#and then telling the interviewer that he should be more proud of how well hes doing

[dreamauri]

♪ — 𝗚𝗢𝗟𝗗𝗘𝗡 𝗥𝗘𝗧𝗥𝗜𝗘𝗩𝗘𝗥 oscar piastri x girlfriend! reader (fluff) fic summary . . . Oscar Piastri can't help but gush about his girlfriend in every interview, effortlessly weaving you into his conversations with pride and admiration

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Oscar Piastri had a habit—one that everyone in the paddock noticed almost immediately. He couldn’t stop talking about his girlfriend. And not just in the offhand, casual way people might expect, like a passing mention here or there. No, when Oscar talked about you, it was like flipping a switch. His entire demeanor softened, his eyes lit up, and his words came tumbling out with an earnestness that left no room for doubt: he was absolutely, irrevocably smitten, and he made sure the world knew it.

It started innocently enough during an interview early in his rookie season. The journalist had asked about his study habits for learning new tracks, expecting a typical response about simulator hours or reviewing footage. But Oscar, with that easy grin of his, took a completely different direction. “I mean, I’ve seen how my girlfriend studies for her exams, so this should be pretty easy,” he said with a playful shrug. Then, as if he couldn’t help himself, he added, “She’s top of her class, by the way.” The pride in his voice was palpable, his expression glowing with admiration. The journalist couldn’t help but chuckle, already mentally jotting down notes to find out more about this mysterious academic powerhouse who clearly had Oscar wrapped around her finger.

And that was just the beginning.

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During a fan stage Q&A, he managed to take things up a notch. A young fan asked how he stays calm under pressure, and Oscar didn’t even need a moment to think. He leaned into the mic, his face lighting up in that boyish, unfiltered way of his. “Oh, that’s easy. The other night, my girlfriend—she’s a top athlete, by the way—was prepping for this big event she had. Watching her manage everything so smoothly kind of puts my little race stress into perspective.”

The crowd’s reaction was immediate: a mix of cheers, laughter, and a collective ‘aww’ that made Oscar’s cheeks flush faintly. He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, like he hadn’t just melted half the audience’s hearts with a single sentence. The sincerity in his tone was undeniable, and the moment was all the more charming because it was clear Oscar didn’t think he was doing anything out of the ordinary. He was just telling the truth, proud and in awe of you as always.

But even then, he wasn’t done. “Honestly,” he added with a laugh, “if I handled pressure half as well as she does, I’d be unstoppable.” It was a line delivered with such casual reverence that it didn’t just make the fans smile—it left them convinced that Oscar Piastri wasn’t just a rising star in Formula 1; he was also a contender for the title of world’s best boyfriend.

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Then there was the time he was caught on McLaren’s YouTube channel, unabashedly gushing about how much he loved going shopping with you. It started as a casual behind-the-scenes segment—just Oscar and Lando killing time between commitments. But when the topic of hobbies came up, Oscar’s eyes lit up like a kid at Christmas.

“No, seriously,” he began, animatedly waving his hands as Lando looked at him like he’d lost the plot. “She’s got this incredible eye for things. Like, we’ll walk into a store, and she’ll just pick something up and instantly know it’s perfect. I don’t even know how she does it.”

Lando, ever the mischief-maker, raised an eyebrow. “And what’s your contribution to this magical shopping experience?”

Oscar didn’t miss a beat. “I…carry the bags,” he said with a proud grin. “It’s a good system.”

Lando snorted, muttering, “Golden retriever boyfriend,” under his breath, fully expecting Oscar to deny it. But Oscar, in his usual laid-back way, just shrugged and smiled wider. “I mean, if the shoe fits.” The clip went viral almost instantly, with fans agreeing that if there were ever a category for Boyfriend of the Year, Oscar was already a shoo-in.

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Then, there was the time during a press junket when a reporter asked him about his organization skills. The question was meant to highlight how drivers juggle their packed schedules, but Oscar’s response was anything but rehearsed.

He laughed, a warm, self-deprecating sound that filled the room. “Honestly, I would’ve been doomed yesterday if my girlfriend hadn’t reminded me about something I forgot. She’s the organized one in the relationship. I just…drive cars fast and hope for the best.”

The room burst into laughter, a few reporters exchanging amused glances at his candidness. But Oscar just grinned, his expression softening with the unmistakable fondness that always seemed to creep into his voice when he talked about you.

“It’s true,” he added with a shrug, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to openly admit just how much he relied on you. And that was the magic of Oscar Piastri—his genuine, unabashed love for you turned even the simplest of conversations into something that felt warm and unforgettable.

Even in the most casual conversations with fans, you always managed to find your way into the spotlight through Oscar’s words. Like the time a fan brought him a book about racing during an autograph session. He accepted it with a warm smile, flipping through the pages for a moment before looking up. “Oh, my girlfriend loves reading,” he said, almost absentmindedly but with so much fondness it felt deliberate. “She’ll probably finish this before I do and then give me all the highlights. Saves me time.”

The fan giggled, clearly charmed, while the rest of the queue exchanged knowing smiles. It wasn’t just what he said—it was how he said it, like mentioning you was the most natural thing in the world. And for Oscar, it was.

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Then there was the post-race interview after one of his toughest performances. He’d started the race in a dismal qualifying position, clawing his way through the pack to secure points in a way that left commentators breathless. By the time he reached the interview pen, his suit was damp with sweat, and exhaustion painted his features. But even then, the familiar warmth of his smile made an appearance as he approached the mic.

“You know,” he began, his voice still catching its breath but steady, “I think a big part of getting through today was remembering something my girlfriend told me.” His words were met with curious expressions from the reporters, who leaned in just a little closer. “She’s amazing at staying positive no matter what, and she’s always reminding me to focus on what I can control.”

He paused for a second, his gaze drifting toward the camera as if he was speaking directly to you. “So, yeah, this one’s for her.”

The sincerity in his voice left no room for doubt. This wasn’t just an offhand mention or a fleeting thought. You weren’t just his girlfriend in name or title—you were his anchor. The way he spoke of you wasn’t just endearing; it was grounding, a reflection of how much you truly meant to him. 

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

One of the sweetest displays of Oscar’s affection unfolded during a behind-the-scenes McLaren vlog. The team had been filming some candid moments during a break, and the camera panned to Oscar sitting in a corner, scrolling through his phone. His expression was soft, his lips curved into a barely-there smile. Then, as if remembering something, he nudged Lando, who was lounging next to him.

“Oh, look, my girlfriend,” Oscar said, holding up his phone. His voice was tinged with a quiet kind of excitement, like he’d discovered a hidden treasure he couldn’t wait to share. The camera zoomed in just enough to catch the sparkle in his eyes as he looked at the photo. “She sent me this earlier. Isn’t she gorgeous?”

Lando let out an exaggerated groan, flopping dramatically against the couch. “Mate, you’re insufferable,” he muttered, though the amused grin on his face betrayed him. “Do you ever stop?”

“Not when it comes to her,” Oscar replied without missing a beat, his smile growing wider as he looked at the picture one more time before carefully locking his phone.

The clip went viral within hours of the vlog’s release. Fans couldn’t get over how sweet—and utterly smitten—Oscar was. Comments flooded in, praising his open adoration and dubbing him the “ultimate golden retriever boyfriend.”

But for those who knew him, this was just Oscar being himself. No matter where he was or what he was doing, you were always on his mind. And he made sure everyone around him knew just how proud he was to call you his. Whether it was your achievements, your quirks, or simply the way you lit up his life, Oscar never stopped finding ways to weave you into the conversation.

It wasn’t just about the words he said, though. It was the way he said them—with genuine admiration, unwavering pride, and a love so pure it could light up the entire paddock. His tone softened when he spoke about you, his expression grew warmer, and his smile turned just a little brighter.

If Oscar Piastri was the golden retriever boyfriend the world had come to adore, then you were undoubtedly his favorite human, his everything, the one who made all his happiest stories worth telling.

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The atmosphere was electric at the Yas Marina Circuit, the tension so palpable it could’ve powered the floodlights. It was the last Grand Prix of the season, and everything was on the line for McLaren—the Constructors' Championship title hung in the balance. Among the sea of orange and black, you stood out—not just because you were there to support Oscar Piastri, but because you radiated an energy that seemed to magnetize the young driver to your side.

From the moment you both arrived on Thursday for media day, fans couldn’t help but notice the stark contrast in your personalities. Oscar, always reserved and thoughtful, seemed content to let you take the lead, his quiet confidence complimented by your vibrant presence. When a fan asked how you two had met, you lit up with a mischievous smile.

“I adopted him when we were in school,” you said, glancing fondly at Oscar, who was shyly smiling at the ground. “I guess he just stuck to my side.”

Oscar, standing beside you, squeezed your hand in his as he chuckled. “Well, it’s hard not to stick to you. You kind of pull people in.”

Throughout the weekend, Oscar was a picture of quiet affection. Whether it was holding your hand, wrapping an arm around you, or resting his chin on your head during quieter moments, his touch was constant. Fans caught glimpses of him whispering things to you that made you laugh, your bubbly personality clearly rubbing off on him in the best ways.

When race day arrived, the stakes were high, and Oscar’s nerves were evident. But even after a dramatic first-lap collision with Max Verstappen that caused him to spin out and drop down the grid, you were still cheering for him like he’d just secured pole position.

By the time the checkered flag waved, McLaren had done it—they’d secured the Constructors' Championship. Despite Oscar’s rocky race, you were beaming with pride as he pulled into the pit lane. Seeing your smile waiting for him made every frustration of the day vanish from his mind.

After the podium celebrations for the team, a surprising transformation unfolded. Your extroverted energy seemed to seep into Oscar as if he’d caught your enthusiasm like a contagious laugh. Gone was the usual quiet and composed Oscar. In his place was a driver buzzing with excitement, grinning from ear to ear as he darted around the paddock.

He didn’t just take pictures with the team; he orchestrated them like a director at a photo shoot. “Lando, get over here! And grab that trophy!” he called, dragging his teammate into a chaotic group photo. When Lando least expected it, Oscar grabbed a bottle of leftover champagne and sprayed him without mercy, laughing so hard he had to lean on you for balance.

“You’re ridiculous!” you teased, wiping the champagne splatter off your face.

Oscar grinned wickedly. “Oh, am I now?” Before you could react, he turned the champagne on you, spraying it in a gleeful arc. You squealed, half-laughing, half-shouting as the fizzy liquid soaked your hair and clothes.

“Oscar!”

He set the bottle down and pulled you close, pressing a kiss to your cheek as if that would make up for it. “You look even better drenched in champagne,” he said, his voice warm and teasing. His giggles, boyish and utterly unguarded, filled the space between you.

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile as you ruffled his hair. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

The two of you stood there in the middle of the celebration, drenched in champagne and surrounded by the joyous chaos of the team. Oscar looked at you, his face softening. “I couldn’t have done this without you, you know. Even when it’s rough, you make it all worth it.”

You smiled up at him, brushing a stray lock of hair out of his face. “And I’ll always be here, no matter what.”

[sinofwriting]

I ❤️ MILFS - Max Verstappen

Words: 9,747 Summary: Max wasn’t too sure who the woman was that was always with Logan, but he was sure that he wanted to get to know her. Note(s): Sargeant Reader, Age Gap, Older!Reader, Logan and Oscar are both 20 during the 2023 season, not 22. The 2023 driver standings are different (I am giving Logan the season he should have had). Reader has the nickname Pan (short for momma panther). Logan is sweetheart, Max is head over heels in love. I’m gonna be honest I never thought this fic would get written or finished. I got the idea for it back in December but only started writing it on March 16th. And it would have never happened without @burningcupcakefire & @pucksandpower. Thank you both so much for all your help. (also if anyone wants to see more of Max and Pan, let me know)

Masterlist | Support Me! | I ❤️ MILFS verse

Max remembers the announcement of Oscar’s arrival to F1, the drama and hilarity of it. Sometimes he sees the kids name and has to stop himself from laughing. No nineteen-year-old had any business being that funny.

Max doesn’t remember much of Logan’s announcement to F1. Only that he was young as well, being the first American in forever, and Williams' quick admission that they hadn’t wanted to sign, had wanted to wait another year.

He wishes now that he had paid more attention.

There’s a woman standing in the William’s garage, on Logan’s side. She’s clearly there for him, with the similar pass that his trainer has around her neck, and the way her eyes intently follow Logan’s movements around the garage as he talks to the mechanics and engineers.

She also happens to be the most beautiful woman Max has ever seen.

—

She can’t help but clutch at Benny’s arm the whole race, terror gripping her along with pride.

Benny chuckles when the race comes to an end, Logan doing his cooldown lap and she finally lets go. “And just think you’ve got over twenty more races of this.”

Her nose wrinkle and a hand goes over her heart that’s thudding. “Please, Benny.”

He chuckles again but pats her shoulder. “You’ve got this.”

“Not gonna tell me it gets easier?”

He snorts. “No. This is far worse than F2 or F3 and we still were both scared watching him out there. We’ll never know a day of peace now.”

She sighs, watching the screens as it shows the top three getting interviewed and in the background you can see some of the drivers getting weighed. “He’s going to be sore and in pain.” It makes something clench inside her, the knowledge that Logan would be in pain. It was part of the job, the aches and the bruises, but it didn’t make it any easier for her to know.

“I’ve already got everything set up as soon as he’s back and debriefs are done.”

Her eyes catch on the screen showing where all the drivers placed and tears prick her eyes and she shakes her head. “Twelfth in his first grand prix. I can’t believe it.”

The garage is filled with chatter as the team celebrates getting their first points of the season and their rookie driver performing better than they expected. The way they don’t even try to whisper it makes her jaw twitch. She was grateful that Williams was giving Logan his dream, but she didn’t like how they were going about it. Quickly and publicly stating that they didn’t want to sign Logan yet, wanted to wait a year. And now this.

A light nudge to her ribs makes her unclench her jaw and she gives Benny a grateful smile.

Both of their attention is quickly drawn however to the two Williams drivers entering the garage, the space filling with cheers.

She smiles as Logan grins at the team, basking in the smiles they have on their faces for him and Alex, the pats on the back he’s getting. The grin turns to a beam when he spots Benny and her and he quickly bounces over to them.

A laugh leaves her at the way Benny pulls him into a bear hug, lifting him off his feet a little. “Proud of you, kid.” He murmurs.

She can’t hear what Logan says, but he’s put down and it’s her turn.

She wants to bundle him up in her arms, hold him and not let go, but doesn’t want to embarrass him in front of his team, so she raises a hand and pushes his hair out of his face. “You did amazing, baby.”

He smiles at her, all bright and shiny eyes and then he’s wrapping his arms around her, hugging her tight and she’s quick to return it, rubbing his back.

“You did so good, Logan. So good. I’m so proud.” She tells him again, pressing a kiss to his sweaty head.

“Thank you, momma.” He tells her, hugging her tight for another moment before letting her go.

She smiles up at him and god, that makes her heart ache. Her son, her baby, taller than her somehow. She woke up some days and still wasn’t sure where the time had gone and how he was taller than her shoulders. “Go shower and debrief and then Benny and me will take care of you, yeah? And I’ll get your favorite ordered to the hotel, ready as soon as you get there.”

He beams at her again, darting forward to press a quick to her cheek before starting to rush away. “Best mom ever!” He calls over his shoulder and she laughs.

—

Y/N Sargeant will never forget the first time she held her son, only then at nine years old, he had been her cousin.

Logan was small, wrinkly, pink skin, and full of small cries. She could remember staring at him with furrowed eyebrows, trying to understand how he could be what her baby dolls were made to be like. She remembers her mama having her sit on the couch after asking her if she wanted to hold him and how she had quickly nodded, hoping that maybe holding him would somehow make him look better.

She remembers the sudden nerves that built in her stomach as her mama started to hand him to her. Remembers being scared that she would drop him, remembers thinking how stupid it would be if he was still weird to look at like this.

And she remembers finally holding that and it disappearing. His small cries, no more, his wriggling calmed down, and his wrinkles no longer looked weird but cute. She remembers holding him for the first time and feeling unconditional love for the first time in her life.

—

She’s twelve when she realizes that her uncle and aunt don’t like Logan much. It didn’t make sense to her then, still doesn’t know. Because they liked Dalton just fine, but not Logan.

She remembers asking her dad about it. Asking him why they didn’t love Logan, but loved Dalton and worse, she remembers the pained look in his eyes as he realizes that his child picked up on what he and his wife had as well.

It’s the first hard adult conversation she has with her parents and it’s fitting that it’s about Logan, as they sit her down and talk to her about how not all parents love their kids, and how sometimes that includes them only loving one child and not the other.

—

She remembers clearly the first time Logan calls her mom.

It’s her fourteenth birthday and she’s got the four-year-old in her lap as she sits in a rocking chair, reading her English essay aloud for him. Logan’s eyes are closed, head resting on her chest, over her heart, and his little fingers of his one hand are curled in her shirt right by his head.

She wants to sit there forever, reading to him as she rocks back and forth. But she wants another slice of cake before Martha puts it away and Logan needs to sleep in his bed where he can stretch out fully and drool on his pillowcases and not her shirt that Martha will surely tut over but then smile fondly when she sees Logan doing it all over again.

Setting the essay down on her dresser, she runs her now free fingers through his blond hair. “C��mon Logan, time for bed.”

He grumbles, fingers tightening on her shirt and she can feel it being pulled slightly.

“You can put on your new race car jammies, cuddle with Ello.”

He shakes his head, squirming a bit in her lap as he tries to shove himself closer. “Stay with you.”

“Oh, baby.” She whispers, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Y’know I’ll stay with you until you fall asleep.”

His head shakes again and she has to bite her lip as his head hits her collarbone. “Want cuddles, momma.”

Her heart thuds painfully in her chest at the name he called her, tears pricking her eyes. “Okay, baby. Let's get you in jammies, grab Ello, and you can stay with me tonight.”

—

She’s only been eighteen for ten hours when she asks her father for the near impossible.

“I want custody of Logan. I want to adopt him. And I need your help to make that happen.”

He stares at her, no expression on his face, not even shock.

“He’s,” She pauses, jaw twitching and tears springing to her eyes. “He wants to do karting, just like Dalton. And he’s good at it. I’ve taken him. They told him no. They haven’t bought him clothes in two years. They don’t know a single thing about his school, his grades, his teachers. He hasn’t called David dad since he was six and he hasn’t called Madelyn mom since he was four.” Her hands are formed into fists, nails digging into her palms as she speaks. “I have money, I can provide for him. I’ve got my shares of the company now and I’ve got my inheritance from Grandma Talls. But I know that a judge won’t sign off without some influence.”

“Madelyn and Daniel?”

She leans forward in her seat, a spark of hope filling her. “I already talked to them, they’ll do it.”

One of his hands comes up to rub at his mouth, sighing. Then it drops to open up one of his desk drawers and he’s pulling out a bunch of papers, dropping them on the desk in front of her.

“I figured this was gonna happen and I knew after you talked to them and they called me. They signed away their rights three hours ago. Michael and Lily are waiting outside to come in so you can sign the papers.”

Tears slipped from her eyes, joy wrapping itself around her entire being from his words, the fact that he called their family lawyer to be on standby, that he and her mother were so supportive. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

He smiles at her. “I couldn’t say no to you. Not when it comes to Logan. I’m way too young to have a grandkid, let alone one that’s eight, but I made my peace with that years ago.”

“Thank you.”

—

Max watches the free practice session coverage intently as they focus on the Williams garage, nose wrinkling when they focus on Logan’s trainer, Benny and then James Vowles. Could it really be possible that they never once caught a shot of her? He starts to get a sinking feeling in his stomach that he's gonna have to go on Twitter when the camera moves and suddenly she’s there and he’s scrambling for the tv remote, pressing the pause button just before the camera switches to an overhead shot of the Bahrain track.

His heart skips a beat as he gets his first good luck at her. Her pretty eyes and smile. His eyes then travel down, wanting to know her name and his heart drops.

Y/N Sargeant, Mother of Logan Sargeant.

Fuck.

—

“Momma Panther!” Oscar greets to the confusion of other drivers as Logan and a woman enter the room.

Lando’s eyebrows are raised as he watches Oscar stand. Watching as his teammate claps Logan on the back, before giving him an actual hug. Before he then hugs the woman as well, whispering something to her that makes her laugh.

Pulling away from her, Oscar grins when her hand comes up to pat his cheek for a second. “Thank you for the invite, Os.”

“Of course.” He sends a fond look to Logan, who's standing awkwardly by the table.

“Y’know Logan and you are always welcome.”

She makes a humming noise.

“C’mon, let me introduce you to everyone.”

Turning around, he smirks at the table. “Everyone, Logan.”

Charles lets out a laugh, as the others chuckle.

He gestures to her, “This is Momma Panther or Pan.”

“Y/N or Pan.” She corrects, playfully shaking her finger at Oscar. “I only let the F2 boys call me Momma Pan.”

He sighs. “Okay, this is Y/N. Logan’s mom.”

Lando coughs, water going down the wrong pipe. Fernando’s eyes are wide as he looks at her. Charles, George, and Alex are all nodding. Max has a weird expression on his face and Carlos looks dumbfounded.

“She,” Carlos points at her. “Is his,” he points at Logan. “Mother?”

Logan moves away from the table to stand by his mom, easily melting into her side at all the attention. The action makes Oscar smile, all too used to the easy affection between the mother and son. “I got pretty lucky right?”

She shakes her head. “I’m just happy you weren’t a difficult child.”

Logan both blushes and preens at the same time.

Carlos shakes his head, disbelief still clear.

“Please, sit.” George says after a moment. “We haven’t ordered yet.”

The seasoned drivers and her watch amused as both Oscar and Logan usher her to sit first. Oscar easily then lets Logan sit next before sitting beside the American. The two of them sharing a grin after.

It makes her shake her head as she turns her attention to the menu, tuning out the sound of conversation picking back up.

The gentle sound of a throat clearing makes her glance to her left.

The current two time world champion smiles a bit awkwardly at her. “Have you been here before?”

She shakes her head, turning her head a bit to look at him better. “No. To Australia of course, for Logan’s races and to visit Oscar once, but not here.”

He nods and she can’t help but notice the way he swallows harshly. “We started coming here in 2021, it’s good food. Good drinks.”

She laughs, “good gin and tonic?”

He flushes a little, but laughs. “Yes. Very good. Heavy on the gin.”

She nods, “I think I’ll have one of those then.”

Her eyes drift back to the menu, not even wincing at the prices next to the dishes. This was nearly cheap compared to where she had been forced to eat growing up.

“Momma, can we,”

“Yes.” She answers before Logan finishes, already knowing what he’s asking. “Also you two, no hard liquor. We have plans tomorrow.” She continues, still looking at the menu.

They wouldn’t get drunk from a few drinks, but she had a feeling that Lando would try to instigate something again with Oscar, making the poor kid so drunk he could barely walk, again. And she didn’t mind people thinking that she was overbearing with Logan and even Oscar. The boys knew that if they really wanted to do something they could, even if she said otherwise. It was one of the nice things about being an adult.

Logan wrinkles his nose, glancing at the drinks part of the menu, before grinning. “They have it.”

Oscar glances at what he’s pointing at, shaking his head. “You and your goddamn obsession.”

“We come here like once a year.” Logan defends. “And no other country sells it.”

It’s not until after the server leaves, all of their orders taken, that conversation starts again.

“So, Mrs. Sargeant,” Lando starts.

“Just Y/N or even Pan.” She sends a fond look to Oscar who had made that nickname stick. “And I’m not married.” She says, amused.

“Ah.”

“Not married.” Fernando shakes his head. “Now that doesn’t sound right.”

She looks at him amused. “Don’t believe in premarital sex?” She teases.

The older driver laughs and so do the others. “No. Just hard to believe that you aren’t married. You are a very gorgeous woman.”

“Thank you.”

“So,” Lando starts again, giving Max a weird look seeing how his friend is gripping his glass of water. “Will you be coming to all the races?”

She nods. “Yes, I have since Logan started his career. Haven’t missed one.”

Logan shakes his head, grinning at her. “Nope, not one.”

“Your work allows you to do that?”

Her lips press together for a second to try and hide her smile at the gentle but obvious fishing they are doing. “I have shares in some companies and a very generous inheritance. So, no true, real work.”

“You do some work for Grandpa when we’re in the states.”

“I organize his desk for him, which he then messes up as soon as he sits back down at it.”

“You do not mind the constant travel? It is quite tiring.” Charles asks, curious.

“No. And once I got Logan in karting, I promised him that I’d make it to all of his races. Maybe in a few years, I’ll stop going to all of them, but I am part of his team as well.”

“Manager?”

“God, no.” She shakes her head at Carlos’ assumption. “Cook slash nutritionist. Benny, his trainer is amazing, also doubles at being a physiotherapist for Logan, but he doesn’t know how to cook to save his life. So I make their meals.”

“Mine as well.” Alex pipes in. “They’re truly amazing, by the way.”

“Thank you.”

“Can you make mine again?” Oscar asks, leaning over Logan a bit to look at her. “I’ve missed having them.”

“Sure.” She laughs. “Get me your new sheets before the next race, yeah?”

“Done.”

—

Max watches from the corner of his eyes as she takes her first sip of her gin and tonic. Her brows raise a bit when the drink hits her tongue and he has to force his eyes up, to not focus in on her lips, to think about them and what they’d feel like on, he shakes his head. Forcing the thoughts, the ideas away.

“Very heavy on the gin.” She whispers, turning a bit to look at him.

He rubs his hands against his jeans. “Do you like it?”

“It’s nice.” She smiles.

Relief fills him. “Good.”

He continues to look at her, wanting to tear his eyes away but being unable to. She was simply lovely. And getting this closer look at her, he can’t believe that she’s a mother, or at least a mother to a twenty-year-old. It didn’t seem possible. She looked barely older than him. Not at least thirty-five. She was probably more like Fernando’s age as well and he glances at the fellow two world champion, more disbelief filling him. Because how could the two be close in age at all?

—

Logan sighs as he collapses face first onto Oscar’s bed. Laying there for a solid minute before groaning and turning his head.

“Dinner was nice.”

Oscar hums and he can feel the bed dip beside him.

“You seemed a bit more relaxed.”

“No media, and you and Pan were there. A bit more relaxed.”

Logan scoffs. “Yeah, because you were so tense with media before.” As he speaks, he reaches out to lay a hand on Oscar’s thigh, giving the muscle a squeeze. “It’s nuts, isn’t it? I mean we all got told that the media was so much more, so different, but…” He trails off, shaking his head.

“Yeah.” Oscar sighs and then he’s laying beside Logan, the American luckily moving his hand off and away from the other’s thigh before he lies on it.

“Y’know I have no personality, apparently.”

Logan snorts, eyes opening when he hadn’t even realized he had closed him. The Australian driver also has his head turned so they’re looking at each other. “What? Have they never seen a Prema video?”

He shrugs as best as he can.

“I’d take that over my apparent frat boyness.”

“You? A frat boy?” Oscar laughs.

Logan sighs as he thinks a bit more about it, the mood turning a bit serious. “I just hope momma hasn’t seen it.”

“What happened?”

“She’s just worried. Thinks I haven’t noticed, but she’s wondering if she did a good job with me, done enough for me. And she’s given me everything y’know. I can’t imagine what I’d be like with them as my parents.”

Oscar moves a bit closer, just a few inches between their faces now. “You’d still be amazing, still great. Maybe a frat boy.”

The American rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling.

“I think Fernando has a thing for her. For Pan.” He clarifies.

“What?”

“I mean, just during the dinner y’know, he kept looking at her. And him calling her gorgeous.”

“Well, he’d be dumb and blind to not notice that.” Logan scoffs, rolling onto his back and turning his head to the side, keeping his eyes on Oscar.

“I’m being serious.” The younger laughs, poking him lightly. “I think Alonso has a thing for her.”

Logan’s face scrunches up in disgust. “Dude, no. That’s gross. Momma isn’t even thirty and Fernando’s like forty-three. And isn’t he dating that journalist?”

Oscar’s brows press together. “What journalist?”

“The one that gave Fred shit.”

“I thought she died?”

The two look at each other, both baffled.

Logan thinks again of the journalist he’s seen around Fernando and the one that all of the Prema drivers, former and at the time current, had avoided or given shit statements too. They did look a bit different now that he really thought about it. Fernando’s journalist slash girlfriend didn’t have a fucking complex.

“Different journo.” Logan mutters. He then blinks, “wait, she died?”

“Mate, you didn’t hear about that?”

“No!”

“She was supposed to be at Spa, remember. And we all were relieved when she wasn’t there. She died, car crash or something, I can’t remember.”

“How do I not remember this?”

Oscar shrugs as best as he can while laying down. “I don’t know.”

It’s silent for a moment, “you don’t think,”

“No.” Oscar shakes his head, but he doesn’t sound too sure. “I mean, yeah no.”

“Right.” He looks up at the ceiling.

“Okay, so Fernando is out of the running.”

Logan groans, “Os, no.”

“Look he clearly has eyes, but if he’s dating someone he’s out. He wasn’t the only one looking.”

“Oscar, please, it’s my mom.”

“She’s like my mom too, which is why we have to talk about this.” Oscar insists, wriggling closer to Logan. Their sides completely pressed together and when Logan turns his head to look at the other, their noses nearly brush.

He looks at Oscar’s face, all earnest and caring and sighs. “Fine. Charles was looking, but he only dates one type, so safe from him.”

“Lando was looking.”

Logan snorts, “I thought this was for potential dates, not another kid.”

He laughs, their noses brushing together from the movement. “Okay, no Lando. Max.”

“He kind of looked weird when you introduced her.” He frowns.

“I saw that too.”

“But he also got all blushy when they talked.”

“The drivers do know, I mean Alex knows that she didn’t like birth you, right?”

Logan’s frown deepens. “Of course. I mean, it’s not super well known, but it’s a little hard to believe that she naturally had a kid twenty years ago.”

“Thought so.” Oscar then chuckles. “Imagine, them thinking that she did, though. Just thinking she’s got some sort of insane skin care routine.”

—

“How in the hell does she look like that with a twenty-year-old kid?”

“I know right?” Alex says, looking at Carlos. “It’s insane.”

Charles pokes at his own cheek. “I think I need to ask her for advice, what products she uses. I want to age like her.”

“We all want to age like her.” George agrees.

“What are you saying?” Fernando frowns.

A few of them share a look, but Charles and Max share a different one. “Mate, you’ve got wrinkles and all these lines.” Max says. “I mean those are natural, but look at her. The skincare helps.”

Fernando frowns, “Lines?”

Charles touches at his own lines, “see lines. From smiling, laughing, frowning. All good things, very nice. Just not uh,” his brows furrow drawing a blank.

Lando snorts at his struggle. “You just want to help your skin. Keep it healthy.”

The older driver makes a humming noise, considering.

—

Her breath is caught in her throat, eyes wide as she watches the screen. Her heart feels like it is beating in double time. She wants to look away, doesn’t want to watch in case something horrible happens, but she can’t. Because Logan just overtook both Magnussen and Ocon in the same lap. Logan is in 9th. Logan is in a point scoring position with only five laps of the race left. Logan might score his first formula 1 points at his home race, at his actual home race, at his first ever home race.

Her hands are shaking, fingers locked together as she presses them against her mouth, trying to breathe, praying that Logan won’t fall back out of the points.

She doesn’t even notice that he’s lessened that gap to Pierre until suddenly he’s overtaken the other French driver, just three laps later. “Oh my god.”

“Fuck.”

“Benny,” she whispers, and one of her hands is dropping so she can clutch at the older man. “Benny, I think,”

“He’s gonna do it.”

And sure enough he does it. Logan holds his place in front of Pierre and finishes in 8th.

“Yes!” The whole garage is cheering and she’s wrapping her arms around Benny, laughing when the trainer lifts her.

“He did it! He did it!” She cheers.

The garage quiets though as Gaetan starts to speak on the radio.

“Logan, you are on your cooldown lap.”

“Got it. Where’s Alex?”

She winces at the question, one of her hands grips at Benny’s shoulder as he sets her back down, the other holding onto her headphones that miraculously didn’t get thrown off her head or disconnected when celebrating. “Alex is P14, P14.”

It’s quiet for a moment. “Okay, I’m sorry we didn’t get any points today, next race is ours right? The car felt great.”

Both of her hands fly up to her mouth.

“Logan.” Gaetan’s voice is full of disbelief and laughter. “Mate, you finished P8. You got us points. You got your first points.”

She can see him react to the news, the car jerking underneath him for a second, before he wrangles it back under control.

“What? What do you mean?”

“You finished in P8. Clean race, finished ahead of both Alpines and Magnussen.”

“Holy fuck.”

The garage fills with laughter at his reaction and tears start to build in her eyes.

“You guys,” his voice breaks. “Thank you guys so much. This was you guys, the car felt great, really.”

She watches as James hops on the radio. “This was you as well, Logan. Amazing drive today.”

“Thank you, James. Thank you so much for this.”

His mechanics, Benny and her, quickly go over to where the cars are parking, watching as Logan slots it into place. He’s a little shaky as he gets out of the car and he’s about to dart towards them but someone from the FIA, is ushering him to the scale.

His reluctance is clear even with his helmet on, but he goes. Letting them take his weight and as soon as it’s written down, he’s stepping off and away, fumbling with his gloves and then his helmet.

There’s an awed grin on his face, tears in his eyes, and seeing it makes the tears that have built in her own fall.

His gloves and helmet tumble to the ground as his mechanics and Benny surround him, celebrating his points.

Logan laughs when they finally let them go and his eyes light up when he sees her and he darts to her and she easily welcomes him into her arms.

“I’m so proud of you.” She tells him, squeezing his sweaty body close before running a hand through his hair. “You did amazing.”

“I did it, momma.” His voice is weak and she can feel tears hit the skin of her neck where his head is buried.

“You did it.”

—

“Logan did amazing, it was a good drive.”

She blinks in surprise at the voice, turning in her barstool to look. “Max?”

He smiles at her, cheeks flushed. “He did really well.”

“He did.” She agrees before patting the stool next to her.

His smile widens as he takes the seat.

“I didn’t realize that Red Bull was in the same hotel.” Maybe she should have since she had spotted a few Red Bull polos, but she figured it was fan gear.

“I think Aston is here as well. You aren’t celebrating with Logan?”

She shakes her head. “We already celebrated. Him, Oscar, and a bunch of his friends here are throwing a party. I wasn’t really interested in watching them all get wasted, so this,” she gestures to the hotel bar, “is me having a drink to celebrate before going up to my room and ordering some room service.”

“Could I join you?” His cheeks redden at the words, at the way her eyebrows raise. “Not like that. But for food? I’ve never actually eaten anywhere in Miami that wasn’t catering.”

She stares at him for a moment before nodding. “Yeah. And I have the perfect place to take you.”

—

“Did I actually score points yesterday?”

“You did.”

“Sweet.”

“Very. How’s the head?”

Logan shrugs, “I mean, I drank a lot, but like I’m just dehydrated.”

She shakes her head, “That will change in a few years.”

“Not gonna tell me to not drink underage?” He teases, bending down to press a kiss to her cheek before grabbing her glass of juice and draining it.

She snorts. “We’re in Europe most of the time and I gave you your first drink. I don’t think I have a leg to stand on. And you were celebrating.”

“True.”

He sits across from her, refilling the glass and taking another drink from it before setting it down and starting to help himself to her pancakes, which she just pushes closer to him. “How was your night? You could have joined us. We wouldn’t of minded.”

“I’m your mom, Logan.” She laughs. “I think the me going to your friend's parties ship sailed a few years ago.”

“Yeah, but you're awesome. We like having you around.”

“I know.” She smiles. “I wasn’t in the mood to watch all of you get wasted.”

“Fair.” he says around a bite of pancake, which she sends him a look for and he quickly swallows the food. Giving her a smile that says sorry.

“So, how was your night?”

“It was good.” She tells him, spearing a piece of fruit with her other fork. “I came back to the hotel, had a drink, and then got dinner with Max.”

His brows press together. “Max?”

“Verstappen.” She clarifies. “Red Bull is staying here as well, he saw me at the hotel bar and asked if he could join me for some food.”

“You went on a date?”

Her eyes narrow at him. “It wasn't a date.”

“You went on a date.” He scrambles for his phone. “Oscar is never gonna believe it.”

“I go on dates.”

“Momma, you’ve gone on like five dates. And two of those were before you turned eighteen.”

She scowls at him. “It wasn’t a date. We just got dinner.” She insists.

“Uh huh.” He says, clearly not believing her. “Did he pay?”

“Yes.”

“Pull your chair out, help you with your coat, anything like that?”

Her mind flashes back to Max helping her get out of his car, his insistence on opening doors for her. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean,”

Logan continues. “Did he walk you to your hotel room? Say that he had a good time and he’d like to do it again?”

“Oh.”

Logan grins at her, smug, as he finishes typing out a text to Oscar. “You went on a date last night.”

“I went on a date last night.” And she doesn’t mention the fact that a new number resides in her phone.

—

“Logan!”

He stops at the sound of his name, turning to look behind him, where Max Verstappen is nearly jogging to catch up with him. “Max.” He greets, when the older driver is next to him, nerves filling him at the eyes of said driver on him, along with how a few other drivers are also looking at the pair, shock and surprise clear on their faces.

“Hey.” Max grins. “How are you feeling about the track?”

He looks at the older driver in confusion. They had just left the drivers briefing, why was he asking him this? Alex had already spoken about how the team was feeling about Monaco. “The car won’t be the best here, but we said that in Miami, so we’re hoping to repeat that here. Alex has a good chance at ending in a point scoring position.” He reiterates what he's been told and what he’s been telling the press.

“But how are you feeling about it?”

Logan stares at the Dutchman, eyes flickering around trying to see if cameras are there, if his momma is there, but there isn’t anyone. The other drivers are already gone, so are the FIA people. It’s just him and Max. “Y’know you don’t have to talk to me because you went out with my mom.”

He expects relief, like that one dick Jase, and really who puts that on a birth certificate, but Max just frowns. “I know, I don’t have to.”

Logan swallows around the lump in his throat, “right.” Turning around, he starts to walk, somehow knowing that the other driver will join him. “It’s a tricky track, it’s Monaco. I was here last year and I barely got in the points.”

“P10 and P9.”

He throws the driver a look, because that was too much to know, but Max is just looking at him, encouraging him to continue. “The car isn’t suited for it. I mean it wasn’t for Miami, but this is different. And I’m still not managing my tyres correctly, so even if I did manage to gain positions, I’d get called in to pit and lose them.”

Max huffs out a laugh. “You are a rookie in a Williams, it’s impressive that you’ve already gotten points. If you could manage your tyres, when sometimes even I struggle, well I’d put you in Checo’s seat.”

“Not yours?”

He laughs again, “No. I’m a bit better at it than Checo.”

Logan couldn’t really deny that.

“Do you want some advice? On the tyres?”

Logan quickly nods. “I’ll take anything I can get.”

“Don’t fight the car too much on the turns. If you need to get it to turn properly or without going on the brakes too soon, fight it. But when you don’t, let the car be stable, keep it fluid. When you come out of the corner, press harder. It might feel like you’ll go into the wall, but you won’t.”

“And if I go into the wall?”

Max laughs, clapping him on the shoulder. “I think you're a better driver than that mate.”

—

“How are you doing that in the turns?”

Logan looks up from his notebook, where he’d been scribbling a bunch of random words. Looking at the screen, he watches his own onboard. He thinks about saying that it was Max that told, but no one at Williams liked hearing about Red Bull, especially with Alex in the room. “Just something I thought I’d try.”

“Well, it was good, continue doing it. We may have ended up out of the points, but we got close.”

Logan nods. Even with his five-second penalty, he had still kept fourteenth, and Alex ended up in twelfth. “Will do.”

—

Max had thought about her in his apartment a lot, an embarrassing amount. He had also pictured it very differently. A nice dinner, wine, even though a majority of it made his nose wrinkle, perhaps some kissing on his couch as a movie plays that they both don’t care about.

He hadn’t expected lunch, with juice that he’s trying to figure out how he’s never had it when he’s lived in Monaco for so many years, and a somewhat serious conversation, though maybe he has been expecting that one or rather anticipating it.

“I like you, Max.”

He flushes, “I like you too.” He really did, even though his mother was going to have a heart attack when she found out how much older Pan was than him.

“And I want to continue doing this.” She gestures between them with her free hand that isn’t being held in his.

“So,” sensing that there’s something she wants to say.

“I’m a mom.”

He blinks at her words, panic starting to fill him. He thought he’d made that clear that he knew that, understood that. He always made sure to ask about Logan. He even had Logan’s number now after talking to him about how he felt about the Monaco track. “I know.”

“Logan is important to me.”

Oh, god, did Logan not like him?

“The most important thing to me. And if we're going to continue to do this, I just need you to know that. He’s always going to be my first priority.”

“Of course.” Relief fills him, his heart slows from its frantic beating. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

She stares at him, trying to gauge how truthful he’s being before nodding. “Okay.”

“Did you think that I didn’t know that?”

She shakes her head immediately. “No, it’s just. I don’t really do this.” She laughs. “Dating, relationships. Logan pointed that out to me, so I don’t really know how this goes and I just had to make it clear, put it on the table now.”

“I don’t really do this either.” He hesitates to ask his next question, but does. “Logan’s father. What was your relationship with him like?”

Her face screws up in disgust. “Ew.”

He laughs, not expecting that reply or that word to sum up a relationship. But fair enough.

“I mean the idea of a relationship between me and Logan’s father is gross. Logan’s,” she pauses, seeming to settle on a different word. “Birth parents are my aunt and uncle.”

“His what?” He could have sworn she said birth parents, but that couldn’t be right.

“His birth parents.” She looks at him, concerned. “I adopted Logan when I turned eighteen. Did you think I gave birth to him?”

“No.” He says, shaking head and clearing his throat. “Of course not.”

She stares at him, lips pressed together.

He sighs, slumping in his seat, eyes closing. “I may or may not have thought you were just a really, really young looking forty-something year old woman.”

She immediately bursts into laughter and his eyes fly open at the sound. “You thought?”

“The graphic for the race footage says you are his mother, I did not think otherwise. I just thought you looked great for your age.” He defends, a little embarrassed, but delighted by the expression on her face and her laughter that is still filling his ears.

“I am his mother, just adopted.”

“Not that either of you see it that way.”

“No.” She shakes her head, laughing one last time before calming down.

“No. Logan’s mine, he’s been mine practically since he was born. It just wasn’t seen that way legally until I was eighteen and custody got signed over to me.”

“Of course.” He then flashes her smile, “So can I ask how old you are?”

She laughs, nodding. “Yes, Max. I think just this once it’s better to ask a lady her age than assume it.”

“How old are you?”

“I’m twenty-nine.”

He looks at her with new eyes, the age making much more sense. “I would’ve said twenty-five.”

“Really? I think you would’ve said forty-something.”

“How was I to know?” He throws his free hand in the air at the tease, his other still holding hers.

—

“Hi, baby.” She greets when Logan stumbles out of his room, practically still asleep, as he drops onto the couch.

“Momma.” He whines, resting his head on her lap and turning his face to press it into her stomach, trying to block out the sun.

Her fingers brush through his hair as she forces her body to stay relaxed. It was always a fight when he did this.

She hated that her body didn’t bear any signs of being pregnant before, no stretch marks around her belly. She hated that she hadn’t actually gotten to carry Logan no matter how impractical it was, unless of course she was as old as Max had thought she was. She smiles at the memory of how flustered Max had looked when he realized her actual age.

He mumbles something and she turns his face away from her stomach.

“What?”

“How was your date last night?”

Her smile widens. “It was good.”

“Yeah?”

She nods.

“Did you see Jimmy and Sassy?”

“No.” She runs her hand over his forehead, knowing that he’s thinking of Sooty. “We should talk though after you’ve had some breakfast.”

“About what?”

“Breakfast first.”

“What do we need to talk about?” Logan asks nearly thirty minutes later, his fruit bowl all gone and his coffee on its way to be there as well.

She swallows, hands flexing. “Max.”

“What about Max?”

She sighs. “Well, baby, him and I talked about becoming serious last night. But that’s not gonna happen until I know how you feel.”

“You know, I’m okay with it.”

“I know you're okay with me dating, but this is a bit more complicated. Max is on the grid with you and we’re talking about a relationship.”

Logan eyes widen a bit at the word relationship. “I mean, how does Max feel about it? About being with someone who has a kid on the grid?”

He asks knowing it will give him time to figure out how to tell her how he feels and because he wants to know, he kind of wants Max to be okay with it. He likes Max, and not just as a driver. The older driver is kind and funny, he also looks at his mom like she’s the sun, he makes her happy and that’s enough to put him in Logan’s good books. His mom deserves the best and he thinks from what little he’s seen, from how much more happy his mom has been (and god that was weird, because it wasn’t even like she wasn’t happy before) that Max might be the best for her. And Max now every time he sees Logan is always stopping to talk to him even if it’s just for a second to say a quick hi.

“Max is good with it. He knows that you're my number one and that’s never going to change.”

Logan flushes at the words.

“He also likes you, thinks you're a good kid.” She lets out an amused huff as the word kid leaves her mouth. It was odd to hear Max describe Logan that way, with only five years between them. But at the same time she knew it came from being practically a veteran in the sport. Max was coming up on ten years in Formula 1 despite his young age.

He flushes even more. “Really?”

“Yeah.” She smiles. “He always asks about you, it’s really sweet. And he knows to that if you aren’t comfortable with this or need more time then that’s what will happen.”

“I am an adult.”

“You are.” She was sadly well aware of that fact. “But you are my baby, my kid. I couldn’t be in a relationship with someone if you didn’t like them or if it made you uncomfortable.”

He nods. “I’m okay with it. Max makes you happy, he’s nice.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

—

She lets out a giggle as arms wrap around her from behind, lips pressing against her cheek. “Hi.”

“Hi.” Another kiss is pressed to her cheek. “Can I help?”

She glances down at what she’s finishing up. “No. You could set the table, though?”

“Done.” A kiss is pressed to her temple and then the blanket of heat that covered her back is gone. “What cabinet?”

“First one entering the kitchen on the left.” She says, turning her head a bit to watch as Max pulls the dishes out.

Her mouth goes a little dry as she watches him. His t-shirt is tight around his biceps and chest. His skin is a little tanned after their date a few days ago on a friend's yacht. She forces her eyes to not look at his hands, instead trailing them up to his strong shoulders and neck and then to his face. Max, she thinks as he starts to put the plates on the table, is unfairly attractive. Before he can catch her staring, she checks on the final thing on the stove. “Perfectly done.” She mumbles with a smile.

The sound of the front door opening makes her smile grow wider as she grabs a pot holder.

“Am I late?”

“Just on time.” She tells Logan as he steps into the kitchen.

“Can I,”

She stops him before he can continue. “No, go wash up.”

“Alright.” He bends a little to press a kiss to her cheek before turning on his heel, offering a wave to Max. “Hi.”

“Hi, Logan.”

Picking up the pan, she shakes her head as Max goes to try and take it from her.

“Logan and you are both going to get on too well.”

“Why’s that?” He asks, a twinkle in his eye.

“You both don’t like when I lift anything.”

“What’s the point of having a son or a boyfriend, then?” Logan says, clapping Max on the shoulder as he comes back.

Max grins at the younger, delighted as he claps him back. “Exactly. We feel a bit neglected.”

She rolls her eyes, shaking her head, though a smile is stretching across her lips.

—

Max watches amused as the mother and son argue.

“Mom, it would be for two races, two, that’s it.”

“One race, really.” Max chimes in, smiling when she glares at him. “Spa is nice, but Zandvoort is really what I consider my home race.”

“See, it would be one race. Max wants you in his garage.” Logan says, looking at the other driver, begging for him to help but at the last sentence Max shakes his head.

“I never said that. Well, I would like to see Pan in my garage, not for the whole weekend, or even a day. She’s part of your team.”

Logan looks at him, bewildered. “But, it’s your home race.”

He shrugs. “I’d like for her to stop by, you as well. I already have it cleared with the team. Staying for even a whole session though just doesn’t make any sense. I don’t need her on my side of the garage to know that she’s supporting me, wanting me to do well, not when you are on the grid.”

“Are you sure?”

Max smiles at Logan, because yes he was sure. Did he want her there, supporting him? Maybe even dressed in something with his number? Of course. But, he liked seeing her in Logan’s garage. Supporting him, wearing his merch, being a mom. “I’m more than sure.”

“Besides,” she says, drawing both of their attention. “Max and I haven’t gone public yet. Or really told anyone yet.”

—

“Well, this is a bit of an odd one.” Laura says as they stop in front of the Red Bull garage.

The cameraman focuses on what she’s looking at.

“Both Logan Sargeant and his mother, better known as Pan from Formula 2 fans, are in the Red Bull garage, currently talking with our current championship leader Max Verstappen, his engineer GP, and Daniel Ricciardo.”

“Shall I see if I can steal one of them away?” Will asks, smiling at the camera as he holds the F1 TV microphone loosely.

“Please.” She gestures.

Will steps towards the garage smiling at the small group hovering just inside. “Could I steal one of you for a quick minute?”

The five exchange a look and Will stops himself from rolling his eyes at the way they all look annoyed at the idea, but Logan nods. “Sure.”

“Thank you.”

He watches as Logan says something quietly to them, getting nods from them all. His brow furrows when Max squeezes his shoulder before the younger driver gives his mom a quick hug, making him shake his head. Logan Sargeant was an absolute mommy’s boy and it was embarrassing as all hell to see. He couldn’t imagine being twenty and hugging his mom in public, let alone all those videos and photos of him reaching for her hand.

Will ignored the part of him that did think it was sweet and felt bad for the kid. He couldn’t look all sappy while filming, especially not when in front of the Red Bull garage.

“Hi everyone.” Logan greets, taking the third mic from the newest crew member.

“Hello, Logan. How are you feeling about this weekend?”

He smiles at Laura. “I’m feeling okay, I’ve raced here before, obviously not in an F1 car, but I do have some experience with this track.”

“And you and your mum’s visit to the Red Bull garage, should we expect an announcement of you switching teams?” She teases.

“No.” He laughs. “No, uh, just visiting for personal reasons. Saying hello to Daniel, wishing Max a good home race.”

“I mean, I’m not sure, he needs it.” Will jokes, gaining a few laughs. “So, no business to be done at Red Bull? Just saying a hello and wishing a good race to a fellow driver.”

“Yeah,” he pauses, looking back at the garage where it’s just Max and his mom standing now watching him with smiles on their faces. It’s only that he continues when his mom gives a brief nod, one barely able to be seen by the camera. “And I wasn’t just wishing a fellow driver good luck.”

“Oh?”

Logan grins, looking pleased with himself. “I was wishing my new dad good luck.”

—

“Carlos Sainz is a cunt.”

Max freezes at her words, hand still on the doorknob from just stepping into the room.

“Hi, schat.”

“Carlos Sainz is a cunt.” She repeats.

His brain is scrambling because what exactly had Carlos done but also why was it so attractive to her say the word cunt. It had to be the accent, he decided quickly, still trying to figure out the Carlos thing. “And why is Carlos a cunt?” He finally asks, releasing the door knob and stepping further into the room.

She’s on her laptop, rapidly typing something, and he can feel anger radiating off her.

“That bullshit he spewed, blaming Oscar’s inexperience.” She scoffs, pausing her typing as she shakes her head. “It was an incident, a racing incident, something he knows a lot about. There was no inexperience fault.”

“Oscar’s okay?” He already knows that he is, but knows it's good to ask.

“He’s good. He knows that it's a racing incident.”

Max winces. Wonders for a second if he should warn Carlos to keep his mouth shut, but shrugs. It wasn’t his fault that Carlos was getting in trouble because he couldn’t watch his mouth or correctly look at footage. “Can I help?”

She sighs, hitting close on whatever she was writing in. “No.” She then closes her laptop, turning to face him, with a smile. “Hi. Congrats on the win.”

“Thank you.” He bends to kiss her. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just,” she waves her hand at her laptop, “stuff.”

“Anything I can help with?”

She starts to shake her head no as he sits on the edge of the bed, but she stops.

“Actually, could I get your insight on something? Not just as a driver, but as someone who lives and breathes racing, loves data, really knows how the sport works.”

“Of course. What’s going on?”

Another sigh leaves her, hand coming up to rub at her mouth for a second before it drops. “Why would a team not resign a driver?”

His eyebrows furrow, because she knows the reasons, but he answers. “Not performing well, they want out of the team or sport, sponsorship issues.”

“The driver wants to stay in the sport and the team.” Her lips turn downwards a bit at the word team. “And the driver brought new sponsorships to the team.”

“They have to be not performing well.”

“They’re a rookie in a back marker team.”

“They have to be really performing badly.” Max says, trying to think of who in Formula 2 or 3 she’s talking about.

“They already have six points and have placed ahead of their experienced teammate three times.”

His mind is scrambling again, trying to find a reason, because what? “How many does his teammate have?”

“Nine.”

“I have no idea. Not unless there’s conflict within the team.”

She shakes her head.

“Is there potentially a more experienced driver for the spot?”

She shakes her head. “They’re looking at another rookie or maybe someone who stepped away from the series for a year, though they’d rather take a rookie than him.”

“I don’t have an answer for you. It doesn’t make sense to me.”

She nods, expression falling and she’s rubbing at her face.

“What’s going on?” He asks, standing up just to crouch down in front of her, taking her hands in his.

“The driver’s Logan.”

“What?”

“Williams isn’t sure they want to offer Logan another year.”

Max stares at her. “How?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugs, laughing. “There’s talks of them signing whoever wins this F2 championship or even the runner-up depending on who it is. Logan’s making too many mistakes.”

“He’s costing them too much money.” Max fills in the blank, shaking his head. “That’s ridiculous. Don’t take a rookie if you can’t afford it. You are supposed to account for the worse. And he’s doing well. It’s not his fault that they built a shit car.”

“I don’t know what to do.” She admits, voice just a whisper, and his heart clenches painfully at the sound of it, at the tears in her eyes. “This is his dream. I don't know what to do if that gets taken away from him.”

“It won’t. We’ll figure something out.” He tells her, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

—

“I think I’m spoiled.” Max says, watching as she gets ready for bed. A faint feeling of arousal pooling his gut as she pulls on one of his shirts. He absentmindedly wonders if it would be weird to wear it tomorrow to the track, the scent of her lotion clinging to it.

“Why’s that, honey?”

He smiles, cheeks a bit pink, and that arousal builds a bit more at the pet name, at the way she shifts in the vanity chair to loosen some tension in her back. “You come to every race, you see me win, you celebrate them, you got to see me win my third championship today.” Those words feel weird off his tongue, today, but totally sober to celebrate. He wants desperately for tomorrow to come, for the race to finish so they can celebrate, him, her, Logan, the team.

“I guess you are a bit spoiled.”

He gasps, clutching at his heart, making her giggle.

“That’s okay though.” She says, getting up and moving onto the bed, straddling him. “I think I like you spoiled.”

He groans as she dips her head, pressing a kiss to the flutter of his pulse. “Schat.” It's a warning to stop and a plea for more.

“I know.” She kisses the spot a bit firmer. “Celebrations will have to wait just a day longer.” She then rolls off him, his arm immediately lifting so she can press against his side.

“It’s cruel to win with a sprint race.”

She snorts, “A sprint race never stopped us before.”

“It’s cruel to win with a sprint race in Qatar.” He amends.

“Very true.”

He sighs, staring at the ceiling as he calms down, luckily the feeling of her fingers tapping along his stomach not making it harder.

“How’s Logan feeling?” Max asks, remembering how pale he looked when they got dinner.

She sighs, moving somehow closer. “Not great. No fever, but his stomach is still a bit upset.”

He winces. “He gonna be okay tomorrow?”

“I hope so. The team knows that he’s sick, they’ll make the right choice.”

“I hope so.” He echoes, wishing that Logan felt better, hoping that he feels better by the time the race starts.

—

“We are confident in him.” Max scoffs, tossing his phone aside.

“I know.”

“Logan still wanting to do his new routine.”

She nods, lips pursed.

He shakes his head. “He did good.” It wasn’t the rookie season that Oscar had, but it couldn’t be. Oscar got lucky enough to get a seat in a near top team, while Logan got one with a back of the grid team that was sometimes midfield.

Logan scoring ten points, getting himself to sixteenth in the standings, tied with Bottas in the standings, was very good for a rookie. It was a shame that Williams seemed to think he could’ve and should have done better. At least, Max thinks, the 2025 grid was wide open for possibilities.

“Are him and Oscar still joining us?”

She throws him a look. “Us?”

“You.” He amends, knowing that despite him joining her, he’d get caught up in Redline and different things. He was just happy she didn’t mind that.

“Only for a few days and then they both are off to Australia.”

“Will Logan be joining us for Florida?”

“Yes. My mom has been asking the next time she’s going to see her only grandchild.”

Max laughs at the eye roll. “So, Belgium first, then Monaco,”

“You go to Milton for a day after.”

He nods, “then Greece, Florida, Monaco.”

“Not bad for the first few weeks of winter break.”

“Not bad at all.” He agrees, wrapping his arms around her waist, chest pressed against her back.

It’s quiet between the couple as Max sways them.

“Max.”

“Yes?”

“Your mom, she does know that I’m not in my forties right? Or thirties?” She figured that the woman did, but she also had only briefly gotten to meet her at the one race, and there had been an odd expression on her face when Max introduced her as his girlfriend.

He freezes.

“Max.”

“I knew I forgot something.”

@ohtous @cixrosie @darleneslane @fanboyluvr @teti-menchon0604 @eugene-emt-roe @quackquackhun @rewmuslupin @copper-boom @stopeatread @crashingwavesofeuphoria @jointhehunt67 @namgification @asphalstead @poppyflower-22 @racingheartsposts @gemofthenight @peachiicherries @lpab @hiireadstuff @iloveyou3000morgan @boiohboii @bibliosaurous @skepvids @elliegrey2803

[mystra-midnight]

— CALL ME LITTLE SUNSHINE | part i

pairing: rockstar ! eddie x innocent ! reader

tags: pet names. dirty talk. making-out. fingering. oral; (fem receiving). marking; (hickeys). loss of virginity. corruption kink. semi-public sex. eddie is entirely pussy whipped.

w/c: 6.7k.

a/n: welcome to part one! it's been a hot minute since i've posted anything as thought out and in-depth as this so if you could take a few minutes to reblog or comment some feedback, i'd very much appreciate it. ♥

"Corroded Coffin! Corroded Coffin! Corroded Coffin!"

The ever-growing crowd had been calling for the band the entire time you'd been waiting in line, which, after looking at the watch tucked beneath the sleeve of your cardigan, had been almost an hour and a half. The chanting had gotten so loud that, at some point, you'd stopped being able to hear yourself think, instead relying on Steve's large hand clasped around your own to tell you when to shuffle forward.

You felt out of place, unlike Steve and Robin. Everywhere you looked, people were dressed in leather and chains; piercings here, there, and everywhere; fishnets; big black platform boots; heavy make-up; and tattoos. And then there was you, dressed in a simple summer dress, hugging a knitted cardigan around your shoulders, wearing strappy sandals, and looking like someone right out of the Stepford Wives.

Other people noticed; you'd swear it, though no one said anything. As you looked between people, you caught a few of them looking at you, their expressions a motley of emotions that made you shift uncomfortably. Metal music had never been a particular favourite of yours, and concerts like this—where people were packed in like sardines—definitely weren't your preferred scene. The thought of being alone, snuggled beneath a blanket, and enjoying a glass of Moscato was much more appealing.

But you'd promised Steve and Robin that you'd come.

Well, no, not exactly. You hadn't promised either of them anything; instead, you'd given in to their constant whining. Steve and Robin had hung themselves from your legs as though they were dramatic, tantruming toddlers, pouting, and begging you to go with them. And after promising to cook dinner every night for a week—no, wait, a month!—your resolve finally broke.

That was how you found yourself finally walking through the double doors of the stadium. A gust from the air conditioner greeted you as you stepped inside, blowing your hair into your eyes and lip gloss, but it was a welcomed relief.

"I think that took literally forever." Your feet were already aching, and the thought of standing for another two hours was mentally and physically exhausting. Sure, you'd listened to some of Corroded Coffin's songs and thought they were good, but you weren't looking forward to standing in a sweaty crowd.

"Right. That was crazy, and they only have two scanners going. It's going to take forever to get everyone inside." Steve replied. His fingers tightened around yours when he felt your strides slowing, and he turned to notice your attention was on the merchandise display a few feet away. Following your gaze, he found the band tees hung up on a pinboard, images pressed onto the fronts and backs of each one. Some showed the band's tour dates and the cities they were scheduled to stop in, while others had stylised versions of Eddie's face.

Steve practically beamed with pride. He was proud of how far Eddie had come since they'd met—from school freak to famous rockstar. It was a big change, but a well-deserved one, given all the shit he'd been through. Somehow, he'd remained modest and hadn't forgotten where he'd come from; he'd gotten his uncle out of the trailer and into a two-bedroom apartment; he thanked his uncle and friends during every interview; he'd even forgiven his childhood bullies, though he never forgot what they'd done to him.

"Come on," he said while tugging your hand. "We should get in before the show starts," he said when you hesitated, teeth tugging on your lower lip as you continued to eye the shirts, bandanas, and posters on display. It was called the Upside Down Tour, and the band had released a limited-edition shirt for the tour.

"I want to get a shirt; this is the first concert like this I've ever been to. I want something to remember it." You explained. You wriggled your fingers in his, hinting that you wanted him to let go. If you'd have blinked, you might have missed it, but you swore that Steve and Robin shared a look—the kind that carried secret conversations and amusement.

Your heart stuttered in your chest, painful and sudden, while your mind raced to a dozen terrible thoughts. What if they regretted bringing you along, even though they'd practically begged you to go? What if they were angry? Fuck, what if they hated you? You must have looked like you were about to pass out because Steve took pity on you, reassuringly squeezing your hand as he stepped closer.

"Shit, sorry," he apologised with a crooked smile. "It's all good. We can pick one up after the show, okay? We need to get inside before security locks the doors."

"Oh," you answered. You ducked your head to hide your face, which felt like it was burning with embarrassment. You suddenly felt childish for letting your anxiety get the better of you, especially given that this was Steve and Robin, who had been nothing but kind from the moment you'd first met them. "Of course. After the show."

As though she sensed your distress, which she more than likely did because you radiated emotions like the sun radiated heat, Robin grabbed your other hand, lacing her fingers with yours, and gave you a sympathetic smile that mimicked the one on Steve's face. You loved them, but sometimes you hated them. So often, Robin and Steve seemed to be on the same page, on the same mental wavelength, having entire conversations with the lofting of a brow or half-smirk while you were on your own, a stranger looking in.

You tried not to think about it and tried desperately not to let negative emotions get the better of you tonight. You were at a concert with two amazing people, about to see a fantastic band play live. It was going to be a good night. Steve showed his ticket to one of the women managing the traffic flow, who motioned down a steep staircase into a standing pit right in front of the stage.

As you predicted, the crowd was already massive; there were too many people to fit comfortably within the stadium, but no one would complain as long as everyone behaved. And everyone would behave if they were able to see the band play. It wasn't long before the lights went down, and the crowd's cheering rose to a thunderous crescendo.

You felt the violent vibrations of the bass guitar as the bassist began the opening rift—how it rattled the ivory cage around your lungs until your entire body swayed to the rhythm. A sudden fireworks explosion dazzled and blinded you as the crowd rushed forward. Then the atmosphere turned electric, casting a weaving web on the crowd and drawing them in.

When the smoke settled, you saw the band had taken their places on stage, dressed in black denim, leather, chains, tattoos, and wild hair. They preened beneath the attention of their peers as the frontman and lead singer, Eddie Munson, moved to stand before a microphone. "I hope you're ready to rock, Hawkins, 'cause we're not stopping until the cops come knocking!"

Steve grabbed your wrist and dragged you in front of him, pushing you closer to the stage. That was how you found yourself standing front and centre. One of his hands grabbed your hip firmly, ready to break the fingers of any other wandering hands. He wrapped his other arm around Robin's shoulders, holding her to him as they sang along to a song you didn't know the words to.

It wasn't your proximity to him or the bruising grip of his fingers that warmed your blood, but the singer on stage. You'd seen pictures of Eddie in the trashy magazine you picked up from the gas station occasionally; each one seemed to be a different headline, each as scandalous as the last. Corroded Coffin's singer caught with another woman? Eddie Munson, Satanic Priest! Some of them were ridiculous, and none of them had been particularly entertaining, especially when, in every interview, he seemed humble, perhaps even flustered by the fame.

The sight of him on stage sent heat dripping down your cheeks and into your neck, spiralling through your veins to gather at your core.

He looked like a devil but had the face of an angel—wild curls bounced around his face, you caught glimpses of his inked skin, and there was a perfect trail of hair on his abdomen. He strummed at his guitar strings as though it were his lover, plucking the cords with perfectly practised movements. You wondered what else his fingers could do, and a wild blush crept into your face.

As though your thoughts weren't mortifying enough, he seemed to have noticed. His eyes found yours in the crowd, as if he could see straight into your brain and was plucking the fantasies from your mind.

The world slowed to a crawl and faded until it was just the two of you and your racing thoughts. You drank in the sight of him. You caught glimpses of his tattoos, watched how droplets of sweat rolled down the hollow of his throat as the heat of the stage lights bore down on him, and watched how his lips moved as he sang, the rasps of his voice enough to make you tremble.

You tugged your lower lip between your teeth, almost afraid to look away; you wanted this moment to go on forever and ever. But as abruptly as it began, the fantasy ended when he looked out across the crowd, and as he did, the world snapped back into place. Your heart was racing, and your breath was erratic.

You felt silly having been caught up in such an intense moment with a perfect stranger, even if he was handsome and famous—a perfect mixture of exhilaration and embarrassment. You glanced at Robin and Steve, hoping they hadn't noticed your captivated state. They hadn't.

The two were still singing and enjoying the music, bouncing up and down as a guitar solo swept through the speakers. Worrying your lip between your teeth, you looked back at the stage, trying valiantly to refocus on the music. After a while, the guitar's pounding bass and electrifying energy were enough to pull you back into the moment.

You felt captivated, as though whatever dark spell he was weaving had fallen upon you, too. His performance was filled with raw emotion and a rebellious spirit, with the lyrics resonating with something deep inside you, echoing your desires, and enticing a wildness to spark in your veins.

You stole another glance at him, and his eyes again met yours. It was almost as if the universe had conspired to connect you two in a chaotic sea of people. With a sudden burst of courage you didn't think yourself capable of, you gave a bashful smile and lifted your hand, waving at him.

He saw and acknowledged you with a knowing smile, to your surprise and amusement. It felt like a dirty secret. You would swear that your face was on fire from how hard you were blushing, your fingers wringing together nervously at the front of your dress.

It seems silly. In fact, you knew it was silly, childish, and stupid.

You didn't know him, and he didn't know you. You knew the media's version of him—the stylised rockstar who'd grown up poor, defied the odds, and came out on top—the playboy who had a different girl every other week and who'd been caught having sex with fans in odd places. But what you'd felt, however brief, had ignited a fire in the pit of your stomach. You felt it smouldering as you were lost in the music and its wild energy.

The last guitar riff played, and the crowd erupted into thunderous applause. You expected the crowd to thin down now that the show was finished, but they remained, hooting and hollering, vying for his attention.

"He was incredible!" You shouted as you turned to Steve, straining to be heard above the crowd. He gave you a funny expression and tilted his head to the side, causing a stir of hair to fall into his face.

"What?" 

"I said," you shouted while moving closer to him. "That was incredible!"

This time, he heard you, chuckling under his breath and holding you in place when you tried to slip through the crowd. And then you saw Eddie standing at the edge of the stage, a security guard at his side. You could see they were talking, now if only you'd learned to read lips. Except you didn't need to read lips to know he was pointing right at the three of you.

Your heart stopped mid-beat, your mouth running dry, as a second security guard approached the three of you. From where you were frozen in time, you didn't see Steve and Robin grinning at each other or the glint in their eyes.

You were star-struck, staring at the security guard as if he'd grown a second head. And he might as well have because things like this didn't happen. Maybe it happened in the movies, but not real life and you weren't some perfectly poised beauty. You were a real woman with feelings; they were all over the place right now.

You grabbed Steve's arm when he stepped away, pulling him to a stop. He looked down at you with a furrowed brow. "What the hell is going on?" you hissed at him, not angry but entirely surprised and uncertain. He gave you a dashing and daring smile.

"Think he just invited us backstage."

"What?"

You'd tried to convince yourself that this was a wild dream. You even pinched yourself—twice. Things like this didn't happen to ordinary people, especially people like you. The shy woman who had to have a drink in her hand, the woman who took sips to fill the silence when talking became overwhelming, the woman who stammered and blushed with little more than a wink from a handsome man.

But it was happening. And now there you were, backstage, with Steve and Robin at your side, staring at a door with the band's name written in block letters. You could hear people milling about inside.

The security guard knocked, and you heard the muffled sound of movement, followed by something being knocked over and a chorus of laughter. Finally, the door was hauled open.

"Eddie!"

Robin's outburst startled you. She pushed past you and Steve, then the security guard, and threw herself at the man. You gawked at them, eyes wide as your soul burst to life, heart skipping several beats when he spun her in a circle. Robin's feet didn't touch the ground as they laughed. 

You couldn't believe it.

There, standing not even five feet away, was the lead singer of Corroded Coffin, Eddie-fucking-Munson—the very same man you'd been eye-fucking on stage not even an hour ago. A part of you wanted the ground to open wide and swallow you whole. Another part screamed at you to cling to him as Robin had done.

"Hey," Steve whispered, leaning slightly closer to your ear. "Are you doing okay? You look like you've seen a ghost or something."

"What?" You replied, your voice rising an octave in panic. Your gaze whirled between Steve and the duo, who seemed oblivious to your presence, and then back again. "Yes, well, no! You didn't tell me you knew him!"

"Who? Eddie?" He asked.

"That guy, right there, the famous guy hugging our friend?" You were incredulous, your arm flailing in their direction, much to Robin's amusement and Eddie's confusion. "Yes, him! You two know him?"

"What about Eddie?"

The sudden appearance of his voice made you squeak in surprise. His voice was dark, deep, and delectable, like chocolate, and hoarse. It felt like liquid heat pouring down your spine, flooding every intersecting bone until you trembled. Eddie smiled, and his cheeks dimpled in a way that had you blushing wildly.

You stared as Steve and Eddie swept each other into a bear hug, slapping each other on the back and again on the arm as they came apart. Robin gave you a playful poke in the side, bringing your attention back to her.

"What about Eddie?" She asked, which inevitably brought all of their attention to you. You shifted beneath the weight of their combined stare. Your eyes found Eddie's, and you looked away quickly.

"Yeah, what about Eddie, girl?" He playfully added.

"Nothing! It's just that—um—well, I didn't know you—uh—that they knew you. That's all." You say, stumbling over the words like an awkward teenager. You mentally kicked yourself, but in truth, you'd never been good at talking to people. You'd always been a little shy, and everyone made fun of you before Steve and Robin slowly started coaxing you out of your shell.

And it wasn't as though he knew you. He probably hadn't seen you in the crowd. Now that you think about it, Eddie was just as likely to be smiling at them, not you, when he was on stage. But that didn't do anything to pull the blush out of your face or stop the way you shuffled under the gaze of the trio.

"Oh, yeah," Eddie said with an awkward laugh, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. Your eyes went a little buggy when his shirt rode up, revealing that trail of hair that disappeared into the band of his jeans.

You looked away quickly before he could catch you staring, finding something on the wall that suddenly fascinated you. He didn't notice, or at least didn't say anything if he did. "Yeah, yeah, the three of us went to high school together. It seems like a lifetime ago."

Robin stared at him, her expression incredulous. "It was, like, five years ago, Eds. Don't you dare make me older than I am!" She said as the back of her hand connected with his stomach. Eddie huffed as he doubled over dramatically, clutching his stomach and coughing as though she'd just punched the air from his lungs. You laughed despite yourself, momentarily drawing his attention to you; he flashed you a dazzling smile before hustling the three of you inside. 

It would have been spacious inside the room if it wasn't filled with boxes of merchandise, band equipment, and the rest of the band. The little composure you'd managed to hold onto disappeared when Steve and Robin rushed inside, similarly greeting the others, hugging and laughing like old friends. 

You lingered at the door, unsure what to do with yourself, when you felt a hand against the small of your back, fingertips tapping just above the curve of your ass, high enough to be respectful but low enough to send a delicious shiver down your spine.

"Come on, sweetheart. They don't bite," Eddie said with a laugh before leaning down to whisper in your ear. You felt his breath against your neck, the warmth of it making you shiver as he caught a glimpse of your cleavage before you hugged your cardigan around yourself. 

"Well, I might," he added. "If you ask nicely."

He didn't wait to see your reaction, but from the beaming smile plastered on his face, he'd heard your squeak of surprise. Instead, Eddie flounced into the room, joining Steve, Robin, and the others as you followed.

Once official introductions were made, you sat at the end of one of the couches next to Eddie, who seemed entirely unaware of your nervous inner turmoil. Occasionally, his thigh brushed against yours, jostling you in his excitable state as the group recalled their high school years.

"You were quite the ladies' man in high school, Steve. Don't act bashful now," the drummer, Gareth, said with a booming laugh. You found yourself smiling and laughing with him, amused by the way Steve rubbed at the back of his neck and tried to deflect. 

"I remember Robin telling me that the girls used to call him King Steve." You added. Gareth howled with laughter at how Steve flushed a deeper shade of pink. You smiled at him, pretty and sweet, but should have known he wouldn't let that slight go unanswered. You hardly had time to steel yourself before he returned fire.

"Hey now," he said, his smile positively devilish. "Don't start throwing shade if you can't handle the sun, sweets. Because I could tell some stories about you, too. Well, no, I couldn't. I don't think I've ever heard those bed springs squeak."

You choked on a mouthful of beer, coughing as you glared at him in horror. "Steven Joseph Harrington!" Your face burned at the revelation of a secret you'd shared with him one drunk and wild night. Using his full government name was enough for him to know he'd crossed a line, but the laughter of his friends encouraged him.

"I can't help it if that's the truth, you know," he said with a shrug.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Eddie shouted, shaking his hand wildly to get everyone's attention, especially yours. You squirmed in your seat, pushing yourself hard against the arm of the couch to try and escape his intense stare when he rounded on you. 

"Never? As in never, ever?"

At that moment, you wanted the ground to open wide and swallow you. It wasn't that you were embarrassed to be a virgin, but the attention made you uncomfortable. You'd never been the type of woman to want a one-night stand with a stranger. Steve had offered once when you'd both been drunk and confessing secrets, but you'd never felt the itch.

And it wasn't that you considered your virginity to be a cherished and sacred part of yourself. But you'd never wanted to be that vulnerable with someone unless you trusted them entirely. 

"Bullshit." Eddie spat, not nasty, but disbelieving. "You've gotta be shitting me. A pretty thing like you hasn't ever had sex? I know you're lying."

You stared at your hands resting in your lap, fingers wringing the hem of your dress until the stitching threatened to fray. From across the room, you heard the vague sound of Robin talking, mumbling something about you being as ripe as a cherry. She purposely popped her lips, and you wanted to die.

"Jesus Christ," you managed to choke out. "Yes, okay, I'm a total virgin. Can we talk about something else, please?"

The universe appeared to take mercy on you because the conversation changed topics at breakneck speed. One moment, Eddie was gawking at you; the next, he was focused entirely upon Jeff, who'd bought up something called the Hellfire Club. You took the opportunity to down the rest of your beer, letting the flavour of it wash away the taste of embarrassed tears.

The night went on in relative peace. You drank with them, listening to their wild stories of high school shenanigans and offering your own when prompted. You hadn't realised how much time had passed until you glanced at your watch and gawked: two in the morning.

"So, never?" Eddie asked without warning, his voice soft and almost innocent, breaking the silence that had blossomed within the room. You pulled your cardigan around your shoulders as though the thin material could shield you from his gaze. The others had fallen asleep, either drunk or high or just beyond exhausted. It was just the two of you.

Just you and Eddie.

"Look," you said with a sigh, your face burning again. "I really don't want to talk about that."

He held his hands in the universal sign of hold up. "I'm not judging you, sweetheart. I'm just curious. A pretty thing like you has to have a trail of broken hearts behind her."

You laughed despite yourself and relaxed back onto the couch, enjoying the warmth radiating from him. He was so close that you could see the way his Adam's apple bobbed with each swallow, the way he traced his lips with the tip of his tongue, the way the fabric of his jeans stretched across his lap, the bulge there. . .

You snapped your head away when he caught your staring.

"It's not like that. I've had boyfriends. I've just never felt comfortable doing anything with them. Not that they were bad people. I didn't want to do it because everyone was doing it. Then I got busy, and dating stopped happening. You understand? Of course you do. You're famous; I doubt you have much time for dating. Not that anyone wouldn't want to date you."

You were rambling, the words falling from your lips like verbal vomit, and you couldn't stop. Eddie silenced you, moving without warning to close the distance lingering between the two of you. He grabbed you by the back of the neck, his fingers rough and warm, pulling you into the wall of his chest so that he could slot his mouth against yours.

Eddie Munson tasted like cigarette smoke and alcohol, dark desire wrapped in leather. Eddie Munson smelled like adrenaline and sex, a woman's wet dream. Before you knew what you were doing, you kissed him back, desperate for more.

Eddie led you into an adjacent room, his fingers enveloping yours, providing a comforting anchor. The soft snores of the others faded into a distant hum as he closed the door. Your gaze traced the contours of his back, the curve of his shoulders, the way his studded jacket draped over them, the weight of his chunky black boots and the ruggedness of his ripped jeans. The belt cinched around his narrow waist, crowned with a buckle shaped like a bat, adding a touch of mystery to his rugged charm.

He turned abruptly, his hand slamming against the door beside your head, eliciting a startled yelp from you. Eddie pressed against you, your hands instinctively clutching the fabric of his shirt. Caught between the desire to pull him closer and the instinct to push him away, you found yourself staring at him with wide, uncertain eyes. Your heart pounded against its ivory prison, the uncertainty of the moment adding to its frantic beat.

"E—Eddie?" You managed to stammer his name, your voice impossibly quiet, overflowing with uncertainty and a mix of fear and desire. He didn't seem to mind. He smiled at you, his breath washing over your mouth and nose like a sweet rum, leaving you light-headed. You squeezed your thighs together as tight as you could, desperate to stifle the growing heat at your core.

He felt it, your nervous shifting and the wild beating of your heart as he cruised a hand along your body, from your hip and then over your breast to clutch the back of your neck. He rubbed his thumb over your racing pulse. "Has anyone ever kissed you like this before? Pushed you against a wall, touched you, told you how beautiful you are?"

Your face burned. Eddie knew that you'd been kissed before; you'd told him as much. But you'd also told him you were a virgin. At twenty-four, you'd almost grown out of being embarrassed by the fact. 

"No," you answered in a low exhale, trying to duck your head to avoid his smouldering stare. His eyes were blown with lust, almost black as coal, as he pushed his thumb against your chin, forcing you to look at him. 

He leaned in closer, the feel of him like a weighted blanket on your chest, making it harder to breathe but in a pleasant way. It made your head fuzzy, like floating in a beautiful daydream, except his lips ghosted over yours. The faintest of touches had reality snapping into place around you.

"Never, ever?" Eddie whispered, his lips brushing, tugging, teasing yours. He was so close that he'd invaded all your senses until all you saw, heard, and breathed was him. He held fast when he wanted to move. Eddie waited for someone to give in to desire and bring the other into the flames. He wanted and needed it to be you.

The tiny whimper you made shot through him, racing through his blood like a bolt of electricity until his cock throbbed. And then you took the plunge, a hand at the back of his neck, the other hauling him in by that pretty studded jacket so you could brush your mouth against his.

It was all he needed—a silent confession, unspoken permission.

Eddie pushed against you until you felt the studs of his leather jacket and his dangling chains pressing into you through your clothing, your dress suddenly restrictive and in the way. His hands were everywhere, cupping your face, running through your hair. And then he dropped to his knees with a thud, pressing kisses down your stomach, leaving wet marks against the fabric of your dress as he ran his hands up the backs of your legs.

"No one ever touched you like this?"

You felt like you were going up in flames. His touch was fire licking your skin, beautiful and pure, leaving you trembling. His hands moved up the back of your thighs, and when his mouth found your belly button, tongue swirling once, then twice, you grabbed him by the shoulders to steady yourself.

"Words, sweet girl. I need you to answer," he said in a husky tone, pinching the back of your thigh to bring you out of your mind and into the moment. He looked at you from beneath his impossibly dark lashes, his eyes dark, twinkling with mischief.

"Never," you managed to gasp when his hands began drifting high, pushing your dress up until he could bunch it at your hips. And then he was face-to-face with your panties, groaning dramatically, making a sound that would make a pornstar blush. 

"Have mercy," Eddie moaned, his breath hot against your mound even through the barrier of clothing. His eyes moved back to yours, and you flushed with embarrassment. He was staring at you like he wanted to devour you. "Even your fucking panties are adorable. That little bow? I'm going to take my time unwrapping this present."

Yet, despite this admission, he didn't take his time.

His mouth landed on your clothed cunt without a preamble. Your knees shook and threatened to give out as he worked his tongue against the wet fabric, tasting your arousal and letting it slide down his throat like a fine wine. Eddie found that virgins were quick to get wet. His calloused fingers kneaded the globes of your arse, pulling you closer, his talented tongue pushing your panties into your slit so he could tease your clit with gentle licks.

You bit your knuckles to stifle the sounds of your moans as pleasure snaked through your veins, creeping through your bloodstream until you broke into a sweat.

"Put your hands in my hair," he demanded with a rough voice, and like a mindless fool, you complied. His hair was a mess of wild curls that you pulled on, sinking your fingers deep into his plush locks when he started to work your panties down your thighs. "Good girl."

"Oh god." As the fabric pooled at your ankles, your head hit the door with a soft thud. You were like putty in his hands—willing to walk through the fires of hell if it meant he'd keep touching you. Eddie freed one of your ankles and threw your leg over his shoulder, bringing you closer.

Words could not describe the feeling of his tongue against your slick folds or the sensation of the tip flicking against your clit. It was like lightning arched through the sky to melt the skin from your bones. You were burning up. And he'd lit the match.

Eddie was loud and messy, lewd. The sounds that clawed up his throat were pornographic. Each wet schlick of his mouth was accompanied by a throaty moan as he sucked your clit and teased your throbbing hole with the tip of his tongue.

It was an out-of-body experience—you never realised you could feel this good. Eddie held you by the back of the thighs, his grip firm, pulling you onto his tongue until your flesh goosepipmpled beneath his touch. You could have collapsed when he withdrew, a line of saliva connecting the tip of his tongue to your clit.

"Words, pretty girl. You gotta use them, or I'm going to stop."

You whined desperately, weaving your fingers deeper into his wild hair. "Please don't stop, Eddie. . ."

"Then talk to me. Let me hear those pretty sounds."

He waited only a moment, his dark eyes staring into yours with the intensity of the sun. He took in your flushed cheeks and shallow breaths that made your chest heave. Then he resumed his meal. The sound you made in response was embarrassing—at least, it should have been. You should have wanted the ground to split open and swallow you. But you didn't.

"It's good," you choked out, squeezing your eyes shut as he ran the flat of his tongue along your slit, the tip flicking your clit in a delicious way that made your hips twitch; forward, then back, like you wanted him to eat you alive but also to escape. 

The feeling was exquisite—like nothing you had ever felt—knocking the air from your lungs, making the muscles in your legs tense and your core weep. Your whole body jerked under his tongue, a shiver shaking your spine, your bones turning to jelly as he licked and sucked your drenched cunt. "Oh god. . . I think. . . I—I'm close."

You'd had orgasms before, but nothing quite like this. It was a slow build, each swipe of Eddie's tongue amplifying the pressure between your hips, sending jolts of electricity through your veins until your nerves crackled and popped. It was difficult to describe; you could taste the words on the tip of your tongue, but they melted away with each moan he drew from your lips.

And then it spread out through your body, a searing warmth that threatened once more to melt the skin from your bones.

"You're so wet, sweetness, m'fucking drowning here," Eddie said. Even though his words were vulgar, the low growl with which he spoke sent you tumbling down the other side of pleasure. The first wave zinged through you, knocking the air from your lungs and sparking every one of your nerves to life.

You bit your knuckles hard until you tasted blood, but the flavour was quickly lost as the second wave seared through your limbs. Eddie didn't stop—not once. Each swipe of his tongue against your clit, each push of it into your virginal hole, sent wisps of fire shooting through your veins, adding stars and galaxies bursting to life behind your scrunched-shut eyes.

When you returned to earth, you found yourself trembling, his strong hands the pillars that kept you upright. Eddie kissed his way back up your body, slowly working your dress up as he went until he could pull it over your head. He threw it over his shoulder, the fabric a distant memory as it hit the ground, lost and now forgotten.

"No one ever made you cum before, have they?" He whispered, his breath hot, his smirk feral, as he teased his lips along the slope of your neck. You whined when your bare cunt rubbed against his dark denim jeans, the rough drag of the rips and tears against your lips sending you hurtling toward the sky once more.

"No," you managed to say before catching his mouth for a wild, clumsy kiss. Eddie happily obliged, pushing his tongue into your mouth and licking your teeth so you tasted yourself.

"Touch me. . ."

"What do good girls say?"

"Please."

You would die if he didn't touch you in the next three seconds. You would collapse to the ground, melt into a puddle at his feet, and literally die.

Thankfully, he took pity on you. 

Eddie kissed you deeply, with the fire of a thousand suns; his hot breath stole through your lungs when he swallowed your moans, leaving you on the verge of combustion. You felt lost in him, touching him here, there, and everywhere as you tried to strip him. Eddie didn't let you. He grabbed your wrists and held them at the small of your back, and he moved you both across the room.

Your lips never once parted. The moment was composed of hot breaths, searing kisses, and teasing bites, weakening your knees terribly. Eddie fell back into a high chair in front of the make-up mirrors. You were desperate to climb into his lap, to wind your legs around him and leech the warmth from his chest, but instead, he turned you and pulled you into his lap, back to chest.

"Eddie," you whispered his name in a sigh, heady with desire. "I want more. . ."

He pressed a kiss against the shell of your ear, smiling in response. His lips were wet, his mouth wanting as he lowered it to your next, sucking a mark into your plush skin. "Open your eyes, sweetness."

Eddie hooked your knees over his thighs, spreading you open and exposing you to the mirror. The tips of his fingers ghosted along the crease of your inner thigh, making your breath hitch in anticipation. "You're beautiful," he said with a hum, nuzzling his nose into your hair. You caught his eyes in the reflection and saw the stark desire that had turned his pupils black, the hunger.

And you saw the expression mirrored in your own reflection. Your skin was flushed the subtlest shade of pink, pussy glistening with arousal. Eddie honestly thought you were the prettiest thing he'd ever fucking seen; so sweet, so innocent.

The stretch of his thick fingers was immediately exquisite, the slick of your arousal coating them entirely. Eddie watched the mirror, transfixed by the way it dropped from around his fingers, sliding down the curve of your ass to darken his denim jeans.

He felt you clench around him, tension seeping through your body as the pain collided with pleasure, twisting through your veins like snakes, intertwined, threatening to consume you from the inside out. You cried out when he crooked them, hips rising in search of more; his other hand cruised up your body, the soft swell of your stomach, cupping a tit in the palm of his hand, thumb teasing your nipple into a hardened peak.

Eddie growled against your neck. He was as hard as a rock, and each jolt of your hips had your arse rutting against his aching cock. You reached back to grab his hair, winding your fingers through his wild curls as the pleasure mounted. You were a guitar, and he had years of practice. He watched the rapid rise and fall of your chest, the way you couldn't sit still as he fucked his fingers in and out of your cunt, the way you clawed at his jeans.

You put a hand over your mouth to stifle the way you moan, loud, wantonly, like a whore. You felt dirty—like this was a scandalous secret. The thought of being found was erotically terrifying.

"You getting close, sweetness?" Eddie asked; no, he growled the words against your neck, teeth clipping the sensitive skin. "I can feel it. You're squeezing my fingers so fucking tight. Are you thinking about my cock? How much better it'll feel than my fingers?"

As though to emphasise his words, his thrust against you, his erection hard against the globes of your arse, leaving him moaning as his own muscles twisted with desire, pure liquid heat pouring through his bones.

"Cum for me, baby."

He wasn't asking; no, he was demanding.

tag list ::

@micheledawn1975 | @maxstecc

—interest in being tagged in future chapters? send me a message!

[maiko-san]

Catnap + Dogday x Reader ( Part 2 )

<<< Part 1 , Part 3 >>>

Relationship: Fluff

Character focused: Dogday, Fem! Reader

Plot : You're giving Dogday a groom after he got himself covered in mud.

A/n : I will try to include the other Smiling Critters in here, they deserve love too.

A month has passed and things went on normally with your life. All the Smiling Critters get a minor check up everyday either by you or other coworkers.

These mascots work with children 24/7, they often are climbed on, tugged around or have paints/food stuck on their fur.

"I guess that's all of it"

"Oooh! My mane looks even prettier and shiny than before!"

You just finished cleaning up Craftycorn from all the glitters and paint off her white coat and cyan hair. Which took you half an hour to clean.

You put on a pink bow on her braided mane so she looks cuter.

"I really love how you do my mane! You know, we should do this more often! You're so creative, just like ME!"

" *chuckles* I'm glad that you like it, Craftycorn but I am NOT that creative as you are"

You dismiss the unicorn and give a handful of candy for her to enjoy. You call in the other mascot and Dogday pops his head in.

The dog is covered in mud from head to toe.

"Now, what did you get yourself into this time, Dogday?"

It was the third time this week.

Dogday only looks away, both hands on his back as he kicks his feet.

"KickinChicken and I got carried away while playing football, sorry..." /he lied.

You quirk an eyebrow, you know Dogday is really bad at lying. There are no muds at the football field since the field has fake grass carpet.

You wonder where he got all the mud from....oh well.

To Dogday, he likes being around you and wants to see you everyday but the other staff members didn't let him. Not even for a bit.

So the only way for the smiling critters to see you was to getting themselves dirty, either by accident or on purpose.

For Dogday, he did it on purpose so he could see you.

You usher the mascot on to the large bathtub so you could wash him up. You run the warm water over his body and rinsing the mud from his fur.

You know that they can clean themselves up but they seem to prefer having you to clean them.

It's a lot of work to clean a two story high mascot but it's fun.

You and the smiling critters would have a conversation, sometimes the smiling critters would tell them about their days.

Like a child telling their parents what they do at school.

"How's your day at the play care today?"

"It's really fun! We do a lot of things!"

"Oh, really? Tell me all about it. I'm curious"

"We play tag, we play hide n seek, we play red light green light with everyone! It was fun!"

"Did you have fun playing football with KickinChicken?"

"Oh, yes I did! The football was fun but what's even more fun is when you play in the mud!"

"Oh, really? KickinChicken just came a few hours ago and he told me he had fun playing skateboard"

"I—"

"Ha! Gotcha!"

You smirk as Dogday hangs his head down slightly. You scrub off the dirt from his ear and tell him that it's fine if he wants to see you.

Just don't get himself dirty all the time.

"The other staffs doesn't let me see you..."

"And why is that?"

"They said you stole their work...."

"....."

Recently your coworker has been glaring behind your back, gossiping and telling you to quit your job. Saying you were proud of your work which you never at all.

It is not entirely your fault that the mascots prefer you over them.

You knew how these mascots were treated before. It was during your interview at the playcare and your manager gave you a tour around the place.

You witnessed how the maintenance workers strapped these mascots in a tiny space and treated them like a wild animal.

"It is our fault wasn't it?"

"No, it's not. I'll deal with that matter myself and it is not yours to worry, alright"

You gave the canine mascot an assuring pat on the head which he leans into and his tail wagging behind him. You continue with your work and dry him in the blower machine and then you begin to groom his fur.

You notice that his fur had gotten longer by the day, so you decide to give him a little trim.

You hold his large paw, combing out the matted fur and snip some of them so it looks neat.

You did the same thing with his ears and chests.

Dogday watches you do you work, out of all staffs in this place. You are the nicest and the most gentle out of all staffs. You never strap them down or keep them in a small cage.

You treat them like a real person.

Like they used to be.

Dogday wants more from you, he wants to feel loved by someone. Someone that cares for him and everyone's well being unlike those scientists....

You care for him, so he will do the same to you.

You are his angel, after all....

"Alright, everything's done!"

You fix his collar and give his pendant a little shine. You decide to wrap a red scarf around his neck to compliment his orange colour.

"Is this for me, angel?"

"Yeah, it suits you well"

Dogday brings you into a tight hug, with his tail wagging aggressively behind his back. It seems the canine couldn't contain his excitement.

I mean, who doesn't like gifts? Especially from someone you like!

"Thank you! I will cherish it, always!"

"You're welcome, bud"

A/n : Since the first chapter received a good amount of views, here is the second chapter for all of you, sweeties!

I will assume that Dogday is the oldest out of all Smiling Critters, maybe around 13-15. We don't have a clue who Dogday really is but I decided to make him one of the older orphans.

Also, all the Smiling Critters in my stories share sibling relationships! and the reader is their oldest sibling or maybe parent figure! ☺️

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

DPXDC prompt. Wes Weston in Metropolis.

Lois Lane is a talented reporter and is proud of it. Her name has long been known for her scandalous investigations and  private interviews with Superman. Without exaggeration, she could call herself an extremely valuable worker of the Daily Planet.

So when she was assigned to teach the new unexperienced intern, who was completely unimpressed by her skills, Lois was more than unhappy. But the new guy was perfectly able to find common ground with people and efficiently carried out assignments, so she finally warmed up and even decided to do take him on an interview with members of the Justice League for a practice.

When they entered the room heroes were a little tense. Lois let herself be a little smug, realizing that they were used to her presence and the new man wasn’t seen as credible.

She turned to the intern to tell him something inspiring before they start to make him feel less anxious about work with such well-known personalities. And she cut herself short. The red-haired man's face expressed a strange mischievous satisfaction.

"Long time no see, Phantom. Or, should I say, Fenton."

One of the new members of the League quickly hid behind Batman and swore.

"Who the hell let Weston in here?!"

Within seconds, the conference room turned into Tom and Jerry’s film set.

"I’ve wasted the best years of my life on you, asshole! Get back on the ground and let’s talk man to man, Fenton!"

"Help!"

"I know where you live, you can’t hide from me! So listen here, you.."

"Get that damn stalker away from me!"

~~~~~~

Only at the end of the working day Miss Lane realize that Weston did not take a single photo or note during the entire evening. Wes doesn't respond to her outrage and says he's already taken care of it.

The next day, Phantom himself arrived at their office and immediately headed to Weston.

Danny: I brought a thumb drive with photos, "Mr. Jameson". May now Dobby be free?

Wes: Until next Tuesday. Paulina ordered me to drag you to school reunion.

Danny: What? Hell no, Valerie will be there. I'm not looking for death.

Wes: Not my problem, I’m still mad at you. Can't believe the photographer at the press conference where your identity was revealed was...who he was again? Oh, right, not me. Such a betrayal.

Danny: Come on, Wes, you were on vacation at this time.

Wes: Get out of here.

Danny: How to get you to forgive me? I swear on my life you’ll be the photographer at the wedding, okey?

Wes: The guarantee is so-so.

[vettelsvee]

THE "JOURNALIST" | Max Verstappen

f1 masterlist | wattpad | ao3 | instagram

max verstappen x journalist student!reader

summary: y/n is "scared" to interview max, and max is sick of journalists, especially newbies. however the sex appeal between them is more than obvious.

word count: 992

warnings: none of it really! just sexual tension between y/n and max. use of y/n

you can send your one shots requests here! feedback, as well as comments and reblogs, are truly appreciated!

You were in the broadcast booth ready to report the results of the latest Formula 1 qualifying session. With your notebook and microphone in hand, you were poised to inform the audience about the exciting session results.

"Welcome back to our live broadcast from Silverstone!" you exclaimed cheerfully as you looked into the camera. "I think we should start discussing the results of the qualifying session for tomorrow's Sunday race as soon as possible."

With great enthusiasm and ensuring you had your notes in hand to avoid any mistakes, you began to list the names of the drivers and their positions on the starting grid:

"In first position, with an impressive fast lap, we have Lewis Hamilton, who has once again demonstrated his incredible skills on the track. In second place we have Max Verstappen, who is hot on the heels of the British in the championship standings. And in third position, but no less important, we have Charles Leclerc, whose improvement this season has been phenomenal, something he is quite proud of, as his partner exclusively shared with us."

You continued to read out the names of the drivers and their respective positions. However, you couldn't help but let your mind wander to Max Verstappen, the Dutch driver who she found quite attractive and, at the same time, respected due to his evident disdain towards the media.

"And in the last position, we have our dear Checo Pérez, who is having a fantastic season with Red Bull Racing but, due to an engine failure, was eliminated in Q3. It will undoubtedly be very exciting to see how these men fight for the podium in tomorrow's race!"

You continued to describe the results and the performance the drivers had shown in the qualifying session, highlighting their achievements and the challenges they would face the following day.

When it came time to talk about Max Verstappen, your voice tone changed slightly:

"As for Verstappen, the prodigal son of this new era in the world of motorsport, he has once again demonstrated his incredible talent," you said with as much seriousness as she could muster, "although it was not enough to surpass Hamilton this time."

You tried to stay focused on your speech despite the glances Verstappen was casting from the paddock while responding to other journalists. Without a doubt, Verstappen commanded a lot of respect from you: the fact that he disregarded the work of his future colleagues in the profession caused your considerable disdain, and at times, he could be quite disrespectful. You didn't want to imagine how he would treat you, being just a newbie.

Although it must be noted that you found yourself quite attracted to him.

After finally finishing the live broadcast and interviewing several drivers, with whom she had felt quite comfortable despite her nerves, it was your turn to face Max Verstappen.

"Hello, Max," you greeted the Dutchman. "First of all, I want to congratulate you on your second position in the qualifying."

"It's not the one my team and I were looking for."

You tried to ignore his response, moving on to a different but related question:

"Even though your result isn't what you desired, how do you feel about being in that position?" despite your fear, you dared to continue with the question, "Do you think you'll be able to beat Lewis?"

"I'm here to win," Max replied flippantly, "not to settle for second place."

"I understand, Max," you said, changing the subject, "with the aim of overtaking Hamilton, could you tell us what strategies both you and Red Bull Racing have in mind?"

You didn't need to see the poker face Max had directed at you to know you had overstepped by asking about strategies.

"I don't think that's any of your business."

Without even looking at you or saying goodbye, he turned around seemingly intending to leave the scene.

But Max Verstappen wasn't one to let anyone get the better of him, not even a mere student who didn't know how she was going to earn her degree because, without a doubt, she didn't know how to do her job properly.

"And what about you," he addressed you directly, shocking you in that moment. "What strategy would you propose to me to win the race?"

You had endured situations of underestimation in other newsrooms where you had interned, with quite nasty comments that had made you feel pretty bad. However, the sarcasm from the blue-eyed driver only drew her more to him.

"Maybe he's an asshole," you thought to yourself, "but he's a pretty hot asshole."

"Well…" you began. "Maybe instead of doing good broadcasts or getting top marks, I'll fuck one of you and, besides, gain fame."

Verstappen let out a sardonic laugh as he approached you. There was no doubt that he had not only surprised, but also pleased by what you had said.

"Really?" Max answered, a little excited, "Who would you take right now?"

"You seem like a complete asshole," you told him, "but I have to admit that I find it extremely difficult to ignore you."

"Why's that? Do you like what you see?"

The tension between both of you was more than evident.

You knew you couldn't continue this conversation, at least not in front of journalists, team bosses, and other people.

"If you want to set aside our personal relationship," the driver whispered to you as he lightly brushed your arm, "and get to know me better, prepare a good strategy for tonight."

"Verstappen," you replied, looking him directly in the eyes. "If you win tomorrow's race, don't hesitate to invite me to the private party you're going to throw, and I'll give you a night to make you feel special."

"Alright, Miss I-don't-know-your-name. A victory for one night."

If Max felt motivated to come in first tomorrow to beat Hamilton, now he felt even more so knowing he could have a girl begging for him.

[foxesscramble]

(More of) the Foxes doing the WIRED Autocomplete Interview

Question: What is Renee Walker hair color

RW: Whatever I want it to be. Currently a lot of pastels.

Question: Is Renee Walker gay

RW: You tell me.

Question: Renee Walker charity events

RW: Oh, I set up a lot of them. I have some animal rescue ones coming up as well as an event at the local homeless shelter. I have some bigger ones coming up that I will share more information on if anyone is interested in helping out. 

Question: Is Renee Walker adopted

RW: I am. My mom adopted me when I was, gosh, thirteen I think? A lot was going on at the time. She’s a lovely woman, my mom. I’m very blessed to have found her.

Question: Renee Walker pets

RW: I do have a lot of pets. I like to post pictures of them. They're all rescues. I have two bunnies, a cat, a turtle, a hedgehog, three hamsters, and a lizard. I love them all dearly. My friends rotate who watches them when I’m out of town for various things. Except for Neil, he tried once but I think my lizard was rude to him so he refuses to come over anymore.

Question: Who is older Andrew Minyard or Aaron Minyard

AM: I am.

Question: Why was Andrew Minyard arrested

AM: Boring.

Question: Neil Josten and Andrew Minyard rivalry

AM: Not a question.

Question: How old is Nicky Hemmick

NH: Wouldn’t you like to know? You should never ask someone their age it’s improper. What if I wanted to pretend I was 25 forever? Couldn’t you just get on board?

Question: Nicky Hemmick husband

NH: My favorite topic. It’s Erik Klose. For the record, we are engaged not married no matter how much I wish we were. It’s taking forever. What if we just go to the courthouse?

Question: Is Nicky Hemmick related to the Minyard twins

NH: I am. They’re my first cousins. I’m also, well was I guess, the twins guardian for a couple of years. 

Question: What languages does Nicky Hemmick speak

NH: My first language is English but I learned German as well from my years abroad there. Erik is from Germany too so that’s how we talk to each other for the most part. The twins also speak it so it’s like a super secret code language when I don’t want other people to understand it. Neil and Andrew do the same thing. They literally went out of their way to learn Russian solely for that reason.

Question: Nicky Hemmick sexuality

NH: I’m gay. I’m proud too, even if it took a while to come around to it. My folks weren’t great about it growing up, but it is what it is. I’ve been out and proud for years now. I’m wishing all the seasoned and baby gays out there all the luck and happiness.

Pt. 1 》 Neil Josten, Matt Boyd, Kevin Day

Pt. 3 》 Allison Reynolds, Dan Wilds, Aaron Minyard

[chrisevansonly]

𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞 | 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐜

✯social media au

✯charles leclerc x female reader

✯nothing beats the love of a father <3

✯not requested just felt like getting another little something out, im working on some writing prompts and fics as well so i hope they come out soon🩷

ynleclerc

liked by charles_leclerc, francisca.cgomes, leclerc_pascale and 342,000 others

Alia & Mommy day, just missing daddy🩷

tagged charles_leclerc

see 76,000 comments

username she’s so precious 😭

username i need to know where the blonde genes come from

>ynleclerc my mom!!🥰

leclerc_pascale trop mignonne❤️❤️

>ynleclerc 😘😘

francisca.cgomes the cutest momma and daughter duo

>ynleclerc see you this weekend auntie kika!!

charles_leclerc my girls, i miss you both so much🙁

>ynleclerc we miss you more…see you soon my love❤️

username are we getting alia in the paddock content?👀

liked by ynleclerc

ynleclerc added to their story!

*comments disabled*

charles_leclerc

liked by scuderiaferrari, ynleclerc, carlossainz55 and 768,000 others

then and now, please stop growing so fast mon petit fleur😘

tagged ynleclerc

see 86,000 comments

username she’s growing up so fast😭

username the real og’s remember baby alia

ynleclerc look at her!! she loves the track as much as you char❤️

>charles_leclerc time to put her in karting?

>ynleclerc we’ll talk…..

username alia for the win!!

carlossainz55 okay now bring her over to me, it’s time for our tea party

>ynleclerc that’s why she keeps saying ‘tea with coco’ 😂

>username alia calls carlos coco😭😭

>landonorris why don’t i have a cute nickname😃

scuderiaferrari she’s our favourite guest❤️❤️

wagsofF1

liked by username, F1gossip, paddock news and 4,000 others

charles watching his wife and daughter at his interview in the fanzone today, and then as soon as Alia got fussy and they began to walk away he was super serious, keeping his eye on them. at one point a few fans got a bit too excited and you should have SEEN how upset he was, he left the stage and made sure security attended to his family until he could get to them and make sure they were safe.

remember they are people too and there is no excuse for the behaviour shown today towards the leclerc family.

see 500 comments

username those fans need to a grip

username he’s so protective of his girls :(

username Alia was crying and you could tell Y/N was getting anxious, charles was so quick to jump in and make sure they were safe

username best dad of the year award goes to charles fr

username anyone who tried to scare y/n and alia today aren’t real fans.

username i hope they’re all ashamed of themselves

ynleclerc

liked by charles_leclerc, lilyhme, carla.brocker and 435,000 others

the worlds best father and husband, thank you for loving and keeping Alia and I safe❤️

tagged charles_leclerc

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charles_leclerc

liked by arthur_leclerc, ynleclerc, apmmonaco and 657,000 others

you’ll always be safe with me❤️

tagged ynleclerc

see 600 comments

arthur_leclerc love you guys❤️

carlossainz55 ❤️

ynleclerc we love you so much char, never forget that

>charles_leclerc nothing like that will ever happen again.

carla.brocker looking forward to giving you guys big big hugs❤️

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ynleclerc added to their story!

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ynleclerc

liked by charles_leclerc, scuderiaferrari, leclerc_pascale and 536,000 others

I know we weren’t there to watch in person like we originally planned but we are so proud of you honey! I know Alia was happy to see you when you got home, I swear you can tire her out better than me most days. we love you so much and can’t wait to see you keep winning❤️

tagged charles_leclerc

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username YAY CHARLES!

username i still feel so upset that y/n and alia left the race because of stupid fans☹️

username our favourite family!!

charles_leclerc I love you both so much, this win was for you❤️

liked by ynleclerc

scuderiaferrari sending hugs to you all, hope to see you again someday soon❤️

>ynleclerc you can count on it☺️

[kissatsumu]

OMFGGG I LOVE YOUR WRITTTING SM could you possibly write timeskip osamu, atsumu and kuroo dating a female pro volleyball player (who they met in high school) thanky ou so much <333

hq!! charcters x fem!volleyball player

characters: (timeskip) osamu, atsumu, kuroo, yachi

genre: fluff, dating headcanons, sfw, fem reader

notes: i added my girl yachi sorry i love her!

@fayeraa (tagging you bc you asked me to!!)

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ MIYA OSAMU

you met osamu while your team was visiting inarizaki to have a practice match with inarizaki’s girls volleyball team. he remembers meeting you in the hallways before your team was getting ready to leave and you two immediately hit it off <3

you exchanged numbers and despite the struggle of dating someone from a different school, you two stayed together ever since

as someone who decided to not continue volleyball after high school, he’s very proud of you for pursuing a professional volleyball career

in the window of his onigiri shop, he has a poster of whatever team you play on

being his girlfriend comes with the perks of osamu cooking for you <3 makes you something to eat as soon as you get home. (his love language is acts of service he just wants to take care of you!!)

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ KUROO TETSURO

you met kuroo because you two sat next to each other in class. he had the biggest crush on you and finding out you also played volleyball he knew he had to ask you out as soon as possible!!!

so you’ve been dating since your time at nekoma. although kuroo didn’t keep playing volleyball after high school, he’s literally your biggest supporter. also working in the sports industry makes you two even closer

he admires your strength and talent so much

he begs to play volleyball with you!!!

“are you sure tetsuro? you haven’t played volleyball in awhile.” “nah, i’ll be fine. don’t go easy on me, okay princess?” (he gets hit in the face by the ball while trying to block you)

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ YACHI HITOKA

yachi met you during her second year at karasuno. as the manager of the boys volleyball team she’s bound to run into the girls volleyball team (which you were on) quite a bit.

she had the biggest crush on you!! always walking by the gym to see you and your team practicing. but sparks fly after formally meeting :)

she’s sooo supportive about you going pro. volleyball had been a big part of both of you two’s high school lives and she’s proud of you

tries to go to all your games if she isn’t busy at work n wears your jersey !!

when she comes home from work and you come home from practice, she loves having time in the evening with you to cook dinner together and relax before bedtime.

domestic sapphic life with yachi <33

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡ MIYA ATSUMU

he met you in high school as you were on the inarizaki’s girls volleyball team. he had tons of girls fawning over him but he noticed you and was head over heels for you after seeing you play

despite having busy schedules as both being professional athletes, he always makes time for you

he does not shut up about you especially in interviews. he just wants to brag about you and how he has a girlfriend who matches his talent

his interviews are like “Your serves seem so tough to receive, it’s amazing.” “Yeah well you should see my girlfriend’s serves”

“Miya, how do you plan to celebrate your win” “I’m going home to my girlfriend”

istg on his professional account he posts more about your team than msby jackals (his manager tells him that he has to shut up)

[eddiegettingshot]

🍎 for the fic thing. In the spirit of domesticverse autumn

🍎 apple & pumpkin picking / future spec

a little stupid domesticverse ficlet for u anon :)

“That was pretty hot,” Buck says.

“Okay,” Eddie says, snorting. “I just told you I’m giving you a written reprimand for being late. If you think that’s hot, I’m doing something wrong.”

“Eddie.” Buck gives him a withering look. “It means you’re doing it right, man.”

“Huh,” Eddie says. Yeah, that sort of makes sense, considering what Buck’s frequently into, when it comes to him: measured, compassionate authority, even when it’s undercut with a touch of something mean. Especially then. “Well, let’s hope the brass agrees.”

“That you’re hot?”

“That I’m doing it right.”

Buck’s eyes are so soft and his grin is so proud and wide that his place across the kitchen table—the closest approximation they’ve got to a fire captain’s office desk, setting the scene for the bevy of roleplay scenarios Buck’s been drilling him through as interview prep—strikes Eddie as altogether too far. He walks his fingers over, right into Buck’s palm, which is already upturned in invitation.

“You got this,” Buck says, all patient and fervent like Eddie’s one of his wide-eyed recruits.

“I know.” Because Buck’s got him. “Thanks to you.” He squeezes Buck’s hand, then lets him go and sits back, appraising. “And I appreciate that you dressed the part.”

“Oh.” Buck looks down at himself, seemingly having forgotten that he’s decked out in his actual uniform, complete with his old BUCKLEY nameplate. Eddie thought the dedication was cute, in a ridiculous way, except now there’s a familiar glint in Buck’s eye; his pupils are already blown. “I didn’t put this on to help you prepare.”

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “No?”

“Nah,” Buck says, shoving away from the table and standing up. “I figured it’d be a—a reward for all your hard work.” His eyelashes flutter. Just a little, just enough that Eddie notices and swallows hard.

“Jesus, Buck,” Eddie says, scrambling to his feet, abandoning written material, practice questions, and a stack of books with titles like Creating and Maintaining a High-Performance Team in favor of Buck’s unabashed smirk, which is far more interesting. “Go get in bed.”

“What happened to servant leadership?” Buck asks. “This actually feels kinda autocratic of you, Ed—”

Eddie slaps his ass hard. The rest of the sentence is lost in an offended yelp.

“This is a dictatorship,” Eddie corrects, but it’s muffled as he crowds up behind Buck, shoving him bodily towards the bedroom, and rakes his teeth into the curve of his neck to feel him shudder. “Just how you like it.”

Buck is weird enough that when he stumbles through the doorway, moaning, Eddie can’t be sure if it’s because of being bitten or because of the stupid joke or because their even stupider roleplaying turns him on.

Eddie can’t help it. “I love you,” he says.

“Uh, I don’t think you should say that,” Buck tells him, unimpressed but already sinking to his knees, “as my superior.”

“Seriously? You can suck my dick but I can’t tell you I love you?”

“You’re supposed to be consistent and clear about your expectations,” Buck says. His face is very close to Eddie’s crotch, which is distracting. “Dictators don’t say ‘I love you.’”

“Oh. Okay.” That doesn’t seem like a universal law, but he clears his throat and puts on a hard voice anyway. “Well, get to work, Diaz.”

Buck beams up at him. “Yes, Captain.”

[ssentimentals]

seventeen members as love tropes: kim mingyu

exes to lovers

'getting over you is impossible because how do you get over someone who still has your heart?'

mingyu imagined so many times how you two will meet again. in his mind, you two meet only when his life finally feels like his again, when he's not miserable with attempts to get everything under control. in his mind, you two meet when every single issue of his is sorted out and he can finally present you perfect version of him, version that is worthy of you. but of course, just like with every other plan of his, life's got its own vision on how things should go.

'mingyu?' you call, unsure. 'is that you?'

he understands your hesitance - not only did he bleach his hair, but also is sporting a classic suit on, which he's never owned before in his life. 'uh, yeah, hi. how are you?' his voice sounds a bit off and he clears his throat nervously. 'didn't think i'd see you here.'

you shift on your place, moving a bit to the side, letting other people pass. 'um, i work here. i mean, my office is here, in this building. i- do you also work here?'

mingyu chuckles self depreciatingly, shaking his head. 'no, i just got out from the interview.'

your eyes light up at this and it's akin to a stab to his heart because god, you still are excited for him even after everything. 'really? how did it go?'

mingyu doesn't know what to tell you because truth is not an option, he doesn't want to fall even more in your eyes. and that's the thing, isn't it? mingyu wants to look good in your eyes, wants you to be proud of him just like he is proud of you, but it seems to be impossible. that's why he left, why he decided to break it off because he couldn't take it anymore, couldn't stand being such a downer who can't seem to get his life under control. 'i'd rather not talk about it,' mingyu settles, grinding his teeth. 'don't want your pity.'

you frown and mingyu knows he fucked up again (how many more times can he fuck up with you?). 'i never pitied you, mingyu.'

he knows. he knows and it's time for him to go or at least bite his tongue, but he does neither maybe because he's too upset over the tenth interview that went to shit or because he can see one red rose peeking out from your shoulder bag. tell me who gave you this rose. have you already moved on? 'well you should.' it comes out aggressively. 'it's all i deserve.'

you blink, shocked. your mouth opens and then closes, you struggle to formulate an answer. mingyu doesn't blame you - he was never like this in your relationships. he was always the caring one, funny one, but never snippy or rude. he was always rushing to catch up with you, with your success, your genuis ability to know what you want and go after it. he was always the one undeserving of you.

'mingyu, i-' you start, baffled and mildly concerned. 'i don't even know what to say. where is this coming from? did the interview not go well? is this why you are upset?' you gingerly reach out, taking his hand in yours. 'do you want to talk about it? i have some time before my meetings.'

mingyu is not a crier, he is not. but the desire to grab you into his arms, never let go and cry it all out is so big, he almost screams. because he can't do it anymore, can he? lost all priveleges of holding you one month ago, when his cruel thoughts got better of him and convinced him that breaking up would be good. now, when he stares at your joined hands, he wants to smack himself with something heavy because how he could ever thought it'd be good? he's miserable without you, can't sleep without knowing that you are okay, doesn't want to do anything if it's not with you. this break up was supposed to be for good, for him to take his time and come back to you with his shit all figured out, so you'd be proud. and yet.

'mingyu-'

'are you happy?' he rasps out, barely holding back his tears. having your hand in his makes him feel too sentimental, reminds him of too many good memories with you. 'after we- after i left. are you happier?'

on instinct you try to move away, but his hold on your hand is too strong. 'happier?' you ask, not believing your ears. 'happier without you?'

'now that you don't have me holding you back,' mingyu elaborates, sensing your anger. 'are you happier?'

'mingyu, what are you talking about?' you question in a whisper, realization that he is not joking finally dawning on you. 'i- you never held me back. is this- wait, is this why you decided to break up? because you thought that you were holding me back?'

you sound like this is ridicilous but it can't be. mingyu frowns, looking at your widened eyes. you are not lying, he can tell. you really think that he did not hold you back but... but he did, he's such a loser compared to you-

'kim mingyu,' you call out in a shaky voice, making him snap out of his thoughts. 'i think, no, i know we need to talk. what i'm hearing right now is so, so wrong and i-' you take a deep breath, calming yourself. 'i thought you broke up because you didn't love me anymore.'

mingyu drops your hand at this suggestion. 'i said that we're breaking up because of me,' he states, looking at you like you've grown two heads. 'i love you, i will always love you, i don't think it's possible for me to ever stop loving you. i left because i'm a mess and you don't have to stick with me through it, it's unfair to you. i wanted to come back to you all patched up, picture perfect because that's what you deserve. but i never-' mingyu raises his voice, stepping close to you and holding eye contact. '-i never stopped loving you.'

you should know this. mingyu doesn't think he can live knowing that you are out there, thinking that he stopped loving you. it's impossible. rivers can run dry, sun can turn into ash and mountains can move, but his love for you will remain as a constant presence, big part of him that will never die. how could you question it?

'i am working till seven tonight,' you suddenly say in a cliptight tone. 'kim mingyu, if what you said is true, you will wait for me here and then we will talk.' you stare at him with fierce determination that makes his heart skip a beat. 'okay?'

mingyu swallows. could it be that you...? 'i failed this interview,' he whispers. 'just like i failed all others. i-'

'were you lying when you said that you never stopped loving me?' you question strictly and when he shakes his head, you smile, nodding. 'good. then you'll wait for me here.'

and it's - it makes dead butterflies in mingyu's stomach wake up. they barely move their wings but they woke up and that's all that matters. 'i will wait for you here,' he promises quietly. 'but baby, i.. haven't changed. i'm still same mingyu from one month ago.' i didn't get better is stuck on his tongue.

you smile softly and he realizes how much he missed your smile. 'i know, gyu. and thank god for that. cause that guy from one month ago? he's my favorite guy ever. although he is a bit dumb for breaking my heart over something that is not true.'

negative thoughts that usually buzz inside his head constantly, quiet down, when you lovingly caress his hand. he can this? he can still have this?? mingyu doesn't think you understand that he will kill to still have this. 'i love you,' he only manages to choke out, looking into your beautiful eyes. 'i will be here at seven.'

you nod and walk away and mingyu tries his best to not let anxiety play with him again. instead, he focuses on barely alive butterflies and prays for them to have enough strength to withstand till seven because there's small silver of hope that after seven they actually might come alive for good.

a/n: it was supposed to be fluffy, i swear. but then it turned into this and i just left it like that :/ feel free to come to me and call this out for being ansgty - nini

my other works are here

[cosmicpearlz]

hopelessly devoted

summary: the four times you and joão spill about your relationship and the one time you guys finally hard launch it.

pairing: joão félix x actress!reader

-one-

"hello gq! my name is y/n and i'm here to answer your burning questions," you said as you wiggled your eyebrows in a teasing manor.

"what was it like filming with jenna oretega?"

"it was absolutely amazing. jenna is like my sweet little angel. for those that don't know, me and jenna play adopted siblings for this movie called all for love. you should go check it out or whatever," you shrugged your shoulders, throwing the card behind you.

"who makes you laugh the most?"

you looked down at your feet, sporting a huge smile. "my boyfriend," you picked your head up towards the camera and giggled.

"boyfriend? are you saying that you're not single?" one of the producers behind the camera said.

"yeah, ya girl is off the market."

"can you tell us more?"

"well all i can say is he's a well known athlete. we've been together for almost a year now and i'm very happy."

"will you ever go public?"

"maybe or maybe not. who knows," you throw another wink to the camera, causing everyone in the room to laugh.

-two-

with you being out the country for a new movie, you couldn't attend joão's game. you were left feeling bummed that you couldn't be there to support him in person. it didn't stop you from watching the game in your hotel room, texting him throughout it. he wouldn't be able to see all the texts until after the game but it never mattered to you. you practically jumped off the bed, watching your boyfriend score the winning goal. sending a quick text, stating how proud you were and how much you loved him. you kept the channel on, waiting for his interview.

"joão, you had a really goal. you must've been delighted with that finish."

"yeah, i think it was a good goal. uh, well played since the beginning, since the net. and then with the neto pass. it was kind of easy from that spot," joão gave the interviewer a small smile.

"and who will you be celebrating this win with?"

"celebrating with my girlfriend over facetime. she wasn't able to make it here today but i know she's been texting me updates while she was watching. i look forward to calling her and seeing what she's been saying," his smile grows more being able to talk about the love of his life.

"congratulations again and thank you for your time."

"thank you," joão shakes the interviewer's hand before walking towards the locker rooms.

it didn't take long for joão to get home. he was quick to drop his stuff off at the door and greet floki. picking up the small dog, he heads to the couch to call you.

"babyyyy! ah, i'm so so so proud of you," you screamed into the phone speakers upon answering the facetime call.

"meu amado (my beloved), thank you for watching."

"i'm always watching. you literally couldn't get me not to watch your matches. now, where's my son?" joão chuckles, flipping the camera down to floki, who rested comfortably in his lap.

"starting to thing you love him more than me."

"i could never."

"well maybe just a little bit. but to be fair, i love you both equally."

"we love you too babe."

-three-

another day, another interview. you were so glad that you got to do this one at home. you set your computer up in the kitchen and only worried about putting on a fancy top. from the waist down, you were wearing joão's basketball shorts and a pair of his socks. his closet was pretty much your closet too.

"in a recent interview with gq, you mentioned that you had a boyfriend," you nodded with a smile. "what song reminds you of the relationship you guys have?"

"um it'd have to be 'so american' by olivia rodrigo."

"he isn't american?"

"no, he's actually portuguese. unfortunately, he doesn't laugh at all my jokes because he thinks i'm corny sometimes but i'm very much in love," you replied, locking eyes with joão while he quietly tiptoes through the kitchen. he blows you an air kiss, making you wink at him.

"was that him? is he with you now?" you cover your mouth to hide your smile and incoming laugh.

"yes, i'm home and he's here too. i believe he just came in from training. it's nice being able to come home to someone."

-four-

"i'm joão félix and here's ten things that i can't live without."

for the next thirty minutes, he explains the stuff he brought in. from his training gear and cleats to his dog to his phone and even his favorite cologne. the last item, wasn't an item but a person.

"she's not here right now but meu amado is the last thing i can't live without. i feel like she constantly grounds me when i need a pick me up. it's been nice having someone to come home to. i also love that we're able to support each other throughout our busy lives," he smiles off to a distance, recalling moments from your relationship.

"nah nah, bro just wants to talk about her all day," his teammate noni rushes into the frame.

"get out, this is my video!" joão says, while laughing behind the words.

"you guys don't understand. i genuinely don't think he can function properly without her. you should see them when we have away matches, just on the phone the entire ride."

"i can't help that she's the love of my life. now, shoo."

-the hard launch-

you were buzzing with nerves while getting dressed for the film festival. you knew all eyes were going to be on you because of the movie that you were in. you also knew, with joão by your side, you could do anything. you were finishing getting ready, when a knock on the door sounded through the room

"come in," you yelled out, thinking it was either your boyfriend or someone from your team. the door opens and closes, footsteps getting closer, you're met with your boyfriend. joão whistles, eyes traveling you from head to toe.

"my god, you are a beauty."

"oh stop it," you close the distance between the two of you and kiss his cheek. he lays his hands on your hips, pulling you closer to his body.

"i'm serious bebê, you are gorgeous. i cant wait to shout it to the sky that we're dating."

"i'm excited too. i can't wait for people to know that my boyfriend is one of the best footballers ever."

"now you're just saying that."

"no, i believe it. there's a difference love."

"y/n, it's time to go!" your manger yells through the closed door.

"you ready babe?"

"always. after you my love," joão says, letting you take the lead.

getting closer to the carpet, your nerves were back. it was as if he could sense it because you felt a squeeze on your hand. you looked up from your lap, locking eyes with your boyfriend.

"no need to be nervous, i'm right here," joão whispers to you, while gliding his thumb across your hand. "are you feeling doubts about us going public?" as much as he didn't want to admit, he would be hurt if you said yes. joão had been waiting to go public for some time now but he knew if you had doubts, he would respect your wishes. your eyes widen upon hearing his question.

"no! babe, i don't doubt a thing when it comes to you. i'm just nervous because it's my first time being here. i don't want to disappoint anyone."

"you won't. you're going to do amazing," he leans over to press a kiss to your lips. leaving a couple pecks and then leaning upwards to kiss your forehead.

when the car comes to a stop, joão is the first to get out. coming around the other side to open the door for you. the screams were already loud when he step out of the car but it doubled as he helped you out. joão fixes the train of your dress before you guys walked hand and hand down the carpet.

"so he was the boyfriend, huh?"

"yes, he's my talented and wonderful boyfriend," you giggled, meeting his gaze. joão shakes his head and joins in on your laughter.

"we're here for her not me. I'm so proud of her and her hard work."

"I'm surprised fans didn't pick up that the two of you were talking about each other the whole time. it really does make sense now," the interviewer let out a chuckle of realization.

"you know, now that you say it, i'm surprised too. our answers were almost always the same," you looked up at him, finding he was already looking at you.

"i don't care, i can finally kiss her in public. i'm dating y/n y/l/n!" joão grins during his mini speech. your smile grows and you pull your joined hands closer to your heart.

"and i'm dating joão félix!"

"talk about hard launch of the century. congratulations on the movie y/n and i wish you nothing but the best."

"thank you for your kind words. it truly means a lot and my best is standing right next to me," you replied to the interviewer. joão's smile grows even bigger and he places a delicate kiss to the top of your head.

"she's my best as well. if anyone cared to know!"

[icarusredwings]

Thinking about Logan adjusting to this new timeline, becoming sober, and Wade somehow finding Logan's dog tags. ~4k words.

(Tw: Logan's a depressed recovering alcoholic with survivor guilt, unofficial proposal, canon usual implied sex jokes, Logan tries to flirt but fails)

To my wife. Who's halo lit up my dark life to see just how many doors were available to me when I couldn't see them myself<3

He offers him his to wear as a cutesie matching necklace type of thing but Logan is hesitant to take them, scared of what will come of it. He does it anyway though because he sees how happy Wade is wearing his.

What he refuses to tell him though is that just hearing the tags jingle makes him jump, flinch, his heart rate rises, and his mind floods with scenes he's worked so hard draining every bar he could find dry just so he could forget.

For me, I, too, am a man with deeply rooted animal instincts and was raised to behave like an obedient pet instead of the animal they made me.

An animal trained to take orders. A soldier without his post is miserable and constantly is either trying to find it again or defend himself from ever having to go back to a post to begin with.

You aren't good enough for them if you obey what they say and excel past the standards. But you aren't good enough if you question their authority and make choices for yourself either. Hoizer comes to mind.

Running with the bulls

Working my miracles

Holding my world together with a boot string

His night terrors are worse, more frequent, constantly a battle between wanting to protect and defend the less fortunate to saying, 'No, I'm done with that. It's none of my business, It’s someone else's problem now.'

He wakes up screaming, claws drawn, every possible sense he has to run activated, panting, gasping almost for air. He's panting, heaving deep but quick breaths, all of the hairs on his arms raised like a cat who just heard a dog barking after having gotten attacked as a kitten.

Living the dream

Benzos and gasoline

Coffee and blue light screens till the morning

He wakes to the sunlight in his face, gets up, stretches, takes his Valium. Eats some toast, calls it breakfast, gets dressed for his weekly AA meeting. The moment he steps inside it smells like Gasoline. Sweet honey scented lies that he hates to admit that he knew all too well. ‘It was only one’ ‘I asked for a virgin one but they brought me the wrong one’ ‘I'm trying, I really am..it's just.. hard’ He's heard them all before but the last one he could relate to the most.

Coming home at night, Logan puts his face into the back of his partner's neck, hugging him from behind as he offers to watch a cowboy movie marathon with him. He barely eats, only taking what Wade gives him or shoves in his mouth like the now spilled popcorn that was all over the ground, His boyfriend sprawled out on the couch while the “Dvd” bounces back and forth on the blue screen.

Wade never likes it but recently he's been drinking coffee at night, pacing back and forth as he searched online for a job. Kept himself far from the nightmares that were trying to catch up with him.

If I tell you this is drowning

You tell me I'm walking on water

I could bring fire from the mountain

You tell me it feels a little colder

Everyone was telling him how good he was doing, how well he was adjusting, how happy they were that he was here and yet.. He didn't feel like he deserved it. Any of it. Not the second chance, not the love and support of all his new family, not the affection from the man who whispered how proud of him he was each night..

It doesn't help his mental status when multiple jobs reject him either. Interviews don't exactly go that well when you have claws for hands and a reputation for having a temper.

“I'm sorry we're looking for someone with more… experience.. in this field. You need an entry level job.”

“Woah dude! You are WAY too qualified to be working here! you should try looking for something higher up, yeah?”

“I'm sorry. You're too much of a liability.”

“Oh my god- You're the Wolverine!”

“Yes.. but uhm.. No.. I'm just Logan now.”

“Wait, why are you applying here? This is a cashier position.”

“I'm aware..”

“Aren't you like… an X-men?”

“N-no… not anymore.”

“Oh… Did they fire you?”

“I quit.”

“Why?”

“Are.. these questions part of the interview?”

What kind of man was he if he couldn't even get a damn job at McDonald's? It felt useless. Like everybody wanted something different from him, but no one was happy either way. Never pleased with his resume or his reputation. You would think being an ex X-man would make it easy. Of course someone would want to hire a superhero? Right? Wrong.

I don't wanna

Choose between being a salesman or a soldier

Just let me look a little older

It seemed everyone wanted him to rejoin the X-men and as much as he missed that mansion upstate, it wasn't his. So many times he's been told stories about himself that he didn't even remember …well.. because it wasn't him. They wanted The Wolverine.

Their Wolverine.

Not Logan.

There was always that spot at the dealership with Peter. Now that Wade was back on his role with mercenary stuff and doing more “Favors” with Colossus, Negasonic and Yukio, that position was open. Part of him- No. Scratch that. All of him was happy for Wade. He seemed to be enjoying life so much more now that he felt he had purpose. But what was his purpose? Selling cars?? Definitely not. Even if it was, they were looking for something else anyway.

“It says here that you are 286 years old. Is that a typo?”

“Oh- uhm… No..”

“I see…Well we are currently looking for someone… younger.. to fill that spot. Sorry.”

But they were never actually sorry. He could smell it.

Coming home from the failed hunt, he felt like an older lion losing its pride to a younger male lion. Well- if lions could develop arthritis in their knees and hands. Once a day he'd pop out his claws, just to keep them ready though he felt like he hadn't used them in such a long time… Maybe he really was turning into an old house cat like wade said.

Sitting in their shared bedroom, he was grumbling to himself, grunting as he tried to get his claw unstuck. This wasn't the first time they locked up and he feared it wasn't the last either.

He snapped his head up at the sound of tags. Around the corner came who he expected, Wade, quickly hiding his hand under the blanket. Coming in, his eyes widened.

“Woah wolvie! Without me? Really? I would have gladly done it for you.”

At first Logan wanted to thank him for offering to help before quickly realizing that from how his hand was under the blanket, it did look suspiciously like adult alone time.

“T-that's not… no.”

“M'kaay. If you say sooo~”

“H-how uhm.. How was work?”

Watching as he began to grab shower clothes and take off his mask, He smiled.

“Oh you know! Watching the life drain from peoples eyes and what not as they beg for their life! The usual.”

“Oh.. that's.. fun?”

“Extremely liberating stuff.”

Watching as he began to strip, He swallowed, wishing he'd leave already so he could finish shoving the claw back into his skin.

Let me step a little bolder

I don't wanna

Choose between being a butcher or a pauper

“You wanna take a shower with me?” He asked, Beginning to walk around butt naked in nothing but his tags.

“U-uhm… No. No thanks, I had one this morning.”

“D'awwww what? Worried i'll see your peanuts? News flash baby, I've had those things down my throat! And I will say. They're better salty anyways~”

All this teasing changed his monotone face into a small goofy smile as he came close, crawling up into his lap, taking hold of his cheeks as he kissed his nose.

“What's wrong? Did you not get the job?”

He was so envious of how he could say such dirty things. Wade was so confident and yet so shy about his face. It made him think of when he was that confident in himself too. (Probably overly confident if we're being honest) Oh that was so many years ago… he'd never get that back. And honestly? He wasn't sure if he wanted to.

Logan said nothing but it was all the answer wade needed.

“I see. Well you'll get’em next time, Right?”

He looked away. Ashamed. Here Wade was, being overly supportive, giving him everything, and still he couldn't find a single happy bone in his body.

Shifting his leg to reassure him more, His knee was placed on the claw, yipping. “Ouch!”

“Sorry! I… I can't.. i-it won't..”

And on top of all that, he just hurt him. Man he sucked at this. All of it. Every little bit of it.

Pulling his hand away, Logan's eyes looked over Wade just as quick as it happened, Trying to see if he was bleeding only to jolt.

“Hey- shh.. Calm down. You're alright.” Grabbing his wrist, he carefully moved the tags that had gotten stuck on the claw.

“What's got you all riled up, Kitty? The interview couldn't have been that bad.”

But what he didn't know is that it WAS that bad.

Instantly Logan broke down, breaking heavily as he began to sob, gritting his teeth as he put his non-stuck hand on his face, wanting to hide. He felt pathetic. Useless. Weak. All of the things he fought not to be.

“Ooh, Honey come her-” Wade reached a hand out, trying to console him only to be shoved away.

“Don't!! I-.. I'm tired of hurting people! That's not who I want to be!”

“Baby cakes, it was an accident-”

“No!! Eveyone wants the Wolverine until the fucking wolverine is actually acting like the Wolverine!” He shouted, trying not to choke on his own tears.

Tilting his head, Wade blinked as if he wasn't aware of what he was talking about, but why would he? Logan hasn't told him anything negative for the past 2 weeks. Keeping it all bottled up, trying to push it deep down but that wasn't him. He couldn't handle it anymore.

“Everyone just keeps saying I should join the X-men again and i-” Wilson put his hands on his shoulders, looking at him with the most serious he has ever been in his entire life.

“Logan, If that's what you want we'll make it work. It's only an hour drive, and i'm sure I could visi-”

“Wade!! Shut. Up! I don't…” He trailed off, shaking his head as he began to apologize, whispering he was sorry for yelling at him.

“I-it's not your fault.. I.. I don't..”

Wade was patient, Nodding, encouraging him to open up with his words. He knew when it was time to zip it and let him talk. Now was one of those times. It was his turn to listen.

“I don't want to fight anymore. I didn't want to fight to begin with but… It's the only thing I'm good at. I'm not good at anything else.. My whole life I've just been jumping team after team and they all eventually die or I just get kicked out for not understanding the power of team work or whatever. Hell, I've been through three different wars and every single time I ran away! Like a damn dog with its tail between its legs! All except the times I was TOLD to run and I didn't. Fuck, Wade! 3 fucking wars and I can't even take orders right!!”

Honey, I'm taking no orders

Gonna be nobody’s soldier

It was now Wade's turn to try to stifle a laugh, snorting as he covered his mouth.

“What's so fucking funny?! That your boyfriend is a sad pathetic loser who can't even get his hands to listen to him!?”

Now he burst out laughing, starting to giggle.

“You're over here talking about not being able to take orders and not being good enough for a team while talking to the same guy who can't even GET on a team and was kicked out of Canadian special forces because I didn't listen to a single thing they said! And you think I care if you ‘can't take orders’ ??” He said this last part in a mocking tone, trying hard to be serious but couldn't.

Logan's eyebrows scrunched with a skeptical glare, tears still dripping down his face, feeling embarrassed and stupid.

Cupping his face again, Wade smiled ear to ear, their foreheads together. “You're much dumber than the comics make you out to be if you think I'd care about anything like that. You honestly think I'd care if you don't want to be anyone's soldier? Why do you think I'm my own boss? The world isn't built for guys like us, baby. And if you wanna open a coffee shop or- pursue your dreams of photography, or hell! Even bird watching for all I care, I will still love you. We will make it work. No matter what you choose to do. Even if you don't get a job at all. Do you understand?”

The man started into his eyes, seemingly frozen as he processed all that he said.

“Logan..”

“Hm?”

“You gotta nod hon, we've talked about this.”

Slowly nodding, indicating that he understood, the tears got thicker as he pulled himself into Wade's shoulder, sobbing more.

“Oooh There there… There's my big strong man..” Wrapping his arms around him, he was careful of the single knife still out. Sitting him up, he rubbed the side of his face as he kissed the other cheek, only to gasp.

“GAASSSPP!! Peanut!”

“What!?” His grip tightened around his waist as he looked around urgently, immediately sniffling and starting to wipe his eyes.

“You're getting greys!” He coed, reaching up to pluck a single gray hair from the beast, who flinched. “Ouch..”

Leaning back, Wade held the hair in front of his face, His smile still wider than ever.

“You're turning into A silver fox, wolvie!”

“W-what?”

“Ooh I bet you're gonna be so handsome! Eehh!” Hugging him again, tight around his neck.

Blushing, He wasn't sure what had just happened. How him venting and crying out of the rage he felt to Wade fangirling over one of his single hairs.. though.. I guess it made sense for your bald boyfriend to monitor yours. Wade has even made him start using a fancy shampoo that made his hair a lot softer, curlier, and Less greasy.

“.. you..You're excited that i'm getting old..??”

“Duh! I've always wanted to be a hot silver daddy's sugar baby!”

“What does that even mean?”

“Don't worry about it- Oh hey look! Your claw went back in.”

Looking at his hand, he made a fist and opened it a couple of times, blinking, oblivious. “...How did you do that?”

But what he didn't realize is that the stress was flowing out of him, and the relief that Wade seemed to be obsessed with him no matter what had calmed him down enough for it to slide back in itself.

“I didn't do anything, sweetheart. You opened up. Let it out. All that stress isn't good for you, you know. How do you think I ended up looking like this?” He joked, giggling.

For some reason, He laughed too, finding this a bit funny.

“Do you feel better? Hm?”

“Nngh..”

“I'll take that as a yes.” The naked man whispers, kissing him with his arms lazily on his shoulders, glad that he was able to cry in front of him. Twas a very manly thing to do and there was no one more manly than the Wolverine himself.

“Alright. I'm gonna go shower. I stink worse than you do after being out in the rain.” You know, wet dog and all. Pulling away, there was a clang and a tug at both of their necks, the tags becoming stuck together, making wade smirk more. “I think these tags don't want me to go.”

Quickly frowning, Logan swallowed, moving to take his off, pulling up his hand as he held it, putting the tag inside of it, closing his fingers.

“Wha..I-... what are you doing?”

“Wade.. I..” He sighs, looking away with a nervous pout, Grunting a bit from frustration. Why did words have to be so difficult?

“Are you breaking up with me?!”

“What!? No! I-.. I don't..”

See what Logan didn't know was that Wade had viewed these as promise rings, the equivalent of engagement even but he was okay with never actually getting married. As long as he got to wear the dress in his closet and dance with him he wouldn't mind if it was legal or not. He understood fully that not everyone wanted to marry the stage 4 cancer patient whose skin looked like turkey bacon that was somehow raw and burnt at the same time.

“You don't what? Do you.. want something else? We can get rings! Do you want rings?” shifting to sit closer to him, Wade was obviously becoming upset about this, untangling the tags and looking at him with those big brown puppy eyes.

“Rings…?”

He could see the gears in his head trying their best to turn as he thought what he meant.

“How would we make them into rings?” He finally asks and to Wade, this was basically a proposal.

Sitting up more he began clapping excitedly the same way he did when seeing puppins again about 8 months ago. “Eeh!! Yes!!”

His head turns, Giggling. “I would've taken it in front of the subway like Sanda Bullock but this works too!”

Logan, like a dumb ass, looked too, knowing full well he wouldn't see anyone but still always looked anyway. “Who??”

“Oh I'll show you later! What size are you?”

“In rings?”

“No, your cock, Of course in rings!”

“Hey now- I never agreed to a cock ring, Wade. No.”

The serious tone and the way he pointed his finger at him made him laugh more, taking his hand as he kissed it. “We'll figure it out. Okay so after my shower, I'll call a guy I know. I think Forge would do a much better job but I feel like he'd say no.” He began rambling about how cute they would be and how excited he was, climbing off of his lap (finally) and started to walk off.

“W-wade!” He called, swallowing again, nervous to ask him to listen.

“What? You wanna come shower?”

“No- well.. maybe but..”

Again he waited, rocking back and forth on his heels, trying his best to be patient but it was hard not talking for 0.5 seconds.

“It's not that.. I don't like them. It's just.. I got those a long long time ago.. and I don't want to be the man those belonged to. Not anymore. And it's not that I don't think about rejoining all the time, it's just.. I want to live my life the way I want too. Charles always said that at the end, we'd get to live how we deserve. That's my time. My time is now. I want to sit on a porch somewhere out west and watch the horses graze. I wanna sit around doing nothing with Puppins in my arms. I want… I want to be with.. with you.”

He admitted, and for once Wade was the one speechless.

“I don't want you to visit. I want to live with you. But not here. I want to go somewhere quieter. Somewhere I can just be.. Logan..”

Putting a hand on his chest as he explained, he didn't see his smile move, not a smidge, watching as he bit his lip and covered his mouth trying to stay quiet until he was done.

“Of course I still want to help people though! Protect them from other worse people… I'm just tired of being someone's toy soldier all the time. I want to do what I think is right but.. also have time to listen to you sing when cooking and take Puppins to the dog park. I want to protect..Us.” Yeah. That felt right. Us. Both of them, all of them. Together. His family.

“B-besides.. If I became an X-men again I don't think I could do it. I could barely sleep back then thinking about all the screams.. the people I couldn't help. I don't think I would be able to get over the fact that I can't save everyone… But I definitely want to try to at least save a few people. Take care of them… all of them. Even if they don't think they need help.” He smiled a bit, taking a huge breath as the stress was relieved from his shoulders.

“Alright you can talk now because I'm never doing that ever again, that was super embarrassing.” He muttered, flushed as he looked down at his lap.

The second he gave him permission to speak, Wade screamed, a scream that made Logan's eyes widen and look at him with a slow blink. “....what was tha-”

Immediately he was pulled up from the bed, picked up and squeezed tightly as he jumped around. Grunting some, he held on tight, feeling a little nauseous. Sometimes it was easy to forget how strong he was.

Still screaming, Wade was extremely excited about all that was just said, Logan admitting that he wanted a serious future with him was a lot better news than he could have ever wished for.

“Put me down!... Wade!... I'm gonna throw up!” He said, whining that he was given uppies non consensually. Even he couldn't help but laugh though in response to his giggles. God that laugh was so annoying and yet his world would feel pointless without it.

Putting him down, Wilson grabs his cheeks, petting his beard. “Ooh Logan.. I don't need protection.. because I can't get pregnant. But if I ever find out that I can, I'll definitely hire you.” He jokes, causing more blushes as his hand comes up to Wades, nuzzling into it for a moment.

“You know what I mean…”

“I do. And while I won't stop you, how about you be your own soldier for a bit? Tell yourself how to live. Not anyone else. And i'll be behind you, wearing a shirt with your ugly mug on it, supporting you the whole way. Got it?”

“Aye! I'm not ugly!”

“No you are not! I've barely been home for 20 minutes and am already so wet. I haven't even taken a shower yet “ he mumbles casually as he begins walking away.

“Heh.. Hey…erm Wade?”

“Yes, love?” Just about to leave the room, he turns, smiling gently at how talkative his fiancé was.

Logan blushes more. “I uhm.. If I'm nobody's soldier… can your name be nobody?”

Wade looks confused at first, now it's his turn to figure out what he was saying.

“Cause.. if your name is nobody then i'd be.. nevermind.” Waving A hand, he glanced at his shoes, stuffing his hands in his pocket having just fumbled that line completely.

Within seconds, Wade was back in that room, giving him the sloppiest, deepest kiss that was available, kissing him all over.

“Oh Logie! You're so sweet! But leave the flirting to me, mkay? I don't need you throwing your back out trying too hard.” He pats his chest, grabbing his hand as Wade drug him by the wrist.

They both laugh as they enter the bathroom, closing the door with a click.

[moonandstarshyuck]

"Always."

lando norris x gn!bf!reader

notes: I haven’t written since 2019, so bear with me. I’ve found myself thinking about a little blurb for Lando recently (actually a lot of ideas, but this one is sticking with me more than the others at the moment).

For some context, Lando’s been receiving a huge amount of hate online (and in-person) recently. I haven’t been a fan for that long—I got into F1 this summer, in 2024—but I’ve grown to care about him. I was there for Lando losing the championship, and while I think we all knew it would come to this (Max winning felt inevitable) but I’m proud of Lando for pushing so hard this entire year.

Still, with all the hate directed at him, I’m seeing a new side of him, and I’m learning that he’s a person with feelings like anyone else. I can tell he doesn’t always have the highest opinion of himself and tends to take the blame for anything that goes wrong during his races. What struck me about this is how much I relate to it. I blame myself for things out of my control or when I mess up. What sucks with Lando is that his small, human errors are what so many people focus on to criticize him—whether it’s why he didn’t win the championship or why they think he’s a bad person (which he absolutely isn’t).

The inspiration for this came from an interview he did after the Brazilian GP. At that point, everyone knew it was almost mathematically impossible for Lando to win the championship, and he talked about struggling in the aftermath: “I literally couldn’t sleep for the first two days…So I did like, what, 36-40 hours straight. So that probably made everything worse. When you’re tired, you’re more moody, and that kind of thing…I was just sat at home alone. It probably would have been better if I had been with my friends. But they don’t live in Monaco. They also have lives and are busy doing other things. And I’m a big overthinker, so like the whole flight home, the whole week, it just played over and over in my head. What could I have done differently? Why did I do that? Why did I not do this? You start thinking of all the scenarios that you kind of blame yourself for, why it’s now not possible, that kind of thing. And yeah, because I overthink and I struggle with that kind of thing, that took a bigger toll in the days after. It wasn’t an easy time.”

And I keep on finding myself wishing someone could have been there for him in person, so that he was okay. So, I wrote this. The reader in this is dating Lando but is written as a gender-neutral character that uses They/Them pronouns. The reader also has a service dog, a Bernese Mountain Dog named Thunder, to help with their own depression and anxiety (I’m not an expert on service dogs, so this many not be 100% accurate).

They woke up that early morning to the sunlight shining on their face, streaming in from the window outside. The bliss of sleep clung to them as they lay there, cocooned in warmth, the covers snug around their body. They stretched lazily, blinking their eyes open.

Instinctively, they turned to look beside them—only to find the space next to them empty. It’s too early in the morning to be anywhere else but in bed, even for training, they thought. Lando should still be here.

The realization pulled them out of their sleepy haze. The past couple of days had been not kind to Lando. They knew that he had a tendency to keep his feelings bottled up and beat himself up over his perceived failures. They understood that feeling all too well—the guilt, the constant sense of disappointment, the nagging thought that were never good enough. They had wrestled with those feelings since they were a child.

It wasn’t something that had an easy fix. If they had found the answer, they would have shared it with Lando years ago. But they had learned that the best way to fight those thoughts wasn’t isolation. Talking to someone, writing feelings down, even simple positive affirmations—thought they might sound silly—could help push back against the negative spiral. They had told Lando this countless times.

But Lando had a problem with not wanting to “inconvenience” anyone with his emotions. No matter how many times they reassured him that they were always there for him, he struggled to let himself. They didn’t blame him—it was human to struggle against your own mind.

What made everything worse was the constant online hate. Every little mistake or sarcastic comment from Lando seemed to turn into an avalanche of criticism. They remembered the first time they’d seen him like a hateful comment about himself on Instagram—the little heart next to a cruel statement, paired with note: “Creator liked this.” It had broken their heart. How could the Lando they loved ever believe such awful things about himself?

After Brazil, it had been clear that he wasn’t okay. He’d barely spoken since coming home, choosing instead to himself. They had given him space, hoping he’d find a way to process his feelings. But by the second morning, when he still hadn’t come to bed—almost forty hours after returning home—they knew they couldn’t stand by any longer.

That morning, they rose slowly from the bed, a plan beginning to form in their mind. Lanod needed someone to step in—someone to remind him he didn’t have to face his struggles alone. They were determined to be that person for him.  They couldn’t take it anymore, seeing the person they loved so badly, punishing himself over his ‘failures.’

The first step was to confirm where he was. Grabbing their phone, they opened Twitch and navigated to Max’s stream. After a few moments of watching, they heard Lando’s voice—tired, strained, but unmistakably his. He was joking with Max, his words clipped, like he was holding himself together with sheer willpower. It was enough to break their heart. They opened their messages with Max.

Thunder's Owner

Lan’s streaming with you rn?

Sent at 7:48 AM.

After a few seconds, Max replied.

Maximilian

Yeah he’s on voice-only.

Sent at 7:50 AM.

Gonna do something about him?

Sent at 7:50 AM.

Max knew. Of course he did. He probably heard the exhaustion in Lando’s voice, the edge self-loathing that came with overthinking. They typed back quickly:

Thunder's Owner

Yeah

Sent 7:52 AM.

Going to unplug his setup and drag him out of there.

Sent 7:52 AM.

Maximilian

Lol.

Sent 7:52 AM.

I’ll keep an eye out for when he disappears.

Sent 7:53 AM.

Thunder's Owner

Thx

Sent 7:54 AM.

They quietly made their way to Lando’s gaming room and eased the door open. Lando sat at his desk, controller in hand, headset clamped over messy curls.  He looked worn down, his shoulders slumped as he focused on the screen. His voice through, muted put playful, as he bantered with Max.

For a moment, they just watched him. Even now, he was handsome, but the tiredness in his expression made their chest ache. He deserved rest. He deserved to feel okay. And he wasn’t going to get that by sitting here punishing himself.

As soon as Lando died in-game and leaned back in his chair, they seized the opportunity. They crossed the room, catching his attention when they came into view.

“Why’re you—” Lando began, frowning, but they didn’t let him finish. Reaching down, they unplugged everything from the wall.

“What the hell—” he exclaimed, spinning around in his chair.

“No,” they said firmly, cutting him off. “I’m not you hurt yourself anymore. Get up.”

Lando blinked, clearly taken aback. “You can’t just do that!” he protested, but they were already tugging gently at him arm, urging him out of his chair.

“Angel, what are you—”

“No,” they repeated, their voice steady. “Get up,”

Lando hesitated for a moment before letting out a resigned sigh and standing. They took his hand, leading him out of the gaming room and down the hall to the living room. He didn’t resist, but he followed like a man in a daze. Once they reached the couch, they turned to him. “Sit,” they said, pointing at the cushions. Lando raised an eyebrow, opening his mouth to argue, but they shook their head. “Stay.”

They turned to Thunder, who had been waiting for them in the hallway, and told him, “Thunder, guard,” while pointing at Lando.

The dog immediately moved into position, standing alert in front of the couch. Lando’s eyes widened slightly as Thunder fixed him with an unblinking stare. He shifted as if to get up, but Thunder’s stance didn’t waver.

“Jeez, I wasn’t going to get up,” he mumbled to Thunder, but Thunder just sat there and watched him until he fully relaxed back into the couch.

The thought ran through Lando’s head, how he had honestly forgotten how menacing his own dog could look. He knew Thunder was trained, saw reminders of it daily with how he interacted with his partner, but he was still shocked at how trained Thunder really was at that moment.

Thunder was still staring at him when he pulled out his phone from his pocket, opening up his texts with Max.

LN

I was just dragged out of my gaming room and told to sit on the couch and like a dog.

Sent at 8:05 AM.

Not against it, but how tf did they get so determined?

Sent at 8:05 AM.

Thunder’s watching me right now.

Sent at 8:06 AM.

I forgot how menacing he could be.

Sent at 8:06 AM.

*Picture attached.*

Lol.

Sent at 8:06 AM.

Max (The 1st One)

He’s like ‘try me, I dare you’

Sent at 8:06 AM.

LN

Yeah, I don’t particularly want to try him

Sent at 8:07 AM.

Max (The 1st One)

Lol.

Sent at 8:07 AM.

They told me before they did it

Sent at 8:07 AM.

I just let them. Lol.

Sent at 8:07 AM.

LN

Helpful. What if they were trying to  kill me?

Sent at 8:08 AM.

They wouldn’t have had to if you kept doing what you were doing.

Sent at 8:09 AM.

Lando’s let out a quiet sigh, Max’s words sinking in. He glanced at Thunder, who hadn’t moved, and felt a pang of guilt. He’d pushed himself too far again, and this time it had clearly worried his partner.

A few minutes later, his partner walked back into their living room. He thought they looked beautiful, wearing one of his old t-shirts and a pair of boxers. They were entirely focused on the bowl they were carrying, and only looked up when they got close enough to hand it to him. He gently took the bowl, looked into it and saw it was one of his prep meals. While not his favorite breakfast, he knew he just needed to eat first, so he started taking bites.

He glanced up every so often, and each time he did, his partner was just sitting there and watching him eat. Lando almost chuckled at his own thought that they looked just like Thunder when watching him, and he smiled into his bowl at the thought. His partner didn’t see his smile, but he continued to eat until he had finished the bowl.

When he was done eating, he set the bowl down, and his partner again pulled him up by the crook of his arm. He just let them do so, having a thought of what was going to happen next.

His partner led them both down the hallway to their bedroom, and opened the door, leading him to sit on their bed, then they turned around and went to close their blinds and draw their black-out curtains to cover up the sunlight from the window. They had turned on their bedside lamp earlier, and the soft orange glow of the lamp permeated the room. They walked past him again, going to close the door after letting Thunder in, then they walked back to their side of the bed, and pulled him to lie down against them.

As he settled against their chest, he felt a bit odd, it being a bit of a difference to feel how much he was loved by them. How much they cared for him. And he finally spoke again, “Thank you.”

“Always, Lan. Always.” They replied, pressing a kiss to his hair.

And for the first time in days, he let himself sleep.

author's note: got inspired to actually write something for once...ty @koalapastries for the inspiration (unknowing inspiration but ty) (also sorry for using your layout outline

comments & reblogs appreciated

and i made the dividers :)

[acesofspadess]

Meet AG5

a/n: i got a request that I keep up with Ace as a driver so here is a little background:

How Ace is with the other drivers (including, Franco, Ollie, and Liam, Fred, Christian, and ToTo)

Charles: Ace and Charles are the closest on the grid by far. They grew up together -more like Ace following Charles and then Max around- and will forever be each others biggest supporters. Not even Max has anything on the Charles and Ace relationship.

Carlos: Ace and Carlos actually didn’t get along at first. Carlos and Ace almost took each other out in her first races and along with Lando falling for her while getting over Carlos moving to Ferrari he went into protective mode. It wasn’t until Ace and Lando joined him on the Singapore podium and Ace praised Carlos for his drive that they spoke in a less threatening manner. They quickly turned the best of friends and the trio is always seen with each other. He was also the first one to know about Ace and Lando.

Fred: They’re relationship is very much drunk uncle coded. It’s no surprise Fred wants Ace to join Ferrari. Every podium and/or win Fred is there spraying champagne on her. He sends her Ferrari merch every new collection they have as an on going joke.

Checo: Ace and Checo get along quite well. She was a RedBull Test and Reserve driver before she signed with McLaren. She drove Checo’s car more than she did Max’s so they bonded over how the car performed. They don’t talk much outside of the track, but his kids love her.

Max: Max and Ace are best friends, if you see them together, they’re most likely laughing or telling someone off. These two in a conference together??? Pray for the interviewer because if Ace learned anything from her time at RedBull it was Max’s attitude. This season has definitely strained their relationship. Despite Lando and Max fighting for the championship, Max has admitted that Ace is his biggest threat. 

“Question for Max and Lando,” someone asked in the Singapore post-race conference. “With Ace coming off a win, and in 3rd place for the Drivers Championships, are either of you worried that she is also in the fight?”

“...I agree with Lando.” Max said, “I think Ace is a fabulous driver, and yes, the points between her and Lando are closer than me and Lando, and while it would be very hard for her to join the fight, it’s racing, and if she keeps winning when we cannot, then yeah it’s nerve-wracking. She becomes a big threat to not just Lando but to me as well. You can’t tell who your fighting when points are this close.”

Christian: This was one is tough. They used to get on great, but There were some comments made when Ace went to Mclaren that rubbed her the wrong way. ‘She should have stayed here as a Reserve driver with the way their season is going compared to ours but… she made her decisions and she’s got a seat, not much can be said after that.”

Lewis: Ace and Lewis bonded instantaneously. Everything came easy to their friendship, whether it was fashion, racing, lifestyle, or flying together everything was fun with them. But on the not so ponies and rainbows side of life, Lewis was the only person she could talk to about the racist comments. He walked her through it all, even representing her on his own helmet at one point in her first season. Lewis was as much her big brother as Charles. They definitely had many laughs when Lewis announced he was going to Ferrari. “Fred couldn’t have you so he signed me.” He would tell her.

George: Ace and George don’t talk as much as you would think. Yes they talk because of Lando and Lewis, and they are friends, but they realy just haven’t had the ‘out-of-track’ friendship that was as strong as the others. When things get controversial on track between one of them, the other is backing them up in their own interviews, by coincidence or not.

Toto: Toto is like a much calmer Fred. He see’s her alot because of Lewis and is genuinely just proud to see a woman on the grid. Susie is definitely behind alot of their interactions, not that Toto knows Ace knows that.

Daniel: Daniel and Ace are never up to any good, EVER. Those two in the same room?? Everyone is laughing and crying. They simply bring out the laughter and sunshine out of each other with no care for anything else in the world. There was never any bad blood from them even if Ace had essentially stollen his seat. Ace made an entire post for him when it was announced Singapore was his last race. Her and Lando sat with him for around an hour after that race. They also did a helmet swap and Ace has it displayed with her and Landos in their Monaco apartment.

Pierre: Pierre, Ace, and Charles. That’s it. That sums up their friendship. These two are the first to share gossip with each other, which ends up with them screaming at each other in French (excitedly)… everytime. Much to the dismay of the FIA.

In relation to everyone else on the grid, it’s more of a work friendship. She gets on well with everyone and everyone seems to love her.

Extras:

Ollie, Kimi, Franco, and Liam: Her friendship with Ollie was almost like having a son. Him and Kimi would always come find her when F2 was racing with them. Ace and Lando were the first ones to reach out to Franco when his seat was announced. He has openly said that they were his favourite drivers and it just made her feel nice that someone came in after her, and looked up to her. She doesn’t have much of a connection with Liam yet, as he’s only been in one official race weekend so far, but she definitely keeps an eye out for him whether he knows it or not.

if you want to be tagged/ keep up with Ace comment to join the Ace specific taglist!

[ao3usermelancholyhues]

𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐝

steve harrington/eddie munson for @steddiemicrofic’s june prompt: stuff, 483 words (also incorporates may's prompt word, 'top'). ft. double anal penetration, use of a dildo, top!steve / bottom!eddie | E rating 🍆 read on ao3 🍆

“Tell me you’re a good boy.” 

Steve’s got this wicked edge to his tone, sick little smile as he watches Eddie struggle and shake on top of him. 

“I-I’m a good boy,” Eddie agrees, nodding, eyes screwed shut, sweat beading on his forehead. 

“Tell me you’re so proud of yourself.” 

Eddie squirms, cock leaking over Steve’s belly. He ruts into his mess with a whine. 

“I’m so— I’m so proud of myself.” 

"You should be.” 

Steve pulls the dildo out and pushes it back in out of sync with the pace he’s thrusting his cock, never leaving Eddie empty. The dildo’s at least as thick as his own girth; Eddie’s stretched wider than he’s ever been. Stretched the way he’s been begging for for months while they trained him, while he swore up and down that he was ready. 

Steve promised him a big reward if Corroded Coffin’s second album did well. It’s been out for a week and it’s topped the alternative charts—sold over double the units of their first album. Everything’s abuzz with radio interviews, magazine photoshoots… even talk of potential TV appearances. Eddie’s been bouncing off the walls about it for days. 

Now he’s so stuffed full there’s tears sticking his eyelashes together, a constant high-pitched whimper filling the air between them. Doubly filled for his chart-topping album, and he’s not sure how it could be any better. 

“You take it so well,” Steve murmurs, one hand a bruising grip on Eddie’s hip to help keep him in place while he fucks into him, slow drags of his cock, then the dildo, then his cock… 

“I want it faster,” Eddie gasps, hands clenched into fists. He wants to push back, wants to bounce on both cocks so badly, but Steve told him to be still and he’s trying. 

Steve narrows his eyes, though Eddie’s still got his tightly shut. His hair’s curling more at the ends from the sweat, wisps sticking to his cheeks, his forehead. Steve wants to lean up and kiss him, lick the salt off his top lip. He gives Eddie’s hip a squeeze, slips that hand around to grip his ass and spread him open more. The motion stretches Eddie’s hole differently, makes him gasp then moan.

“You’re not ready,” Steve says decidedly, and Eddie hates the finality of his tone. “Just be happy with your reward tonight, sweet love.” 

With a whine, Eddie shakes his head and finally opens his eyes. “Steve, please, faster. It’s my reward, I want it faster.” 

Without warning, Steve forces both his cock and the dildo in to their bases in a quick snap that takes Eddie’s breath away, lube squelching obscenely at the suddenness of it. 

Steve looks up into Eddie’s widened, wet eyes, extends his neck as far as he can to kiss his plump bottom lip where his mouth is hanging open. 

“You are not ready yet.”