#and i barely qualify for that position

[starcurtain]

I know I've talked a lot about Alhaitham actually being one of the funniest characters in Genshin Impact, but every time I think about him, I find something new to laugh at.

Alhaitham's character stories and personal criticisms of Kaveh largely hinge on one specific point: That Kaveh's genius intellect and artistic abilities are incongruous with his idealism. Kaveh possesses more talent than a selfless person should reasonably have, leaving him vulnerable to constantly being taken advantage of.

However, Alhaitham states these complaints about Kaveh's personality while having the exact same problem himself.

Alhaitham is literally the definition of "personality and talents do not match." Sir, you are the pot calling the kettle black.

It's a given: Alhaitham is exceedingly competent. He is intelligent, rational, and capable of being impartial when needed. Despite being a slacker as the Akademiya's scribe, during his stint as the Acting Grand Sage, the game goes out of its way to note--in several places--that Alhaitham was actually going above and beyond what was expected of him, taking the position very seriously, uncovering and fixing major issues in the Akademiya, and demonstrating a deep care for the sanctity and future of the Akademiya as a whole when Sumeru's people's will to research and learn declined after the collapse of the Akasha.

By all accounts, Alhaitham is (was) a fantastic Grand Sage. Compared to Azar, who is shown as inherently self-aggrandizing and unconcerned with Sumeru's well-being, Alhaitham genuinely did his best during his brief time as Sumeru's leader, protecting students' research, concerning himself with how to address the people's problems, and even diving in to solve mysteries that normally would have been left for the matra. As Acting Grand Sage, we're told his behavior and judgments were fair, and he addressed problems immediately and with his full effort.

In short, there is literally no one else more qualified to be Grand Sage than Alhaitham.

And yet, despite possessing every talent needed to be the leader of a nation, Alhaitham doesn't have the personality for it. He has every single trait a good leader requires... And yet he refuses to be a leader. His own talent vastly exceeds the slow-paced life his personality leads him to seek, making his particular abilities more incongruous with his values than Kaveh's--by a mile. People keep trying to promote him into positions of leadership because his talents are so obvious, and yet he does everything in his power to deny his own abilities and instead fly under the radar--and under the level of his full potential too.

Awful hypocritical for you to claim Kaveh's talents don't match his personality when yours match even less, Alhaitham...

[trans-yllz]

JOB INTERVIEW WITH FISH AND WILDLIFE ACQUIRED.

[waywardsalt]

ive been rereading tnp and it’s bothering me so much i need to mention it here; it’s kind of insane how much the erins bend over backwards to make brambleclaw deputy, it’s kind of just nonsensical.

not even him not having an apprentice when he’s picked, though that is kind of wild, he just… there’s basically no good reason other than him being a main pov character and tigerstar’s son. literally any other thunderclan warrior who’s had an apprentice (barring maybe ashfur) would have been a better choice. thornclaw dustpelt sandstorm cloudtail brackenfur- brackenfur is one that firestar explicitly considers and the reasoning why he decides not to is so incredibly weak ‘oh i dont think he’d be right for leader’ number one what are you talking about number 2 then use him being deputy as an opportunity to help him become right for leader are you telling me firestar thinks the cat he once considered letting die in a fire is a better fit for leader than the cat he half mentored. dustpelt is clearly an experienced warrior, sandstorm is someone firestar obviously has faith in, thornclaw is experienced and i’m pretty sure you even see firestar consult him a few times (cloudtail is iffy bc thats cloudtail but he’d really be a better choice, just how he treats daisy and her kits would be an interesting justification for firestar making him second-in-command) but honestly besides the narrative jumping through hoops to act like the other very viable options are either secretly bad choices or otherwise ignore them (why is bramble the only cat we ever see jump to help firestar with stuff they just wrote everyone else to be silent or w/e) but in twilight where he arguably acts the most like de-facto deputy in leaf and squirrel’s pov he’s framed as a jackass half the book??? why would you do that if you intend to make him actual leader?? in his trial run of being kinda-not-deputy you just make him use his semi-authority to be cold and fucking mean to his friend and her buddy??? like i see him being qualified due to having experience being the travel group’s leader and whatnot, but barely anything else is done to make him realistically more qualified than anyone else- he just angsts about his ambitions and gets handed the position because starclan vouched for him for some damn reason even though by his society’s laws he should not be in that position

[sendmyresignation]

another number one's fun fact that's literally pissing me off. well no this is a wonderful fact that has emotional resonances but like the ways women contribute to music history is so vast and far reaching and its just never acknowledged. even in supposedly male-dominated scenes and genres its always there and this erasure is only worsened by the fact nobody behind the scenes is given their due, we only view musicians or like. producers (read: auteurs) as the genius and not the village full of people

[druidgroves]

my coworker is gonna make me burst a vessel i swear to god

[foldingfittedsheets]

When I was working at the sex shop I was pulling poverty wages. I loved my job but I was on food stamps and still barely getting by. When they hired the stores first male employee and he started at my pay rate after I’d been there for three years I quit.

I was initially really nervous when I saw the post for the mattress job. It listed a pay scale that I couldn’t even conceptualize and I appeared qualified. When I got an interview I was over the moon but also petrified. Reactions to my line of work often varied but most people were very embarrassed or skeptical. I worried about how I’d address it in the actual interview.

I lived far to the north of their headquarters and drove almost two hours to get there. When I finally arrived it was in the nicest thrift store clothes I could find, but I shrank inside to see a room full of older white men in nice suits waiting to be interviewed for the same job.

Why did I bother? I was decades younger than anyone else in the room, shabbily dressed, and I suspected I was the only afab person in the entire building. I stewed in my insecurities until I was called in.

The second I met my interviewer I was instantly put at ease. The man had the energy of a therapy dog, he was abound with positive, good natured energy. He was also incredibly beautiful. I grinned back at his welcoming smile as we said our pleasantries. But still. This very beautiful polished man seemed very innocent. How would the sex shop question go?

“I see here you worked at STORE?”

“Yes,” I said hesitantly.

“And that was sales? Or you just rang people up.”

“No, it was sales. I’d help people find products, we were encouraged to upsell, there was sales spiffs, and most importantly we educated customers on products to help them find what they liked best.”

He grinned approvingly and asked, “Can you give me an example of a time you successfully upsold a customer?”

I paused, wringing my hands before I asked, “How vague would you like me to be…?”

“Not at all!” He assured me. “Go for it!”

“Well. A man came in looking for something to make his fingers vibrate so when he was touching his wife it would enhance that sensation. We had cheap $10 cockrings that I showed him first. But we had a rechargeable waterproof one made of nicer material, and after I showed him a demo he bought that one.”

“How much was that one?”

“$110”

“Wow! You had an upsell of 100% from what he came in looking for! That’s incredible!”

He was so truly genuinely stoked and not at all embarrassed that for the first time I saw a tiny glimmer of a future where I didn’t have ramen and peanut butter tiding me over between paychecks.

He asked me to wait then came back to tell me he liked me so much that he wanted to send me right into another interview, if that was okay. He didn’t want me to have to drive back later, it was terribly considerate and exciting. I beamed and told him it would be lovely.

I then had the second worst interview I’ve ever had. The worst goes to the time I applied to be a store manager for a pet food place years later. The district and store manager interviewing me passed notes and texted while I was speaking. When the district manager called to inform me I didn’t get the job I told him I’d never have accepted anyway because I’d never had such a disrespectful interview.

The new man sitting behind the desk radiated an aura of a brick wall. As someone with anxiety I’m highly keyed into the emotional states of people I’m talking to. To receive no feedback at all was my personal hell. After a perfunctory greeting he asked me with no inflection to sell him a pen.

I gathered the shreds of my courage and attempted the Herculean task he’d set me. Through my whole improvised spiel he resisted all attempts at engaging him, regarding me with a cold apathy as I touted the benefits of my fictitious pen.

Halfway through I broke into a cold sweat. My smile didn’t waver but it grew strained as I projected friendliness and warmth into the black hole of his heart. My thoughts scattered and my sales pitch grew redundant in the face of his nothingness. I finally concluded with a hard close and he simply nodded.

He glanced at my resume and commented, “You didn’t ask me to touch or hold it. Though I suppose I can understand from your previous line of work why you wouldn’t.” I shriveled and died inside knowing that I encouraged people to touch dildos all day long and had been too frazzled to offer him the pen.

He bid me a cool farewell. I made it to my car before I started sobbing. I had never been so rattled. I couldn’t understand what I’d done to make him so unfriendly or if my threadbare clothes were what had made him treat me like dirt. I drove an hour and a half to get home, weeping intermittently.

I was therefore taken by complete surprise to receive a call the next day inviting me on board for their five week training program. The first man who’d interviewed me gushed on the phone about how the second guy had loved me and that I was going to be fantastic.

I was in shock. When I showed up to training the second interviewer was charming my new classmates, beaming and laughing. He was an utterly different person. To my dismay I learned he was the trainer for my district and would be my point of contact if I made it through training.

He joked with me later that his interview facade was just a tactic to see how people held up under pressure and I filed him into a category of my deepest enmity. I never forgave him for how small he made me feel that day, but I never showed him the depths of my fury.

I aced every test and went on to be valedictorian of the eight people who had survived the rigorous training process to earn a sales position. When I got my first paycheck I bought myself new clothes, the first non-thrifted things I’d owned in years.

[jeonglixie]

.

[drchucktingle]

a moment to check the gears and cogs

feel like i want to talk a little on the message of a recent post because i think it is an important point. when i say that you do not need to QUALIFY OR DEFEND your love of tinglers or my work in general, i am pointing out an interesting social anomaly that happens with my art and with queer art.

as an autistic buckaroo i notice patterns, and on social media i see them a lot. little phrases that come up again and again with my art. ‘yes THAT chuck tingle’ ‘its ACTUALLY good’ ’my favorite author i have never read’ ‘so bad its good’. these are always added after a POSITIVE comment about me

they also all have something in common. they are trying to distance the posters SINCERE JOY and give them an out socially. it is very very very subtle, but they are all saying ‘yes i like this but here is a sliver of acknowledgment that it is also weird or bad or ironic. in not REALLY fully in'

essentially these are added because it means the poster can escape their very real joy if needed. try applying these phrases to any other popular author. its much more subtle with the first two: ‘i liked all fours by miranda july, yes THAT miranda july. its ACTUALLY good’. what does this imply?

the other examples are a little more blatant but lets try them with other authors anyway. imagine saying ‘youre my favorite author i have never read’ to stephen king. would you EVER say that to someone? what does that imply? how about 'i love your books theyre so bad theyre good'. horrifyingly rude

lets dive into saying 'CHUCK TINGLE is my favorite author i have never read’ sounds unusual when substituting other authors because theyre usually not queer or autistic or making outsider art. to be blunt, why CHUCK gets it all the time is because it really means 'i like chuck tingle but im not gay’

while we have mostly culturally evolved past the idea that saying ‘no homo’ is some kind of joke, that FEELING is still around. it has just burrowed a little deeper. honestly it might never go away, or at least take centuries. remember these people GENUINELY LIKE MY BOOKS but feel they MUST qualify

should also be pointed out that LEFT and LIBERAL people are the ones who say this stuff to chuck. they do not MEAN to harm, and if you ask them directly how they feel about queer or neurodivergent people they would not express the same opinion as their subliminal comments might imply

the final elephant trotting by is while some of this is homophobia and fear of a neurodivergent other, it is also just plain old IRONY POISONING. its conditioning from being raised on an internet where sincerity was ‘cringe' and loving something was a weakness or joke. these problems work in tandem

so whats the point? what can we do? first of all, just recognizing these patterns is a start. i didnt HAVE to write all of this today but i think its important to be aware and to look inward and think about the gears and cogs that churn behind the things we say. NEXT step is trying to push past it

if you have done these things in the past, i want you to know i am NOT AT ALL UPSET. i am not mad or hurt and i do not think any less of you. you can trot by my side any day and you are trying your best to prove love. we are ALL just tryin our best, just consider this a friendly chat between buds

proving love can happen in BIG WAYS and it can happen in SMALL WAYS that we barely see. just take a moment and think ‘WHY am i saying this? WHY am i in this pattern to distance myself from outsider or queer art?’ a little moment of consideration goes a LONG way buckaroos. LOVE IS REAL

[tsunodaradio]

kalamantina ⛐ 𝐋𝐍𝟒

you find yourself exactly where he asked you to be— on your knees in front of him.

ꔮ starring: lando norris x girlfriend!reader. ꔮ word count: 1.5k. ꔮ includes: smut. established relationship. cussing, oral [m receiving], lando is a bit mean. ꔮ commentary box: title from the saint levant song of the same name. 100% for @norrisradio. no further comments. 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

When qualifying is good, it’s good.

Lando is happiest when the car performs well, when he’s in tune with it like it’s some sort of second skin. He’s always the sweetest when he’s riding on the high of a pole position— throwing his arms around your shoulders, cheekily asking Did you see, love? Were you watching? 

When qualifying is bad, though— 

It’s rare, but not unheard of. You feel the disappointment thrumming in the garage when Lando is knocked out of Q2, slated to start 15th. In a circuit like Monaco, it’s as good as a death sentence. 

All the reasons blur together. Oversteer, floor damage, shitty tyre strategy. 

The team will tell you later that he yelled. Told everyone to get the fuck out and give him a fucking moment. 

You weren’t there. See, he’d never yell at you. Everybody else, they were subject to his blistering rage and his cutthroat critique, no questions asked. 

You get the texts. 

Today, it’s sweet and simple. 

make me feel better, baby. 

Not a question. Not an offer.

It’s not hard to find Lando; the team points you to his driver room. The first thing you notice is that he hadn’t even bothered to turn on the lights. You wordlessly close the door behind you, the click of the lock resounding in the otherwise quiet space. 

Your eyes adjust to the darkness. He’s still in his black fireproofs, lounging on the room’s sole couch. The back of his head remains pressed against the mirror behind him, and he looks vaguely like he’s trying to get his breathing under control. 

The silence stretches for a bit. You don’t dare break it.

Lando cracks open one of his eyes to finally glance at you. He only says your name— his voice low and raspy and devoid of the saccharine affection you’re used to. 

“Hi, baby,” you greet him back. 

You know better than to try coddling him, to give him platitudes or dissect his fall from grace like a science project. No, you’re here for one reason and one reason only. 

To make Lando feel better. 

He gives the slightest jerks of his head. You move forward, your steps careful and your gaze scrutinizing. 

The rage rolls off him in waves. You know where this is going, and it’s made abundantly clear in his next command. 

“On your knees,” Lando barks. And then, after a heartbeat. Softer, a hint of the boy you knew and loved: “Please.” 

(You would’ve done it even without the plea.)

You find yourself exactly where he asked you to be— on your knees in front of him. His pants and underwear have been pulled to his ankles, the clothing just barely restraining him from spreading as much as he wants to. 

You plant a kiss to the inside of his bare thigh before tentatively licking a stripe up to his center. He stays quiet, but his body reacts accordingly. His knee bounces. His cock twitches against his stomach. 

“Are you sure about this, baby?” Your voice is barely above a murmur; your breath, warm over his heated skin. 

“I asked for it, didn’t I?” he grits out, and you decide to put him out of his misery. 

You start off slow. Hollowed cheeks as you bob your head up and down his length. Your fingers, wrapped around whichever part of him you can’t take in. Lando stays eerily quiet for the first couple of minutes, and so you resort to watching his face for any possible yellow flags. 

A muscle in his jaw jumps when your eyes meet. His gaze is heavy-lidded and his pupils are blown out, darkened in a way that has little to do with the lack of light in the room. 

It spurs you on to sink down a little lower onto him, to flatten your tongue against the underside of his cock. That move has him entangling his fingers in your hair, his grip bruising on the get-go. 

“Again,” Lando demands. 

You try to replicate what you’d just done, but your boyfriend’s nails scraping over your scalp throws you off-kilter. You’re distracted for a moment— a moment too long, in your boyfriend’s opinion. 

He clicks his tongue and tugs at your hair from the roots, drawing a surprised whimper from you. It takes you a moment to register that he’s pulled you off his cock, leaving you gulping for air. He tilts your head back until you’re looking straight at him. 

“I thought you wanted to make me feel good, baby,” he says, injecting just the perfect trace of disappointment in his tone. 

“I do,” you whine as your fingers dig into his thighs. “Wanna make you feel better.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Then get me off properly.” 

He doesn’t give you the chance to respond. He uses his grasp on your hair to practically shove you back down, the head of his cock slamming the back of your throat. A sound of surprise escapes you, but it comes out more as a strangled gasp. 

“There you go,” he praises. “Don’t piss me off, yeah?”  

This time, Lando guides your head’s movements, each thrust calibrated to have you gagging on his cock. You cough and sputter but you take it like a goddamn champ, knowing this was something your boyfriend needed. And when it came to each other’s needs, the two of you would always be more than willing to give. 

At least Lando is a little more vocal now. You can make out the faint grunts he’s trying to keep under control, though you don’t know if it’s for the rest of the team’s benefit or the dominant front he’s trying to put up for you. 

When your teeth accidentally grazes sensitive skin, he lets out a tsk of disapproval. Immediately, his hand in your hair loosens; he moves to the lower half of your face instead. He yanks, pulling your jaw slack until your drool is pooling at the base of his cock. 

“Do I have to do everything out here?” he asks exasperatedly. 

It’s a rhetorical question, you’re sure. There’s no way for you to answer when Lando decides to take full control, to use your mouth in pursuit of his pleasure. He pistons into you, his hips pressing into your face with every forceful shove.

The tempo is a little more rough than you’re used to, but it’s not something you can’t handle. At least that’s what you tell yourself as you let Lando fuck your mouth, his litany of heated cusses not necessarily directed at you. 

“Terrible fucking day,” he hisses, “but at least I get this pretty little mouth at the end of it all.” 

The sheer obscenity of his words has you clenching around nothing. You rub your thighs together to chase some semblance of friction. Lando notices, unfortunately for you. 

He lets out a breathless laugh, the sound bordering cruel. “Need something, baby?” he taunts, delivering a particularly sharp thrust that makes you feel like the breath had been punched out of you. “Tell me, and I’ll give you what you need.” 

It’s downright pathetic, how tears have started to edge at your lash line. You’re not about to tell Lando anything, not with the way he’s ramming his cock down your throat. 

“Can’t speak?” he coos, his grip at your jaw tightening. “Guess you don’t want it enough.” 

He punctuates the jeer with a more punishing pace, one that has you clawing at the sides of his thighs. Not in protest— the two of you have rules set for that sort of thing— but as a silent plea of your own. 

Lando gets the message. 

“Should I finish down your throat?” he purrs.

You barely manage to bob your head up and down in a nod. He laughs again, though this one catches in his throat as his cock twitches in your mouth. He’s close, you can tell. Barely hanging on. 

“Take it,” he grunts. “Every last drop, baby, ‘cause next time I’m filling up that cunt of yours—” 

He breaks off into a loud moan. You feel the hot ropes of his release coating your tongue, flooding your mouth with the taste you swallow unquestioningly. 

Lando slows his thrusts and evens out his breathing. After sufficiently gathering his bearings, he releases your jaw to grab your shoulders instead; gently hauling you up off the floor until you’re half-seated on his lap and the couch. 

Immediately, he’s kissing you, his tongue licking into your mouth. You whine lowly at the prospect of him tasting himself, at how filthy and shameless this was turning out to be. Neither of you pull away until you have to, both your chests heaving from a shortage of air. 

Your tongue darts out to trace your swollen lips. “Are you feeling better?” you ask shakily, pressing your sweat-slick forehead against Lando’s. 

“Much better,” he responds as his hands run over your sides in a soothing gesture. 

He pauses, thoughtful, before leaning in for a much more languid kiss. He murmurs the next words against your mouth, that familiar affection making a reappearance now that the worst of the storm has passed. 

“I’m the fucking best,” he whispers reverently, “all because of you.” ⛐

[sendmyresignation]

finally reading dance of days (thank you ohiolink and oberlin college <3) but my most consistent takeaway thus far. is oh my god. people who think punk is primarily ideological and not subcultural/musical. are so out of touch.

[harrysfolklore]

Imagine max x driver!reader with the whole fia and swearing situation they’d be such a power couple. Manifesting more max fics!! I love all your work esp little bitch and honorary wag💓

okay this is teeeny tiny piece but i just had tooo. max is too iconic

You're sitting beside Max, your boyfriend and teammate, in the press conference room after the qualifying session in Singapore. The air feels thick with humidity and tension, though most of the tension is radiating off Max.

His latest penalty from the FIA—a fine and community service for swearing —has him fuming. He made it very clear on the way in that he wasn’t going to play nice. Today was going to be a day of vague, shady responses, and you were more than happy to back him up.

The moderator starts with the usual question for Max about how he felt securing P2.

“It was fine,” Max replies, voice completely flat. No elaboration, no typical analysis. Just that.

The reporter stares at him, clearly expecting more, but Max leans back in his chair, eyes narrowing slightly as if daring anyone to push him further.

To your right, Lando is barely holding it together, his mouth twitching as he watches the whole scene unfold. You catch his eye and he shoots you a look like, Is this real?

The next question is directed at you. Something predictable about how you’re feeling being P3, your thoughts on tomorrow’s race strategy.

“Well,” you start, raising an eyebrow, “I guess the plan is… to go fast and not crash.”

There’s an awkward silence in the room, the journalist blinking at you as if he didn’t hear you correctly. Lando makes a noise that’s somewhere between a laugh and a cough, struggling to contain himself as you sit there, completely straight-faced.

“And the tire strategy?” the moderator presses, trying to steer things back into something vaguely professional.

“Use them until they wear out, I suppose.” You lean back in your chair, mimicking Max’s posture, crossing your legs casually as if you’ve just given a perfectly reasonable answer. Max looks at you with a cocky and proud smile, you discretely wink at him.

"Max, can you elaborate on your car's performance today?" another reporter tries.

Max tilts his head, considering for a moment. "It went forward when I pushed the pedal, and stopped when I hit the brakes. Very efficient, really."

You can't help but smirk at his response, and you notice Lando has given up on maintaining composure, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

The moderator, looking increasingly uncomfortable, turns to you again. "YN, how do you feel about potentially challenging your teammate for position tomorrow?"

You lean forward, adopting a serious expression. "Well, I've been told it's important to keep things clean on track. Wouldn't want to use any… inappropriate maneuvers."

"Absolutely. We're all about clean racing now. Very family-friendly." Max adds

The reporters exchange glances, clearly unsure how to handle this united front of sarcasm and vague responses. Lando, meanwhile, has resorted to covering his face with his hands, his shoulders visibly shaking with suppressed laughter.

As the press conference draws to a close, you and Max stand up together, your body language mirroring each other's. Before leaving, you turn to the room with a final statement:

"Just want to thank everyone for their thoughtful questions today. This has been a very enlightening experience. Almost as enlightening as some recent FIA decisions."

As you exit the room, hand in hand with Max, you can hear the burst of chatter from the journalists behind you, no doubt trying to decipher the subtext of your responses. Lando catches up with you in the hallway, finally letting out the laugh he's been holding in.

"You two are unbelievable," he wheezes, wiping tears from his eyes. "I thought I was going to lose it in there!"

Max grins, his earlier tension now replaced with a sense of satisfaction. "Well, we aim to entertain," he says, giving your hand a squeeze.

[ari-ana-bel-la]

Hellooo! I don't know if you've done a prompt/story like this yet but can I request where Oscar's daughter (who's around 4-5 years old) attends the bahrain gp (her second time attending after the Australia one) and he dedicates his pole position and win to her. (Because she thinks he lost the aus gp when she first attended) You don't have to make this but yeah. Also I love your stories so much!! 🫶🏻🩷

A win for her

The sun over Bahrain was just beginning to dip, bathing the paddock in that golden-orange haze that made everything feel just a bit more cinematic. The roar of engines had long since settled, but the energy was still buzzing in the air. Oscar stood on the podium, champagne bottle in hand, soaking in the cheers. He could barely hear them, though. All he saw was that little face in the crowd.

Wide brown eyes, pink earmuffs, and a tiny race suit with his car number stitched across the back—his daughter was practically bouncing in Lily’s arms.

He hadn’t planned to get emotional, but the moment he saw Yn lift her little hand and wave—just like she had done in Melbourne weeks before—his heart squeezed.

Back in Australia, she had been so excited. Her first Grand Prix. She’d worn the little team cap with pride, marched through the paddock like a seasoned pro, and sat in the garage with wide eyes, whispering “Go, Papa!” every lap. And then, when he hadn’t won, she had cried. Not out of anger or entitlement, just... heartbreak. She thought he had lost. Really lost. As if not finishing first meant he hadn’t even tried.

Tonight, Oscar had made a silent promise to himself: You’re gonna win this one. For her. So she knows.

And he did.

Before the Race/ Qualifying

“Papa, Papa, is your car gonna be faster today?” Yn asked as she clutched Oscar’s hand, her tiny fingers curling tightly around his.

They were walking through the paddock, just hours before lights out. The team garage loomed ahead, mechanics bustling around like ants with coffee in one hand and tools in the other.

Oscar glanced down at her. “I think so, sweetheart. I gave it a good pep talk this morning.”

“Did you really talk to it?” she asked, eyes wide in disbelief.

“Of course I did. I told it that if it makes it to first place, I’ll buy it ice cream.”

Yn gasped. “Cars can eat ice cream?”

He knelt in front of her, brushing a strand of her dark hair out of her face. “No, but they like it when you promise silly things. Makes them go faster.”

She giggled, leaning in for a hug. Oscar scooped her up and twirled her, the heat already rising in the desert air, but he didn’t care. Holding her close, even for a few seconds, felt like magic.

Lily caught up to them, holding a tiny water bottle and a team fan. “Alright, Yn, let Papa get ready. We’ve got your seat in the garage, remember?”

Yn pouted but nodded. “Okay. But tell your car to go really, really fast, Papa.”

“I will,” he said, setting her down gently. “And hey—if I win, it’s because of you, alright?”

She beamed, the kind of smile that could melt asphalt. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

Qualifying was intense. The desert heat had dropped, but the track was still slick, and everyone was on edge. Radio chatter buzzed in Oscar’s ear as he pushed lap after lap, chasing milliseconds like they were gold dust.

And then—pole.

The garage erupted.

Oscar barely registered the cheers, his eyes immediately scanning the front row of the paddock. There she was—Yn, on Lily’s hip, fists in the air, shouting, “PAPA WON!” even though it was just qualifying.

When he came back to the garage, the first thing he did was kneel in front of her.

“You did it!” she squealed, nearly leaping into his arms.

“Well, not the race yet,” he said, laughing. “But it’s a really good start.”

“Did your car like the ice cream idea?” she asked seriously.

“It loved it.”

On Sunday, it was lights out, and away they went.

Oscar’s focus narrowed like a tunnel. Nothing but the car, the corners, the strategy. He could hear the team in his ears, feel the pressure behind him, but in the back of his mind—just beneath the surface—was Yn.

Every lap he completed, he thought of her watching. Every corner he nailed, he imagined her clapping. Every time he defended a position, he could see her tiny fingers balled into fists, eyes glued to the screens.

Lando was close behind for most of the race. The team warned him over the radio: “You’ve got two-tenths on him, keep it clean.” But Oscar wasn’t racing Lando.

He was racing a four-year-old memory. The image of his daughter crying quietly on Lily’s shoulder in Melbourne.

Not this time, sweetheart.

When he crossed the finish line, the radio exploded.

“Oscar, you’ve done it! P1, Bahrain Grand Prix winner!”

He couldn’t respond right away. His throat was thick with emotion.

Finally, he clicked the button. “This one’s for my daughter,” he said, voice cracking. “She thought I lost last time. I didn’t. But this time—this time, I won it for her.”

The podium ceremony passed in a blur—champagne, fireworks, confetti. Oscar’s eyes were constantly searching for Yn.

When he finally made it back down, he barely had time to take his helmet off before she was running toward him.

“PAPA!” she shrieked, arms wide.

He dropped to his knees just in time to catch her.

“You won!” she shouted, gripping him as tight as her little arms would allow. “You really really won!”

Oscar pulled off his gloves, pressing his forehead to hers. “I told you, didn’t I? We just needed one more race.”

She sniffled, and he realized she was crying again—but this time from happiness.

“I knew your car would like the ice cream,” she whispered.

He laughed. “Me too.”

Lily came over with a soft smile, pressing a kiss to Oscar’s cheek and smoothing Yn’s wild hair. “She hasn’t stopped talking since you crossed the line.”

“She deserves a spot on the team,” Oscar said, standing and carrying Yn in his arms. “Race engineer, team motivator, part-time sorceress.”

“Full-time car whisperer,” Lily added.

Oscar looked down at the girl in his arms. “Wanna join the post-race press conference?”

“Yes!” she yelled.

Lily raised an eyebrow. “She’s joking.”

Oscar shook his head. “I’m not.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-🤍🦢

[anas-aspiration]

𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥

✽Loser!ellie x fem!cheerleader!reader✽

Summary: Your new routine has Ellie gripping onto the bleachers as she watches you during practice. She can’t help but be needy for you when you get home.

Warning: Mutual fingering, messy making out, scissoring

r u coming to practice today -1:57

Ellie🩷: yeah :) i have your snacks btw -1:57

Aw thx so much -1:57

we’ll be in the 𝖾𝖺𝗌𝗍 gym -1:58

And I want you to come over after 😘💋 -1:58

Ellie🩷: ofc baby, cya in a bit -1:58

Cyaa -1:58

During your cheer practices ellie sits on the bleachers and balances between watching you, and drawing or doing homework. Down below, you led team warmups, bending to your toes and looking up to flash ellie a smile.

Practice went by fairly quick, your team was rehearsing your comp dances. It was about two minutes long with chaotic music but the best part, at least to ellie, was the choreo. A few particularly suggestive moves caught her eye and she could tell you were putting extra effort in because you knew she was watching. Her eyes traveled between your face to your ass when you did a swift turn with your hips and she had to take a deep breath when you went into a toe touch position and climbed down into a plank, arching your back and going into a summersault.

By the time the routine had ended, her hands had turned ghostly white from gripping the bleachers. Your team huddled up them wrapped up practice. You waved to ellie and signaled you’re going to the locker rooms.

“Did you like it?” You huffed out, throwing your backpack into Ellie’s car.

“Yeah, fucking loved it”

“thanks babe!” you smiled. “I think we’re definitely gonna qualify for state…”

The whole ride to your house you went on about the competition and how your team has totally benefited themselves since the start of the year but ellie could barely focus on the topic, the only thing she could think of is what she wanted to do to you when you got home.

Once you were at the house you threw your bags to the side and plopped on the bed. “Fuck it’s only six pm but I could honestly go to sleep right now.’’ you sighed

Ellie took her hand to your thigh and gently massaged it and laid a soft kiss on your forehead. “Do you want me to make you some dinner or anything?”

“Actually yeah I am kind of hungry..”

“Okay, what do you want to eat?”

You smirked, while bringing your hand to play with her hair “You.”

You searched her face for a sign of intrigue, and found an excited shimmer in her eyes.

“Fuck yeah” She whispered before locking your lips together.

You messily made out, lewd noises filling the entire room. Your skin felt like fire as her hands roamed your body, you roaming hers. She swiftly bit your lip to gain entrance of your mouth with her tongue. you let out a soft moan, eliciting a smile from her. She shoves her hand down your skirt to rub circles against your clit, knowing the sort of reaction she’d get out of you. She watched your expression completely relax then spark up as if you’d had an idea. You slowly moved your hands to unzip her jeans and shoved your hand inside as well. You both went at it like this, breathing heavily into each others mouths or necks leaving trails of soft slow kisses, with your fingers deep inside the other.

“Fuck el-ellie”

“I know baby..” she moaned

Your whines got louder and it was apparent to both of you that you were close.

“More” you whined

“What do you want baby?”

“Wanna..feel you”

You took your hands from inside her jeans and pushed her back onto your pillows. You stripped of your uniform, piece by piece, ellie’s hands following wherever your skin had been revealed. Soon her clothes joined yours on the floor and you entangled yourself with her. You sat between her thighs, both letting out a moan as your warmth met. You straddled into her, rhythms perfect as she also was bucking into you.

“Right there baby, shit” she groaned.

“m’ gonna cum” your breathed out

She threw her head back and nodded, as she was close too. You ground into her a few more times before your whole body was met with bliss. Your slick coated her pussy, throwing her over the edge and into and orgasm as well. You let your head fall onto her shoulder and you both stayed in that position for a minute.

“I’ve been thinking of doing that all day” you admitted.

Her eyes met yours “well you nearly made me go crazy in the process, the way you were dancing.”

A/N!! as a cheerleader I had fun doing this lol…might post the rest of my drafts

[f1daydreamer]

New Wag

---

It’s your first time in the paddock. First time in the spotlight. First time as his. And Kimi Antonelli is making sure everyone knows just how much he loves you—from soft kisses and warm hands to whispered words meant only for you. The race weekend might belong to him, but every heartbeat in between is yours.

---

You had imagined this moment before—your first race weekend, walking into the paddock as someone’s girlfriend. Not just someone. His.

But nothing in your daydreams had prepared you for the heat of Jeddah, the shine of the cameras, or the buzz of the Formula 1 circus moving around you. It was loud. Flashy. Fast. And yet…

“Too fast?” Kimi murmured softly, his fingers laced with yours, his thumb brushing slow circles across your skin.

You looked up at him—Mercedes black shirt clinging to his lean frame, sun-kissed curls curling just above his temples, his sea-blue eyes locked on yours like you were the only thing that mattered.

“A little,” you admitted, your voice small under the roar of an engine starting nearby. “I just don’t want to mess anything up.”

He stopped walking, even as people bustled around you—mechanics, drivers, VIPs, team managers. Like the entire world didn’t exist beyond the two of you.

“You couldn’t mess up a thing,” he said, tugging you gently into his chest. “You’re doing amazing. You’re here. With me. That’s already perfect.”

Your cheek pressed against the Mercedes logo on his shirt as he wrapped his arms around you, warm and strong and safe. You heard more camera shutters nearby, probably capturing the way his lips found your hair, the way his eyes softened when they looked at you, the way his hands never strayed far from your body.

You didn’t care. Neither did he.

“Everyone’s looking,” you mumbled.

“Let them,” he said simply, and tilted your chin up to kiss you. Not a rushed kiss. Not one of those nervous, polite ones you sneak when no one’s watching. No—this one was slow, full of heat and honey and quiet reassurance. The kind of kiss that said you’re mine without a single word.

And when he pulled away, he smiled like you’d just given him pole position.

“You’re so clingy today,” you teased, still breathless.

He smirked, brushing his nose against yours. “I’m in love. I’m allowed.”

The entire day, he barely let you go. In the hospitality suite, he pulled you onto his lap, arms wrapped around your waist as if that was his only source of energy. His head rested on your shoulder between meetings. He brought you water before you even asked, whispered sweet nothings in Italian under his breath—things you barely understood but felt deep in your stomach.

During press time, he kept glancing your way. Every smile he gave the camera? You knew it was meant for you.

You had a new nickname by the end of the afternoon.

“The one Kimi can’t stop touching.”

And it was true. He couldn’t. He wouldn’t.

Even Toto rolled his eyes when he walked in and found you both curled up on the lounge sofa, your fingers tangled in Kimi’s curls, his lips pressing lazy kisses to your collarbone. “Young love,” he muttered with a chuckle before backing out of the room.

Later, as qualifying approached, the tone shifted just slightly. Kimi became quieter, more focused. His grip on your hand didn’t loosen, but his brows furrowed, his shoulders tensed, his racer mode switched on.

“You nervous?” you asked, leaning against him as he changed into his race suit.

He exhaled. “No. Not really. Not about driving.” Then he turned to you, his hands finding your waist, his forehead resting against yours. “I just want to make you proud.”

“Kimi…” you whispered, brushing your fingers against his cheek. “You already do. Every day.”

He kissed you again—this time slower, deeper. His hand rested on your lower back, anchoring you to him like you were the only thing steady in the chaos.

“You’ll wait for me at the pit wall?” he asked.

“Always.”

Before he stepped into the garage, he looked back just once, giving you a wink and a crooked little grin. That was your boy—playful, charming, electric.

And then he was gone, swallowed by noise and speed and expectation.

You watched every second of qualifying from the monitor, heart pounding in rhythm with every lap. Your nails dug into your palms. You held your breath. Whispered his name.

When it ended—and he did more than well—the entire garage burst into claps and cheers. You saw the smile through his helmet, the relief in his shoulders. He pulled off his gloves, then his helmet, eyes scanning the crowd until they found you.

You didn’t even have time to think. He was suddenly in front of you, arms wrapping around your waist, lifting you up slightly, spinning you into a kiss that stole the air from your lungs.

“You were watching?” he asked, brushing your hair from your face.

“Of course I was,” you smiled. “You were incredible.”

His lips curved, and then he kissed you again. Forehead. Cheek. Nose. Lips. “You’re the reason.”

“I think the car helped.”

He laughed. “Sure. The car. But mostly you.”

---

That night, wrapped in hotel sheets and arms, your legs tangled together, Kimi laid with his head on your chest, tracing patterns on your skin with his fingertips.

“You still overwhelmed?” he asked softly.

You shook your head. “No. Now I’m just… full.”

He looked up at you, sleepy and soft. “Full of what?”

“Love,” you whispered.

His smile was everything. “You make the paddock feel like home, you know that?”

You kissed his forehead. “You make everywhere feel like home.”

And as his arms pulled you even closer and the night settled around you like a secret, you realized one thing:

You were exactly where you were meant to be.

---

[itsnesss]

𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐥𝐞 | kimi antonelli × fem!reader

summary | after accidentally posting a meme about kimi before he got his first pole position, you’re called to his team truck. what starts as a tense confrontation quickly turns into flirtation

warnings | fluff, mild language, flirting, romantic tension, kissing

word count | 1.0 k

🖇 more ka12 🖇️ f1 masterlist

It wasn’t intentional. Well… maybe just a little.

The meme had been ready since Friday. Kimi Antonelli: the prince of Free Practice Fridays, the ghost of Saturdays. It was funny, harmless… at least until he pulled off a magic lap in qualifying and got his first pole.

And you, on autopilot, posted it right after.

"When you make more shade than lap times," the caption read, over a photo of Kimi stepping out of the car, serious face, dark sunglasses. It was clever. It was viral. It was... a big mistake.

Your phone explodes.

First, the retweets. Then, the messages. After that, PR calls. And finally, the message you were dreading:

Kimi Antonelli: “Can you come to the truck for a second?”

You swallow hard. Take a deep breath. Walking toward the team area has never felt this long.

You find him leaning against the side door, still in his race suit, unzipped to the waist, a white shirt clinging to his chest, hair a little damp from the heat inside the helmet. He’s not smiling. He’s not even blinking.

“What was that?” he asks, in that tone so... Kimi. Serious. Calm. Lethal.

You try a nervous laugh.

“It was a mistake. I had the post scheduled before quali. I didn’t think you were gonna… well, pull off magic.”

He raises an eyebrow.

“So my mistake was proving you wrong today?”

“That’s not what I meant…”

“No?”

There’s a pause. You cross your arms. He studies you like you’re one of his corners on a brand-new circuit. Something shifts in his gaze. It's no longer just irritation. It’s curiosity. Playfulness.

“You know how many memes I’ve seen in the last three months?” he says, stepping closer. “Each one made me want to prove I’m more than just potential.”

Your heart drums. The air between you gets thicker than a gridlock in Monaco.

“And what do I have to do with that?”

“You’re the one posting them.”

“And you’re the one who got a pole. I fixed it, deleted it, celebrated it. What else do you want?”

Silence.

“An apology. In person.” Kimi barely smiles. “Because I want to hear if you sound as sarcastic as you write.”

You look at him. Long. You step closer. Your lips are just inches from his ear when you whisper:

“Sorry, Kimi. I really thought you’d qualify tenth.”

He chuckles. Drops his head for a second like he can’t believe it. Then looks up again. Closer. Sharper.

“You’re worse than I thought.”

“And you’re more intense than I expected.”

“Intense?” he repeats. “This isn’t intensity. This is passion. Whole different thing.”

That tone heats your cheeks. You look away. He notices.

“But you kinda like it, don’t you?”

“Don’t answer that,” you say, smiling even though you didn’t want to.

Silence again. But this time, it’s not uncomfortable. It’s loaded.

The distant noise of the paddock fades as he runs a hand through his hair and crosses his arms.

“You know what bothered me most about that meme...” he begins, lowering his voice, “wasn’t what it said. It’s that it came from you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re good. Too good. And I didn’t expect you to be the one doubting me.”

That hits harder than a badly taken chicane.

“I didn’t doubt you,” you murmur. “I laughed a little. But I never doubted.”

Kimi looks at you. Strong. Steady. Then, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, he steps closer. Your back touches the side of the truck. His hand rests just beside your head.

“Wanna buy me a coffee to make up for it?”

“Coffee?”

“Or whatever you drink when you wanna make things right with someone who’s looking at you the way I’m looking at you.”

You hesitate for a second.

A coffee. Any excuse would work, but you know it’s not about that. Not when he looks at you like this. Not when his eyes scan your face like they’re trying to memorize it. Not when his voice is no longer a challenge, but a whisper full of intent.

“I could buy you something,” you say, barely audible. “But I don’t think it’ll be enough.”

He tilts his head.

“No?”

“No.”

Your eyes drop to his lips, unintentionally. He notices.

What happens next is quick, but it doesn’t feel that way. Everything slows down.

Kimi leans in, just enough. Close enough for you to feel the brush of his breath on your lips. He smells like hot engine, adrenaline, and something fresh you can’t quite name—but it feels right. Familiar. The air between you vibrates with silent tension.

“Tell me if you don’t want this,” he murmurs, his voice a whisper. “But if you don’t say anything…”

You don’t say anything.

You can’t.

Because deep down, you’ve been waiting for this.

And he knows it.

His lips brush yours like he’s testing the moment’s temperature. Like he’s giving you one more second to back out.

But you don’t.

So you kiss him.

Or he kisses you. You’re not even sure. What matters is that it happens.

Slow. Intentional. Almost tender, though there’s fire underneath. Your heart pounds like it might burst through your chest. Kimi holds you by the waist, not hard, but firm—like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. Your hands end up on his chest, feeling the same wild rhythm that says just one thing: he wanted this too.

The kiss deepens. Your lips find his with a terrifying ease. There’s no awkwardness. Just need. Just desire.

When you finally pull apart, just barely, both of you are breathing like you just ran a qualifying lap.

He smiles. This time, for real.

“I think that made up for the meme.”

“Only a little?”

“A lot.”

“Then maybe I should post another.”

Kimi laughs. And this time, it reaches his eyes.

“Post whatever you want. But I’ll need the right to reply.” He pauses. “Privately.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. Emotional contract. After that kiss, you’re officially my personal community manager.”

You laugh. He looks at you like you’re his new trophy. And you, who were just there to do your job, realize the most important pole wasn’t the one he got on track.

It was the one that made you fall headfirst into this.

Into him.

[moonlightwritingf1]

Barcelona Nights | LN4

⋆˙⟡♡ summary ━━━━━━━ YN gets caught masturbating in the hotel room by Lando.

⋆˙⟡♡ pairing ━━━━━━━ Lando Norris x she!reader

⋆˙⟡♡ word count ━━━━━━━ 3.9k

⋆˙⟡♡ warnings ━━━━━━━ +18, sexual content

The Barcelona air was thick with the hum of engines and the buzz of anticipation. Y/n stood on the balcony of the luxurious hotel suite, her fingers gripping the railing as she watched the city lights flicker to life in the distance. She could still hear the faint roar of the crowd from the circuit, even miles away. Her heart had been racing all day, though not because of the cars—Lando’s presence had a way of doing that to her.

She sighed, running a hand through her hair. Why did I agree to this? she thought, though deep down, she knew the answer. Lando had been persistent, charming, and borderline irresistible since the moment they’d met six months ago. His playful teasing, his unwavering attention, the way his eyes always seemed to find her in a room—it was intoxicating. And yet, she’d kept her feelings locked away, afraid to admit them even to herself.

The sound of the door opening snapped her out of her thoughts. She turned to see Lando stepping inside, his McLaren cap backwards, his face flushed from the day’s events. “Hey,” he said, his voice warm but slightly breathless. “Sorry it took so long. Post-qualifying stuff, you know how it is.”

Y/n nodded, trying to act casual. “No worries. How’d it go?”

He grinned, that familiar sparkle in his eyes. “P2. Not bad, eh? But honestly, I couldn’t wait to get back here.” He walked over, leaning against the balcony railing beside her. “How about you? Enjoying Barcelona?”

“It’s… different,” she admitted, her gaze drifting back to the skyline. “But nice. Thanks for inviting me.”

“Like I’d leave you behind,” he said lightly, nudging her shoulder with his. His touch sent a shiver down her spine, and she quickly looked away, hoping he didn’t notice.

They stood there in comfortable silence for a while, the city’s energy wrapping around them like a blanket. Finally, Lando straightened up. “Listen, I’ve got some media stuff tomorrow morning early, so I’ll probably be out late tonight. You don’t have to wait up for me, yeah?”

She nodded, though a part of her wished he’d stay. “Got it. Don’t let me keep you.”

He hesitated, studying her face as if searching for something. Then, with a soft smile, he said, “Alright. See you later, yeah?”

“Later,” she echoed, watching as he grabbed a few things from the living room before heading out the door. The lock clicked shut behind him, leaving her alone in the spacious suite.

Y/n wandered back into the living room, her mind buzzing with restless energy. She poured herself a glass of wine, sipping it slowly as she tried to calm her nerves. But the more she sat there, the more aware she became of the tension simmering beneath her skin. It had been building for weeks—months, really—and now, alone in this lavish suite, it felt impossible to ignore.

She set the glass down, her fingers trembling slightly as she made her way to her bedroom. The room was large and elegant, with floor-to-ceiling windows offering a stunning view of the city. She closed the curtains, shutting out the world, and began to undress.

Her hands moved slowly, almost reverently, as she peeled off her clothes and let them fall to the floor. The cool air brushed against her bare skin, sending goosebumps across her body. She climbed onto the bed, her heart pounding as she reached for the dildo she’d packed in her luggage. It wasn’t something she normally brought on trips, but something about being here, in this city, in this suite, had compelled her.

She lay back against the pillows, her breath quickening as she positioned the toy between her legs. The first touch sent a jolt of electricity through her, and she bit her lip to stifle a moan. Her hips arched instinctively, craving more, and soon she was lost in the rhythm, her fingers moving in tandem with the toy.

Her thoughts drifted to Lando—his smile, his laugh, the way his eyes crinkled when he teased her. She imagined his hands on her body, his lips on her neck, his voice whispering her name. The fantasy consumed her, and soon she was moaning his name aloud, her hips grinding against the toy as her pleasure built.

Unbeknownst to her, Lando had returned to the suite way earlier than expected. He’d intended to grab something he’d forgotten, but the sound of her soft moans stopped him in his tracks. His breath caught, and he froze, his body reacting instantly to the realization of what was happening.

He crept closer to her bedroom, the door slightly ajar, and peered inside. The sight before him was enough to make his knees weak. Y/n was completely naked, her body glistening with sweat as she rode the dildo with abandon. Her breasts bounced with each movement, her face a mask of ecstasy as she whispered his name between gasps.

Lando’s hand instinctively went to his crotch, where he could feel himself hardening at the sight. He wanted to turn away, to give her privacy, but he was rooted to the spot, transfixed by her raw, unfiltered desire.

Then, as if sensing his presence, Y/n’s eyes flew open, locking onto his. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Her movements faltered, and she scrambled to cover herself, her face flushing crimson. “Lando! Oh my god, I—”

He stepped into the room, holding up a hand to stop her. “Don’t,” he said softly, his voice low and husky. “Don’t apologize.”

She stared at him, her chest heaving as she tried to process what was happening. “I-I didn’t think you’d be back so soon,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Lando took another step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. “Neither did I,” he admitted. “But I’m glad I was.”

Her breath hitched as he approached, his presence filling the room. She could see the hunger in his eyes, the same desire that had been simmering between them for months finally coming to a head.

“You were saying my name,” he said, his voice dripping with amusement and something far more primal. “Care to explain why?”

Y/n’s cheeks burned, but she held his gaze, refusing to back down. “What do you think?”

Lando smirked, closing the distance between them until he was standing at the edge of the bed. “I think,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper, “that it’s about time we stopped pretending.”

Her heart raced as he leaned down, his face inches from hers. She could feel the heat radiating off his body, the intensity of his gaze making it impossible to look away.

“Lando…” she breathed, her voice trembling.

He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing gently over her lips. “Tell me what you want, Y/n,” he murmured. “Because I’m done waiting.”

Y/n’s chest rose and fell rapidly, her breath caught somewhere between panic and desire as Lando’s thumb lingered on her lips. His eyes bore into hers, unrelenting, searching for the truth she had buried so deep inside herself. The air between them was charged, electric, and she felt like a single word could ignite everything.

“I…” she started, her voice barely audible, but Lando didn’t let her finish.

“No more hiding,” he said firmly, his hand still cradling her face. “Tell me, Y/n. Tell me what you want.”

Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it. She swallowed hard, her walls crumbling under the weight of his gaze. “I… I want you,” she whispered, her voice shaking but clear. “I’ve wanted you for so long, Lando. I just… I didn’t think—”

He cut her off with a kiss, soft at first, testing, as if to make sure she meant every word she’d said. But the moment their lips met, something ignited—years of tension, longing, and unspoken feelings exploding in an instant. His other hand found the back of her neck, pulling her closer as his lips moved against hers with a hunger that left her dizzy.

She gasped into his mouth, her hands instinctively gripping his shoulders for balance. He deepened the kiss, his tongue brushing against hers in a way that made her entire body tremble. It was raw, passionate, and utterly consuming. Every thought in her head evaporated, replaced only by the feeling of him—his taste, his warmth, his strength.

When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless. Lando rested his forehead against hers, his eyes closed, his breathing ragged. “God, Y/n,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

“Me too,” she admitted softly, her cheeks flushed. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw, reveling in the roughness of his stubble. “But Lando… we can’t… not now. You have to get to the track again.”

He groaned, dropping his head onto her shoulder. “You’re killing me,” he muttered, his breath warm against her skin. “Do you have any idea how hard it’s going to be to focus tonight knowing you’re here waiting for me?”

The low rumble of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. She bit her lip, trying to suppress the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Well, maybe you should’ve thought about that before you kissed me like that.”

Lando lifted his head, a devilish grin spreading across his face. “Oh, trust me, darling, that was just the beginning.” He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, “Tonight, I’m going to make sure you forget your own name.”

Her breath hitched, and she felt a rush of heat pooling low in her stomach. She opened her mouth to respond, but he pulled away before she could, stepping back with a look of mock regret.

“Unfortunately,” he sighed, running a hand through his hair, “I really do need to go. But don’t think for a second I’m letting you off the hook.” He winked, backing toward the door. “Be ready for me tonight, Y/n. I expect you to make good on all those fantasies you’ve been having about me.”

Before she could protest or even process what he’d just said, he was gone, the sound of the door closing behind him echoing in the room. She stared after him, her mind reeling. Did he just…? Yes, he did. A blush crept up her neck as she realized exactly what he’d overheard.

Groaning, she flopped back onto the bed, covering her face with her hands. This is going to be a long night, she thought, her heart still racing from the intensity of his kiss.

---

As the hours dragged on, Y/n found herself restless. She tried to distract herself—took a shower, changed into something comfortable, even attempted to read a book—but nothing could quiet the storm of emotions swirling inside her. Lando’s words echoed in her mind, taunting her, teasing her. Tonight, I’m going to make sure you forget your own name.

Her stomach flipped at the memory, and she found herself wondering just how far he planned to take this. Would he keep teasing her like he always did, or would he finally give in to the undeniable chemistry between them?

By the time the sun began to set, she was a bundle of nerves, pacing the living room of the suite. Every creak of the floorboards made her jump, her anticipation growing with each passing minute. Finally, she heard the sound of a key card being inserted into the lock, and her heart leapt into her throat.

The door swung open, and there he was, looking as unfairly handsome as ever. His hair was slightly disheveled, and his shirt clung to his frame in a way that made her mouth go dry. He smirked when he saw her standing there, frozen in place.

“Waiting for me?” he asked, his voice dripping with amusement as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

She crossed her arms, trying to appear nonchalant despite the way her heart was pounding. “I wasn’t sure if you’d actually show up,” she replied, though the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her.

Lando chuckled, setting his bag down by the door before walking toward her. “You really think I’d miss this?” he asked, stopping just inches away from her. His gaze dropped to her lips, and she could feel the heat radiating off his body.

“What?” she challenged, tilting her chin up defiantly. “Got something to prove, Norris?”

His laugh was low and throaty, sending shivers down her spine. “Oh, darling,” he murmured, leaning in so close she could feel his breath on her skin. “I’m going to prove so much more than that.”

Lando stepped back, his eyes never leaving hers as he began to unbutton his shirt. “I’m going to take a shower,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “You’re welcome to join me.”

Y/n’s cheeks flushed, but she shook her head quickly, trying to hide the way her body reacted to his words. “No, thanks,” she replied, crossing her arms over her chest in what she hoped was a defiant gesture.

He smirked, clearly not buying her act, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he tossed his shirt onto the chair beside him and turned toward the bathroom, giving her one last lingering look before closing the door behind him.

The sound of the shower starting filled the suite, and Y/n let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her heart was still racing, and her skin felt hot everywhere Lando’s gaze had touched her. She glanced toward the closed bathroom door, then at the bed in his room, an idea forming in her mind.

What if I…?

Without giving herself time to second-guess, she slipped into his bedroom, closing the door softly behind her. She stood there for a moment, listening to the faint sound of water running from the shower, then slowly began to undress. Her clothes fell to the floor in a pile, and she stepped out of them, feeling exposed yet exhilarated. She climbed into his bed, pulling the covers up to her chin as she waited.

The minutes dragged on, each one stretching longer than the last. Her nerves were on edge, every sound making her jump slightly. Finally, the shower turned off, and she heard the bathroom door open. She held her breath, her heart pounding so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

Lando stepped into the room, towel slung low around his hips, his hair still damp and tousled. He froze when he saw her in his bed, his eyes widening slightly before a slow, knowing smile spread across his face. “Well, well,” he drawled, leaning against the doorframe. “Look who decided to make herself comfortable.”

Y/n bit her lip, trying to appear confident despite the way her pulse was racing. She shrugged, the motion causing the sheet to slip slightly, revealing the curve of her shoulder. “Your bed looked more inviting,” she said, her voice soft but steady.

“Is that so?” he asked, pushing off the doorframe and walking toward the bed. His movements were deliberate, each step bringing him closer until he was standing at the foot of the bed, looking down at her with a heated gaze. “And here I thought you weren’t interested in joining me earlier.”

She shifted under the covers, the sheet sliding down further to reveal the swell of her breasts. “Maybe I changed my mind,” she murmured, her eyes locked on his.

Lando chuckled, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down her spine. He reached for the towel around his waist, his fingers brushing against the fabric as he teased her with his next move. Slowly, almost torturously, he tugged the towel loose, letting it fall to the floor.

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of him. His cock was already hard, thick and throbbing, and she couldn’t help but lick her lips as her gaze traveled over him. God, he’s gorgeous, she thought, her mouth suddenly dry.

“Like what you see?” he asked, his voice laced with amusement as he watched her reaction.

She nodded, unable to tear her eyes away. “Very much,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Lando’s grin widened, and he climbed onto the bed, kneeling at the end as he leaned over her. “Then why don’t you show me just how much?” he suggested, his tone teasing but unmistakably serious.

Y/n hesitated for only a moment before sitting up, letting the covers fall away completely as she moved toward him. She crawled across the bed, her eyes never leaving his as she positioned herself between his legs. Her hands rested on his thighs, warm and firm beneath her touch, and she leaned forward, her breath ghosting over his cock before she finally took him into her mouth.

“Fuck,” Lando groaned, his head tilting back as her lips wrapped around him. His hands tangled in her hair, guiding her but not forcing her, letting her set the pace.

She took her time, exploring him with her tongue, savoring the way he throbbed in her mouth. She kissed him, licked him, played

She pulled back slightly, her lips still brushing against the tip of his cock as she spoke, her voice low and teasing. “You have a very nice cock, Lando.” Her tongue flicked out to taste him again, and he groaned, his hips jerking involuntarily.

“Fuck, Y/n,” he breathed, his hands tightening in her hair. “You’re going to kill me.”

She smiled, her eyes locking with his as she took him deeper into her mouth, savoring the way he filled her. She could feel him throbbing against her tongue, taste the saltiness of his skin, and it only made her want more. Her hand moved down to cup his balls, gently rolling them between her fingers as she sucked him, her lips moving up and down his length with practiced ease.

“I love your cock,” she murmured, pulling back just enough to speak before taking him in again. “I could suck it every day.”

Lando let out a choked laugh, his breath hitching as she worked him over. “You’re fucking insatiable,” he muttered, but there was no heat in his words, only awe and desire.

As she continued to pleasure him, she could feel herself growing wetter, her own need building with every moan that escaped his lips. She was dripping onto the bed beneath her, her arousal impossible to ignore. When Lando noticed, his eyes darkened, and a sly grin spread across his face.

“Look at you,” he teased, his voice thick with lust. “So fucking wet for me, aren’t you? My little slut.”

She blushed at his words, but they only fueled her desire, making her even more desperate for him. She moaned around his cock, her eyes fluttering closed as she lost herself in the sensation of him filling her mouth.

But Lando had other plans. With a growl, he pulled her off him, ignoring her whimper of protest. He flipped her onto her back, his eyes raking over her naked body like a predator sizing up its prey. His gaze lingered on the glistening wetness between her thighs, and he licked his lips hungrily.

“I need to taste you,” he declared, his voice rough with need. “Now.”

Before she could respond, he was on her, his mouth descending on her core with a hunger that left her gasping. His tongue delved into her, exploring her folds with an intensity that made her arch off the bed. She cried out, her hands tangling in his hair as he devoured her, his tongue lapping at her wetness like a man dying of thirst.

“Lando!” she screamed, her hips bucking against his face as he drove her closer and closer to the edge. Every lick, every suck, every thrust of his tongue sent waves of pleasure crashing through her, leaving her trembling and incoherent.

He paused for a moment, looking up at her with a wicked grin. “God, you taste so good,” he murmured, his breath hot against her sensitive flesh. “I could eat you out all day and never get enough.”

His words sent a shiver down her spine, and she whimpered, her nails digging into his scalp as she begged him not to stop. He didn’t need to be told twice. His mouth returned to her, his tongue working her clit with a precision that had her seeing stars. He slipped two fingers inside her, curling them just right, and she came undone, her orgasm crashing over her like a tidal wave.

“Fuck, Lando!” she cried, her body convulsing with pleasure as he continued to lick and suck at her, drawing out her release until she was left boneless and panting.

When he finally pulled away, his lips were glistening with her wetness, and his eyes were filled with desire. He crawled up her body, his cock pressing against her thigh as he kissed her deeply, letting her taste herself on his tongue.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against her lips, his voice fierce and possessive. “All mine.”

She nodded, her heart swelling with emotion as she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer. “Yours,” she agreed, her voice trembling with the weight of her feelings.

There was no turning back now. The tension that had been simmering between them for months had finally boiled over, and neither of them could—or would—put out the fire. They were consumed by each other, lost in a whirlwind of passion and desire that showed no signs of slowing down.

Lando positioned himself between her legs, his cock pressing against her entrance as he looked down at her, his eyes searching hers for any hesitation. There was none. Only want, need, and something deeper that neither of them was ready to put into words yet.

“I’m going to make you feel so good,” he promised, his voice husky with desire.

And then he was inside her, filling her completely as she gasped, her nails digging into his back. He started slow, allowing her time to adjust to him, but it wasn’t long before the pace quickened, their bodies moving together in perfect harmony.

“You feel incredible,” he groaned, his forehead pressed against hers as he thrust into her, each movement driving her higher and higher.

She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, could only feel. The way he filled her, the way he touched her, the way he looked at her—it was overwhelming in the best possible way. She clung to him, her cries of pleasure mingling with his groans as they moved together, chasing the ecstasy that only the other could provide.

And when it finally came, it hit them both like a freight train, their bodies shuddering as they reached the peak together. Lando’s name spilled from her lips like a prayer, and hers from his like a promise, as they tumbled over the edge into blissful oblivion.

For a moment, they simply lay there, tangled together and breathing heavily, the world outside forgotten. But as reality began to creep back in, Lando rolled onto his side, pulling her with him so that she was nestled against his chest.

“Tell me this is real,” he murmured, his voice soft but urgent as he brushed a strand of hair from her face.

She looked up at him, her heart aching with the depth of her emotions. “It’s real,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “It’s always been real.”

He kissed her then, softly, tenderly, as if sealing the truth of her words. And as they lay there, wrapped up in each other, the lines between fantasy and reality blurred, leaving only the undeniable truth: they were meant for each other.