#burning tyre

[wee-toe]

Harma Heikens x

[eirianerisdar]

I’m already seeing the discourse start online so let’s be clear. Ferrari’s brakes were shit the ENTIRE race. Charles wasn’t the only one being told to lift. He caught up to Carlos a lot in the second stint because Carlos’s brakes were nearly on fire, too. Carlos’s brakes didn’t clean up until like 15-20 laps from the end. Sky kept talking about how both of them were being told to lift and coast. It’s arguable whether Charles’s brakes could have survived him pushing more to stay ahead of Lando but without detailed brake data, we won’t know.

Either way you understand why it was frustrating for Charles - the car didn’t give him what he needed to stay in 2nd and it was this or his brakes catching fire. When it’s not about technique but about equipment it always hurts more.

[leclercskiesahead]

Stop the count

[swordsofsaturn]

man one of my closest friends just found out her husband has cheated on her :/ they've literally only been married a year and a half..... i hate country men

[racingliners]

Why has Norris not pitted yet??

[evilgwrl]

What abt 141xpregnant!reader (or not pregnant, ur choice, I dont mind!!) And someone gets into their house and reader is all alone so she calls the boys while they're out (somewhere idk)

can be angst or fluff <3

Thank you for this idea, I hope I did it justice for you anon <3

CW: Threats of violence (not against reader), break ins, fluff

You stared at yourself in the glossy reflection, soaked rag scented with the unmistakable smell of cleaning spray dabbing at the final fingerprint, a satisfied grin on your face. You hobbled to the kitchen, ankles slightly swollen as a hand rubbed against the plushness of your belly, a gentle kick answering you back.

You felt content. You were six months pregnant and surrounded by four incredibly devoted men (who were currently running all the errands you could no longer do). Gentle feet padded against the wooden floorboards, your back humming with a subtle ache as you groaned, your body flopping down against your comfiest pillow.

Wispy lashes fell over curled lids, the zip of a fan hushing you to sleep. You awoke to rustling, your window cracked open for fresh air.

“Stupid foxes,” you muttered, rolling towards the window to shoo the pesky creatures away from your vegetables. Your heart halted, however, face a pasty shade of terror as you watched a figure, much larger than a fox, break the glass to your back door, the stone floor of your patio humming against the shards of crystal.

Pesky fingers reached for your phone, a monotone strain coming from your throat as you phoned for Price, eyes now a glassy bowl of unshed tears.

“Hey love, you ok?” The normally comforting tone only spurred your anxiety as you choked out a sob, an instant call of your name blasting through the speakers of the phone.

“There’s someone inside the house,” you choked out, your voice a mere whisper as you huddled in the corner, fingers twisting the lock on your bedroom door.

“Call Gaz in the meantime; we’ll be home in 10 minutes.”

You were a whimpering mess, swollen body trembling in your ensuite as Gaz attempted to calm you down, telling you the police were on the way. There was a commotion downstairs, kitchenware clattering as you presumed, he was rummaging around. Timber creaked under a lead foot, stairs straining under the man's weight as he stomped upstairs.

“Kyle, he’s upstairs,” you trembled, your throat constricted with a coil of anxiety as your limbs tremored, a protective hand strung across the swell of your belly. The Sergeant’s voice brought you no comfort as you heard the door to the nursery swing open, the squeak of a baby toy rattling against the wood. Your gut was burning, tender hands clutching against the marble counter in a motion to hold yourself up, your knees locking up as you clattered to the floor.

Price’s hands were stained permanent ivory, his knuckles protruding from broken skin as he pulled down your street, head beams flickering at the cars before calloused tyres screeched down a turning lane, the bulky SUV swerving into the driveway. Simon had rummaged through the glovebox on the first ring of your call, massive frame bouldering out of the unparked car as his keys twitched in the door, the steady frame of Soap in toe.

Rough fingers wrapped around carbon steel, silent footsteps thrumming against wallpaper as you shifted in the bathroom, gentle sobs wracking through your body.

You were unaware of what was going on outside your bedroom, the faint sounds of a man’s voice, unrecognisable through the thickness of the walls only spurring anxiety shrill of terror through you.

You knew they would never let anything happen to you, but what if something happened to them in the process? Sure, they were trained for combat but that doesn’t make you invincible.

You clutched your stomach, humming to yourself in an attempt to calm down.

Simon was livid, they all were. The house you had built for them all years ago was now tainted. A place you should be safe in was no longer available.

Soap’s voice was sharp as he entered the nursery, enjoying the twisted satisfaction of watching the intruder still as the safety of the gun unlocked.

“You make a f’cking movement and I’ll put a bullet in ye head, ye hear me?”

There was a slow nod from the man as Ghost entered, slamming him against the wall with a crash, his hands tied behind his back as he lunged him down the stairs. There was a faint echo of sirens in the distance as you sheltered yourself, still unsure of what was happening.

There was a rattle against the door, a soft voice calling out to you.

“It’s just me, love. Open the door.”

The doorknob felt crumbly under your touch, fingers barely able to twist it. Price’s body was warm as he engulfed your shaking figure, wet cheeks staining his shirt in a soppy mess. Thick hands grabbed at the plush of your thighs, lifting you with ease into burly arms, the tickle of his moustache against your ears as he lolled a soft apology to you.

“Shouldn’t ‘ave left you alone dove, feel like I failed you.”

The captain’s heart was bleak, an ephemeral feeling of guilt worn on his shoulder before you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, soggy lips placing a feathery kiss upon the worn skin.

“It’s not your fault, John. Could’ve happened to anyone on our street.”

The night was slow, Gaz consoling the police as Soap and Price comforted you, tending to your every need as Ghost stood outside, dark eyes glaring into the back of the police van at the man. You assured them you were okay, delicate hands rubbing your belly as you cooed, your heart finally returning to its normal bpm.

Once the blaring of red and blue lights simmered to a halt, and Ghost had run out to get a replacement door (otherwise, he wouldn’t have slept from keeping guard all night), you could fully relax. Your body was flush against the comfort of your L-shaped couch and Simon’s calloused back, fingers running through the roots of your hair.

Your eyes succumbed to temporary slumber at the touch, scalp tingling from the simplicity of gentle tugs. You were carried to bed, arms balled at the soft cotton of Soap’s shirt you had stolen. You nestled quickly into the comfort of your bed, lashes flat against your cheeks.

They all watched you, hands folded as they watched the rise of your chest, a flutter of breath leaving your lips every time it fell.

“Beautiful, ain’t she?” Price mumbled, cerulean eyes lapping in the mere sight of you, a proud glow comforting him knowing you were theirs.

“Damn right,” Ghost grunted.

There was a creak against the floorboards as your eyes opened, your voice delicate with sleep, “Will you guys stay tonight? All of you? Please.”

“Shoot us in the head if we ever say no to anything you say,” Soap uttered, a gentle slap whacking around his head from Simon as Kyle leaned into the bed, heavy hands immediately wrapping around your swell belly.

The night ended with whispers of affirmation and one happy girl.

[ashwantsafreepalestine]

The “Great March of Return” in 2018.

Palestinians peacefully protested every single Friday, for over a year. They performed the Dabke as an act of resistance.

Israeli forces responded by shooting tear gas canisters, some of them dropped from drones, rubber bullets and live ammunition, mostly by snipers.

While some protesters have engaged in some forms of violence including by burning tyres, flying incendiary kites or throwing stones and Molotov cocktails in the direction of Israeli soldiers, social media videos, as well as eyewitness testimonies gathered by Amnesty International, Palestinian and Israeli human rights groups show that Israeli soldiers shot unarmed protesters, bystanders, journalists and medical staff approximately 150-400m from the fence, where they did not pose any threat.

214 Palestinians, including 46 children, were killed, and over 36,100, including nearly 8,800 children have been injured.

“In order for nonviolence to work, your opponent must have a conscience.” — Stokely Carmichael.

(sources: x,x)

[n0thingiscool]

Memphis cops need curb stomped. What the absolute fuxk?!

[userm4x]

laundry list of lusail track's sins:

the FIA changes track limits on turns 12/13 by around 80 cm to try limit damage to tyres (this leads to the addition of an extra 10 minute practice session directly before qualifying for the sprint race. on a weekend with only 1 hour of free practice anyway)

the FIA implements limit of a maximum of 18 laps on any 1 set of tyres due to the curbs & track surface literally shaking the tyres to the point of structural damage (this leads to a minimum of 3 pitstops for all drivers during the race)

nico rosberg reports that pirelli informed the FIA of possible tyre issues in Qatar and the warning was reportedly ignored (he revealed this live on Sky F1)

george russel opens his visor during pitstops to try get some air onto his face

both george russel and lando norris are recorded fanning themselves and steering with their wrists at 300 km/hr down the main straight due to heat

george russel reports after the race that he felt as though he was going to pass out multiple times. he felt as though he was in a sauna from around lap 20, except he had no way to escape the heat as someone in a sauna can

logan sargeant retired due to feeling ill, likely exacerbated due to the heat. he was carried out of the garage by his mechanics

max verstappen and oscar piastri are both unable to remain standing in the cool down room after finishing ("does anyone have a wheelchair?")

alex albon has to be helped out of his car after finishing the race

alex albon was then taken to the medical centre and treated for acute heat exposure

fernando alonso asks for water to be poured on him during a pit stop as his 'seat is burning' him

fernando alonso then reports after the race that he has a legitimate burn on the left side of his ass due to the heat

esteban ocon reports beginning throwing up in his helmet on lap 15, and this then continuing for two laps (and does so only at the end of the race)

lance stroll is taken in an ambulance for medical attention after finishing the race

lance stroll then says that he ended up with so many track limits infringements within the last five laps because of the fact that he could no longer see the white line due to how often he was passing out in high speed corners

valtteri bottas described the race as "torture" after finishing

yuki tsunoda reports that he opened his visor to try to cool down his face and instead of air, sand flew in

charles leclerc says he saw many drivers appearing seriously unwell in parc ferme after the race

charles leclerc also describes the race as being "twice as bad as singapore"

nico hulkenberg left the media pen after only two questions as he desperately needed to cool down

lando norris reports that 2 or 3 drivers took themselves to the medical centre because of dehydration concerns. several fainted once inside

jack doohan says that the lack of action and radio messages during the race is likely due to the lapses in cognition from severe dehydration due to heat

[theonottsbxtch]

POWER OVER YOU | FC43

an: i don't encourage this type of behaviour i promise i just somehow always end up writing the most unhinged things ever lol

wc: 8.8k

warnings: emotional abuse, mental manipulation, age gap (older!reader), exploitation

The first time Franco flirted with her, it was live on camera, in front of millions.

It was bold. Reckless. Utterly ridiculous.

She barely flinched, her practiced professionalism taking over as effortlessly as the hum of engines in the paddock. She dismissed it as a rookie’s desperate attempt to make waves, the kind of bravado that burned bright but fizzled out under the grind of a Formula One season. A boy playing games in a world of professionals.

But that boy had the nerve to smirk at her like he knew something she didn’t.

“Maybe one day, you’ll be answering my questions,” he’d said, leaning into the mic, his voice dripping with that unmistakable Latin charm that made headlines and broke hearts before the ink on his contract was even dry.

She had laughed it off then, smooth as glass, redirecting the conversation like the master she was. Years of experience had given her an edge that no rookie could rattle. Yet as the weeks passed, something shifted.

She caught herself replaying the moment in her mind. Not his words—those were easy to brush off. It was the look in his eyes. The way they lingered a second too long, daring her to react. He wasn’t like the others—those boys who looked up to her, respected her, feared her. No, this one wasn’t afraid.

And that made him dangerous.

She didn’t fall for things like this. She was untouchable. A name spoken in reverence across the paddock, her presence a force even team principals didn’t challenge. Her life was built on control—over her career, her family, herself. She had everything to lose, and yet...

Every time Franco stood in front of her, that same smirk tugging at his lips, she felt it unraveling.

And the worst part? He knew.

By the midpoint of the season, the tension was palpable. She told herself it was nothing—just a passing distraction in the relentless chaos of the Formula One calendar. Franco was making headlines, not just for his undeniable talent but for his charisma, the sort that could light up the dullest press conference.

The fans adored him. The media buzzed around him like moths to a flame. And he, with his easy charm and devil-may-care attitude, soaked it all in. Yet somehow, amidst the whirlwind of attention, he always found time for her. A glance. A comment. A fleeting touch on her arm as he passed her in the paddock.

It wasn’t just cheeky anymore. It was calculated.

“Am I going to see you at the afterparty tonight?” he’d asked once, leaning casually against a stack of Pirelli tyres, his fireproofs unzipped to his waist, revealing a damp racing shirt that clung to his chest.

She didn’t look up from her notepad. “I don’t do afterparties.”

“You should. It would be fun.” Franco’s voice dropped a notch, just low enough for her to catch the suggestion laced beneath the words. “I think you deserve a little fun.”

Her pen paused mid-sentence, and that was enough for him. He smirked and walked away, leaving her to question why her pulse had quickened, why her skin felt warmer beneath the Mediterranean sun.

She hated him for it. Hated the way he wormed his way into her thoughts, the way her mind replayed his voice at night when the house was quiet, her children asleep, her husband on a late call in the other room. It wasn’t real, she told herself. Just a trick of the adrenaline that came with this world, the intoxicating rush of speed and spectacle.

But as the summer races rolled on, so did his games. Each one bolder than the last.

In Baku, he brushed past her in the media pen, close enough that his hand grazed the small of her back.

In Singapore, he made a comment about her red dress, murmuring something in Spanish she didn’t quite catch but didn’t need to. The look in his eyes said it all.

And in Austin, after once again finishing in the points, he sought her out before the press conference. His champagne-dampened hair clung to his forehead, his grin still wide with the thrill of victory.

“Maybe this deserves an interview,” he teased, stepping just close enough that she could smell the sharp tang of champagne and sweat on his skin. “You know, something exclusive. Just you and me.”

She forced a laugh, masking the way her breath hitched. “You’ve already had your time in the spotlight. Go celebrate with your team.”

“Oh, I plan to.” His gaze dipped for the briefest moment before snapping back to hers, filled with a heat that made her heart pound. “But I wouldn’t mind celebrating with you too.”

This time, she couldn’t hide the blush that crept up her neck. Franco saw it—of course he did. And as he turned to walk away, he glanced over his shoulder and winked.

For the first time in her career, she felt like prey.

That night the hotel room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the air conditioning. She perched on the edge of the bed, phone pressed to her ear, smiling at the sound of her daughter’s sleepy voice.

“Goodnight, Mum,” the little girl murmured, her words heavy with the weight of sleep. “I love you.”

“I love you too, darling,” she replied, her tone soft and warm. “Be good for Daddy tomorrow, all right?”

Her husband’s voice came through next, deep and steady. “Everything okay over there?”

“Yes, all fine,” she said, though her mind flickered to the chaos of the paddock, to Franco and his maddening smirk. “Just the usual madness.”

“Well, don’t let them work you too hard,” he said, his voice laced with familiar concern. “You need rest too.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assured him, glancing at the clock. It was late, and exhaustion tugged at her limbs. “Give the kids a kiss for me. I’ll call again tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, love.”

“Goodnight.”

She ended the call and set the phone down on the bedside table, exhaling a long, steady breath. The day had been relentless, as they all were, and all she wanted was a moment of peace. Clad in a simple pair of pyjama shorts and a loose tank top, she crossed the room to pour herself a glass of water.

The knock at the door startled her.

It was firm but unhurried, the kind that demanded attention without urgency. She hesitated, her heart giving an involuntary flutter. It was late. Too late for anything routine.

Curiosity got the better of her, and she padded barefoot across the carpet, unlocking the door.

Franco was there.

Still in his team polo and slim-fitting jeans, his dark hair slightly tousled, Franco leaned casually against the doorframe, his eyes gleaming under the dim hallway lights.

“Evening,” he said, his voice low and smooth.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice sharper than she intended, though the crackling tension between them softened the edge.

“Wanted to see you.” He tilted his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over her. “You look beautiful.”

She stiffened, glancing down at herself. Pyjama shorts, a plain top, no make-up. Hardly glamorous.

“Don’t flatter me,” she said, though her tone lacked conviction.

“Not flattering,” he countered, stepping forward before she could stop him, the door clicking shut behind him. “Just telling the truth.”

She swallowed hard, acutely aware of how close he was now. The air between them seemed thinner, charged. He moved with an ease that was unnerving, like he belonged here, like her space was already his.

“You can’t just show up at someone’s hotel room uninvited,” she said, but even to her own ears, the protest sounded weak.

“Then kick me out.” His voice was a challenge, soft and steady.

She didn’t move.

Instead, he reached out, his fingers brushing against a stray lock of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. The touch was light, almost imperceptible, but it sent a shiver down her spine.

“You’ve been running through my mind all night,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Her breath hitched, her resolve cracking under the intensity of his gaze. “You’re out of line.”

“Maybe,” Franco admitted, stepping closer still, his presence now overwhelming. “But I think you like it.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but the words caught in her throat as his hand trailed along her arm, his touch igniting every nerve in its wake. The space between them dissolved, and she realised she wasn’t stepping away.

Didn’t want to step away.

His hand moved slowly, almost reverently, as though savouring the moment. Fingers rough from hours gripping a steering wheel trailed up her bare thigh, his touch sending a molten heat through her veins. She sucked in a sharp breath, her eyelids fluttering involuntarily.

It was maddening—humiliating, almost—to feel so undone by a simple touch. She was stronger than this. She had built a career on composure, on unshakeable self-control, and yet here she was, trembling beneath his fingers, her resolve slipping through her grasp like sand.

“Stop,” she managed, though her voice was barely a whisper.

He didn’t stop.

Instead, he took another step closer, his other hand brushing her waist, his palm warm against the thin fabric of her tank top. His breath was a soft caress against her cheek, his lips so close she could almost feel their heat.

“Do you want me to?” he murmured, his voice low and intoxicating, the kind of voice that made promises it had every intention of keeping.

Her mind screamed yes, but her body betrayed her. She stayed rooted to the spot, her pulse pounding in her ears, her lips parting ever so slightly.

That was all the invitation he needed.

Franco kissed her.

It wasn’t gentle or hesitant. It was fiery, unrestrained, and filled with a hunger that left her breathless. His mouth claimed hers with an intensity that shattered every barrier she had spent years building. Her hands, which had been poised to push him away, tangled in his shirt instead, pulling him closer.

The taste of him—sharp and heady—only made her want more.

She barely recognised the sound that escaped her, a soft, desperate whimper against his lips. The kiss deepened, and for a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. No hotel room, no career, no family. Just him.

But then reality snapped back, sharp and cold. She broke the kiss, her lips hovering against his, her breaths coming in shallow, uneven gasps.

“We shouldn’t do this,” she whispered, the words trembling between them.

Franco didn’t pull away. His lips quirked into a small, maddening smirk that she felt against her own.

“We?” he echoed, his voice filled with quiet amusement. “You kissed me.”

Her cheeks flamed, her embarrassment flaring like a physical heat. “I didn’t—”

But he silenced her with another kiss, softer this time but no less consuming. His hands stayed where they were, one on her waist, the other resting just above her knee, holding her firmly in place as though daring her to argue.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against hers, his voice was a whisper in the charged air.

“Tell me to go, and I’ll leave,” he said, his thumb brushing a slow, agonising circle against her thigh. “But if you want me to stay...”

She didn’t finish the thought, but he could see the war raging in her eyes.

“Say the word.”

Her chest rose and fell against his, her breaths shaky as the weight of his words hung in the air. She knew what she should say, what the right answer was. But the way his thumb stroked her thigh, the heat radiating from his body, and the fire still simmering in her veins after that kiss… logic had no place here.

She didn’t say a word.

Instead, her hands tightened in his shirt, pulling him back to her, and their lips collided again, this time with a desperation that bordered on frantic. His hands roamed with purpose now, sliding up her thighs, over the curve of her hips, and under her tank top. His touch ignited every inch of skin it found, and she arched into him, a soft gasp escaping her as his fingers traced the bare skin of her waist.

Franco backed her towards the bed, their kisses never breaking, never slowing. His lips left hers only to trail down her jaw, to the sensitive spot just beneath her ear. She tilted her head instinctively, granting him access, and when he bit down gently, her knees nearly buckled.

“God,” she whispered, the sound barely audible, her hands clutching at his shoulders for support.

His low chuckle sent a shiver through her. “I’ve been thinking about this all season,” he murmured, his voice rough with desire. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

Her heart pounded at his words, the sheer intensity of his focus on her making her feel dizzy. She should’ve stopped this—could’ve stopped this. But as his hands slipped beneath the hem of her shorts, as his lips found hers again, her resolve crumbled completely.

She fell back onto the bed, his body following hers with a fluid grace that made her breath hitch. Franco’s weight was warm and solid above her, his hands exploring with a careful yet insistent hunger. Every touch, every kiss, every whispered word made her forget everything else—her name, her career, the rules she had so carefully crafted for herself.

The rest of the night was a blur of heat and passion, their bodies tangling in a way that felt both forbidden and inevitable. He was everything she shouldn’t want, yet in that moment, he was the only thing she needed.

The following morning The shrill ring of her phone jolted her awake. Disoriented, she fumbled for it on the nightstand, her heart pounding as reality flooded back in sharp, unforgiving waves. The warmth of the body beside her—the body that shouldn’t have been there—brought everything crashing down.

She glanced over her shoulder and saw him lying on his side, propped up on one elbow, watching her with a lazy, satisfied smirk. Her stomach churned, and she quickly turned away, her eyes locking on the screen of her phone instead.

Her husband’s name flashed across it.

A knot formed in her throat as she pressed accept, forcing her voice to sound steady. “Good morning.”

“Mummy!” her daughter’s excited voice chirped through the speaker. “Good luck today! Daddy said you have another race.”

Her chest tightened. “Thank you, sweetheart. Are you ready for school?”

“Uh-huh!”

“Both of them are,” her husband’s voice cut in, calm and steady, utterly unaware of the chaos that had unravelled in the past twelve hours. “They wanted to call and wish you luck before we headed out.”

She swallowed hard, her eyes darting to the man in her bed, who was now stretching languidly, clearly amused by her discomfort. She turned her back on him, clutching the phone tighter. “That’s sweet of them. I’ll call again tonight, okay?”

“Of course,” her husband replied. “Have a good day, love.”

“You too,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as guilt clawed at her chest. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

The call ended, and she set the phone down with trembling hands, her mind spinning. She felt sick—sick with shame, with regret, with the weight of the choice she had made.

“We’ve made a mistake,” she said softly, her back still to him.

“Oh, no.” Franco’s voice was smooth, far too composed. “We haven’t made a mistake.”

She turned to face him, her brow furrowed, her lips pressing into a thin line. “We can’t do this.”

He sat up, the sheets pooling around his waist, his smirk growing wider. “Can’t? That’s not what you said last night.”

Her cheeks burned, but she didn’t waver. “This was wrong. It can’t happen again.”

His expression darkened, a flicker of something dangerous passing through his eyes. Then, to her horror, he reached for his phone on the bedside table, unlocking it with a swipe of his thumb.

“Oh, but we were just getting started,” he said, his tone casual but laced with malice.

She stared at him, confusion giving way to dread as he held up the screen for her to see. It was a photo—a candid shot of the two of them tangled in bed, unmistakable and damning. Her blood ran cold.

“One phone call,” he said, his voice dropping to a low murmur, his smirk curling into something more sinister. “And your career is gone.”

He snapped his fingers, the sound sharp and mocking.

Her breath hitched, her hands clenching into fists. “You wouldn’t—”

“Wouldn’t I?” he interrupted, tilting his head slightly, his confidence oozing with every word. “You’re smart enough to know how much I have to gain. I’m untouchable now. No team would dare sideline me, not with you on my side.”

Her chest tightened, panic swirling in her stomach as his words sank in. He wasn’t just a cocky rookie with a reckless streak. He was calculating, dangerous, and he knew exactly how to wield the power he’d taken from her.

“You don’t scare me,” she said, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

He leaned in, his face inches from hers, his smirk never faltering. “No?” he murmured. “Then why are you shaking?”

She hated him in that moment. Hated the way he had stripped her of control, the way he had turned her own mistake into a weapon. But most of all, she hated the flicker of doubt in her chest—the part of her that feared he was right.

The weeks that followed blurred into a surreal nightmare. Every time she stepped into the paddock, she felt his eyes on her. Watching. Waiting. The weight of his presence had shifted from seductive to oppressive, the once thrilling tension between them now a suffocating reminder of the line she had crossed.

And the worst part? Franco knew it.

At first, his demands were subtle. A flattering mention in an article here, an offhand comment about his impressive maturity during interviews. She told herself it was harmless—easy favours to buy silence. But it didn’t stop there.

“You’ll want to lead with this,” he told her one morning, sliding into the seat opposite her in the press lounge. He pushed a folded piece of paper across the table. “It’s a great angle.”

She didn’t even need to read it to know it was about him.

“Stop showing up uninvited,” she snapped, her voice low enough that the other journalists around them wouldn’t hear.

He only smirked, leaning back in his chair. “You should be thanking me. That’s the kind of insight people pay for.”

She stared at him, her jaw clenched, but he didn’t flinch. He never did.

“Clock’s ticking,” he said, his voice calm and maddeningly confident. “You wouldn’t want your editor hearing about… us, would you?”

Her stomach twisted. She snatched the paper and left without another word.

The next day, his name was front and centre in her column.

The exploitation only grew bolder.

After a chaotic race weekend in Brazil, he approached her in the paddock as the crews packed up for the night. The lights of the arena glinted off his sweat-dampened skin, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of another top-ten finish.

“I’ve got an idea for our next exclusive,” he said, his tone casual but his words barbed.

She barely looked at him, her hands tightening around her tablet. “We don’t do exclusives. I’m impartial.”

He chuckled softly, stepping closer. “Impartial?” Franco repeated, his voice dripping with mockery. “Come on, don’t ruin the fun now. Write it.”

When she didn’t respond, his tone sharpened, dropping to a low whisper. “Or do you want me to remind you what’s at stake?”

Her breath hitched. She hated the weakness he brought out in her, the way her body betrayed her with fear and frustration in equal measure. But she nodded. She always did.

The article went live the next day, an in-depth feature on the rookie sensation, full of praise and insights that made the racing world buzz. His face was plastered across every headline, his name chanted louder by fans at every circuit.

And he made sure she knew it.

She couldn’t escape him, not on the track, not off it. Every time she thought she could reclaim some semblance of control, he reminded her just how easily he could destroy her.

“You’re good at this, you know,” he told her after a post-race interview, his hand brushing hers as he handed back the microphone. His lips curved into that infuriating smirk. “I couldn’t have planned it better myself.”

Her professionalism was cracking, her mask slipping more with every encounter. The guilt of lying to her family, the shame of letting him dictate her career—it was consuming her. Yet she couldn’t stop.

Not when his smirk carried the weight of an unspoken threat.

The nights were the worst.

Under the harsh glare of the paddock lights or in the sterile silence of press rooms, she could maintain some semblance of control. But when the sun went down and the doors to her hotel room locked behind her, he always found her.

And she always let him in.

A week after the Brazil race, she paced her hotel room, her nerves frayed and her head spinning. The TV in the corner was on mute, but the images were unavoidable: him, stepping onto the track, his face lit with triumph, her words from that morning’s feature being quoted on screen. Her name tied to his glory yet again.

She turned away, running a hand through her hair, but a knock at the door stopped her in her tracks.

She didn’t need to look to know who it was.

When she opened it, Franco stood there with that same cocky smirk, still wearing the outfit she saw him earlier, the team shirt clinging to his chest. His hair was damp from a shower, and he carried the faint scent of cologne and adrenaline.

“You’re insatiable,” he teased, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she said, closing the door behind him. Her voice was firm, but her resolve wasn’t.

“I couldn’t stay away,” he said smoothly, turning to face her. His gaze dropped to her bare legs, the hem of her silk robe brushing her thighs. “And clearly, neither can you.”

She hated how easily he could disarm her, how her pulse quickened when he stepped closer. “This is a mistake,” she murmured, even as her body betrayed her, leaning into him when his hands slid around her waist.

“Say that again,” Franco whispered, his lips brushing her ear, “and I’ll stop.”

Her breath hitched. She said nothing.

His mouth found hers, and the rest of her objections burned away. It was always like this—intense, fiery, and utterly consuming. He kissed her like he was claiming her, his hands roaming her body as if he already owned it. And in those moments, she let him.

For all the guilt, the shame, the fear of what he held over her, she couldn’t deny the thrill of it—the way her pulse raced when he touched her, the way he made her forget everything but him.

The next morning, she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, the faint marks he’d left on her skin hidden beneath her blouse. She felt like a stranger, someone unrecognisable from the poised, confident journalist she had been just months ago.

Her phone buzzed on the counter. She picked it up, already knowing it was him.

Great feature. We’re trending again. Be ready for the next triple header.

Her fingers tightened around the device. She wanted to throw it across the room, to smash it into a million pieces. But instead, she typed a reply: Fine.

Her reflection sneered back at her, and for the first time, she hated the person she saw.

Las Vegas was a circus, as it always was. The glitz, the glamour, the impossible tension. He thrived in it, playing the cameras like a virtuoso. Every wink, every sly smile, every clever soundbite only amplified the buzz around him.

And she was part of it, just as Franco had planned.

That night, as fireworks lit up the sky over the strip, he found her on the balcony of her hotel room. She didn’t even flinch when he slid his arms around her from behind, pulling her against his chest.

“You’ve been quiet,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder.

“I’ve been thinking,” she replied, her voice cool but distant.

He turned her to face him, his hands trailing down to rest on her hips. “About us?” he asked, his lips quirking into a playful smirk.

“About what happens if this gets out,” she said bluntly, her gaze locking with his. “About what you’d do with that photo.”

Franco’s smile didn’t falter. “I told you before, I wouldn’t do anything… unless you made me.”

She swallowed hard, her heart pounding as his thumb brushed the curve of her jaw.

“And you haven’t made me,” he added, his tone softening, almost tender. “Yet.”

It was a lie, of course. Everything about him was a lie, crafted with the precision of someone who knew how to manipulate people to their breaking point. But when his lips met hers again, when his hands explored her body with that same maddening confidence, she didn’t stop him.

It wasn’t always passion. Sometimes it was spite—her way of reclaiming control, of saying if you’re going to ruin me, I’ll ruin myself first. But even in those moments, when she swore she hated him, the thrill was undeniable.

The danger, the secrecy, the power struggle—it was intoxicating.

And that terrified her more than anything.

There were two races left of the season and she knew something was wrong the moment she walked into the paddock that morning. The usual buzz of race-day excitement was different—charged, oppressive. People stared as she passed, whispers trailing in her wake like a shadow.

Her heart raced. Her hands tightened around the strap of her bag, her chest heavy with dread.

When her phone vibrated in her pocket, she pulled it out with shaking fingers. There were dozens of notifications—texts, emails, missed calls. All from colleagues, her editor, even friends she hadn’t spoken to in years.

Then she saw the headlines.

SCANDAL IN THE PADDOCK: F1’s Most Powerful Journalist and the Rookie Star’s Illicit Affair!

Her breath caught in her throat. She clicked on one of the links, her vision blurring as the images loaded.

Her. In bed. Bare skin illuminated by dim light, her face unmistakable, her body tangled with Franco’s. Another photo of her standing by the window of a hotel room, wearing nothing but a robe that hung loosely off her shoulder. The intimacy, the vulnerability—it was all there for the world to see.

“Jesus Christ,” she whispered, her voice cracking as she stumbled into an empty corridor. Her stomach churned, the bile rising in her throat as she scrolled through image after image.

Her phone buzzed again, his name flashing on the screen.

She answered it with a shaking hand. “What the hell have you done?”

“Me?” Franco’s voice was sharp, defensive. “I didn’t do shit!”

“Oh, really?” she snapped, her voice rising. “Then explain why there are pictures of me all over the internet, pictures you took without my permission!”

“I didn’t leak them!” he growled, his frustration matching her fury. “My iCloud got hacked—this isn’t on me!”

“Not on you?” she spat, her hand tightening around the phone. “You took them, you kept them, and now my life is falling apart because of you!”

Her chest heaved as she paced the corridor, her free hand trembling as it raked through her hair. She felt like she was coming apart at the seams, every word from him only fuelling her rage.

“Look,” Franco said, his tone softening, “we’ll handle this. I’ll make a statement, say they’re fake or something—”

“Fake?” she interrupted, her laugh sharp and bitter. “Everyone knows they’re real. Do you have any idea what this is going to do to me? To my career? To my family?”

As if on cue, her phone buzzed again. This time, it was her husband.

Her stomach dropped. “I need to go,” she muttered, cutting him off before he could respond.

She answered the call, her voice weak. “Hi.”

There was silence on the other end, heavy and damning. Then came his voice, low and cold. “I saw the photos.”

She closed her eyes, her throat tightening. “I—”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, his tone sharp. “Don’t insult me by trying to explain. I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“It wasn’t supposed to—”

“To what?” he snapped. “Get out? Be exposed? Do you think that makes it any better?”

Her hand gripped the edge of a table, her knuckles white. “Please,” she whispered. “Please don’t—”

“Don’t what? Let this affect the kids?” His voice cracked, fury giving way to something far more painful. “They saw the news, you know. They don’t understand it, but they saw. And I had to lie to them, to protect you. But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t let you see them right now.”

Her heart shattered. “You don’t mean that,” she whispered, tears blurring her vision.

“I do,” he said, his voice firm. “Until you sort this mess out, I don’t want them anywhere near you.”

The line went dead.

For a moment, she stood frozen, the phone still pressed to her ear. Then the weight of it all crashed down on her, and she let out a scream of pure rage, throwing the phone against the wall. It shattered, the pieces scattering across the floor like the fragments of her life.

Behind her, he stepped into the room. She hadn’t even noticed his arrival, but now he stood there, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed.

“Well,” Franco said, his tone light, almost mocking, “sounds like you had an eventful call.”

She turned on him, her eyes blazing. “Get out.”

“Let’s not be hasty,” he said, stepping closer. “I can help—”

“Help?” she snapped, her voice breaking. “You’ve done nothing but destroy me. My career, my family—everything’s ruined because of you!”

He stopped a few feet away, his expression shifting from smug to something colder. “You’re acting like I planned this,” he said evenly. “I told you, I didn’t leak those photos. Someone else did. But if you’d rather blame me, fine.”

Her fists clenched at her sides, her whole body trembling. “You don’t get it, do you? You’ve taken everything from me!”

“No,” he said softly, his eyes locking with hers. “You gave it to me.”

Her breath caught, the truth of his words hitting her like a punch to the gut.

Franco stepped closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “But don’t worry. You still have me. And maybe, just maybe, I’m all you’ll need now.”

Her stomach twisted, and for the first time, she realised just how deep she had sunk.

She didn’t even hear the door open as the next person walked in.

“Just the person I was looking for.”

The sound of her manager’s voice snapped her out of the suffocating silence. She turned to see him standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable but his posture rigid. Behind him, Franco straightened, the smug veneer slipping into something closer to indifference as he slid his hands into his pockets.

“Give us a moment,” her manager said curtly, glancing at Franco.

Franco tilted his head, his lips twitching into the faintest smirk. “Of course.” He brushed past her, the scent of his cologne lingering in the air. But not before he shot her a knowing look, one that made her blood boil.

When the door clicked shut behind him, her manager turned back to her. His face was pale, the lines around his mouth deeper than she remembered.

“What’s going on?” she asked, her voice trembling.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “We’ve done everything we can to mitigate the fallout, but the board has made their decision.”

She swallowed hard, her chest tightening. “What decision?”

He looked at her with something like pity. “You’re dismissed. Effective immediately.”

Her heart dropped. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m afraid I am.” His tone was calm, rehearsed, like he’d been preparing for this conversation for hours. “Your credentials are revoked. Your paddock pass has been deactivated. You’re no longer affiliated with the network.”

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

“I made sure the hotel is covered until Monday,” he added, almost apologetically. “But after that…” He trailed off, his meaning clear.

She shook her head, her voice finally finding her. “You can’t do this. I’ve given everything to this job, to this sport—”

“And I know that,” he interrupted, his tone soft but firm. “But this scandal is bigger than you or me. The board doesn’t want to risk the network’s reputation, and frankly, neither do our sponsors.”

Her legs felt weak, her vision blurring with unshed tears. “So that’s it?” she whispered. “I’m just… done?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “I’m sorry.”

The words hung in the air like a death knell.

When he left, closing the door behind him with a quiet finality, her knees buckled. She sank to the floor, her hands trembling as the tears finally spilled over. Sobs wracked her body, raw and uncontrollable, the weight of everything crashing down on her at once.

Her career. Her family. Her dignity.

Gone.

She didn’t hear him come back in.

Franco’s voice broke through her sobs, low and measured. “Amore.”

She lifted her head, her vision blurred with tears. “Get out.”

Instead of leaving, he crouched in front of her, his eyes scanning her face. “You’re crying over them?” he asked, his voice laced with mockery. “Over people who turned their backs on you the second things got messy?”

Her jaw clenched, fury flaring through her grief. “This is your fault,” she hissed, her voice shaking. “You ruined me.”

Franco’s expression didn’t change. If anything, he looked almost… amused.

“Stop it,” she snapped, her hands curling into fists. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” he murmured, his tone infuriatingly calm.

“Like you own me.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he reached out, his thumb brushing over her trembling lip. She flinched, but he didn’t pull back.

“Shhh,” he whispered, his touch lingering. “You’re spiralling, querida. And that’s not a good look for someone who needs to rebuild.”

Her breath hitched at the intimacy of his gesture, but her fury burned brighter. “I don’t need anything from you,” she spat.

“Don’t you?” he asked, tilting his head. His thumb traced the corner of her mouth, his smirk returning. “Because from where I’m standing, you don’t have anyone else.”

Her hands shot up, shoving his chest. “Get away from me.”

But he didn’t budge. His hands caught hers, holding them firmly but gently, his gaze locking with hers.

“I’ve got you now,” he said, his voice low and steady, the words cutting through her resistance like a blade. “And you’ll see soon enough—that’s not a bad thing.”

His confidence, his control—it was maddening, suffocating. Yet a tiny, treacherous part of her couldn’t deny the truth in his words.

She pulled her hands free, her voice breaking. “I hate you.”

He smiled, soft and infuriating. “No, you don’t.”

The tears fell harder, but this time she didn’t stop him when he pulled her into his arms.

And maybe that was the worst part of all.

By the time her flight landed in London on Monday, the storm of the past week felt like a distant roar, dulled but ever-present. The drive to her house was quiet, the cab driver offering polite silence, though she caught his occasional glance in the rear-view mirror. Her name had been plastered across headlines for days; even here, half a world away from the paddock, she couldn’t escape it.

The house came into view, the familiar brick façade standing as stoic as ever. But as the cab pulled to a stop, her heart sank.

Her husband was waiting at the gate.

He didn’t move as she stepped out of the car, her suitcase dragging behind her. The set of his jaw, the stiffness in his shoulders—it was all wrong. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat as she approached.

“I’m here to see the kids,” she said quietly, her voice tentative.

“You can’t,” he replied, his tone clipped.

She blinked, confusion laced with growing panic. “What do you mean, I can’t?”

He held up a manila envelope, the weight of it hanging heavily between them. “You’re being served.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She stared at the envelope, her breath catching.

“Divorce papers,” he clarified, his voice flat. “I don’t want you in this house. I don’t want you near the kids until this is sorted. Do you understand me?”

Tears pricked at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “Please,” she whispered. “They’re my children—”

“They’re our children,” he interrupted harshly. “And I’m not going to let you drag them into this mess. You made your choice.”

Her hands trembled as she took the envelope. She wanted to scream, to beg, to fight, but the look in his eyes—cold, unyielding—stole the words from her.

“Don’t come back here,” he said, stepping back. “Not until this is over.”

And with that, he turned and walked inside, the door slamming shut behind him.

She stood there for what felt like an eternity, the envelope clutched in her hands, the weight of everything crashing down on her shoulders.

The hotel room she found last minute was sterile and impersonal, the kind of place meant for fleeting stays and forgettable nights. She dropped her suitcase by the door and collapsed onto the bed, her body heavy with exhaustion.

But sleep wouldn’t come.

Her phone buzzed incessantly, the onslaught of notifications a cruel reminder of her reality. Against her better judgement, she opened her browser.

The headlines were relentless: “Scandal Rocks F1: Rookie’s Affair with Veteran Journalist Exposed!”“Power Dynamics Questioned in F1 Affair—Who’s Really to Blame?”“F1 Reporter’s Career in Tatters After Shocking Scandal with Rising Star.”

Each article seemed worse than the last, painting her as a manipulative predator who had taken advantage of Franco’s naivety. The comments were even crueler, people calling her names she couldn’t bear to read twice.

She scrolled through social media, the vitriol stinging like acid. Every tweet, every post, every meme was a dagger to her already shattered sense of self.

But then she stumbled upon something different.

A Reddit thread, buried beneath the chaos, caught her attention: “Anyone else think this isn’t what it seems?”

She clicked on it, her heart pounding as she read the comments.

“I don’t buy it. Have you seen how cocky that rookie is? He’s been flirting with her on camera all season. She never encouraged it.”

“Right? She’s one of the best journalists in the sport. Why would she risk it all for him?”

“Exactly. Feels like he took advantage of her, especially with the way he’s spinning this in interviews. Classic power play.”

“And the leaked photos? Who even keeps that kind of stuff on their iCloud? Feels like he knew what he was doing.”

Her hands shook as she scrolled through the thread, her tears blurring the screen. For the first time, someone—strangers, no less—saw what she hadn’t dared to admit to herself.

Maybe this wasn’t entirely her fault.

But the small flicker of validation did little to ease the storm inside her. She closed the browser, tossing the phone onto the bed.

The room felt unbearably quiet, the weight of her isolation pressing down on her. She curled up on the bed, tears streaming down her face as exhaustion finally overtook her.

When she finally woke up the following morning, her face felt raw from all the tears and her bones stiff from the awkward position she slept in.

She wasn’t a day drinker really but somethings changed.

She sat on the edge of the hotel bed, her fingers hovering over the rim of a half-empty glass of wine. The muted glow of the TV cast long shadows across the room, the low hum of some mindless programme barely masking the oppressive silence when she heard the knock at the door, sharp and insistent.

Her heart leapt into her throat, dread gripping her. Franco? No. Not here. Surely he wouldn’t…

But the knock came again, firmer this time.

She stood slowly, tiptoeing to the door, her breath shallow. Peeking through the peephole, she exhaled in relief. It wasn’t him. It was— Ellie?

She hesitated, unsure of how to feel. Ellie, the young, bright journalist she’d taken under her wing years ago. She cracked the door open, her voice wary. “What are you doing here?”

Ellie offered a tentative smile, her hands shoved deep into the pockets of her oversized coat. “Can I come in?”

She hesitated for a moment longer before stepping aside, allowing Ellie to enter.

“How did you know I was here?” she asked, shutting the door behind her.

Ellie turned, her expression cautious. “I went to your house. Your husband answered. He… mentioned you were here.”

She let out a hollow laugh, shaking her head. “Of course, he did. Probably thought you’d come to gloat.”

“I’m not here to gloat,” Ellie said firmly, her voice tinged with something close to defiance. “I’m here because I wanted to talk to you.”

She crossed her arms, leaning against the wall. “Talk about what? How associating with me is going to get you fired?”

Ellie’s gaze softened. “I’m not going to get fired.”

“That’s naive.” she sighed, brushing a hand through her hair. “The network doesn’t want anything to do with me. You shouldn’t either.”

Ellie shook her head. “That’s not why I’m here. I came because… I don’t believe it. I don’t believe you seduced Franco. It doesn’t add up. I’ve worked with you. I know you.”

She blinked, her throat tightening as the weight of Ellie’s words sank in. It had been so long since anyone had spoken to her like that—with trust, with belief.

“I know you didn’t do this,” Ellie continued. “I think he’s the one who manipulated you.”

The tears came before she could stop them. She turned away, covering her mouth as a sob escaped.

Ellie stepped closer, her voice gentle. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you—”

“No,” she said, her voice trembling. “It’s not that. I just… no one’s said that to me. Everyone’s so quick to assume the worst.”

Ellie hesitated before placing a hand on her shoulder. “I know what kind of person you are. And it’s not too late to set the record straight.”

She let out a bitter laugh, wiping her eyes. “It is too late. My career’s in ruins. My family’s gone.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s over,” Ellie insisted. “We can fight back. Tell your side of the story.”

She turned to face her, scepticism etched across her face. “And how do you propose I do that? I’m a pariah.”

Ellie’s expression hardened, a flicker of determination in her eyes. “We go public. But not through the networks—they’re too invested in tearing you down. We do it ourselves. An exposé, a documentary, something raw and unfiltered. You’ve got a following. People will listen.”

She stared at the girl before her, the weight of the idea settling in. “You’d risk your career for this?”

Ellie shrugged. “You risked your reputation for me when no one else would give me a chance. I’m just returning the favour.”

The room fell silent, the air thick with unspoken possibilities. Hermind raced. She wanted to believe it was possible, that she could claw her way back from this abyss.

But doubt lingered.

“Ellie,” she whispered. “If we do this… he won’t just sit back and let it happen.”

Ellie’s jaw tightened. “Let him try. He’s already losing control of the narrative. People are starting to see through him. All we have to do is show the world the truth.”

For the first time in weeks, she felt a spark of something she thought she’d lost—hope.

“Okay,” she said finally, her voice steadying. “Let’s do it.”

Ellie returned to the hotel the next evening, her arms full—a compact camera, a tripod, a microphone, and a laptop. She looked almost nervous as she set everything up, her hands fumbling slightly with the equipment.

“This isn’t exactly the BBC studio,” Ellie joked weakly, glancing at her, who sat on the edge of the bed, clutching a glass of water for a change.

Her lips curved in a faint smile, but the tension in her posture was unmistakable. “It’s fine. Better this way. No filters, no edits. Just the truth.”

Ellie nodded, adjusting the tripod until the camera was level. She attached the microphone and tested the sound, her voice echoing softly in the quiet room.

“Right,” Ellie said, straightening. “Are you ready?”

She stared at the camera, her reflection distorted in the lens. She wasn’t sure if she was ready. But she had no choice.

“Let’s get this over with,” she murmured.

Ellie pressed record, the small red light blinking to life. She settled into the chair opposite her, the notebook resting on her lap.

“Right,” Ellie began, her tone measured and calm. “I know this is difficult, but I want you to tell me what happened. In your own words.”

She exhaled shakily, her gaze flickering to the camera before settling on Ellie. “At first, it was… flattering,” she said quietly. “Franco’s attention, I mean. He’s young, charming, confident. He made me feel… noticed.”

Ellie nodded, her expression encouraging.

“But it wasn’t just that,” she continued, her voice growing steadier. “He knew how to play the game. On camera, off camera—it was all calculated. I didn’t see it at first. I thought it was harmless, just a bit of flirtation. But then…” She hesitated, her hands tightening around the glass.

“Then what?” Ellie prompted gently.

She swallowed hard. “Then it became something I couldn’t control. He was in my hotel room every night. At first, I let him in because I didn’t want to cause a scene and I liked the attention. I thought if I played along, he’d lose interest. But he didn’t. He kept pushing, and I felt like… like I couldn’t say no.”

Her voice cracked, and she looked away, blinking rapidly.

Ellie leaned forward, her tone soft but insistent. “Why did you feel like you couldn’t say no?”

Her laugh was bitter. “Because he had power. Not the kind of power people think—the rookie versus the journalist. It wasn’t about status. It was… personal. Intimate. He knew things about me—about my family, my career, my weaknesses. He knew exactly how to use them against me.”

Ellie’s pen moved swiftly across her notebook, but her focus never wavered. “Did you ever feel like you could talk to someone about this? A colleague, your husband?”

“No.” her response was immediate, her voice sharp. “I didn’t think anyone would believe me. It’s Franco Colapinto. He’s—what do they call him? The golden rookie of F1? And me? I’m the woman twice his age who should’ve known better. Who would’ve believed me?”

Ellie nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. “But you’re speaking now. What changed?”

Her gaze met the camera, her eyes blazing with a mix of anger and determination. “Because I’m tired of being silent. Tired of being painted as the villain in a story I never wanted to be a part of.”

Ellie paused, letting the weight of her words settle before she spoke again. “What do you want people to take away from this?”

Her voice softened, but her resolve remained firm. “I want them to see the truth. I want them to understand that power doesn’t always look the way you think it does. And I want them to know that I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want this.”

Ellie nodded, closing her notebook and turning off the camera. “That was incredible. Thank you.”

She let out a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping. “I just hope it’s enough.”

Ellie reached over, placing a hand on her knee. “It will be. We’ll edit this tonight and get it out tomorrow. You’re taking back the narrative. This is your story now.”

True to her word, the next morning, she was sitting curled up on the hotel bed, her nerves frayed and her stomach in knots. The weight of last night’s confession still hung heavy in the room, and she hadn’t slept much. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the blinking red light of the camera, the words she’d spoken playing back in her head.

A knock at the door startled her, but when she peered through the peephole, relief washed over her. It was Ellie, holding two takeaway coffees and a determined expression.

She opened the door, and Ellie breezed in, setting the coffees down on the small table by the window. “Morning,” she said, glancing at her. “How are you holding up?”

She shrugged, wrapping her arms around herself. “I feel like I’m waiting to step on a landmine.”

Ellie gave her a reassuring smile, unpacking her laptop from her bag. “That’s normal. But trust me, you did the right thing.”

She nodded, though she didn’t entirely believe it.

Ellie set up the laptop, quickly uploading the edited video to her dormant personal YouTube channel where she once posted vlogs about being a journalist in Formula One. She added a brief caption: My Truth.

“Okay,” Ellie said, her voice steady. “Are you ready?”

She hesitated, her fingers hovering over the trackpad. “What if it makes things worse?”

Ellie reached over, placing a firm hand on her arm. “It won’t. You’re not alone in this. People will listen. People already are.”

With a deep breath, she clicked Post. The video went live.

For a moment, they just stared at the screen, the thumbnail of her weary but defiant face staring back at them. Ellie closed the laptop with a decisive snap.

“Now,” Ellie said, turning to her, “we wait.”

She nodded, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. Her eyes filled with tears as the reality of what they’d done settled over her. She turned to Ellie, her voice breaking. “Thank you. For believing in me. For… for doing this when no one else would.”

Ellie smiled softly, pulling her into a warm hug. “You don’t have to thank me. You would’ve done the same for me.”

She held on tightly to the girl she’d once taken under her wing, her tears spilling freely now. “I just… I didn’t think anyone would ever believe me again.”

Ellie pulled back slightly, gripping her shoulders. “You’re stronger than you think. And this? This is just the beginning.”

The moment was interrupted by the shrill ring of her phone on the bedside table. Both women froze, their eyes darting to the device.

Her heart sank when she saw the name on the screen. Franco.

Her hand trembled as she reached for the phone, her thumb hovering over the decline button.

“Answer it,” Ellie said quietly. “You need to know what he’s going to do.”

She nodded, her throat tightening. She swiped to accept the call and brought the phone to her ear.

“Amore,” Franco’s voice drawled, smooth and infuriatingly calm. “I see you’ve been busy.”

Her stomach churned. “What do you want?”

“I wanted to congratulate you,” he said, his tone laced with mockery. “That little video of yours? Brave move. Stupid, but brave.”

She gritted her teeth, her grip tightening on the phone. “It’s the truth, Franco. Something you wouldn’t recognise if it slapped you in the face.”

He laughed, low and cold. “Oh, querida. You think you’ve won something here? All you’ve done is draw more attention to yourself. To us. Do you think people won’t pick apart every word you said? That they won’t find the cracks in your story?”

Her hand shook, but she forced herself to stand firm. “They’ll see through you, Franco. You can’t control this anymore.”

His voice dropped, dangerously soft. “We’ll see about that. But let me give you a little advice, free of charge—enjoy the calm while it lasts. Because this storm? It’s far from over.”

The line went dead.

She lowered the phone slowly, her chest heaving.

“What did he say?” Ellie asked, her voice cautious.

SHe turned to her, her jaw tight. “He’s scared. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

Ellie gave a grim nod. “Good. Let him be scared. We’ve got more than the truth on our side now. We’ve got momentum.”

She sank onto the bed, her pulse racing. The fear was still there, coiling in her gut like a snake, but alongside it was something new. A flicker of hope.

For the first time in weeks, she felt like she wasn’t fighting this battle alone.

taglist: @waytooobsessedwithlife @maxivstappen @heli991113

[drabblesandimagines]

Trunk

Leon Kennedy x female reader (BSAA) for this request Fluffy, bit of mild spice, bit of blood, mention of panic attack, swears

It was meant to be straightforward surveillance ahead of the main op. Monitor the drop – the metal suitcase fitted with a tracking chip and three fake virus vials – note any observations about the pick-up, then inform the rest of the Wolf Hound Squad who would track the co-ordinates to find the terrorists’ base of operations.

You had pouted a little at being sidelined from the main action, but Chris needed someone stealthy to keep an eye over the drop and, with a squeeze to your shoulder, your track record meant you were the prime candidate.

You’d set yourself up in the eaves of the abandoned warehouse that served as the drop-off point, armed with a pair of binoculars, an ear piece and a couple of guns, as always, for if anything went south...

..which it did the moment you detected movement from the south-east corner. It took a few attempts to get them in focus, but your heart sank when you recognized the figure – one Leon S Kennedy of the DSO rolling between abandoned shipping containers, honing in on the one you’d placed the metal suitcase in a few hours previously.

What the hell is he doing here?

You press down on your earpiece and it beeps once, opening the line to transmit. “Alpha to Lupe. Got a problem. Over.”

Silence.

“Alpha to Lupe. Got a problem. Over.”

Nothing – again. Maybe your current position has poor signal, but there’s no time to troubleshoot when squealing tyres echo around the structure, alerting you to the two black cars swerving in and heading to the shipping container in question.

The cars stop, their engines remaining idle and five well-built and well-dressed men depart – three from one, two from another.

Through your binoculars, you see Leon head straight for them, gun raised.

Shit.

--

You are jolted back into consciousness when your crown smacks on something hard, before being ricocheted back down to your nose cracking against something firm, groaning as you come to.

“Finally awake, sleeping beauty?”

The voice is familiar and rumbles through your chest with the horrible realization that you’re lying on top of someone. You try and scoot back, whacking your head again and a sinking feeling as you feel plastic digging into your wrists, keeping them bound behind you.

It all comes flooding back.

Numerous gunshots go off as you slide down the ladder back to the ground floor, half expecting to find Leon bleeding out or even dead on the concrete. Instead, he’s being heaved up by his armpits, unconscious, and pushed into the trunk of one of the cars, half in, half out as one of the heavy-set men commences a search, confiscating a multitude of weapons with a scoff.

You can’t see any other bodies, which is strange. Is Kennedy getting slow in his old age?

At the other car, a man with a blonde pony-tail is bent down, talking through the window to someone you can’t see. “Go on ahead with the package.”

The driver seems to protest, but ponytail shakes his head.

“We’ll take the rat elsewhere, have some fun… We’ll join you back at base after. Go.” He thumps the top of the car with his fist to emphasize his point.

The idling car now hits the gas with gusto, the tyres burning against the concrete before it skids out of sight.

The heavy-set man seems to have concluded his search of the unconscious agent by then, finishing with what looks to be Leon’s phone. He considers it for a moment before he drops it to the floor and grinds it into the concrete with the heel of his shoe, the screen splintering and plastic cracking under his weight.

He then leans into the trunk before holding Leon’s arms behind his back and securing his wrists with what looks like a zip tie, before heaving up his legs and giving his ankles the same treatment.

You grit your teeth as you think – you don’t have much time. They’re not taking Leon to the HQ, so it’s not like you can catch up and let the rest of the squad know they’ve got a hostage.

The other car’s gone, one of the guys is distracted, if you just-

“Well, well…” There’s a gun pressed to the small of your back and your stomach sinks. You’d thought the two remaining were the ones you had in your eyesight, assuming three others had got back into the other car, but one seems to have been prowling. Fuck, you’re better than this usually. Are you and Kennedy both having an off day?

A thick forearm wraps around your throat in a headlock.

“Drop the gun.”

Before you can even think of how to get out of the hold, a knee is forced between your thighs, weakening your stance and preventing any sort of retaliation you might be able to achieve with your legs. The forearm tenses and cuts off all air, the order repeated and it is not until your grip on your gun goes limp, letting it drop to the floor that it relaxes, leaving you gasping for breath.

“We’ve already caught ourselves a rat this evening, suppose it makes sense we catch a mouse next.”

You try and throw your head back in desperation - if you break his nose he’ll definitely let go, but there’s not enough room and the arm around your throat squeezes again, but this time there is no relief, only a smug whisper in your ear.

“Sweet dreams, little mouse.”

 Everything went black.

You squint in the dark of what you assume is the car trunk – an eerie red glow emitting from the corners which you presume are the taillights – and your eyes slowly begin to adjust to find two icy blue ones staring up at you under familiar bangs. “Leon?” Your voice is a little hoarse, but it’s better than being dead.

“One and only. Gotta say, this is a surprise. Been a while.”

You try and roll off his chest entirely but it’s awkward and cramped. The trunk is not large enough to be accommodating two adults, let alone one as muscular as Leon. You manage to shift most of your weight off him, though your legs are somewhat still entangled, ankles crisscrossed together with the same zip tie treatment. You cough, trying to relieve the tightness in your throat. “What are you doing here? This is a BSAA op.”

“DSO had intel of a terrorist cell being supplied with virus samples.” He tries to shuffle back a little, take in your face after you lying atop of him unconscious for however long.

“It’s a fake – it’s our drop.”

“What?”

“I was doing surveillance to confirm they accepted the suitcase with the tracker – the rest of the pack is gonna intercept their base once co-ordinates are confirmed.”

You see him raise his eyebrow in the dim light. “Pack? Redfield still going by that wolf crap?”

 “Oh, because birds are so cool, right?” You retort, though you’re more annoyed at your situation than him.

“How’d they get you?”

“Does it matter?” You avoid the question, not wanting to tell him the real reason you’d got caught was because you’d been concerned seeing him being shoved into the trunk.

“We’ve gotta get out of these restraints. I can try and…” You trail off, your breath catching in your throat. You pull fruitlessly at the plastic holding your wrists, ignoring the sharp pain, and try and bring your knees up to your chest.

“Already tried, there’s not enough space.” Leon interjects. “Maybe if I was here solo…”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you mean to sound sarcastic, but with how you’re breathing it sounds more like a genuine apology. “I just thought it looked so fun when I saw you being kidnapped so I had to join in, you know?”

You’re breathing too heavy now, but it’s not getting down into your lungs. You’re not sure if it’s because your windpipe was crushed earlier, or that you’re on your side in an awkward position, or the fact that you’re stuffed in the trunk of a car with potentially limited oxygen.

Fuck.

“Hey.” Leon’s voice sounds foggy.

You shuffle as best you can, hoping a change in position might open up your airways, but it feels like as if the trunk is closing in around you.

“Hey. You good?”

“I…”

“You need to breathe deeper than that, okay?”

Deep down, in your logical mind, you know you do, but in the panic it’s just not happening, and your breaths grow only shallower. Your throat is too tight, the zip tie around your wrist and ankles is too tight, the space in here is too tight. Leon tenses his forearms behind his back for the umpteenth time, willing the plastic to break as he sees you falling further and further into distress. His words aren't getting through and he can't really touch you either, can't grab your hand or your shoulder and try and ground you for a moment to catch your breath. “I’m so sorry.” Leon throws his head forward and kisses you – not square on the lips, more at the corner of your open mouth, messy and awkward - but it’s enough to knock you out of hyperventilating as your scalp tingles.

“Breathe.” He orders, pulling back.

“You just-”

“Breathe. There’s plenty of oxygen in here – it’s not airtight. Breathe.”

You close your eyes and mouth and take a deep inhale through your nose, spluttering a little as you try to hold it. It takes a few cycles, Leon keeping silent as you gather your bearings, but eventually it steadies.

“Sorry.” You mumble, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry – I shouldn’t have kissed you, I just couldn’t think of how else to divert your focus.”

“No, it’s okay. Definitely worked.”

There’s an awkward silence before Leon shuffles ever so slightly.

“Promise you won’t tell Redfield? I’d rather not have my neck snapped.”

“Why would he do that?”

“You... You two aren’t a thing?”

“No.” Your brow furrows. “He’s my captain. My life’s already complicated enough fighting bioweapons without throwing in dating my superior.”

“Oh. I thought…” He shrugs as best as he can before you can see the infamous cocky grin. “Well, how about you and I grab dinner after this?”

“If there is an after this.” You try and swallow down the anxious feeling that’s crawling up from your stomach once more. “Being moved to a second location against your will is nev- Ugh!”

The car drives over a pothole but, thankfully, your head doesn’t collide with the top of the trunk. Leon groans as the impact threw him over onto his front before he mutters under his breath and starts to grind his hips.

“Holy shit.”

“What?”

“I think they missed a weapon.”

“Really?” Your voice perks up. “What?”

“A knife.”

“How’d they miss a knife?”

“Is that a complaint?” Leon scoffs.

“No, just seems a bit amateur hour. Can you reach it?”

“Not a chance, but, er…”, he clears his throat, “you might. We’re gonna have to try and adjust positions first, I’ll need your back to my chest.”

“Okay. Erm…” You scooch yourself forward with your hip and heel of your boot - easier said than done as the trunk grows narrower the further you go down, your knees bunching up towards your chest. “Like that?”

“Gimme a sec.” He responds through gritted teeth, trying to roll over again. Whatever make car this is, it’s not American – the trunk space is abysmal. Eventually, he manages it, shuffling himself forward until your fingers are pressed up against what feels like his chest.

“Hey!” He snaps with a poorly concealed laugh as your fingers twitch against the fabric. “That tickles.”

“Sorry – reflex. Where is it?”

“Well, put simply, my crotch.”

You give yourself a moment to let the words sink in.

“You keep a knife in your crotch? How have you not cut off your-?”

“It’s more a scalpel than a knife,” he cuts you off. “And it’s hidden away in the lining – in-built sheath – near the fly. Think you can find it?”

You close your eyes tight, thinking it might help you focus. Your thumb brushes up against something firm and you feel Leon tense behind you.

“Is that…?”

 “My jockstrap, thank you.” He clears his throat again. “Higher than that and more to the left.”

You try to follow his instructions, but it’s impossible to go any higher, unable to bend your elbows. “I don’t think I can. Can you shuffle down any?”

“Er…” He tries, shifting down an inch or so, his knees pressing into the back of yours in a spoon, his breath tickling your ear as he settles back down. “There. Bit to the left again.”

You close your eyes again, feeling the zip with your thumb and head to the left until you feel what feels like a thin tube.

“That?”

“Yep. Now, just try and bring it up and out. The blade’s at the bottom.”

That’s easier said than done as you press your thumbs either side of it and feel it move ever so slightly up. It’s a slow and steady process, not helped with the fact of how sweaty your palms are now getting with Leon pressed right up against you. “I think it’s nearly there. If the blade’s at the bottom, can you shuffle back? I don’t wanna slice you open.”

“You got a good grip?”

You swear you can hear the grin in his voice with that one.

“As good as I ever will.”

He scoots back a little, not as far as possible, but enough room so you can pull the scalpel implement up and twirl it around carefully in your grip so you can start to saw against the zip-tie.

“Got it.”

“Does it feel like it’s working?”

“Yeah. Just kinda awkwa-" There’s a stinging pain in your palm as the knife slices through and you hiss.

“What?”

“Got my palm.”

“Bad?”

“Had worse.” You bite your lip at the pain then, eyes squeezed shut again, trying to visualize what might be going on behind your back. Your movements are miniscule, a concern that that if you went any faster you’d slip in your enthusiasm and stab Leon.

It feels like hours when you finally feel the tension give and your wrists are free of the horrid plastic.  

“Got it. Just…” Mindful of your bleeding palm, you roll over with your good hand and lean up, pushing Leon face down so you can set to work on his wrists. It only takes a few confident saws, despite how slick your palm is with blood, before the agent groans and pulls his arms in front of him.

You pull your knees up to your chest and quickly slice through the restraints around your ankles, before handing the scalpel to Leon to do the same. His fingers pinch your other wrist instead, bringing your bleeding palm up close to his face to analyze in the dim light.

“Shit, that’s deep.”

“It’s fine,” you try and shake off his hold, but his grip remains firm.

“That’ll be the blood loss talking. Hold on.” He pulls up his shirt with his free hand and rips at the hem with his teeth, tearing off a rough strip, before he begins to wrap it around your palm in an attempt to stem the bleeding.

“There.” He announces, tying it off with a tight knot. “Not ideal, but it’ll have to do for now.”

“Thanks.” You cradle it back against your stomach and hand him over the blade so he can finally cut through the zip-tie around his ankles. It seems just in time too, as the car begins to slow.

“How do you want to play this?”

“You sit tight, I deal with whoever opens the trunk… then we go for dinner.”

“You know I am not a sit tight kinda gal, right?”

“We’ve only got one knife.”

“One scalpel.” You correct.

“Exactly.” The car stops.

“Roll over, face the back.” He orders, taking control. “I’ll go the other way – they won’t be able to see our hands. When they lean in to haul me out…”

The dulled sound of the car doors opening leaves you with no choice but to turn away as instructed and your hand brushes up against Leon’s as you tuck them back behind your back. With the hand that’s not holding the scalpel, he grabs hold of your uninjured hand and squeezes your fingers in reassurance.

The trunk opens.

Leon is peering through his lashes, bangs over his eyes, as his captor comes into view, gun raised. He nudges Leon’s shoulder with the barrel, watching the agent’s head lull back before holstering his weapon and preparing to heave Leon out of the trunk.

And that’s when he takes his chance, scalpel in hand, straight into the jugular, his other hand nabbing the gun out of the holster as he twists himself up and out of the trunk before the man can hit the ground.

Before you can get up to join him, he slams the trunk back down. You curse, hearing back and forth gunshots before the trunk opens again a few minutes later, Leon stood there with an apologetic smile.

“Coast is clear. We’re down at the docks – I can’t believe I let myself get caught by these amateurs.”

“Well, I can’t believe you shut the trunk on me!” You shuffle forward using your good hand, relieved to be sitting upright at last, legs dangling out from the trunk.

“I’m sorry - I know most guys bring their dates flowers,” he pulls another confiscated gun out of his back pocket – must be his prize from the other guy – and offers it out to you, “but something tells me you’d accept this instead?”

You take it with a smirk and a retort too good to pass up on. “You’re really gunning for this dinner date, huh, Kennedy?”

He leans forward and pushes you back into the trunk with a kiss.

--

This is so, so silly but I had fun x

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

[race-week]

With Piastri (in particular) McLaren need to go for strategies that prioritise maintaining track position, rather than strategies where he has to chase cars from behind.

He’s a decent defender, and he can overtake well it’s just that he has a tendency to burn out tyres quickly when chasing down cars, yet they keep going for strategies where they leave him out long and then he has to push hard to catch up after pitting, which completely negates any tyre benefit

[snowysosturn]

Speeding Car - Matt Sturniolo Part 5

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29

Pairing : y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary : After six years with your boyfriend Alex, you start mentally check out. At a UCLA party, Alex reconnects with his childhood friend Emily, who proposes a double date with her boyfriend Matt. Your attraction to Matt grows as he pays you the first real attention you've had in years, sparking a complicated emotional journey.

Warnings : MDNI, unhappy relationship, mentions of hangover, angst

The start of the new semester at UCLA brought a sense of urgency and routine that clashed with my internal chaos. Alex was excited, his schedule packed with classes and Bruins practice. Meanwhile, I struggled to shake off the lingering thoughts about Matt and Emily from the party, the Instagram follow, and my relationship dying out. I couldn’t tell anymore if my embarrassment was first or second hand. But today was a new day, and I had to focus.

I made Alex a protein packed breakfast this morning, I had the day off so I had the time.

“Thanks Y/n” Alex said as he gave me a pat on the back.

A pat on the back.

He took the last few bites of his meal and grabbed the keys to the car. “I’m not too sure what time I’ll be back tonight, I’ll text to let you know” Alex said as I walked behind him to the front door. I saw him off as he walked down the steps to the driveway.

“Aw shit!” I hear him exclaim, realizing one of his tyres had burst. "Great, just what I needed." he muttered.

Alex and I shared a car, it was originally mine, but I let Alex put it in his name as he needs to get around more than I do. So in simpler terms, Alex has a car that I’m able to drive once a month at least.

"Take my phone and book an Uber" I offered, handing it to him. "I'll figure out the tyre later."

He accepted my phone with a grateful nod and quickly booked the ride. As he waited, I heard my phone ping. A familiar sound, from Instagram.

“Matthew Sturniolo (@matthew.sturniolo) has requested to follow you”

"Hey, looks like Matt wants to follow you" Alex said, showing me the screen with a chuckle. "Guess he enjoyed your company at the party."

My heart jumped, a burning sensation flushed through my body. Why did this have to happen when Alex has my phone.

I tried to keep my voice steady. "Yeah, probably. We did talk quite a bit. I got along well with Nick too”

Alex shrugged, accepting the request before handing the phone back. "Alright, my ride's here. See you tonight."

"See you" I replied, watching him head out the door. Not a kiss to say goodbye or anything.

The day passed slowly, my thoughts constantly drifting to Matt's follow request. It felt like a lifeline, a connection I desperately wanted but also feared.

—————————————————————————

As the evening approached, I text Alex to let him know the tyre was fixed if he wanted me to pick him up whenever he was ready. He replied saying he had an evening free and he we was going to Uber home with Emily to hang out. They had figured out they were taking the same classes and were coming back to organize a few things for the current semester.

Alex and Emily arrived at our apartment. Alex seemed in good spirits despite the tire mishap.

“We have a school trip to Barcelona in 4 weeks, Europe! How exciting!” Emily said with joy.

“We decided it would be easier to come back here and look at flights together if you don’t mind helping us Y/n, I know you’re good with all of that.” Alex suggested.

For some weird reason this lit a fire in my stomach. I knew I was being stupid since it was for a school trip, but it bothered me how eager he was to organize everything. It was almost like pulling teeth anytime I tried to organize a trip with him.

After an hour of searching, I found the cheapest flights for them and everything was booked.

"I'm going to hit the sack early" he said after a while. "Practice starts tomorrow."

"Alright, good night" I said, trying to sound casual.

Emily and I were left alone in the living room. An awkward silence settled between us, punctuated by the occasional sound of Alex moving around in the bedroom. I knew I needed to break the ice, and I also had an opportunity to see where her and Matt stood with each other after Saturday night's events.

"So, how are things with you and Matt?" I asked.

Emily smiled, her eyes lighting up. "Matt's great. I mean, he’s really sweet and all, but sometimes I feel like he’s too good, you know? I also want to apologize to you for how I acted at the party, it was out of line. We’re only newly friends and I don’t want to embarrass myself or make a bad impression. I honestly still have a hangover from it all”

“Friends?” I thought to myself.

“Oh you don’t need to apologize to me at all Emily, it happens!” I respond, trying to make her feel better.

“I feel like I get carried away sometimes. I like the attention I get from Matt, but I also love the attention I get from others."

I frowned slightly. "Others?"

She shrugged, taking a sip from her Stanley cup. "Yeah, I mean, Matt has a big following, and being with him means I get noticed too. I love him, but I can’t help enjoying the attention. It's kind of addicting. Did you not notice all of the influencers at the party?”

Her words struck a nerve. How could she be so nonchalant about treating Matt that way? He deserved someone who appreciated him fully, not someone who saw him as a means to boost their own ego.

"Oh, no I didn’t notice.." I said, trying to keep my tone neutral.

Emily glanced at me, her expression unreadable. "It just comes hand in hand with his job. I love him, but I also love being in the spotlight. Is that so wrong?"

I didn't know how to respond. It felt wrong, deeply wrong. Matt deserved someone who loved him for who he was, not for the attention he brought. The more Emily talked, the more I realized she didn’t deserve him. My feelings for Matt, already complicated, grew stronger. He deserved better, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, I could be that for him.

As time passed the conversation changed, I found myself genuinely getting along with Emily despite the lingering irritation from her comments about Matt. We chatted about various things like classes, mutual friends, upcoming campus events and even her life in Austin. I can’t lie, she was easy to talk to, and I could see why she was popular. But underneath her charming exterior, her earlier remarks about enjoying attention grated on me.

I knew I had to keep things friendly. Not just for Alex's sake, but for my own. Staying close to Emily meant staying close to Matt. It was a delicate balance, and I was determined to maintain it.

Later that night, Emily glanced at her phone and sighed. "I should probably get going. It's getting late."

"Do you need a ride?" I asked, half hoping she would say yes so I could see Matt again.

"Yeah, I'll ask Matt to come pick me up" she said, typing out a quick message..

Matt’s POV

I rotted away in my room all day Sunday. I needed some time to myself. Emily went back to college early this morning and I hadn’t heard from her since.

After nearly 40 hours of sitting in my room, I decided it was time to try to be social again. I left my room and walked straight into the kitchen to find Nick and Chris sat at the kitchen table.

"Rough night Saturday.." Nick asked, eyeing me with concern.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. "You could say that."

Chris obliviously laughed. "Come on, it couldn't have been that bad."

Nick shot him a look. "Matt, we need to talk about Emily. Her behavior at the party... it wasn't okay."

I nodded, feeling a weight settle on my shoulders. "I know. She's been like this more and more lately."

Nick leaned forward, his expression serious. "You don't deserve to be treated like that. You do so much for her, and it seems like she doesn't appreciate any of it."

Chris, still not fully grasping the gravity of the situation, shrugged. "Girls can be complicated, man."

Nick ignored him, focusing on me. "Look, I know you care about her, but you have to think about yourself too. You deserve to be with someone who respects you and values you."

I sighed, the truth of his words hitting hard. "I keep hoping she'll change, that she'll realize how much I care about her and start treating me better."

Nick frowned. "People don't change unless they want to. And from what I've seen, Emily isn't interested in changing."

There was a moment of silence as we all absorbed the reality of the situation. Nick then changed the topic slightly, a mischievous look in his eyes. “I noticed you got along pretty well with Y/n, Alex's girlfriend.."

My mind flashed back to our conversations. There had been an easy connection, a sense of understanding that I hadn't felt with Emily in a long time. "Yeah, she's great. We had some good talks."

Chris, always one to break the tension in the worst possible way, grinned. "That’s the girl with the fat ass, right?"

Nick groaned, and I shot Chris a look. "Dude, not the time."

Chris held up his hands in surrender. "Just saying."

The mood soured, I stood up, needing to clear my head. "I'm going to bed. Thanks for the talk, guys."

As I made my way back to my room, my phone buzzed. Emily had texted me: "Hey, can you pick me up? I'm at Alex's place."

I sighed, knowing I'd go pick her up despite everything. I couldn't shake the feeling that something had to change, but I wasn’t sure if it would be her or me.

—————————————————————————

Y/N’s POV

"He'll be here in about ten minutes." Emily said, reading out the message from Matt.

My heart danced but I had to maintain my composure.

We continued chatting until Matt's car pulled up outside. Emily grabbed her things, and I walked her to the door.

"Thanks for having me over” she said with a smile. "We should do this more often."

"We should" I replied, forcing a smile. "It was nice."

We stepped outside, and I spotted Matt waiting in his car. As we approached, he got out and walked over, his expression warm but tired.

"Hey, thanks for picking me up" Emily said, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek.

"No problem" Matt replied, his eyes briefly meeting mine. "Hi" he added, his smile softening as he looked at me.

"Hi Matt" I responded, feeling a flutter in my chest.

"How was your evening?" Matt questioned.

"It was good" I replied, choosing my words carefully. "Emily and I had a nice time."

"Good to hear" he said, glancing at Emily. "Ready to go?"

"Yep" she replied, but then she turned to me. "We should all hang out together again, the four of us. Maybe we can plan another double date or something."

"Sounds good" I said, knowing that staying close to her meant more opportunities to see Matt.

As Emily climbed into the car, I took a moment to speak to Matt. "Hey, I just wanted to say.. if you ever need to talk or anything, I'm here."

Matt looked at me, his eyes searching mine. "Thanks, I appreciate that. And same to you."

Just then, Emily reached over and playfully tugged Matt's arm. "Come on, let's go. I've missed you."

Matt turned to her, his expression softening. "I've missed you too" he said, leaning in to kiss her. Their interaction was sweet and intimate, a stark contrast to the tension I had sensed earlier.

Watching them together, my heart sank. The way Matt looked at her, the way he held her, it made me question everything. Had I misread his kindness? Was I seeing what I wanted to see rather than what was really there?

As they drove away, I stood there for a moment, feeling a mix of confusion and heartache. The connection I thought I had with Matt now felt uncertain, overshadowed by his obvious affection for Emily.

Matts’ POV

The drive to Alex's was quiet, my thoughts a jumble of emotions. When I arrived, Emily was waiting outside, looking a bit worse for wear from her two day hangover but smiling when she saw me.

"Hey, thanks for coming to get me!" she said, giving me a kiss on the cheek.

"No problem" I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral. Still wanting to keep my stance that how she acted on Saturday was out of line.

As Emily climbed into the car, Y/n turned to me.

“Hey, I just wanted to say... if you ever need to talk or anything, I'm here."

I knew fully what she was referring to. Could she relate to me? Or was it just out of pity from the events she witnessed at the party.

"Thanks, I appreciate that. And same to you." We locked eyes for a moment, until Emily tugged at me and instantly broke the contact.

We got into the car and drove off as Y/n waved us off. On the ride back home I couldn't help but think about Nick's words and the confusion I felt brewing in me surrounding Y/n. Maybe it was time to seriously consider what I wanted and needed in a relationship. Emily had her good moments, but were they enough to outweigh the bad?

Only time would tell..

a/n : i’m rushing out for dinner rn so i will proof read and do tags properly when i’m back i just wanted to get this out asaaaaap. we do go back and forth with the povs here soz. part 6 hopefully tomorrow or sunday!!!!

taglist : @muwapsturniolo @anitahunt @sturnfannn @jayde510 @chrissfavhoe @babyalliah-777 @v33angel @urmom69lol @willowrites @ribread03 @sleepyysavv @sturnsaver @sleepysturniolo @jcsturniolo11 @jessie-essie @immattsslut @mynbbys @sturniolopanini @mattsturnxoxo @delicatechrry @t77te @sturnsyaper69

[dilemmaontwolegs]

We’ve Got Tonight || LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x singer!reader Summary: When you catch your boyfriend cheating you get your sweet revenge and a handsome stranger who steps in to protect you. Warnings: being cheated on, angst, injury

Songs: Shania Twain - Man! I feel like a woman Garth Brooks - Friends in low places Carrie Underwood - Before he cheats Kenny Rogers & Sheena Easton - We’ve got tonight

Lando couldn’t believe he had let Daniel drag him out to the Texan bar. It was completely polar opposite to anything he was used to, but Danny fit right in with his Stetson hat and cowboy boots. 

Lando winced into his glass as the latest woman to take the corner stage butchered a Shania Twain song but it didn’t seem to bother his drinking buddy as he left to join the rows of people line dancing. Lando was grateful when the song came to an end but it was short lived as he heard a familiar Australian accent on the mic talking the band into playing Friends in Low Places. Spinning around on his stool at the bar, the McLaren driver found his old teammate on the small stage grinning like a fool as the music started. 

Lando watched the older driver and envied the confidence he had to sing terribly to a bar full of strangers. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t hold a note or match the key - Daniel had presence and was always entertaining. The song was almost over when a change of light caught Lando’s eye and he swivelled back to see the saloon doors swing shut behind you. 

Lando nearly fell off his chair. The sight of your smile was dazzling and he swore the colours in the room were brighter because of it. He hardly remembered to breathe as you cast your eyes around the bar, searching for something he suddenly hoped he had. Disappointment landed heavy on his chest as your pretty eyes settled on the pool tables and he wondered which one of the handsome men was lucky enough to have you. 

He started to turn away and wash the bitter taste of jealousy from his mouth with his drink when he saw the smile dim. It was like a cloud had come and blocked the sun, shadows curving your lips down until they pressed to a hard line and your eyes narrowed on a man. Lando swallowed at the change thinking you was even more beautiful, like lightning in a thunderstorm. Beautiful, dangerous, deadly.

Then you were gone, the tassels on your boots swaying quickly as you disappeared out the door as quickly as you came. 

“Whatcha looking for?” Daniel asked as he dropped back into his seat. Lando hadn’t even noticed the song had ended while he watched the empty space in the doorway, another singer taking the stage. 

“N-nothing,” he stammered quickly as he turned back to the bar and raised his glass to his dry lips. 

“Whatever you say, mate,” Daniel chuckled as he clapped Lando on the back. “She was hot though, right?” 

Lando coughed and sputtered on his drink as Daniel laughed knowingly. “Don’t you have a girlfriend?”

“Yeah, but I’m not blind. And since you’re single, you should get off your ass and lasso yourself a lady friend. You know what they say: save a horse, ride a cowgir-” Lando clamped a hand over Daniel’s mouth as his cheeks turned pink. 

“You can’t say that, dude! You are totally going to get cancelled one day.”

Daniel shrugged and sent him a lopsided grin as he looked over Lando’s shoulder. “Looks like it’s  your lucky day.”

—

White hot rage left your hands shaking as you dropped the baseball bat and walked away, the metal clanking loudly on the asphalt of the parking lot. You didn’t even notice the trickle of blood running down your fingertips from cutting your palm with Damon’s hunting knife when you slashed the tyres of his Ford Raptor. You couldn’t feel anything except the burning need for revenge.

All the joy you had felt on the drive to the bar had been forgotten. The phone call with the news seemed like a lifetime ago and you hated him all the more for ruining what should have been the best day of your life so far.

After years of hard work you were finally catching a break and had been signed to Big Loud and would soon be recording your own country music. You had been so excited you had left work early and driven across town to surprise Damon. What a surprise he would get.

You looked ahead at the bar you had left, still seeing the way he curled himself around her, the pretense of pretending to teach her how to play pool - the same trick he had used to get close to you the night you met. Rotten bastard. It made you question the last two years together and how many other women he pulled the same moves on. You were going to teach him a lesson, and maybe save her from the same fate.

You swaggered into the bar and felt eyes on you, but the only pair that didn’t turn were his. Damon was too enraptured by the woman dancing against him, a dainty cocktail spilling over her glass. 

“Mind if I butt in next, Jimmy?” you asked the old man who loved to sing a bit of Kenny Rogers after a few drafts of beer. 

“Not at all, pumpkin, been a while since you joined us.” The song was just finishing and Jimmy jutted his chin at Damon as he poured two shots of whiskey, offering one to you. “Say, ain’t that your old man?”

“Not any more.” You downed the shot and inhaled the burn before taking the stage and telling the band what to play. 

—

Lando stepped off his stool as the song started and his feet carried him closer to the stage with Daniel right at his side, not that he noticed. You hadn’t even parted your lips but he knew, somehow he just knew, you would sound perfect. The song was one he recognised, maybe from a movie or just on the radio, but it hit differently when he saw your eyes boring holes into the couple still dancing together by the pool tables. 

Right now, he's probably slow dancin' with a bleach-blonde tramp and she's probably gettin' frisky. Right now, he's probably buyin' her some fruity little drink 'cause she can't shoot whiskey. Right now, he's probably up behind her with a pool stick showin' her how to shoot a combo. And he don't know…

Lando couldn’t breathe as he watched the realisation dawn on the stranger who looked up from the blonde woman he had been grinding on. The man’s jaw went slack and he half shoved the woman from his lap as he straightened up, a small shake of his head when he met the eyes on the stage. He could almost hear the whispered ‘oh no’ fall from his lips and he felt a smug satisfaction on your behalf. 

I dug my key into the side of his pretty little souped-up four-wheel drive. Carved my name into his leather seats. I took a Louisville slugger to both headlights. Slashed a hole in all four tires. Maybe next time, he'll think before he cheats.

Your smile was dark and you watched Damon blanch at the sight, only making you feel even better for what you had done.

I might've saved a little trouble for the next girl, 'cause the next time that he cheats, Oh, you know it won't be on me. No, not on me.

“No, no, baby, no,” Damon whined as he tugged the short strands of his hair and rushed out of the bar, leaving his date in a state of confusion until her brain caught up and her hands shot to cover her mouth in shock. 

“Yeah, he played us both, honey,” you said as you shoved the mic back in the stand and crossed your arms as the doors burst open.

“You crazy bitch!” Damon tried to rush the stage only to find himself shoved back by a handsome stranger who was apparently a lot stronger than he looked. “Get the fuck out of my way!”

“Not gonna happen, mate,” he said with a chuckle, his British accent sweet on the ears. “I think you’ve done enough, don’t you?”

“She ruined my fucking truck! Do you know how much that cost?”

You scoffed and stepped up behind the stranger, feeling bolder as you saw his arms flex ready to protect you. “Too much, but I guess you had to overcompensate for something small,” you said as your eyes darted to his trousers and the taller companion barely contained his laugh.

“Oh, I like this one, Lando. She’s got fire.”

“Just give me my house key and leave, it’s over.” You held out your palm waiting until he fisted his keys from his pocket and cursed your name as he pulled it off the keyring. 

“Where the fuck am I meant to live?”

You looked over at the woman and asked, “Do you want to take him home, honey?” She shook her head now that she knew he was a no good cheater and your smile widened as you turned back to Damon. “You’ll be nice and cozy in your pickup.”

He stepped forward but Lando’s friend joined him shoulder to shoulder and Damon quickly realised he was not going to win whatever went down. With his tail between his legs, he turned and grumbled his way out the door before the band started up and Jimmy kicked off with We’ve Got Tonight. 

“I don’t know how to thank you,” you said as the two strangers finally deemed it safe to turn their backs on the door and face you. A pair of stormy blue eyes met yours and you blinked twice before you managed to look away, scanning a quick glance over the messy styled curls on his head to the slim black t-shirt that fitted perfectly. Your lips dried as you realised you were staring and he cleared his throat when he caught himself doing the same. 

“Can I buy you a drink?”

You bit your lip at the offer and tipped your head to the side. “I think I should be the one buying you a drink, your friend too. It’s the least I can do.”

“Daniel,” the taller man said with a grin and held his hand out to shake.

“Y/N.”

“Enchanté.”

“Uh, bless you.”

Lando laughed and the sound brought a smile to your face. “I know how you can thank me,” he said as he nodded to Jimmy who was grabbing a second microphone and pointing it your way. “I’m fairly sure this song is a duet. Know it?”

You smirked as you stepped back and gave him a wink before taking the stage, his eyes never leaving yours and you sang just for him.

We've got tonight, Who needs tomorrow? Let's make it last, Let's find a way Turn out the light, Come take my hand now We've got tonight, babe, Why don't we stay?

His nod was almost imperceptible and you weren’t sure if you imagined it as you let the question hang in the air while the music faded out. In two long, self-certain steps, he closed the distance and offered his hand to help you down the steps and you grinned at the warmth of his palm as he laced your fingers with his.

Suddenly he froze and looked down, concern etching his features as he pulled his hand back and found it stained red. “Fuck, you’re hurt.”

You blinked at the cut on your palm, only noticing the ache after your attention was drawn to it. “Huh, guess that’s what I get for slashing his tyres,” you murmured with a weak laugh.

“He deserved more than that,” Lando growled as he led you to the bar and asked for a first aid kit. “But he definitely didn’t deserve you.”

“You don’t know me, I could be a terrible person.” You winced as he cleaned the cut before pressing a bandage to stem the bleeding.

“I’m a pretty good judge of character, Y/N.” He pinned the bandage into place before lifting your hand to his lips and kissing the top softly. “I knew it from your smile when you arrived, and everything after just proves you’re strong.”

Your chin dipped as you felt your face flush and you couldn’t remember the last time someone was so sweet. “You really know how to make a girl feel special. So how long are you in town for?”

His lips turned down slightly as he sighed and reluctantly admitted. “We fly back to London tomorrow.”

You felt the same disappointment but chased it away and squeezed his hand that still held yours, your eyes meeting with the same idea flitting past. “We’ve got tonight?”

His smile returned and grew until his eyes wrinkled with how wide it was, brightening up his whole face and sparking yours to match. “Yeah, we’ve got tonight.”

[enchantedlov3r]

~Wild enemies turned lovers~ A Jacaerys Velaryon love story Cowboy AU

Chapter 1

Summary: you and Jace were enemies, no one could get you guys to get along. so when you guys are forced to work together on your mother's farm for a summer, burning hatred turns into passionate love...

Pairing: cowboy!Jacaerys x cowgirl!reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: lots of sadness and angst, Jace being a tiny asshole, aemond being a good friend, daemon being the reader's fav as he should, and lots of cussing yayy! smut in future chapters, fluff at the end kind of, mentions of death, arguing, let me know if I missed anything! enjoyyyy!

A/N: heyyyy... how y'all doin'.... so look I know I have other stuff to work on but I just couldn't resist y'all know me! so this is dedicated to a lovely girl @coral021 so I hope you like it and it suits your liking, this will be a series btw!

You felt as though you and Jace were supposed to be enemies since the womb.

Jace was always so stuck up and such a know it all while you were more reserved and chose to hide in the shadows.

yes you were outgoing and loved riding your horse around the farm, but you also didn't like a lot of human interaction with others you didn't know.

you were reserved and introverted that way. you liked to tend to the farm animals and do chores, stuff normal people wouldn't exactly enjoy doing.

but when you put those headphones on, you were in a whole other world. a world that Jace always loved to mess up when he and his family came to visit.

It was currently 2:55pm when Jace and his family arrived. It was Daemon, your favorite. Aemond and Aegon, Lucerys, Joffery, and Rhaenyra.

you spotted them from the barn as you were feeding the pigs. you finished tidying up in the barn when your twin sister comes running towards you.

your sister was your best friend, she was the only one who you felt actually understood you.

"There here!" she says with a giddy smile. "yea I caught that, you seem a wee bit too excited, I wonder why." you say your southern drawl coming in strong.

"oh stop it! you know he doesn't like me back, it's just a tiny crush anyway. to be honest I think he takes a liking to you." she says as you both walk hand in hand.

she had the biggest crush on aemond. he showed signs that he didn't like her back but to be honest your sister could never truly stay hooked on one man.

when you guys were 12 she had a crush on jace but when you guys were 15 she obtained a crush on aegon.

"you know how you get around him, I just don't want him hurting your feelings, you know how mean they are, and besides your too sweet for him anyway. and I highly doubt he wants me," you say smiling at her as you rub your nose with hers.

she was the joy and happiness that you don't have. you weren't exactly depressed but you weren't exactly happy either, being the oldest by 5 minutes meant more pressure on you then her.

but she was still able to put a smile on your face as always. you havent been the best, especially since dad died. it's been rough on everyone but daisy doesn't show it as much. tyring to stay happy for everyone.

(gonna name her daisy btw you can use it if not thats ok too)

you eventually just shut everyone out except her. your older brother, your mom, your friends, even other family members.

"you think mom's gonna tell em? that dad's dead?" daisy asks you. you sigh and look at your house up ahead.

"maybe, they are like family and daemon really did like our dad so maybe?" you say honestly. you weren't sure.

your mom hasn't left the house in months. he recently died and you guys had the funeral a few months ago.

she hasn't moved from the house and you and daisy were constantly trying to coax her to help out.

so instead of getting up to help she calls the Targaryen family over to help for the entire summer.

now to anyone that sounds amazing. to you, it was a nightmare because of the sleep schedule, the trouble you'd have to endure, and the endless amounts of teasing and annoyance from Jace.

"I like your outfit btw but you might wanna change, and shower. you smell like mud and pigs." she says snickering.

you had on a white t-shirt with blue overalls and a cowgirl hat on to keep the heat from out of your eyes along with your handy dandy cowgirl boots.

"yea yea, I know. but not before i do this!" you exclaim before rubbing your hands all on her arms and rubbing your cheek on her cheek.

"ewwwwwww! gross! whyyyy mee!" Daisy yells out as she runs away from you. you quickly follow after her you catch a glimpse of the four boys staring at you guys. your older brother, aemond, aegon, and jace.

"ok ok! I surrender. I give up, come on daisy I won't do anything, promise!" you yell out at her.

she laughs and puts both her thumbs up before making her way back to you.

you both walk up the porch steps towards the front door when your met with your older brothers gaze.

"Where have you two been? Mom was looking for you both to greet the Targaryens." he says with a stern gaze.

"doing the work you should have been doing. that's where I was." you say with a bit of venom behind it.

"well I was busy. you know taking care of mom." he says. you roll your eyes and so does daisy.

"bullshit Tyler, I was taking care of mom while you were out fucking some girl." daisy announces.

"oh wow, but what the hell was all that talk about how you care for mom's mental health and how you needed to now step up and be the "man" of the house and take care of mom?" you question, restating what he said the day after the funeral.

"I meant that. I'm doing that, I'm putting in more work than you." he says with his chest puffed out.

"Yea tell her." Jace whispers.

'Oh.' you saw what was going on here, Tyler wanted to act all tough and big and bad because they were here. well, you were gonna show your brother just how pathetic he is.

you glare at the boys behind him and then look at your brother again.

"hey by the way, tell that girl, what was her name again, cat? yea did you ever tell her that you had chlamydia and might have given it to her? yea did you tell her that you got it from her sister? well, that's too bad cause I uhm already told her. she's on her way here shortly so that'll be a fun conversation." you say with a smile.

"let's go daisy," you say before walking towards the door. "Oh by the way welcome back boys," you say with an insincere smile on your face before pushing the door to your household open and walking in.

you hear the muffled conversation and you smile knowing that there questioning your brother and his sexual acts and the fact that he just let me punk him.

"that was just cruel but well deserved." daisy says with a giggle. you smile at her and laugh too.

"Hi, Rhaenyra." you greet as you see her and your mom talking at the dining table.

"Hello girls, always a pleasure to see you guys." she says with that warm smile on her face.

sometimes you wished she was your mom instead of your actual mom because Rhaenyra actually understood you, unlike your mom.

"I would hug you but i'm covered in mud and hay, lemme go clean up yea?" you say to her with a smile.

she smiles and nods with understanding and you walk up the stairs towards your room.

you grab a little white sundress with yellow flowers on it. you grab some panties and a bra as well and walk towards your bathroom for a well-deserved shower.

It was currently 7:45 when you finally left your room after your daily reading routine, you got out of the shower a while ago and your ready for dinner.

"Hey! Come downstairs loser, dinner is ready, and Daemons asking for you." daisy says bursting into your room.

"hey, one I'm not a loser and two you had me at Daemon's name," you say excitingly as you rush downstairs with her.

you see Daemon's white hair and his black cowboy hat and sneak up behind him and jump on his back.

"RAHHHH!" You yell out as he twirls you around with his hands on your legs holding you there.

"There she is! How's my special girl." he says with a smile on his face. you laugh and wrap your arms around his neck.

"I'm doing pretty good old man, how are you?" you say laughing when he drops you off him at calling him an old man.

"well I was doing good until that statement child." he says rolling his eyes playfully.

you laugh at him and shove him with your shoulder snatching his hat off his head and putting it on yours. You stand next to him listening to him talk about his time here in the last hour or so and you smile.

your deep in his conversation when Lucerys runs to you with Joffery.

"Hey guys! Omg! Luke you're getting taller dude and Joffery last time I saw you, you were like this short." you say shrinking your hand a bit.

"Hey guess what i'm 7 now! and Luke is 13!" he says proudly. you smile at them and high five the both of them.

"well ain't that something nice," you say roughing up Luke's hair. "Alright, boys why don't you go and find some seats, dinners ready."

they both nod and go find a seat. you smile and bid him a farewell while you go and find a seat next to your sister.

"Hey sissy." you say with a smile. "hey loser." she says with a smirk. you kick her foot and she laughs.

"girls. no playing at the table you know that." your mom says for the first time today.

"but dad never had a problem with it." daisy says in protest. you roll your eyes not even bothering to put up a fight with her.

"Yeah well he's dead isn't he, so whatever I say goes," she says sternly making everyone at the table go silent.

"yea well you haven't done anything around here anyway so what's the point." you whisper under your breath.

"I'm sorry, did you have something you wanted to share with the family?" she says with that aggression and attitude in her tone.

"Miranda don't," Rhaenyra warns.

"No its fine. Yea I do have something to share." you say putting your fork down losing your appetite.

"Here we go again." Tyler says rolling his eyes.

"You have not moved from your room in months. you have done nothing to help with the farm, you just sit around and sulk in the coldness of your room. Daisy has coaxed you to start eating properly, I have stepped up and cooked and helped take care of the fucking animals you and Dad raised when we were babies. and yet, whatever you say is supposed to go? yea, mom that makes total sense coming from a woman who couldn't even go buy fucking groceries for the goddamn house." you say out of anger.

"please don't do this, not again bro," Tyler says.

"No.. no Tyler you have no right to talk. your last words to dad were that you fucking hated him and wished he wasn't alive anymore. and for what? all because he wouldn't let you sneak some fucking whore in the house?" you say angrily with tears streaming down your face.

"You wanna act like the man of the house so bad but you couldn't even make the real man in the house proud. I blame you for his death, every single fucking day. I hate you Tyler, and I hate you Mom because you act like it's nothing. You don't check on your kids, you don't comfort Daisy at night when she wakes up crying and calling out for Dad. you do nothing. and whatever you say goes right?" you yell at Tyler and your mom.

your full-on crying now.

"I can't even look at you anymore," you say finally before looking away from them both and silently crying.

"sorry to ruin this wonderful dinner that Daisy cooked. and I'm sorry Rhaenyra and Daemon and everyone else for making you uncomfortable. I'm fine now." you say calmly.

"darling, it's totally fine. I can tell you needed to let that out." Rhaenyra says with a smile on her face.

"You just ruin everything don't you, no wonder Tyler never wants you around either," Jace says under his breath.

"what the fuck did you just say?!" you yell at jace.

"Man come on don't make her angry," Tyler says.

"JACAERYS VELARYON!" Rhaenyra yells making everyone silent at the table.

"you have no right... no right to say that. out of all people you should understand as you lost your father, don't you start with this family, and put them through more hell." she exclaims.

"I've lost my appetite, i'll eat it later daisy. I'm sorry." you say before running out of the house and running towards the barn.

"why couldn't you just stay quiet like you always are Mom? I made a n-nice dinner and you ruined it. You too Tyler and you Jace. you guys know better but you act fucking childish anyway!" Daisy says with tears in her eyes as she runs to her room.

"I'll go find her, Aegon you go after Daisy. don't worry, we'll fix this." Aemond says.

you're sitting on the bench by the coupe of chickens when you hear rustling behind you.

"go away Tyler! I don't want you here right no-"

"Not Tyler," Aemond announces interrupting your sentence.

you turn around and see aemond standing there with his hands in his pocket.

"come to tease me like Jace does? if so I'm not in the mood," you say sitting back down to feed the chickens.

"actually i'm here to comfort you. see I lost my dad too so I know how you feel. My dad may not have died like yours did but I lost mine and I'm at least civil enough to know that, that shit isn't something to make fun of." aemond says as he sits next to you.

"Yea, it's not," you say throwing more food for the chickens. you glance at him and he's staring right back at you.

"you know I don't hate him, not really." you say with a slight smile on your face.

"who Tyler?" he asks.

"nope, not him no I hate him with my life. I mean Jace. I never hated him. He just started hating on me from the jump so I just went along with it. But it's getting exhausting. were both adults now, were 18, why can't he just act more mature." you say looking at the stars in the sky.

"I don't know, I'm never really around my niece all that well but maybe he likes you. You know, arguing and pretending to hate someone for no reason at all is a sign that they like you but are trying to hide their feelings deep down."

"Oh shut up!" you say shoving him and laughing.

"Just saying," he says with a smile. you smile back at him remembering how fun and nice Aemond really was. when you guys were alone at least.

"by the way you gotta stop bullying Luke, he's 13, and you're 19. get it together bro," you say sternly locking eyes with him.

"yea yea I will." he says smiling at you. you smile back and stare at him.

for a moment it felt as though time had stopped. you both stare at each other before Aemond's smile fades and he leans a little closer to you.

he leans closer and closer until he's near your ear. "we should probably get back, daemons calling." he whispers.

"oh uhm-" you clear your throat. "yeah w-we should. thanks aemond, I really needed this talk." you say with a smile before hugging him.

"no problem." he says hugging you back as he rests his head on yours.

you both walk back engaged in conversation again about his love life. of course, he didn't have a girlfriend. you're gonna have to tell that to Daisy, maybe another night...not tonight.

then out of the blue, Jace pops up in your mind and you speak before your mind can tell you to shut up.

"D-does Jace have a girlfriend by any chance?" you ask keeping your head straight, not daring to look at Aemond's amused face and teasing smirk.

"no...he doesn't. why, are you interested?" he asks nudging you a bit as he chuckles with amusement.

,"No, not at all. Just curious is all." you say with a little giggle. you both make it back to the house and are greeted with Rhaenyra and Daemon's lovely faces.

they thank you that you came back and thank Aemond for bringing you back.

you smile at them and bid the three a goodbye. you try to make your way up the stairs but the sound of Jace's voice stops you.

"Hey, wait," he says walking to catch you quick enough. you turn around with an emotionless expression as you really don't want to speak to him.

"look I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that when I know your clearly hurting. I know what it's like to lose your father or someone close to you. I shouldn't have been such an asshole and I'm really sorry. If you could ever find it in your heart to forgive me, I would really appreciate it." he says with a serious face.

you saw past the serious facade though. there was something in his eyes, a look of not only a feeling of apologetics but of sincerity too, and passion and remorse.

a look that you can forgive.

"I forgive you Jace. I am really tired now so, goodnight." you smile at him and give him a light hug.

he hugs you back as his eyes widen. you've never shown him affection like this and neither has he so this... this was new.

"goodnight, i'll see you tomorrow then. my mom told me to help you with whatever chores you need help with," he says.

"oh ok, well then see ya tomorrow Jace." you say as you turn on your heel to make your way towards the stairs and go to your room.

you didn't quite know what tomorrow would hold for you but you prayed it wasn't Jace being an asshole.

if only you knew how much tomorrow was going to be hell for you...

Taglist: @raynesbandaids @liliesdiary @ribbonprincess and anyone else who wants to join.

COMMENTS, REBLOGS, AND LIKES ARE MUCH APPRECIATED!

©enchantedlov3r| All rights reserved. Do not repost, reupload, translate, modify, or claim my work as your own.

[cieloclercs]

Could you do a Oscar Piastri x verstappen!youngersister

secret glances, eyes talk of love — oscar piastri

pairings: oscar piastri x verstappen!reader

warnings. started out as fluff but it sort of turned into angst along the way?? not like superrr angsty but it’s definitely sad vibes

word count. 1.2k

author’s note. hi anon! thank you so much for the request <3 i loved writing this concept! ps, i’d definitely be open to doing a part 2 if anyone is interested 👀

Decked out in a Red Bull jacket and cap, it's a wonder no one outside the McLaren garages notices you. Maybe you've grown so used to sneaking around that it now comes as second nature. It's been like this since the start of the season: the secret kisses in quiet corners, making up excuses to get away from the Red Bull garage (and your over-protective brother), and, of course, your fair share of close calls. You aren't exactly inconspicuous in the paddock. There are eyes following you almost everywhere you go — but over time, you've learnt to avoid them. You can only thank your lucky stars no one seems to have caught on yet.

Sometimes you wish it didn't have to be this way; that you could be like any other normal couple on the grid. Kiss him when he triumphs, comfort him when he falls. The feeling can grow intense, especially after a day like today. You have to watch him on the podium like any other supposedly indifferent onlooker, pretending that your cheers are only for your brother on the top step. Oscar's first top-three finish in Formula 1 (albeit in a sprint race) is by no means insignificant, and all you want to do is pull him into you over the railing and kiss him. But you can't. Not here, not with your brother and father, and the whole world watching. You've already agreed that keeping your relationship a secret is best for the both of you. Yet that doesn't stop you from wishing for more.

Instead, you’re left to sneak into his driver’s room as soon as your brother’s back is turned. He’s caught up in the media pen, chatting with Charles. Another thing you’ve learnt over the past six months is never to miss an opportunity when it presents itself – this is as good as any you’ll ever find, because Max is talkative at the best of times, but even more so when his childhood rival is around. You leave them somewhere between ‘safety car restart’ and ‘left-hand tyre degradation’. He won’t even notice you’re gone.

Oscar is halfway out of his suit when you arrive. His back faces you, covered only by his white fireproofs. You can see every move of his muscles beneath them. You murmur a soft greeting as you step into the room and close the door behind you, heart lifting to see him turn to you and grin. To the world, you know Oscar will appear calm and level-headed about his result – but with you, in private, he’s as happy as a puppy dog being given his favourite treat.

“I’m so proud of you, baby.” You whisper into his shoulder as he wraps you up into a hug. “You drove so well.”

His lips curve upwards, and you feel it against the skin of your neck. Oscar’s hands fall instinctively to your hips when you pull away, rubbing slow circles that he probably doesn’t realise leave burning trails against your flesh. You loop your arms around his broad shoulders, playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck, just as he likes. He lets out a contented sigh.

“I panicked at the restart.” Oscar smiles down at you sheepishly. You roll your eyes. It’s typical of him – always so critical, even when he’s just produced one of the best rookie performances in Formula 1 for years. Sometimes you wish he could see himself the way you see him. Then maybe he’d celebrate a little harder, look a little prouder when things finally start paying off for him. It’s not that he isn’t confident – but Oscar’s confidence is the quiet, self-assured kind. Sometimes you just wish he would shout from the rooftops about how incredible he is: because if you can’t do it, then you need someone to.

“It doesn’t matter.” You tell him firmly, “No one was going to be able to hold off that rocket ship. Not even you.”

He giggles at the term. It’s such a lovely sound, you think. Your favourite in the entire world.

“D’you think you can get him to slow down a bit? Give the rest of us a chance?” Oscar asks, arching an eyebrow mischievously. You grin back, a little reluctant to shake your head.

“I wish I could, but he’s just not wired that way.” You sigh. It morphs into a giggle when he grips your waist tighter, pulling you into his chest. You look up, and he’s already gazing down at you expectantly. His hair is still a little sweaty from his balaclava, but you find you like it that way. He has the cutest little ringlet sticking out from the rest of his relatively tame curls. You fight the urge to tug on it.

“You still haven’t given me a kiss.” Oscar remarks with another cheeky raise of his eyebrows. He leans forward, puckering his lips the slightest bit, and you laugh, louder this time.

“You’re such a dork.” You snort. But you press your lips to his anyway. Somehow, they always taste like some kind of citrus fruit – what exactly you can’t put your finger on. It overwhelms you, clouding your mind and your senses, making your knees weak. They’re soft too, his lips, like pillows. You can feel him smile into your mouth, swallowing your soft sighs. It’s not fair, you think, that a person can make you feel this way with just a kiss; not fair that you’re grappling at his shoulders for support, afraid your knees are going to give out if you don’t. He never lets you fall though. His arms are always there, pulling you in, crowding you against the wall, in your hair, all over your body, lighting every inch of it on fire.

Then there’s a knock on the door, and the spell is broken.

You turn towards the sound, breathing heavily. Oscar glances at you, with a look that reads keep quiet. He clears his throat, calling through to whoever is stood outside his driver’s room.

“What is it?” he croaks.

There’s some shuffling from the other side of the door. Then: “Uh – Team meeting in ten minutes.” The person says. Oscar calls back some kind of affirmation, but you don’t hear it. That feeling is back. The one where you long not to hide in secrecy. It’s so unfair that he makes you feel so safe, so loved, and you can’t even show it to the rest of the world. You want people to know that he’s yours.

“You ok?” Oscar asks after a beat of silence. Your eyes find his, and you nod. I will be, maybe, you think. You want to tell him that you’re sick of hiding, but you’re not sure how he’ll take it. You both have a lot at stake. What if he can only love you in secret, never in front of the world?

He kisses you goodbye, and you allow yourself to believe that’s not the case. Oscar isn’t shy about his affections – he’s soft and he’s clingy and his eyes when he looks at you are full of love. They’re your own reflected straight back at you. One day you’ll walk into the paddock, and it’ll be with his hand in yours. You swear it.

But if he doesn’t want that, a life in the shadows is surely better than a life without him.