider eyes. His thumb swept across your skin as you started to blush.

“You’re beautiful,” he said with a smile. “Don’t you worry about that.”

Your face warmed further, despite your smile.

“Yeah, the makeup helps,” you quipped.

“I didn’t say anything about makeup,” he replied. Though he grinned and made a show of looking closer at your face. “Although, have your lashes always been that damn long?”

You laughed, but he didn’t let go of you.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 5 (Finale!)

Series Masterlist

Ko-Fi Me ☕

Russell Shaw Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Russell S. Tag List:

@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007

@wincastifer @ades106 @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373

@brianochka @branj19 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @globetrotter28 @charmed-asylum

@waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady

@leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy

@kmc1989 @jackles010378 @emily-winchester @waynes-multiverse @jessjad

@my-stories-vault @deans-spinster-witch @syrma-sensei @stellasfictionalworld @ultimatecin73

@jesllianaquilesrolonsworld @pieandmonsters @lhymer1995 @taehyungxjungkookistaekook @lovelystoriesaj

@nicksalchemy1 @spnwoman @onlyangel-444 @sexyvixen7 @illicithallways

@wolkenprinzessin007 @alwaystiredandconfused @carpenterswife @cheynovak @grilledcheeseandtomato

#Mountain Man #Every Second Counts #Part 4 #russell shaw #tracker #russell shaw x reader #russell shaw x female reader #russell shaw x you #russell shaw fanfiction #russell shaw fanfic #dory shaw #colter shaw #jensen ackles #jensen ackles characters #tracker fanfiction #tracker cbs #russell shaw series #tracker series #zepskies writes

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cool-fancier · 3 months

Text

Stormy Hearts

Synopsis: Amidst a stormy night, a chance encounter with a lost dog sparks a heartwarming tale of rescue, reunion, and unexpected love between two compassionate souls.

Word count:2.4K

This was requested by anonymous so I hope I did good

Let me know if you guys have any requests for the girls :)

The air was thick with humidity, a sure sign that the brewing storm would soon unleash its fury. You glanced out the window of the animal shelter, watching the dark clouds roll in. It had been a long day of caring for injured and abandoned animals, but the satisfaction of seeing them nursed back to health made every effort worthwhile.

"Alright, everyone," you called to the small team of volunteers. "Let's make sure all the animals are settled for the night. It looks like we’re in for a rough storm."

As the last of the animals were secured and the shelter doors locked, you grabbed your coat and braced yourself for the downpour. The drive home was going to be treacherous, with the streets already slick from the intermittent rain that had begun to fall. You navigated your car carefully through the winding roads, the windshield wipers working overtime.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a small figure darted across the road. Your heart leapt into your throat as you slammed on the brakes, the car skidding slightly before coming to a stop. You peered through the rain-splattered windshield and saw a drenched dog standing in the middle of the road, shivering and looking terrified.

"Oh my God," you muttered, quickly turning on your hazard lights and stepping out of the car. You approached the dog slowly, your voice gentle. "Hey there, buddy. It’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you."

The dog, a small Jack Russell Terrier by the looks of it, seemed hesitant but didn’t run. After a few tense moments, you managed to coax the dog into your arms and carried him back to the car. You wrapped him in a blanket you kept in the back seat, feeling the poor thing tremble against you.

"Looks like you’re coming home with me tonight," you said softly, hoping your voice was as reassuring as you intended it to be.

Back at her cozy apartment, you dried the dog off and examined him more closely. He didn’t seem injured, just scared and exhausted. You set him up with a warm bed and some food, watching as he slowly began to relax in the unfamiliar surroundings.

“You’re safe now,” you whispered, gently petting the dog’s head. “We’ll figure this out.”

— — — — — — —

Rosé stepped off the plane, her legs weary from the long flight. She had spent the past three weeks in the Amazon rainforest, capturing breathtaking images of wildlife for her latest project. While the experience had been exhilarating, she couldn’t wait to get home to her beloved dog, Hank. The thought of his excited barks and wagging tail always made her smile.

As she drove through the familiar streets of her neighborhood, a sense of unease began to creep in. Something felt off. When she finally pulled into her driveway and opened the front door, the silence that greeted her was deafening.

“Hank?” she called out, her voice echoing through the empty house. There was no response. Panic surged through her as she checked every room, but Hank was nowhere to be found. His bed was empty, his toys untouched.

Frantically, she rushed outside, calling his name as she searched the yard and the surrounding streets. Her neighbors hadn’t seen him either, and with each passing moment, her fear grew. She returned home and grabbed her phone, dialing the number of the local animal shelters and veterinary clinics.

“Hi, this is Roseanne Park. I’m looking for my dog, Hank. He’s a Jack Russell Terrier, and he’s been missing since...I don’t know exactly when. I’ve been away on assignment. Have you seen him?”

Each call brought the same disheartening response: no one had seen Hank. Rosé felt a lump form in her throat as she sat down, tears welling in her eyes. She couldn’t lose him. Hank was more than just a pet; he was her family, her constant companion.

Determined not to give up, she printed out flyers with Hank’s picture and started posting them around the neighborhood. She shared his photo on social media, hoping that someone, anyone, might have seen him. The days passed in a blur of worry and exhaustion, each one harder than the last without her furry friend by her side.

— — — — — — —

Meanwhile, back at your apartment, the little dog was beginning to come out of his shell. You had taken him to the vet to check for a microchip, but there was none. You posted pictures and descriptions of him on various lost-and-found pet websites, hoping his owner would come forward.

Days turned into a week, and still, there was no word. The dog, whom you had started calling Max, seemed to be adjusting well. He followed her around the apartment, his once wary eyes now filled with trust and affection. Each evening, they’d curl up on the couch together, a comforting routine that had quickly become the highlight of your day.

“You’re such a good boy, Max,” you said one night, scratching behind his ears. “I can’t believe no one’s come looking for you. But don’t worry, we’ll keep trying.”

As you sat there, watching Max drift off to sleep, you couldn’t help but think about the owner who must be missing him terribly. You knew what it was like to love an animal deeply, and the thought of someone out there worrying about Max broke your heart.

— — — — — — —

One afternoon, as Rosé was putting up yet another flyer, her phone buzzed with a notification. She opened it to see a post from a local lost-and-found pets group. The description matched Hank’s perfectly: a Jack Russell Terrier found on a stormy night, currently being cared for by a veterinarian.

Rosé’s heart raced as she dialed the number listed in the post. After a few rings, a warm voice answered.

“Hello, this is Y/n.”

“Hi, my name is Rosé. I think you might have my dog. He’s a Jack Russell Terrier, and he went missing while I was away. I saw your post and...I think it’s him.”

There was a moment of silence on the other end before you replied, your voice tinged with relief. “Oh, thank goodness. I’ve been hoping someone would come forward. He’s been with me for a week now, and he’s such a sweet dog. Can you meet me at the park near the shelter? I’ll bring him with me.”

Rosé agreed, her hands trembling with a mix of hope and anxiety. She couldn’t wait to see Hank again, to hold him and know he was safe. She grabbed her keys and headed out the door, her mind racing with thoughts of their reunion.

— — — — — — —

The park was a serene oasis amidst the bustling city, its lush greenery and peaceful atmosphere a stark contrast to the turmoil Rosé felt inside. She scanned the area, her eyes finally landing on a woman standing near a bench, holding a small dog in her arms.

“Hank!” Rosé called out, her voice breaking with emotion.

The dog’s head snapped up, and he wriggled out of your arms, racing towards Rosé with all the speed his little legs could muster. Rosé dropped to her knees, scooping him up and holding him close as tears streamed down her face.

“Oh, Hank, I missed you so much,” she whispered, burying her face in his fur. “I was so scared I’d lost you forever.”

You watched the reunion with a smile, your heart swelling with happiness. You approached slowly, not wanting to intrude on the moment.

“Hi,” you said softly. “I’m Y/n. I’m so glad we found you.”

Rosé looked up, her eyes red but filled with gratitude. “Thank you so much. I can’t believe he’s really here.”

You smiled, feeling a warm connection with Rosé. “He’s been a joy to have around. I’m just glad he’s back where he belongs.”

They spent the next few moments exchanging details about Hank’s adventures, with Rosé expressing her heartfelt thanks over and over again. As the conversation flowed, you felt an unexpected but welcome bond forming with Rosé.

“Would you like to grab a coffee or something?” You suggested, hoping to extend both of your time together.

Rosé hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “I’d like that. There’s a café nearby that’s pet-friendly. We can take Hank.”

— — — — — — —

Over coffee, you and Rosé began to learn more about each other. You shared stories from the animal shelter, tales of the animals you helped, and the challenges they faced. Rosé listened intently, her eyes lighting up with interest and empathy.

“You really love what you do,” Rosé said, admiration clear in her voice.

You nodded. “I do. It’s not always easy, but it’s incredibly rewarding.”

Rosé then spoke about her photography, her travels, and the wild places she had visited. She described the thrill of capturing a perfect moment in nature and the peace she found in the wilderness.

“I think that’s why Hank and I get along so well,” Rosé said, smiling as she looked at her dog. “We’re both explorers at heart.”

You chuckled. “I can see that. He’s quite the adventurer.”

As you both talked, the initial awkwardness faded, replaced by a comfortable and easy rapport. You both discovered common interests and shared values, from your love of animals to the desire to make a positive impact on the world.

The chemistry between you both was undeniable, but both you and Rosé were cautious. You both had each been hurt in the past and were wary of rushing into anything. But as the days turned into weeks, the friendship deepened, and began spending more time together.

— — — — — — —

Navigating the challenges of Rosé reclaiming Hank wasn’t without its difficulties. Hank had grown attached to you, and there were moments when he seemed torn between the two women.

One evening, as you all sat together in Rosé’s living room, Hank lay contentedly between you both . Rosé looked at you, her eyes softening.

“You know, I’ve never seen him this happy before,” Rosé admitted. “He’s always been a bit anxious, but with you, he seems so calm.”

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. “I think he’s just happy to have so much love around him.”

Rosé reached out, taking your hand. “I’m really glad we met, Y/n. You’ve brought something special into our lives.”

You squeezed Rosé’s hand gently. “I feel the same way. You and Hank...you’ve both brought something special into mine too.”

You sat in comfortable silence for a moment, the connection between you two growing stronger. But with that connection came the inevitable question of what your relationship would become.

As you guys continued to spend time together, you and Rosé began to explore your feelings more openly. There were shared glances, lingering touches, and moments of unspoken understanding that hinted at something deeper.

One day, while walking Hank in the park, Rosé turned to you with a thoughtful expression. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about us.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Oh? What about us?”

Rosé took a deep breath, her eyes locking onto yours. “I care about you, Y/n. More than just as a friend. I don’t want to rush things, but I think...I think there’s something really special here. And I want to see where it could go.”

You felt a surge of emotion. “I care about you too, Rosie. I’ve been feeling the same way, but I wasn’t sure if you did.”

Rosé smiled, her relief evident. “I guess we’ve both been a little cautious, huh?”

You nodded. “Yeah, but maybe it’s time to stop being so cautious.”

The conversation marked a turning point in this relationship. You and Rosé began to explore the feelings more openly, allowing the connection to deepen naturally. You both went on more dates, spent weekends together, and shared your lives in a way that felt genuine and unforced.

— — — — — — —

One evening, as you both sat on Rosé’s balcony watching the sunset, you turned to Rosé, your heart pounding with anticipation. “Rosie, there’s something I’ve been wanting to do for a while now.”

Rosé looked at you, curiosity and affection in her eyes. “What is it?”

You leaned in slowly, giving Rosé time to react. When Rosé didn’t pull away, you closed the distance between you two , your lips brushing against Rosé’s in a tentative, tender kiss.

Rosé responded immediately, her hand coming up to cup your cheek as she deepened the kiss. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you and the warmth of your embrace. The kiss grew more passionate, your connection undeniable as you both poured feelings into that single, electrifying moment.

When you finally pulled apart, both were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other. You smiled, your heart feeling lighter than it had in a long time.

“I’ve been wanting to do that for so long,” you admitted.

Rosé laughed softly, her eyes sparkling with joy. “Me too. It was worth the wait.”

You both spent the rest of the evening wrapped in each other’s arms, sharing whispered confessions and dreams for the future. As the stars began to twinkle above, you and Rosé knew that this was the beginning of something beautiful.

Your relationship continued to grow, filled with love, laughter, and the occasional challenge. But through it all, You and Rosé faced everything together, the bond strengthening with each passing day.

As you both stood on the balcony one evening, watching another sunset, you turned to Rosé, your eyes filled with love and determination.

“You know, Rosie, I never imagined finding someone who understands me the way you do. I’m so grateful for every moment we’ve shared.”

Rosé smiled, her heart swelling with happiness. “I feel the same way, Y/n. You’ve brought so much joy into my life. I can’t wait to see what the future holds for us.”

You leaned in, capturing Rosé’s lips in a kiss that was both tender and passionate, a promise of all the adventures yet to come. And as you held each other close, you both knew that this love story was just beginning, a journey filled with endless possibilities and a love that would endure through any storm.

#blackpink x reader #blackpink #blackpink x fem #blackpink x you #blackpink imagines #blackpink scenarios #rosé blackpink #rosé x reader #rosé fluff #park chaeyoungxfem #park chaeyoung #blackpink fluff

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dragonsyot · 2 months

Text

#surge #my art #Alex Knight #Russel Greene #Julie Scott #Sam Serpico #Russel Surge #Alex Surge #Julie Surge #Sam Surge

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zolovana · 10 months

Note

Also a silly request of Team Bolas barking around like feral dogs lmao.

Or that cool moment where Phil is being chased by ElQuackity during the egg event, and Phil turns around and folds his wings at the top of the hill to show the whole Bolas team surging past him towards ElQuackity.

I wanted to draw them just running around Phil barking, but my thoughts went elsewhere

Phil - Golden retriever Foolish - Labrador retriever Baghera - Spaniel (I don't know which one) Callbit - Border collie Carre - Bull terrier Slime - Jack russell terrier Jaiden - Siberian husky Roier - Belgian shepherd malinois Etoiles - Wolf lol Ironmouse - Japanese spitz Maxo - Pug

bonus Bolas on their way to kick ElQuackity's ass

#qsmp #qsmp purgatory #philza #q!foolish #q!philza #q!jaiden #q!baghera #q!cellbit #q!carre #q!roier #q!etoiles #q!charlie #q!ironmouse #q!maximus #blood #my art #goddamn tags #ask

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cheynovak · 2 months

Text

The plan - part 2

Russell Shaw x F/Reader Y/N

Warnings: Age difference not too explicit, angst, fights, gunshots, hurt, slight romantic/sexual tension.

*Does not follow Tracker’s storyline *

-- --

Russell is ready to start his ‘retirement plan’ like he used to call it. He saw an old brewery on one of his jobs and went back to speak to the owner, an old man named Frank.

Frank also owns a bar close to the brewery, his granddaughter Y/N works there as a bartender. Russell liked her immediately, realising he had to overcome two impossible tasks. One, to try and win Frank over to buy the brewery, two win Y/N over to go on a date with him.

Russell pulled out his phone. "I might know a guy who can help us." He said with his phone to his ear. He turned away from Frank.

"Colter?... I need your help."

I’m on my way,” Colter replied without hesitation.

True to his word, Colter arrived quickly, his presence easing some of that stress Russell felt. He approached Frank and Russell, his eyes sharp and focused. “Tell me everything,” he said, wasting no time.

Russell and Frank recounted the events, and Colter listened intently, his mind working through the details. “Could she have gone to her parents' house, or a boyfriend?” Colter asked.

Russell looked back and forward between Colter and Frank. Boyfriend, maybe she does have a boyfriend? He thought. Frank shook his head, a sorrowful look in his eyes. “Her parents died in a carcrash when she was little. I’ve taken care of her ever since. No boy in her life, as far as I know.”

Colter nodded, his expression thoughtful. “Did she have any enemies, anyone who might want to hurt her?” Frank hesitated, then sighed deeply. “No, but I had debts. I borrowed money to keep the brewery running. Some of those people... they aren’t the type you want to cross.”

Colter’s eyes narrowed. “Who did you borrow from?”Frank swallowed hard. “A man named Vincent Carter. He’s known for getting what he’s owed, no matter the cost.”

Russell felt a surge of anger and fear. “Do you think he took her?” He asked his brother.

“It’s possible,” Colter said. “We need to find out more about this Vincent Carter.” Russell nodded, determination hardening his features. “Let’s go.”

They drove through the town, following the leads Frank had given them until they found themselves at a seedy-looking bar on the outskirts. Inside, the atmosphere was tense, filled with rough-looking men who eyed the brothers suspiciously.

Russell approached the bar, addressing the bartender. “We’re looking for Vincent Carter.”

The bartender’s eyes flickered with recognition, but he said nothing. Colter leaned in, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous tone.

“We’re not here to cause trouble. We just want to talk.” The bartender's silence was infuriating, and as Colter and Russell left the bar, they were no closer to finding Y/N.

Frustration gnawed at Russell, but just as they stepped into the dim light outside, a man emerged from the shadows.

“Wait,” the man called out, glancing nervously around. “I heard you asking about Vincent Carter. I might know where he is.” Russell’s eyes narrowed. “Why are you helping us?”

The man shifted uncomfortably. “Let’s just say I’m not a fan of Carter, he took my niece a few weeks ago, rumours have it he takes young women and sells them, to pay of your debt... I'm working here for my debt hoping he let's her go. He’s got a warehouse on the edge of town. He might be there.”

Colter stepped forward, his voice low and commanding. “What’s the address?” The man quickly scribbled it down and handed it over. “Be careful. He’s dangerous.”

Russell and Colter wasted no time. They geared up, donning their tactical vests and holstering their weapons, ready for whatever awaited them.

The drive to the warehouse was tense, both men silently focused. "So, what's the deal with this Y/N?" Colter asked his older brother. "What do you mean?" He answered looking out the window.

"I mean... You really seemed shocked when I asked about a boyfriend." Russell didn't answer immediatly. "I met her a few weeks back, she is nice."

"And her grandfather owns a brewery." Colter added. "That too." He said. Colter's face changed with a knowing smile. But didn't push any further.

As they approached the location, they parked a distance away and made their way on foot, moving with practiced stealth. The warehouse loomed before them, its darkened windows giving nothing away.

They carefully made their way inside, scanning the large, dimly lit space. Russell’s heart leaped into his throat, but as they drew closer, he realized neither of them was Y/N.

Colter signaled for him to cover, and together they approached the women. Russell knelt down, gently untying their restraints. “Are you okay? Where’s Y/N?” he asked urgently.

One of the women, her eyes wide with fear, shook her head. “We don’t know. They took her somewhere else. We heard them say something about moving her to another location.”

Russell’s frustration grew, but he kept his voice calm. “Do you know where?” The second woman, her voice trembling, said, “We heard them mention an old factory. It’s not far from here.”

Colter and Russell exchanged a look. It was another lead, and it was better than nothing. They escorted the women outside, ensuring they were safe before heading back to their car.

Colter already called for the cops, leading the two women out of the building towards the main road before continuing their search.

As they drove to the factory, Russell’s thoughts raced. Y/N was still out there, and they were running out of time. The factory came into view, an imposing structure that had long since fallen into disuse.

They approached cautiously, their movements silent and deliberate. The factory was eerily quiet, but they pressed on, sweeping each room methodically.

It wasn’t long before they found another room with Y/N in it, tied to a chair and looking bruised but defiant. Relief washed over Russell, but there was no time to waste. Her eyes filled with joy.

As Russell rushed to untie Y/N, the door behind them burst open. Vincent Carter strode in, flanked by armed men, guns blazing. Bullets ricocheted off the walls as Colter and Russell took cover, returning fire with precision.

“Russell!” Y/N called out over the din. He glanced back at her, his eyes fierce with determination. He reached into his vest and pulled out a spare gun, handing it to her.

“Do you know how to handle one of these?” he asked urgently. Y/N’s faint smile was almost nostalgic. “You think my granddad didn’t teach me how to use one?” She said while turning the safety off.

She took the gun confidently, her eyes flashing with a resolve that mirrored Russell’s. As she found cover, she quickly assessed the situation, her grip steady.

Russell and Colter continued their tactical advance, methodically taking down Vincent’s men. Y/N fired with precision, her training evident in each controlled shot, hitting the one guy who stood behind Colter.

"Despite her injuries, she moved with determination, not shooting a lot but those bullets she fired where bullseye.

Vincent, realizing he was losing, grew desperate. He fired wildly, his rage and frustration evident in his erratic movements. Colter seized the opportunity, moving in close and disarming Vincent with a swift, calculated move.

Vincent hit the ground hard, and Colter secured him, ensuring he was no longer a threat. As the dust settled, Russell rushed back to Y/N, his eyes scanning her for any new injuries.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.

She nodded, wincing slightly but smiling. “I’m okay, thanks to you.” Russell pulled her into a tight embrace, relief flooding through him. Colter approached, his expression a mix of satisfaction and respect. “You did good, Y/N. Let’s get out of here.”

As they escorted Vincent out, the police arrived, taking him and the remaining men into custody. Y/N, Russell, and Colter emerged from the factory into the first light of dawn, the ordeal finally over.

Back at the brewery, Frank was waiting, his worry evident in the lines of his face. When he saw Y/N, his eyes welled with tears of relief. “Y/N,” he yelled, pulling her into a gentle embrace. “Thank God you’re safe.”

She hugged him tightly, her voice filled with gratitude. "Thanks to Russell and Colter.”

Frank turned to Russell, his expression earnest. “Thank you, son. I don’t know how we can ever repay you.”

Russell shook his head. “You don’t have to. But if you insist..." Frank interfered, "The brewery is not for sale." - "a beer is always welcome." They said at the same time.

Y/N leaned into Russell, her hand intertwined with his holding him back while Colter and Frank walked in the pub. “Thank you for everything,” she said softly. “How can I repay you?”

Russell smiled, the corner of his mouth quirking up in that way she had come to love. “Well, I already have a beer, I'm pretty sure tonight will be on the house.” he said playfully.

Y/N laughed, the sound like music to his ears. “That’s my grandfather’s payment,” she teased.

Russell’s smile turned mischievous. “Well, then…” he began, but before he could finish, Y/N leaned in, her eyes sparkling with affection and gratitude. She pressed her lips to his in a tender, heartfelt kiss.

For a moment, Russell was too surprised to react, his breath catching in his throat. When they parted, he was speechless, his heart pounding in his chest.

Y/N’s eyes met his, her cheeks flushed and her smile radiant. “Does that cover it?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Russell found his voice, a slow grin spreading across his face. “I don't know, maybe one more? ” he said, leaning in to kiss her again. But Y/N placed her fingers gently over his mouth, stopping him.

“Don’t let it get to your head,” she flirted, her eyes twinkling mischievously when she kissed her finger that where still on his lips. With a playful smirk she walked back inside, leaving Russell standing there, his heart pounding.

He watched her go, feeling a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the cool evening air. He chuckled softly, shaking his head. Y/N was something else, a blend of strength, kindness, and a teasing spirit that kept him on his toes.

As he stood there, staring after her, he realized that the brewery, the town, and this unexpected connection with Y/N had given him something he hadn’t realized he needed: a sense of belonging, and maybe even a chance at real happiness.

He knew she wouldn't be an easy catch, but hell she might be the first one worthy to fight for.

Please like, share or comment when you liked the story. If you liked this, please check out my masterlist for other stories.

Tag list:-> If you want to be added let me know what you like to read! If anyone feels like you're tagged too much, also let me know please. :)

@suckitands33

@mostlymarvelgirl

@globetrotter28

@jackles010378

@hobby27

@call-me-mrs-winchester

@cevansbaby-dove

@n-o-p-e-never

@winchesterwild78

@ladysparkles78

#jensen ackles #fanfic #x reader #jensen fucking ackles #russell shaw fanfiction #russell shaw #tracker #tracker 1x12 #colter shaw #off the books #light angst #jensenedit #fluff #hurt/comfort #angst #The plan fanfiction

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nayziiz · 6 months

Text

Shadows | LN4

Summary: [Mafia] In the face of dire financial troubles, Lando receives a desperate plea from his father to unearth a lucrative solution within the family business. Fueled by the pressure to rescue his family from ruin, Lando stumbles upon a seemingly perfect venture—using luxury cars as a facade for the clandestine world of drug trafficking. With the unexpected partnership of Amelia Rossi, his father's best friend's daughter, Lando believes he has found the ideal accomplice. However, as the Norris family collides with the ambitious Russells in a ruthless bid to establish their dominance, the perilous path Lando has chosen places not only his newfound enterprise at stake but also entangles Amelia in the dangerous crossfire that unfolds.

Warning: Violence, drugs, blood, smut, fluff, guns

Pairing: Lando Norris x OC (Amelia Rossi) - appearances from other drivers

Masterlist

Chapter 5

The grand ballroom of the opulent hotel shimmered with the soft glow of chandeliers and the murmur of polite conversation as the elite of society gathered for the annual charity gala. Distinguished guests adorned in their finest attire mingled amongst one another, their laughter and clinking glasses filling the air with an air of sophistication and elegance.

As the guests mingled and the air buzzed with polite conversation, the Rossi family made their grand entrance into the gala. Among them, Amelia stood out like a beacon of grace and elegance, her every movement exuding a quiet confidence that drew the gaze of all who beheld her.

Dressed in a stunning light green gown that hugged her curves in all the right places, Amelia glided effortlessly through the crowd, her presence commanding attention at every turn. Her father, Harold, walked by her side, a proud smile gracing his lips as he watched his daughter navigate the sea of guests with poise and grace.

Beside him, Marilyn Rossi, Amelia's mother, radiated an aura of sophistication and grace, her elegant gown shimmering in the soft light of the ballroom as she moved with effortless grace.

As Amelia weaved her way through the crowd, her eyes sparkling with warmth and sincerity as she greeted each guest with genuine warmth and charm, Lando stood aside with his father, Adam, watching her with a mixture of admiration and longing.

With a glass of whisky in hand, Lando took a sip as he admired Amelia from afar, his gaze lingering on her with an intensity that belied his cool exterior. He couldn't help but marvel at the way her gown accentuated every curve of her body, the slit revealing a tantalising glimpse of smooth, tanned skin that sent a shiver of desire coursing through him.

Lost in his reverie, Lando found himself captivated by the sight of Amelia, her beauty transcending the confines of the crowded ballroom as she moved with effortless grace and elegance. And as he watched her, his heart swelled with a longing that he knew he could no longer ignore.

Amelia's presence at the gala didn't go unnoticed by George, also in attendance with his father, whose gaze was drawn to her like a moth to a flame. From across the room, he watched with a mixture of admiration and envy as she effortlessly charmed her way through the crowd, her beauty and grace captivating everyone in her orbit.

As Amelia smiled and laughed with other established individuals, her expert socialising skills on full display, George couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy. He had known Amelia for years, but tonight, she seemed to shine brighter than ever before, her radiance casting a spell over everyone she encountered.

Despite his best efforts to maintain a composed exterior, George found himself unable to tear his eyes away from Amelia, his heart pounding with a mixture of desire and longing. He had always admired her from afar, but tonight, as he watched her move with effortless grace and elegance, he couldn't help but feel a surge of attraction that threatened to consume him.

Steve's words cut through George's thoughts like a knife, snapping him back to reality with a jolt. He turned to his father, his brow furrowed in concern as he considered the implications of Steve's statement.

“Her father is going to kill her when he finds out what she's been doing.” Steve reiterated, his tone laced with a hint of malice.

George sighed, feeling a sense of unease settling over him at the thought of the impending confrontation. He knew firsthand how strict Harold Rossi could be, especially when it came to matters of reputation and family honour.

“Is it really necessary to do it here?” George wondered aloud, his voice tinged with apprehension.

He couldn't bear the thought of Amelia being subjected to public humiliation and embarrassment, especially not in front of the other esteemed guests. Steve shrugged dismissively, his expression cold and calculating.

“Sometimes, a little public spectacle is necessary to drive home a point.” He replied, his tone dripping with disdain.

George glanced back at Amelia, his heart aching at the thought of what awaited her once her father discovered the truth. He knew he had to find a way to warn her, to spare her from the fallout of her actions, but he also knew that time was running out.

George's heart sank as he watched Harold approach Steve, his fears of a confrontation escalating with each step his father took. Despite his best efforts to intervene, he found himself rooted to the spot, powerless to prevent the impending clash between the two patriarchs.

With a forced smile etched on his face, Harold extended his hand to Steve, exchanging pleasantries with a practised ease that belied the tension simmering beneath the surface. George held his breath, his stomach churning with anxiety as he awaited the inevitable moment when their conversation would turn to the topic of Amelia.

As the two men shook hands, George could sense the undercurrent of animosity between them, the tension palpable in the air as they exchanged polite niceties. He knew that it was only a matter of time before Steve revealed the truth about Amelia's actions, and he braced himself for the fallout that would follow.

“Gentlemen.” Harold's words cut through the tension like a knife, momentarily diffusing the palpable atmosphere between the two men.

George breathed a sigh of relief as his father exchanged pleasantries with Harold, his heart lightening at the temporary reprieve from the impending confrontation.

“Good to see you, Mr Rossi.” George added, offering a polite smile as he joined in the exchange.

“Likewise, George.” Harold nodded in acknowledgment, his expression one of forced congeniality as he replied.

But it was Steve's next words that caught everyone off guard, his tone light and jovial as he turned his attention to the topic of Amelia.

“I must say, Harold, your daughter is a force to be reckoned with.” Steve noted with a hint of provocation in his voice.

“She is. I wouldn't expect anything less from her.” Harold chuckled, a proud gleam in his eye as he responded. The tension seemed to dissipate further as Harold continued, his words laced with humour. “Did she talk you out of buying another Mercedes?”

“Not this time, Harold.” Steve replied, a twinkle of amusement in his eye. “But I must say, your daughter has quite a compelling charm. I’m sure she has you wrapped around her finger.”

Steve's words cut through the air with a hint of jest, but Harold met them with a hearty laugh, his jovial demeanour belying the tension that had been simmering just moments before.

“Ah, you're not wrong there, Steve.” Harold replied, his voice tinged with pride as he glanced fondly in Amelia's direction. “She does have a way of getting what she wants.”

George couldn't help but smile at Harold’s words, knowing all too well the truth behind them. Amelia had always possessed a magnetic charm and an uncanny ability to win people over with her charisma and grace.

As Lando's eyes fell upon George, Steve and Harold standing together, a wave of unease washed over him. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss, sensing the tension lingering in the air like a storm brewing on the horizon.

Determined to shield Amelia from whatever trouble may be looming, Lando made his way through the crowd, his steps purposeful yet cautious. As he approached her, he felt a surge of protectiveness welling up inside him, a fierce determination to keep her safe from harm.

With a gentle touch, Lando snaked his arm around Amelia's waist, drawing her close to him in a gesture that took her by surprise. She turned to him, her eyes widening in surprise at the sudden contact, but a warm smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she met his gaze.

“Dance with me.” He instructed, his tone firm yet playful as they moved to the rhythm of the music.

“Well, hello to you too, Lando.” She teased, her eyes sparkling with amusement as she matched his steps with practised ease.

As they twirled and swayed to the music, Amelia couldn't help but feel a sense of contentment wash over her in Lando's arms. Despite the uncertainty of their situation, she found solace in the familiarity of their connection, the unspoken bond that had always existed between them.

“Charles here?” Lando inquired, his voice soft as he looked into her eyes.

“He had business matters to tend to back in Monaco.” Amelia responded.replied, her tone tinged with regret. “And, Zara?”

“She had a shoot in Milan.” He explained, almost dismissive in his tone.

“Very nice. She seems to be making her way up in the world.” Amelia responded, her voice laced with fake amusement.

“Why is your father speaking with the Russells?” Lando suddenly asked, changing the subject completely.

Amelia's expression clouded slightly at Lando's question, her brows furrowing in concern as she followed his gaze to where her father stood in conversation with the Russells.

“I'm not sure.” She admitted, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “But it can't be anything good. You don’t think they’ll tell my father?”

Amelia's words hung heavy in the air, the weight of uncertainty settling over them like a suffocating blanket. Lando could see the worry etched into her features, the lines of concern deepening with each passing moment.

“You know we can't trust them.” Lando replied, his tone grim. “They'll do whatever it takes to further their own agenda, even if it means betraying us.”

“What do we do then?” She asked, her voice barely above a whisper. Lando's jaw tightened with determination as he met her gaze.

“Deny everything and ask for evidence.” He stated firmly. “We won't let them destroy us without a fight.”

“This has become quite messy.” She murmured, her voice tinged with resignation.

“Just trust me, okay?” Lando asked, his eyes searching hers for any sign of doubt.

“Of course.” Amelia replied without hesitation, her trust in him unwavering despite the storm clouds gathering on the horizon.

Feeling the weight of the looming threat, Lando pressed a gentle kiss to Amelia's cheek, a silent reassurance of his unwavering support and protection. Drawing her closer into his embrace, he held her tightly as they continued to dance, their movements synchronised in perfect harmony.

As they swayed to the music, Lando kept a watchful eye on the men standing on the opposite side of the room, his senses alert for any signs of trouble. He could feel the tension in the air thickening with each passing moment, a silent reminder of the danger that lurked just beneath the surface. But despite the looming threat, Lando refused to let fear consume him. With Amelia by his side, he felt invincible.

When Adam approached Harold, Steve, and George, Steve saw the optimal opportunity to put his plan into action.

“Adam, good. You’re here. I have some rather... interesting information to share with you.” Steve announces. Adam and Harold exchanged a curious glance, their interest piqued by Steve's cryptic words.

“Go on.” Adam prompted, his tone laced with anticipation. Steve leaned back against the wall, a smug expression crossing his features as he revelled in the attention of his esteemed peers.

“You see, it seems your dear Lando and Amelia have been engaging in some rather... illicit activities behind our backs.” Steve admitted.

Adam's heart sank at Steve's revelation, a mixture of disbelief and anger coursing through him as he struggled to process the implications of his words. He exchanged a troubled glance with Harold, their shared concern evident in their expressions as they grappled with the shock of the news.

“Are you certain?” Harold asked, his voice tinged with desperation as he searched for any sign of doubt in Steve's demeanour. Steve nodded, his smug expression unwavering as he revelled in the discomfort of his colleagues.

“Quite certain.” He replied, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “It seems your children have been playing a dangerous game, and it's high time it's put to an end. Just ask them about the cars in her showroom.”

Harold's mind raced as he considered the implications of Steve's revelation. He couldn't believe that Lando and Amelia would be involved in such activities, but the evidence presented by Steve left little room for doubt. He felt a surge of anger rising within him, a fierce protectiveness for his daughter and a determination to get to the bottom of the situation.

“Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Steve.” Adam replied, his voice cold and controlled despite the turmoil raging within him. “We will address this matter immediately.”

As Steve sauntered away, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips, Adam turned to Harold with a steely determination in his eyes.

“I swear, if your son has Amelia involved in something illegal…” Harold started.

“We need to find out the truth.” Adam interrupted his friend, his voice resolute. “And we need to do it quickly, before this situation spirals out of control.”

As the music swirled around them, Adam and Harold approached Lando and Amelia mid-dance, their expressions grave as they beckoned for their children to follow them to a secluded area where they could talk in private.

Lando and Amelia exchanged a worried glance, their hearts sinking at the seriousness of their fathers' demeanour. With a silent nod, they followed Adam and Harold to a quiet corner of the room, away from the prying eyes and ears of the other guests.

Once they were alone, Adam and Harold turned to their children, their expressions a mixture of concern and disappointment.

“Lando, Amelia.” Adam began, his voice heavy with emotion. “We need to talk.”

Lando and Amelia exchanged a nervous glance, their hearts pounding in their chests as they waited for their fathers to speak.

“It's come to our attention that there have been... allegations made against you.” Harold continued, his voice strained with emotion. “Allegations of illegal activities.”

Lando and Amelia's eyes widened in shock, their minds racing as they tried to make sense of the accusations levelled against them. They exchanged a worried glance, their hearts heavy with dread at the gravity of the situation.

"We need to know the truth," Adam said, his voice firm but tinged with desperation. "Are these accusations true? Have you been engaging in illegal activities?"

Lando and Amelia exchanged a silent glance, their expressions grave as they prepared to confront the truth of their actions. With a heavy sigh, Lando spoke up, his voice filled with remorse.

“No. We’re not involved in anything illegal.” Lando lied.

Adam and Harold exchanged a sceptical glance, their expressions betraying their uncertainty at Lando and Amelia's vehement denials. They could sense the tension thickening in the air as the weight of the accusations hung heavy between them.

“Amelia, speak.” Harold instructed, his tone firm but tinged with concern.

Amelia's jaw tightened with frustration, her eyes flashing with indignation as she bristled at her father's request.

“I’m slightly offended that you would think I would ever get involved in something illegal.”She snapped, her words cutting through the tension like a knife.

“Watch your tone, Amelia.” Harold warned, his voice a low growl of warning.

But Amelia pressed on, her anger fueling her defiance as she continued to defend herself and Lando against the accusations.

“I suppose it’s Steve Russell who mentioned something to you?” Amelia queried.

“Correct.” Adam nodded.

“George has always been jealous of Lando and I. He could never accept the fact that we didn’t like him, so he runs to his father and creates a false narrative. You remember what happened back in high school, when he spread those God awful rumours.” Amelia explained, her voice tinged with bitterness.

Adam and Harold exchanged a troubled glance, the pieces of the puzzle slowly falling into place as they considered Amelia's words.

“Lando, I know you’ve done some questionable business before, but you need to assure us that you have not and will not involve Amelia in any of that.” Adam began, his voice filled with concern

“Of course not, I swear.” Lando lied, the weight of his deception heavy on his conscience. Lando met his father's gaze, his expression earnest as he spoke.

“I’ll choose to believe you, but if I find out that you’ve lied to me, Amelia, you will suffer the consequences.” Harold threatened his daughter.

Harold's words hung in the air like a dark cloud, his threat echoing with a chilling finality that sent a shiver down Amelia's spine. She swallowed hard, the weight of her father's warning settling heavily on her shoulders as she met his stern gaze with a mixture of fear and defiance.

“I understand.” She replied, her voice barely above a whisper as she struggled to maintain her composure in the face of her father's anger.

Harold's expression softened slightly at her response, his eyes betraying a hint of sadness beneath their steely exterior.

“I hope you do.” He said quietly, his voice tinged with disappointment.

With a heavy sigh, Adam shot Lando a knowing look, a silent reminder of the gravity of their situation and the consequences of their actions. Lando met his father's gaze with a solemn nod, his own guilt weighing heavily on his conscience as he prepared to face the fallout of his deception.

And with that, the fathers disappeared back into the main hall, leaving Lando and Amelia alone with their thoughts and the weight of their secrets hanging heavy in the air. As they watched their fathers depart, a sense of unease settled over them, their minds racing with the implications of Harold's threat and the uncertain future that lay ahead. Lando reached out, gently placing a hand on Amelia's shoulder in a gesture of comfort.

“It's okay.” He murmured, his voice soft and reassuring. “You did what you had to do to protect yourself.”

Amelia nodded, her expression still clouded with guilt as she struggled to come to terms with the weight of her deception.

“I've never lied to my father before. At least not about something this big.” She admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. Lando squeezed her shoulder gently, offering her a small smile of encouragement.

“Sometimes we have to do things we never thought we'd have to do. But you have me, so you shouldn’t have to worry.” He said quietly.

Despite Amelia's outward strength and independence, Lando had always seen the vulnerable side of her that lay beneath the surface. She may have excelled in martial arts and possessed an impressive knowledge of cars, but he knew that deep down, she still craved the reassurance and comfort that came from being truly understood and accepted.

Growing up as an only child, Amelia had often felt the weight of loneliness pressing down on her, her solitude echoing in the empty spaces of her heart. But Lando had been there for her every step of the way, his presence a constant source of support and companionship in a world that often felt cold and indifferent.

He had always made sure that she never had to face her struggles alone, dragging her along to parties and introducing her to new people, determined to keep her from feeling isolated or forgotten. In those moments of shared laughter and camaraderie, Amelia had found a sense of belonging that she had never known before, her heart lightened by the warmth of Lando's friendship and the love of his family.

Despite his efforts to focus on the task at hand, Lando couldn't shake the persistent dreams that had haunted him for years. In those dreams, Amelia always appeared as an ethereal figure, her presence radiant and pure, like an angel clothed in white. She seemed too good for the troubles that surrounded them, and yet she remained steadfast by his side, her unwavering support a beacon of light in the darkness.

But even as Lando grappled with his feelings for Amelia, another complication arose in the form of Zara. She was caught in the tangled web of their lives, aware of the special connection that existed between Lando and Amelia. Despite her best efforts to ignore it, Zara couldn't help but notice the way their gazes lingered a moment too long or the way their hugs held a hint of longing.

It was a forbidden dance, one in which they were unable to express the depths of their true feelings for each other. And as Lando found himself torn between his loyalty to Amelia and his growing affection for Zara, he couldn't help but wonder if there would ever come a time when they could cast aside the shackles of their secrets and embrace the love that had always been just out of reach.

“I think I might just kill George, honestly.” Amelia grunted as they made their way towards the main venue. Lando glanced at Amelia, a mixture of concern and amusement flickering in his eyes at her blunt statement.

“As satisfying as that might be at the moment, I don't think it would solve our problems.” He replied, his voice tinged with wry humour. Amelia huffed a laugh, her frustration evident in the way she walked, her steps heavy with determination.

“Maybe not.” She conceded, her tone sharp with frustration. “But it sure would feel good.”

Lando placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, offering her a small smile of understanding.

“I know it's frustrating, Amelia, but let's focus on getting through tonight first. We can deal with George and his family tomorrow.” He said softly. Amelia nodded, her expression softening slightly at his words.

“You're right.” She admitted, her anger beginning to subside in the face of his calming presence.

As the charity gala unfolded around them, Lando stayed close to Amelia's side, his presence a reassuring warmth against the backdrop of the elegant ballroom. They moved together on the dance floor, their steps perfectly synchronised as they swayed to the rhythm of the music. Lando's hand rested gently on the small of Amelia's back, guiding her with a gentle touch that spoke volumes of his care for her.

In between dances, they found a quiet corner where they could steal a moment alone. Lando brushed a stray lock of hair away from Amelia's face, his touch feather-light against her cheek as he gazed at her with affection. They shared stories and laughter, their conversation flowing effortlessly as they revelled in each other's company.

As they made their way to the buffet table, Lando's hand found hers, his fingers intertwining with hers in a silent gesture of solidarity. He watched with adoration as Amelia's eyes lit up with delight at the sight of her favourite dishes, his heart swelling with love at the simple joy she found in the little things.

Throughout the evening, Lando remained attuned to Amelia's needs, offering her a comforting arm when she grew tired and a supportive shoulder when she needed someone to lean on. And as the night drew to a close, they found themselves reluctant to part ways.

“Just come home with me.” Lando suggested as they made their way out of the lavish hotel.

“I can’t.” Amelia whispered, not meeting his eye.

“I don’t want you going home alone and dealing with your father.” Lando explained.

“Lan, I have work in the morning.” She argued, finally glancing up at him.

“Then I will take you to work.” He countered, ever resilient in his pursuits.

“Lan.” She mumbled as he started leading her to his parked McLaren.

As Lando led her towards the sleek, powerful McLaren, a rush of emotions flooded Amelia's mind. It felt surreal, almost like a dream, to have Lando pleading with her to come home with him. The memories of their past encounters flickered through her mind like a reel of film, each moment etched in vivid detail.

Their first time together, the raw passion and intensity of their connection, still lingered in her memory. She could almost feel the heat of his touch, the electric thrill of their bodies moving as one in the backseat of his Rolls Royce.

And then there was that unforgettable night in the kitchen, when they were both overcome with desire and couldn't resist each other any longer. The sound of their breathless moans echoed in her ears as they lost themselves in each other's arms, the sensation of his lips on her skin still sending shivers down her spine.

But then, inexplicably, it had all stopped. The intimacy between them faded away, leaving behind a gaping void that Amelia struggled to fill. In the midst of her day-to-day life, she found herself consumed by thoughts of Lando, her body responding instinctively to the mere memory of his touch.

On those days when the longing became too much to bear, she sought solace in the arms of Charles, her body craving the release that only he could provide. But even in those moments of pleasure, it was Lando's name that echoed in her mind, his image filling her thoughts as she surrendered to the fantasy of what could have been.

As they reached the McLaren and Lando opened the door for her, Amelia felt a rush of anticipation course through her veins. She would allow herself to indulge in the fantasy, to lose herself in the intoxicating allure of Lando's embrace. And as they drove off into the night, she knew that for just a few precious hours, she would be able to forget about the uncertainties of tomorrow and simply revel in the ecstasy of the present moment.

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