#cork win bottle

[eepyestgirlthateverlive]

Work in progress

[pucksandpower]

Champagne Kisses

Lando Norris x Piastri!Reader

Summary: the taste of champagne has never been sweeter than when it’s being poured down your skin in celebration of your boyfriend … too bad your brother didn’t get the memo that these particular festivities were supposed to be private

Warnings: 18+ content

Note: congratulations to my favorite McLaren fan @struggling-with-drivers and all of the other Lando fans who have plenty of reason to celebrate tonight 🫶

The champagne sprays over the sweaty crowd as Lando holds the trophy aloft, a wide grin plastered across his face. This is the moment he’s dreamed of since he was a kid racing karts — his first Formula 1 win.

As the celebrations continue on the podium, Lando’s eyes scan the crowd of papaya below, landing on you watching with a proud smile. He gives you a subtle wink, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. You feel your cheeks flush hot.

Later, once the chaos has died down, you slip away from the McLaren garage and head towards the drivers’ rooms. Glancing around to make sure the coast is clear, you duck inside Lando’s room and lock the door behind you.

“Where’s my winner?” You call out in a singsong voice.

Lando emerges from the bathroom, a white towel slung low around his hips as water droplets cling to his toned torso. “Well, well. If it isn’t my gorgeous supportive girlfriend.” He crosses the room in a few strides, pulling you into a searing kiss.

You melt against him, tangling your fingers in his dampened curls. “I’m so proud of you, babe.”

Lando grins, resting his forehead against yours. “This calls for a celebration.”

He grabs the bottle of champagne leftover from the podium ceremony and pops the cork with a hiss. Taking a swig, he offers it to you. “Your turn, love.”

You accept the bottle, the bubbles tickling your throat as you drink deeply. Lando watches you with hooded eyes, licking his lips unconsciously.

Setting the bottle down, you sink to your knees in front of him. “Let me properly congratulate the newest race winner.”

Lando’s breath hitches as you mouth along the tented towel. “Oh f-fuck, you’re going to be the death of me.”

You smirk up at him. “Not a bad way to go out though, right?”

Pushing the towel aside, you take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue along the silky shaft. Lando groans loudly, fisting a hand in your hair to guide your movements.

“Yes, just like that. God, you’re so good at this.”

You hollow your cheeks, increasing the suction as you bob your head rapidly. His hips snap forwards, driving himself deeper into your willing mouth.

“I’m so close already,” he pants, thrusting erratically. “I want to … can I?”

You just hum in agreement around him, sending delicious vibrations along his length. With a guttural groan, Lando’s release spills down your throat as his thighs tremble.

Pulling back, you swipe your thumb across the corner of your mouth with a satisfied smile. “Mmm, my favorite drink.”

Lando chuckles breathlessly, hauling you up into a filthy kiss, the tang of his arousal sharp on your lips. He grabs the bottle of champagne, tilting it against your lips.

“Open up, darling. Time for a little celebration of our own.”

Dutifully, you part your lips to accept the fizzy stream. It spills over your tongue and down your body, soaking through your clothes in cool rivulets. Lando’s eyes darken with lust as he drinks in the sight of you, sodden and panting.

“Look at you, all messy and debauched. Maybe I should get on the podium more often.”

With a wicked gleam, you shrug off your drenched dress, kicking away your shoes to stand in just your skimpy bra and underwear. “Keep winning and you can do whatever you want to me, champ.”

Lando growls, the bottle forgotten as he crashes his mouth against yours hungrily. You moan into the kiss, nails raking down the tanned planes of his back.

He walks you backwards until your thighs hit the couch, tumbling down with you cradled beneath him. The plush fabric squelches beneath your damp bodies as Lando grinds his rapidly re-hardening length against you shamelessly.

You whine at the delicious friction, arching up to meet his thrusts. “Don’t tease me, Lando.”

“Not a chance,” he murmurs, dragging his teeth along the sensitive column of your throat.

His rough palms cup your breasts, kneading the soft mounds through the flimsy lace. You gasp at the sparks of pleasure, digging your nails into the flexing muscles of his biceps.

Impatiently, you hook a leg around his waist to urge him closer. The scrap of material covering your core does little to dull the scorching heat of him pressing insistently against your slick folds.

“Please, Lando,” you beg shamelessly. “I need you inside me.”

With a groan, he tugs your underwear aside and thrusts home in one slick motion. You both moan loudly at the feeling of being joined so intimately once more.

Lando starts a punishing pace, hips snapping forwards as his cock drives into your fluttering depths over and over. You cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders and leaving crescent marks in the tender skin as euphoric cries spill from your lips.

“God, you feel so good wrapped around me,” Lando pants, dropping his forehead against yours. “My gorgeous, perfect girl. Always ready for me, yeah?”

“Always,” you gasp out between moans. “Only for you, Lando. My race winner.”

He captures your lips in a bruising kiss, all teeth and desperation as his thrusts grow sloppy and erratic. With a final cry, you shatter around his thickness, clenching down hard enough to drag Lando over the edge too.

You clutch at each other through the haze, trembling and sated as your breathing slowly evens out. Lando peppers lazy kisses across your face, tangling his fingers in your sweat-damp hair.

“Love you so much,” he mumbles against your skin. “Can’t believe I get to have you.”

You smile dopily up at him. “Sap. I love you too, my future champion.”

A loud bang at the door startles you both, Lando instinctively rolling to shield you with his body. The handle jiggles fruitlessly before a familiar Australian accent calls out.

“Oi, Lando! You in there, mate? Let me in, I want to celebrate!”

Lando freezes above you, eyes going comically wide. “Oh shit ...” he whispers. “It’s Oscar!”

“Lando?” Oscar’s voice comes again, sharper this time. “Everything okay? Open up!”

You look at Lando in panic, clothes and coverings hopelessly askew. The doorknob rattles more insistently as Oscar tries to force his way in.

“Just one second!” Lando shouts back, grabbing the towel to wrap around his waist as he crosses to the door. He cracks it open a fraction. “Hey mate, what’s up?”

Oscar doesn’t wait for an invitation, shoving his way inside with a wide grin. “Don’t ‘what’s up’ me, you little shit! My teammate finally got a win, time to get messy!”

He stops short, brows shooting up as he takes in the state of disarray. Lando tugs the towel more securely around his hips as Oscar’s gaze lands on your disheveled, half-naked form sprawled on the couch.

You hold your breath, suddenly very aware of your compromising position and state of undress. Lando follows Oscar’s line of sight, wincing as he turns back slowly.

The two teammates stare at each other for a beat before Oscar breaks the silence.

“Is that my fucking sister?”

“Oscar, I can explain-” Lando starts, hands raised placatingly.

But Oscar is already stalking forward, fury etched across his face. “You sick bastard! My teammate and my twin sister?”

He grabs Lando by the shoulders, shoving him back against the wall hard. “I’m going to make sure you never have kids, you piece of shit!”

You scramble upright, clutching your bra to your chest. “Oscar, stop!” You plead, rushing over to insert yourself between the fuming teammates. “It’s not what you think.”

Oscar scoffs, not releasing his grip on Lando’s shoulders. “Not what I think? He had you half-naked and covered in … is that champagne?”

You wince at his disgusted tone. “We’re together, Oscar. We have been for months.”

“Months?” Oscar looks between you and Lando, comprehension and rage warring on his features. “You’ve been sneaking around with my teammate this whole time? Behind my back?”

Lando finally finds his voice. “Look, mate, I didn’t mean any disrespect. You know how much I care about your sister.”

“Care about her?” Oscar laughs bitterly. “Is that what you call bending her over after races? Treating her like some ...”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence,” you snap, anger flaring. “I’m not some conquest, Oscar. I love him.”

Oscar’s eyes widen at your admission, looking almost wounded. Lando takes your hand, squeezing it tightly as he meets Oscar’s hard stare.

“It’s true,” Lando says quietly. “We’re crazy about each other. Have been for ages.”

“This is … messed up,” Oscar runs a hand through his hair, regarding you both warily. “As teammates, we can’t let this impact the team.”

“It won’t,” you insist. “We’ve kept it professional so far.”

Oscar grimaces as his eyes rake over your state of undress and the clear signs of your activities. “Evidently.”

An awkward silence stretches between you before Lando speaks up again.

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner. We wanted to, but ...”

“But what?” Oscar demands. “You thought I’d be thrilled my baby sister was sneaking around shagging my teammate?”

You open your mouth to retort but Lando cuts you off, stepping closer to Oscar.

“I know how it looks, and the situation’s not ideal. But I swear on everything, I would never hurt her or disrespect your family like that.” His eyes are deadly serious as he holds Oscar’s stare. “You have to know how much she means to me.”

Oscar’s jaw tenses mulishly for a long moment before he exhales a harsh breath. “If you break her heart, I’ll make sure you can never drive a car again, let alone race one,” he growls.

A hesitant smile tugs at Lando’s lips as you feel relief wash over you. “Deal, mate.”

“Now get some bloody clothes on,” Oscar grimaces, waving a hand vaguely in your direction as he turns away. “Jesus, you two are rank.”

You huff out a laugh, pulling Lando in for a quick kiss before grabbing your discarded clothes.

As Oscar fiddles with the champagne bottle, refusing to tear his eyes away from the ceiling, you share a look with Lando, hearts swelling with love and hope for whatever the future may bring.

Lando Nowins is no more.

[rorysburrow]

NYE

Pairings ➼ Joe Burrow x Reader

Summary ➼ New Years Eve in the burrow household.

Word Count ➼ 1,201

Warnings ➼ None just pure fluff once again

A/N ➼ Hey guys I hope you have been enjoying my writing. My requests are open you can submit them in my bio where it says lets chat!

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

New Year's Eve in the Burrow household was nothing like the glitz and glam of red carpets or flashy celebrations. No, tonight was about something entirely different—a low-key, laugh-out-loud evening spent with Joe Burrow, where the only competition was between who could make the other laugh hardest.

It had been a long year for Joe—full of victories, hard work, and the intensity of a football season that demanded everything from him. But now, here he was, relaxing in the living room, wearing an old college t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, as comfortable as you’d ever seen him. The lights in the house were dimmed, save for the soft glow of string lights and the flickering of a TV in the corner where the countdown show was already running.

The clock was ticking toward midnight, but for the moment, Joe was sitting cross-legged on the floor next to the coffee table, a stack of board games in front of him. The pile ranged from classic Monopoly to something a little less conventional—a trivia game that you had picked up on a whim.

Joe flashed you a mischievous grin as he picked up a card from the trivia game. “Alright,” he said, holding the card between two fingers, “this one’s easy. What’s the capital of Australia?”

You raised an eyebrow, already sensing a trap. “Canberra,” you said, smiling confidently.

Joe shook his head dramatically, as if you’d just made the biggest mistake of your life. “Wrong!” he said, holding the card up. “It’s Sydney!”

You leaned forward, crossing your arms. “Joe, are you serious? Everyone knows it’s Canberra.”

He just winked at you. “Okay, okay. You’re right. But I had to test you.”

You laughed, throwing a pillow at him. “I’m pretty sure the trivia game isn’t supposed to be about tricking your opponent.”

“Oh, it absolutely is,” he replied, giving you a playful nudge. “The best games are the ones that have the most twists.”

As you both laughed, the excitement in the room started to build. The countdown show had begun in earnest, and the anticipation was growing. You kept your eyes on the screen, where the cameras were showing people all over the world celebrating, the energy contagious even from the comfort of your couch.

Joe, still trying to act like he wasn’t keeping track of the time, grabbed another card from the trivia game. “Okay, one more. This one’s a good one. Who’s considered the father of modern physics?”

You didn’t hesitate. “Einstein. Easy.”

Joe held the card up to his face and squinted at it. “Hmm, I don’t know. Are you sure?”

You shot him a look. “Joe, I’m very sure.”

He smirked. “Okay, I’m just messing with you. You’re right. But now I’ve learned something important.”

“What’s that?” you asked.

“That you’re unbeatable,” he said, leaning back with a satisfied look. “And now I’m gonna have to find a way to win at something tonight.”

You chuckled, enjoying the easygoing nature of the night. It wasn’t about the trivia game or the board games—it was about the moments, the playful teasing, the way time seemed to slow down when you were with him. The fire crackled in the background, sending a gentle warmth through the room as you both gathered around for the final stretch of the evening.

With the clock ticking closer to midnight, you both took a break from the games and leaned back on the couch, your feet tangled under a blanket. Joe reached for the bottle of champagne sitting on the coffee table, popping the cork with a flourish.

“You ready for this?” he asked, holding the bottle out toward you.

“Definitely,” you replied with a grin. “It’s a Burrow tradition, right?”

He nodded. “Exactly. A tradition of fun, friends, and good times.”

The bubbles fizzed as he poured two glasses, the sound of the champagne flowing adding to the atmosphere of the night. The TV countdown flashed 10... 9... 8..., and Joe turned toward you with a mischievous smile.

“Alright,” he said, raising his glass. “Before the clock strikes midnight, I’ve got one more challenge for you.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Another trivia question?”

Joe shook his head, a twinkle in his eye. “Nope. A challenge of the heart.”

You were curious now. “A challenge of the heart?”

He took a sip of his champagne and leaned closer, his voice low and teasing. “I want you to make a New Year’s wish. Something real, something you really want for this year. But no wishing for the obvious. No wishing for world peace or to win the lottery. I’m talking about something personal. Something just for you.”

You met his gaze, a bit surprised by the depth of his request. It was rare for Joe to get serious, but when he did, it always carried weight. He was always thinking about the future, but in this moment, he was asking you to think about something even more important: what you truly wanted for the coming year.

You thought for a moment, then smiled and lifted your glass to his. “Alright. My wish is for more moments like this. More laughter, more silly games, and more quiet nights with the people I care about. Because this... this is what makes life good.”

Joe smiled back, his eyes warm and filled with affection. “That’s a good one,” he said softly. “I’ll drink to that.”

As the clock hit 3... 2... 1, you both shouted, “Happy New Year!” in unison, clinking your glasses together just as fireworks lit up the sky outside. The celebration was happening all around you, but in this quiet little corner of the world, it was just you and Joe, laughing together and making memories.

The fireworks outside reflected off the windows, casting colorful light across the room. Joe looked at you, his face lit up with that easy smile you loved. “Okay, now we’ve got a whole year ahead of us. What’s next?”

You nudged him, playfully. “I think we still have some board games to finish. But you better bring your A-game. I’m not going easy on you.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “I think we both know I’m going to crush you in Monopoly.”

“Oh, no chance,” you said, sitting up a little straighter. “You’ve been warned.”

The playful banter continued long into the night, with the two of you casually debating the best way to play the games, each of you trying to find new ways to outwit the other. As the hours passed and the New Year’s festivities continued outside, you both kept the vibe light and fun, basking in the comfort of being together.

Eventually, as the first hours of the new year slipped away, you both collapsed onto the couch, tired but content, your hearts full of the kind of warmth that only comes from spending a night with someone who knows exactly how to make every moment feel like magic.

And as you both drifted off to sleep, with the quiet hum of the world outside, you knew that this was exactly the way you wanted to start the year—full of laughter, love, and the feeling that the best moments were still ahead.

[rezwrites]

If the requests are open, can I request a Dark! Agatha Harkness x fem! Reader?

Where Agatha gets tired and takes action to own Reader. Agatha had acted kindly to win Reader’s heart but Reader never noticed because she is seriously innocent

Something dark with possessive behavior, dub-con and obsession pls 💕

yes, of course!

Warning: 18+ MDNI, dub-con, heavy drinking, not explicitly stated age-gap, mommy kink

Another failed date. Another wasted talking stage. Disappointment and heartache is all you feel walking out of the crowded restaurant. Slamming your car door you pick up your phone, calling the one person that’s always there for you. It didn’t ring long before Agatha picked up, “Sweetie? I thought you were supposed to be on your date.”

“Got stood up again,” you take a wobbly breath as you try not to cry.

“Oh, honey,” her voice sweet and sympathetic, “Come on over, I’ll have ice cream and Worst Cooks ready.”

The drive home was full of silence, your mind racing with questions about what could’ve gone wrong. Parking into your driveway, you sat there for a second before heading over next door. Knocking on Agatha’s door she answered almost immediately, holding the door open for you. Sitting on the couch you notice two pints of ice cream with spoons; two wine glasses are also set on the coffee table.

“I pulled out the wine too. Figured you could use a drink.” She popped the cork out of wine bottle pouring you both half a glass. Grabbing a thick blanket from the back of the sofa Agatha draped it over the both of you, “We’re just starting season twelve right?

You nodded grabbing both pints, handing Agatha hers. You lost yourself in the show and wine; your ice cream long gone. A light fuzzy feeling washes over you as you lay your head on Agatha’s shoulder. She’s been a such a rock: bringing you gifts after unsuccessful dates and taking you out around town.

“This sucks.” Sighing deeply you sit up, putting your head in your hands. She pauses the television, rubbing your back. All the alcohol running in your system slowed your thought process, making it tough to get words out. You finally managed to mumble, “Disheartening.”

“I’m gonna go home.” You start to stand but quickly lose your balance. Agatha held you steady, worry etched into her features, “Dear, you can’t even hold yourself up.”

“I didn’t mean to drink so much,” you speak slow, a slight slur of your words, “Sorry.”

“I understand, sweetie, there’s no need to apologize. You’ll stay in the guest room.” She left no room for argument. Nodding wordlessly, she carries you to the spare bedroom. Laying you on the bed gently, she drapes the covers and extra blankets over you. Thanking her groggily you turn onto your side, back facing her as you curl in on yourself.

Agatha turned on the nightlight plugged into the wall, lingering in the doorway, reluctantly leaving you. She waited a hour and a half before she got up again. She really didn’t have to wait so long knowing all the alcohol running in your system would’ve put you out immediately, but she wanted to be sure. She prepares herself slipping into her robe, before venturing down the hallway.

You were jolted awake by a hand wrapping around face, your body pinned to the bed. Eyes widening when you see Agatha on top of you, her eyes wild. You want to shake her off, talk this out with her, but your body is still heavy and uncooperative. Sensing your discomfort she lifted up off of you a little, ”Shh, I know. I know you must be so confused, dear.”

“I didn’t like resorting to such dirty tactics with those girls, but every advance I made went over your head. My oblivious little girl,” she tapped your cheek with her finger, mockingly. Sighing, “don’t worry sooner or later you will see that I’m the only one for you.”

You couldn’t deny that you had felt something for Agatha at one point, however the more you thought about it the more it didn’t seem possible that she would have any reciprocation. You truly didn’t see any hints she gave you, just thinking she was being a good friend.

She took her hand off your mouth, replacing in with her lips. Lightly pecking your lips not wanting to smother you knowing it’s hard for you to move right now. Cool fingers creep up your shirt over your stomach, thumbs brushing over your nipples until they pebble.

She was too fast for your mind to comprehend. Throwing the covers away from you, shucking your clothes off and tossing them at the end of the bed.

Your hands sluggishly move to cover yourself, trying to shield yourself from the cold air and Agathas gaze. Agatha catches your hands moving them back to your side, squandering your feeble attempt. Littering your neck and chest in kisses, she traced back up sucking multiple hickies into your neck and collarbone.

“Seeing you traipse about with those girls,” Agatha nipped at your neck, “Pissed me off knowing they can’t satisfy you like I can.” A whine escapes you when you feel something press against your core. She sheds her robe revealing her nude body with a strap attached to her hips.

She spreads your thighs apart, placing them over hers. Your mind may be quite inebriated, but your body was alight with pleasure. Agatha smiled to herself running her fingers through your wet slit. She mixed your juices and her spit onto her strap, delicately sinking into you.

“Doesn’t it feel good, sweetheart?” She plays with your bundle of nerves her strap bottoming out. “See how wonderful I can make you feel?” She leaned over you sucking a nipple into your mouth.

“Yes!” you weakly moaned out reaching out for her knees to ground yourself, “so good, Mommy.”

You both froze. She released your nipple with a pop, both of you staring at each other like deer in headlights. You struggle to find your words, face heating up. A smile grows on Agatha’s face, “Again. Say it again.”

“More, mommy, please.” you will yourself annunciate clearly. She began thrusting, cradling your face in her hands resting your foreheads together. She stares intently into your eyes, snapping her hips rhythmically, “That’s right, sweetheart, I’m your mommy.”

Agatha focused her thrusts, the tip of her strap hitting deep with you. The minuscule moans you let out intensified her concentration, ”Come for Mommy, baby.”

She watches you fall apart as your body quakes underneath her. You hold her onto her knees tightly as shocks of pleasure reverberate with each thrust, coupled with the tight circles Agatha’s drawing on your clit. Sucking in deep breaths, your heart pounds in your chest. She eased out of you, setting the strap on the nightstand for now.

Agath pulled you close to her, dragging the covers back over you both. She knows you’ll want to talk extensively about this in the morning, but the way you’re pressing up against her already falling back asleep, she can’t bring herself to dwell on that conversation.

[holllandtrash]

death of me | carlos sainz

pairing: carlos sainz jr. x reader

in short, the three times you didn't tell carlos you loved him and the one time it was almost too late.

i actually had 2 requests with these prompts so this is those requests 1: “You’re leaving because it’s easier to walk away than to fight for what you really want” 11: “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I love you when I knew I did.” 94: “Look me in the eyes and tell me that.”

Word count: 9.8k

warnings/tags: 18+ angst, fluff, plot with some smut, very light dom/sub blink and you miss it, this is a goddamn rollercoaster im sorry

17 August 2023

You got the call and honestly, you thought it was a joke. Some horrible, practical joke that someone in your life had set up because they knew it would get to you.

Which is why you laughed when you heard the person on the other line say, “There’s been an accident.”

“Yeah, okay,” you snorted, rolling your eyes as you dried the bowl in your hand, finally getting to the stack of dishes you had been neglecting since this morning. “Who put you up to this?”

“No, this isn’t a joke, Miss,” the woman on the line said. “I’m calling from the Jiminez Diaz Hospital. There’s been an accident. Carlos Sainz Jr. was involved in a car accident. He’s-

You didn't hear the rest of whatever the nurse had to say. The ringing in your eyes drowned her out, along with the bowl slipping from your grasp and crashing onto the floor, pieces of blue ceramic shattered around your feet.

Frozen, you tried to listen to the calming voice on the other end of the line, the voice telling you that he was undergoing surgery. She couldn’t provide any more additional information, but she encouraged you, as his emergency contact, to come to the hospital as soon as you possibly could.

As you hurried to find your keys, your relationship with Carlos flashed before your eyes. Every moment, every laugh, every kiss, every fight, every word said and unsaid.

And god there were way too many words you hadn’t got the chance to say.

31 December 2022

Carlos grabbed hold of your waist and you giggled before slipping out of his hold, reaching for the bottle of champagne on top of the fridge. He tried to take it from you, knowing that you probably weren’t going to be able to successfully open it but you just aimed the cork in his direction and he backed off.

“That’s the third bottle,” Carlos told you, he wasn’t scolding, just casually pointing out that you were going to have a massive headache tomorrow morning.

“And it’s about to be the twenty-third year,” you said. Which was technically incorrect, but Carlos admired your excitement too much to correct you. You pointed the bottle in the direction of the hallway and he braced himself for the cork to go flying. 

When you managed to pop it off without his help, the bubbly liquid came pouring out the side and you laughed as you held it up above Carlos’ face, instructing him to open his mouth. He listened, but your aim was horrible and the champagne spilled down the side of his chin.

“Here,” Carlos said, taking the bottle from you. You looked up at him and smiled, needing to take a second to focus on him and not on how the walls behind him were spinning. Carlos’ touch was soft as he brushed his thumb over your lower lip, opening your mouth enough for him to pour some of the champagne down your throat as well.

You were drunk, but you were still standing so you considered that a win. You just needed to last twelve more minutes till midnight and then you could collapse on the couch with him if you wanted. 

The two of you were supposed to go out to a house party that his friend was throwing. But then you walked out of the bedroom wearing a silk red dress that stopped at your thighs and your hair in perfect waves that looked ideal for Carlos to tangle his fingers through and he quickly decided that he didn’t want to share you going into the New Year. The only person he wanted to celebrate with was you.

So he grabbed one of the champagne bottles and picked you up, hoisting you over his shoulder as you squealed. He carried you back into the room you just walked out of and as much as he admired the dress on you, it looked so much better stained with champagne and crumpled on the floor.

You had only been together a few weeks, you were still in the honeymoon stage, which is part of the reason why you were more than happy to just stay at home with him tonight. You couldn’t get enough of him, and Carlos felt the same.

Carlos worshipped you. He had ever since the night you first met, which just so happened to be the first time you slept together.

He wasn’t supposed to be anything more than a hookup after catching his eye at the club. You were supposed to go home the next morning, but how could you go home when he woke you up by leaving a trail of kisses down your naval and then across your thighs before he dove into your centre. He worked his tongue through your folds, not slowing until you were seeing stars. 

When you did finally cum, legs convulsing around him, Carlos licked up every drop of your juices and then his lips found their way back to yours. He told you he wanted you to taste yourself on his tongue and that was when you knew you were absolutely fucked. 

Carlos knew your body, he knew how to pleasure you in ways you didn’t even know were possible. It was the sexual drive and the lust between you that drove you to him in the first place, but you stayed for so much more.

You stayed because he memorised your coffee order after the first morning you spent together. You stayed because he listened to you talk about your family for, you timed it, three and a half hours because he wanted to hear all about the ties and the drama and the people that raised you. You stayed because Carlos treated every date like the first one, always looking for ways to impress you, to make you blush or smile.

So there were, four weeks later and ignoring his friends and the promise you made to celebrate New Years Eve with them, because let’s face it, Carlos much preferred having you on your knees in front of him than having to make small talk until the clock struck midnight. 

His fingers twisted through your hair as he released into your mouth and pulled out of you, but before you could swallow he kept your mouth open with a tight grip on your chin. Carlos grabbed the champagne bottle next to him and poured the bubbly liquid down your throat. The subtle twitch of his eyebrow was the instruction you were waiting for and you swallowed, tasting the sweet and salty mixture of champagne and him. 

You spent your evening tangled up in the sheets, you on top of him, him on top of you. When you left for a moment to go grab a second bottle of champagne, Carlos followed and hoisted you up on the counter, picking up right where you left off.

Now you were drunk. It was the champagne, yes, but it was also Carlos. He was intoxicating, he made you feel bubbly more than the drink itself did. He’s the one you couldn’t get enough of. With his shaggy, dark hair and even darker gaze, you pulled his face to yours and wiped the excess liquid from his chin. You sucked on the pad of your thumb, your lips pulling back into a devious smirk as Carlos groaned, dropping his face to the crook of your neck.

“Tú serás la muerte de mí,” You’ll be the death of me. 

“Good,” you whispered, inhaling a sharp breath when he attached his lips to your throat, nibbling and sucking on your already marked up skin. You could still feel the ghost of his fingertips from when he choked you earlier, something you both loved, but his mouth was also enough to leave you gasping for air. 

He knew you, he knew your body. He anticipated your reaction every time he touched you. And while you both thought you were taking a break to be able to catch the countdown, even having put on one of his shirts to keep his eyes from wandering, you were almost ready to drag him back to the bedroom because Carlos Sainz Jr. was also going to be the death of you.

But it was New Years Eve.

“Carlos,” you whimpered, pulling your fingers through his hair and giving him a sharp tug so he would lift his head. You hovered your lips over his, “We’ll miss the countdown.”

“I don’t care,” he chuckled, he nudged his nose against yours before connecting your lips. You both still tasted like champagne and god you couldn’t get enough of it. Carlos smiled against your lips and pulled back when he felt you pout. “What, hermosa?”

“I like the countdown,” you admitted, the volume you spoke at dropping about ten levels as you stared up at him through your lashes. “It’s like we get to start a new chapter in our lives at midnight.”

His smile didn’t fade because he loved the way you looked at the world with such a pure lens. He cupped your cheeks, thumbs brushing over your flushed skin. You expected him to kiss you again but he just pressed his lips to the top of your head.

“The only chapters I care about are the ones with you in it.”

You were drunk, but god did that line sober you up. 

You couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol flowing through your system or if it was because your heart was beating too fast for your own good, but your lips parted with the intent of saying those three little words.

Because you knew then, at that moment, you loved him.

But Carlos kissed you and swallowed the words that were dancing on the tip of your tongue. You thought that maybe that was for the better. It had only been four weeks. A month. It was too soon to tell him you loved him, you’d scare him off. You didn’t need to start a new year with a traumatised boyfriend.

So you kept it to yourself and told yourself that there would come a better time to tell him how you felt because even though you were certain you loved the man standing before you, now was not the time to say it.

But when was the time?

16 Feb 2023

You opened up the top drawer of the dresser that sat across from Carlos’ bed, but he grabbed hold of your wrist before you could pull your clothes out from it.

“Don’t,” he said, demanded basically. “Don’t pack up your things.”

Ripping your arm from his grasp, you ignored his plea and grabbed the pile of clothes that had accumulated here over the last couple months. It started as a joke, leaving your clothes here, at his place, telling him that you needed an excuse to come over. 

And then one t-shirt turned into half of your closet being crammed in with his. Carlos didn’t complain once.

But you couldn’t live in this fantasy world you had created for yourselves any longer. Carlos was about to travel to Bahrain for the start of the season and then he’d head to Italy in between races and then Jeddah and then Australia and you’d be here. In Madrid.

“I’m not staying in your house while you’re travelling around the world racing,” you scoffed, hoping he could see how preposterous the idea was. He opened his mouth, giving you that same look he gave you every time he was about to bring up the idea of you travelling with him. You pointed a finger in his face, “And I’m not going with you.”

You couldn’t. You had a life here, a job here. You had no idea how other girlfriends and partners of these drivers were able to get up and leave their homes for a half of a week to support them, but you couldn’t do that.

Carlo yanked the clothes out of your hands and shoved them back into the drawer. You scowled at him, not like you were very intimidating but you tried to be. 

“Carlos,” you huffed out his name. “Let me pack, let me move out. This has been fun but-”

“But nothing,” Carlos cut you off and reached for your arm once more, pulling you towards him. You had been avoiding his eyes for the last hour and he knew something was up, something that went further than just taking your clothes home. “Talk to me, hermosa.”

Carlos didn’t just know your body, he knew you. Your mannerisms, your anxious fidgeting, your facial expressions. He knew your thoughts travelling through your head before you did, the two of you were so in sync it was terrifying.

So he physically felt the heavy exhale you finally let out, forcing all of the weight you had been carrying on your shoulders into the space between you.

“Why does this feel like a break up?” He asked, trailing his hand up your arm. His touch was soft and comforting and you wished it was enough to make everything better. It should have been enough.

And your next few words didn’t just hurt you, they sliced right through Carlos.

“Because I think it is a break up.”

Carlos let go of you to rub his hands over his face before tugging them through his hair. He backed up, putting a little bit more space between your bodies because as much as he wanted to hold you and tell you that you were making a mistake, he heard the certainty in your voice. The ‘I think’ was only added for his benefit. Your mind was made up. He knew it.

And you had seemingly known it for a while, too. You knew this moment was coming.

He walked out of the room when you turned your face, no longer trying to stop you from packing up your bags. He shut the door after him, refraining from slamming it because that’s not who Carlos was. He didn’t do things out of haste and anger, he wasn’t a reactive person.

No, Carlos sat in his thoughts and his feelings and he let them simmer. He thought about the last few months and wondered if it meant anything at all to you, because he thought it did. 

And now you were throwing it all away and because what? Because you didn’t want a partner who travelled for a living? You weren’t even trying to put the effort in, you were giving up before it got difficult. And who’s to say it would get difficult? Carlos’ home was still in Madrid, he would always come back to you and now you weren’t giving him the option to.

He could hear you packing from down the hall, a few drawers shutting, his closet opening and closing. This was wrong. And if it felt wrong to him he knew it must have felt wrong for you too, even if you didn’t want to admit it. 

When you walked out a while later, a duffle bag over your shoulder, a small suitcase behind you, you still avoided his eyes as much as you could because you didn’t want him to know you had been crying. You didn’t want him to know that this break up was destroying you, but was ultimately the right thing to do.

Carlos stood up and approached you, still keeping his emotions in check even though it broke him to see you so hurt, so hurt over your own choices. 

This could be avoided, he thought. This didn’t need to end.

You dropped the bag to the ground and inhaled a deep breath. You glanced at Carlos, but only momentarily as he stood in front of you. It was a lot easier to look at the buttons of his shirt or the rings on his hand or literally anything else because meeting his gaze was too hard. 

But this is why you had to leave.

You hated goodbyes and if you had to say goodbye to him every week, if you were going to be in different countries for most of the year, if you weren’t even going to be with him, then what was the point of this relationship?

You wanted to grow with your partner and you couldn’t do that if they were a Formula 1 driver. You couldn’t grow with Carlos.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered with a shake of your head. He could hear the way you choked to get those words out, fighting back even more tears. 

Carlos, knowing he didn’t have much a chance to convince you into staying, still lifted his hand to your face, cupping your cheek and choosing to look past the way you winced as you leaned into his touch, as if already thinking about how this would be the last time you’d feel this sense of comfort.

“Don’t do this,” Carlos said, voice timid and lanced with desperation. “Please.”

“Carlos, please don’t make this harder than it has to be-”

“I love you.”

You froze. 

Even as Carlos rested his other palm against the side of your face and forced your attention on him, dipping his head as he repeated those words, you remained frozen. 

“I love you,” he spoke with so much confidence it scared you. “I love you and I don’t want this to be over. It can’t be over.”

It wasn’t that you couldn’t say those words back because you didn't reciprocate them, you couldn’t say it back because it would only make things harder. Up until now, neither of you had said you loved the other. And up until now, you were perfectly happy pushing what you felt for him down because the timing never felt right and now you knew why.

Deep down you always knew that you’d find yourself needing to walk away. 

He’d have an easier time letting you go if you told him you didn’t love him and while it would have been a lie, it was what he needed to hear. 

You stepped back and grabbed the duffle bag off the floor, his arms fell back to his sides.

“I’m sorry, Carlos, I don’t-” you turned to the door, letting your hair fall in front of your face, “I don’t love you.”

“I don’t believe that.”

He wasn’t arrogant, but he was persistent. 

“Well it’s true,” you pulled the strap of the bag over your shoulder and reached for the handle of the door. If you just avoided his big brown eyes and the stare that had you hooked before either of you ever said a word, you could leave. You pulled open the door, only for him to press his palm against it and slam it shut again.

You felt his chest against your back as he stepped forward. Each breath he took was in sync with yours, because you two were always in sync, even at the worst of times.

“I don’t love you,” you repeated, raising your voice.

“Look me in the eyes and tell me that, then.”

You couldn’t. 

You couldn’t because the moment you turned around you would fall back into his arms. You’d let yourself get swept away by his promises and his affection and then he’d leave for a race and then another and another. You loved this bubble you created during the office season and you fell so hard so fast for Carlos, but it wasn’t meant to last.

“I’m leaving,” was all you could get, gripping the handle again and yanking the door open with such force that Carlos had no choice but to take a step back. He tried to reach for you, his fingers ghosted over yours, but there was nothing he could do to stop you.

You were gone.

June 4 2023

You kept up with the races throughout the beginning of the season. You still followed his account and all of the motorsport ones he was associated with. You didn’t dare like or comment on any of them, but you weren’t ready to let him go.

Telling Carlos you didn’t love him was the hardest thing you’d ever done.

And you didn’t let yourself look at him as you said it either, you didn’t take on any of the pain that he felt. You said the words, you broke his heart and then you left. 

Carlos didn’t try to reach out once, not like you expected him to. Even when he was home between races, which wasn’t often, you’d only hear about it from social media. 

But this was what you wanted, right? You wanted this life, you wanted to stay home. You didn’t want to keep chasing after a Formula 1 driver and be forced to follow him from country to country if you wanted to spend time with him. That wasn't healthy nor was it something you wanted to put yourself through.

Getting over him, however, was impossible. 

And you tried, really. You went out with your friends, you distracted yourself, you picked up hobby after hobby but good god your thoughts always travelled back to him. 

You fought with yourself. You kept asking yourself if you made a mistake by ending things. You kept wondering why you didn’t at least try. But then you’d see a photo of him getting into yet another plane and you knew you made the right choice. 

Your lifestyles were extremely different. Your personalities were compatible, yes, but the way you went about your day to day lives would never line up. At least not while he was racing.

You wouldn’t lie to yourself, though. You liked watching him race.

When you watched from home, your eyes were always on the number 55 Ferrari. You rooted for him, you winced at every near miss, you celebrated his finishes and without fail, you always looked at your phone and thought about congratulating him via text or even a call, only to instantly decide against it.

You weren’t even that big of a Formula 1 fan before you met him, but now this seemed to be as close to him as you’d ever get again.

It didn’t help that he looked good. 

Carlos pulled off those red racing overalls. And when they hung low around his hips and the fireproofs clung to his skin, god you wanted to scream at yourself for letting him go. You could have been there, at the races, if you just put a little more effort in. You could have been the one to rip the fireproofs off his body after he got out of the car, because let's face it, after some of the runs he’s had this season, you knew he was probably needing an outlet to release some of that pent up energy and frustration. 

You missed running your fingers through his hair. You missed the feeling of his lips tracing every inch of your skin. You missed waking up next to him and seeing your legs tangled together with the sheets. You missed that he was always looking for a reason to touch you, whether it be your wrist or your pinky finger or your back, his hand was always on you.

You missed Carlos.

You loved Carlos.

Which was why your judgement was a little clouded when your friend invited you to Barcelona the weekend of the grand prix, not to watch the race because god knew neither of you could afford tickets, but to visit the clubs she hoped the drivers would be at. 

She knew people who knew people and you didn’t ask questions, you just gripped her hand tightly as she led you towards the VIP section of the third club that night. The first one was a bust. The second one you spotted a few people associated with Formula 1, but the third nightclub was the jackpot.

It didn’t take long to spot Charles, celebrating getting a podium after a difficult qualifying session on Saturday. You never actually met Charles but you had heard lots about him, and from the look he gave you across the lounge, you had a feeling he had heard a lot about you too.

With a drink in his hand, he made his way towards you, nodding to himself when he realised that, yes, the girl in front of him was in fact his teammate's ex. 

“Does Carlos know you’re here?” Charles asked, dipping his face towards your ear to be heard over the obnoxious music. You shook your head, eyes darting all around him but the Spanish driver was nowhere in sight.

“Is he-” god why were you even asking? You didn’t have a right to. You broke up with him. “Is he here?”

Charles nodded again, standing up straight to look around the crowded room full of bodies dancing and mingling. A chuckle passed his lips as his eyes widened momentarily, “Looks like he’s a little busy though.”

You turned on your heels. It took a second for you to understand what Charles was talking about.

But then you saw it.

A girl, who very much resembled you, height wise and hair wise, had her arms wrapped around Carlos’ neck as she held their bodies together, letting the music flow through them as they danced together. 

You hated the way he was staring at her, like he was thinking about all of the ways he was going to devour her. 

And unlike Carlos, you did not let your feelings sit. You reacted to everything. Out of anger, spite, jealousy, you never took a second to think about your actions or the potential consequences before doing anything. 

So before you even processed how horrible of an idea this was, you walked across the club, the music fading into the background as you only heard a high pitched ringing in your ears. Carlos paid no attention to you, he had no idea you were even there until you wrapped your fingers around his wrist and pulled his hand off the waist of your lookalike. 

She scoffed at you and shot a quick glance towards Carlos, “Cuál es su problema?” What’s your problem?

“You,” You shot back, not giving her any chance of a rebuttal before you pulled Carlos away from her and the dance floor. He called your name, trying to get your attention as you navigated your way to the bathrooms. He was much stronger than you, so he could have pulled your hand off of him if he really wanted to, but he let you drag him into the single user washroom without much of a fight.

It wasn’t until you locked the door behind him and stood only inches apart did it sink in what you just did.

Your heart was racing as you stared up at Carlos. You took in his stern features, the way his eyebrows pinched together as he waited for an explanation, the way he crossed his arms over his chest. 

This was very reminiscent of the night you met, only when you met in the club you pulled him into the backseat of a car and he couldn’t take his hands off of you. Now, he was purposely keeping the distance and he seemingly wanted nothing to do with you.

He must have known you didn’t have any words because he cleared his throat and eyed you once over, “What the fuck was that?”

What the hell could you say? That was me pulling you off some stupid look alike because even though I broke up with you, I don’t want to see you with anyone else?

That would be the truth. The reasonable thing to respond with because after pulling him away from his date, you probably at least owed him some honesty.

But again, you were someone who reacted. 

“What?” You scoffed, arm flailing to the side. “You think you can come back to Spain for the first time in months and not say a single fucking thing to me? Weren’t you the one who said your home was in Madrid? People talk, Carlos, you haven’t been home since the day-”

“Since the day you left,” he interrupted, knowing damn well you were trying to say he hadn’t been back home since he left for the season even though you both knew there was a deeper reasoning as to why. 

Carlos shook his head. His usually loving stare was cold and intimidating, he wasn’t going to let you put the blame on him for anything that had occurred.

“I haven’t been back to Madrid since that day you walked out on me,” Carlos repeated himself, putting heavy emphasis on the reminder that you were the one that left him. “I hope you understand, but I haven’t really been in any sort of rush to go back.”

Why would he want to go back home knowing you wouldn’t be there when he returned? Why would he go back to the one place he knew you’d be, but would still inevitably be just out of his reach? So close yet so fucking far. 

He wasn’t going to put himself through that, through knowing you’d be in the same city but not being able to touch you. It was easier to find other places to stay between races.

And you did understand that. It may not have sunk in right away, but it made sense now. You couldn’t see it through the tv screen, you couldn’t get a read on him when you were watching him race from miles and miles away. But you saw it now.

Carlos hadn’t moved on either.

He took a breath as he leaned back against the door. You didn’t like the defensive stance he was relying on. With his arms over his chest all you wanted was to step forward and take his hands in yours. You hated the space between your bodies.

But you were broken up. You both had to accept that, as hard as it was, and that was your doing. 

Except you still didn’t want to see him with someone else.

“So who was she?” You asked, drifting the topic of conversation back to the girl from the dance floor.

“You don’t really have a right to ask.”

“It’s not a crime to be curious.”

Carlos clenched his jaw as he averted his gaze for a second. He rubbed his palm over his chin and shrugged, giving in to your question because he always did struggle to say no to you, “I don’t know, honestly. I met her ten minutes ago at the bar.”

“Sounds familiar,” you muttered under your breath, thinking back to when you first met.

“We met on the dance floor,” Carlos pointed out.

“I was on the dance floor. You were at the bar.”

“We were both on the dance floor,” he repeated, sounding more sure of himself the second time. 

His eyes dropped, taking in your outfit of choice for the first time since you’ve been in the enclosed space and when the corner of his lips curved upwards, just for a second, you felt your heart skip a beat just like it did the first night you met.

“You were wearing that same skirt too,” he said and you automatically looked down at the black leather skirt you currently had on. 

“Was not,” you scoffed, but to be fair, you had absolutely no idea what you had on that night.

Carlos chuckled, ignoring your childish rebuttal. “That skirt and a white top and I know it was white because I remember watching you spill your drink all over the front of it and you said-”

“I need an excuse to take it off anyway,” you finished for him, flashes of that night appeared in your mind. For so long, you only remembered how Carlos made you feel when you first met that none of the other details mattered.

But he remembered everything.

“You ordered gin and tonics all night,” Carlos continued, studying your face as your features softened with each additional memory. “Your friends tried to pull you away from me when we were on the dance floor and you didn’t let them. When I introduced myself, you had no idea who I was and when we finally stepped outside to leave the club, you looked at me with those big eyes of yours and you-” 

He stopped midway and inhaled a faint breath, you both did actually. His was due to reliving the night you first met and yours was due to the fact that Carlos stepped forward finally, raising his fingers to your chin to tilt your face upwards. 

You leaned into his touch, stepping forward yourself to trace your hand over the shirt he wore as he finished his final thought.

“You looked up at me and you told me I looked like someone you could fall in love with.”

Alarms went off. You wanted to run again. You didn’t want to have this conversation again. Once was enough. 

“I don’t- I don’t remember that,” you stammered out. 

“Because you were drinking gin and tonics all night,” Carlos said again, this time with a hint of a smile. “I also don’t even think you meant to say it, you changed the topic immediately afterwards.”

“You could just be making this shit up,” you pointed out, not wanting to accept the fact that you knew Carlos would be someone you would love since that first night. 

“I could be,” he nodded in agreement, fingers still holding onto your jaw. He stared at you the way he used to. With such adoration and desire. What used to be lust melted into something so much stronger and it hadn’t faded even if months passed. “But unlike you, I don’t lie.”

Your eyebrows pinched together, “When have I ever lied to you?” 

“The day you left,” there was another hit to the chest as you anticipated the rest of his sentence. “When you told me you didn’t love me.”

“That wasn’t a lie,” your words tasted like acid on your tongue. 

His hand fell from your face and he laughed. The sort of laugh that had your stomach turning in knots because there was nothing humorous about this situation you had now found yourselves in for the second time in four months.

“I know you,” Carlos said. “And I know there’s no possible way that I am the only one that feels so strongly it hurts. I know you love me because I feel it. I always have. In the way you touch me, in the way you run your hands through my hair, in the way you used to wake me up in the morning by kissing me until I finally opened my eyes. I know you love me because I see it in everything you do. In the way you look at me, the way your eyes always found mine if we were in a crowded room and I could see the breath of relief you’d take because as long as we saw each other, the world was calm. I saw it when you started leaving your clothes at my place, when you started going grocery shopping for us instead of just you and I saw how it broke you to walk out on me that day. It wouldn’t have hurt if you didn’t love me.”

With your hand still gripping onto his shirt, your lower lip trembled as you tried to find something to say in response. Every single word that came out of his mouth was true. He knew you better than you knew yourself and he probably knew long before you did that you loved him.

You dropped your gaze, focusing on the wrinkles on his shirt and the white button you played with under your thumb, “You know that phrase, if you love something, set it free?”

“And if it comes back, it's yours,” Carlos added on, stepping closer as he raised his hand to the side of your face, his fingers twisting through your hair. “I’m here, hermosa. I’m yours, I’ve always been yours.”

Now it was your turn to laugh. You forced yourself to, thinking that the humorous breath of air protruding from your lips might make the rest of this conversation easier. 

It didn’t.

“Carlos I can’t keep setting you free every time there’s a race,” you said, your voice timid. “I can’t. If I’m going to love you I’m going to do it with every bone in my body, with every fibre of my being and I can’t do that if you’re gone for eight months of the year. I need you in my life, with me, by my side, not on a tv screen, not all around the world.”

What you were asking for was selfish, you knew this. You knew that, essentially, you were putting Carlos in a position where he had to choose. He had to choose between you and racing and that wasn’t a fair spot for him to be in. You knew this.

Which is why you chose for him. 

Four months ago you chose for him, and you were doing it again now.

You briefly glanced up to meet his eyes, trying to move past the way you were melting at the feeling of his hands in your hair. 

“I shouldn’t have come to Barcelona, I’m sorry,” you breathed out, hands falling to your side. Without so much as a second look, you stepped past the driver and reached for the door handle. 

Carlos didn’t let you walk out on him this time.

He grabbed your wrist and spun you back around so fast that you didn’t have a second to breathe before his lips were on yours. Furiously and passionately like he was making up for all of these months without you. His tongue dove into your mouth as you slid your hand around the back of his neck, holding his face to yours because even though you knew this was a terrible idea, that you were broken up, there was no better feeling in the world than kissing Carlos Sainz Jr.

Neither of you were sure who started undressing first. It didn’t matter. Buttons went flying, your skirt got hiked up around your waist and when Carlos hoisted you up to place you on top of the sink, you had a momentary lapse of judgement and asked yourself why you broke up with him in the first place.

“I miss you,” Carlos muttered against your lips as you inhaled a sharp breath when he pushed your panties aside, the pads of his fingers traced over your folds. “I missed this.” 

“Carlos-”

“Missed how wet you got for me,” Carlos ignored whatever plea was about to fall from your lips as he pressed his mouth to the crook of your neck. 

You were putty in his hands, quite literally. There was nothing but quiet whimpers and strangled moans from you as he slid two fingers past your folds, both of you forgetting that your conversation ended with you trying to walk out on him.

His thumb traced over your clit, applying the slightest bit of pressure, just enough to have you arching your back as you sat perched on the edge of the counter. You felt him smirk against your skin right when he picked up the pace of his digits, curling them against your walls, so deep inside you.

You dragged your fingers through his hair, encouraging him to keep his lips on that spot just below your ear as your head fell backward. Carlos kept you upright, he supported you, he knew how helpless you were during times like these and he lived for it. 

Four months ago you would have never thought that walking out on Carlos Sainz Jr. would lead you to being finger fucked by him in the bathroom of a Barcelona club. 

He lifted his head, replacing his lips on your throat with his free hand and forcing you to look at him. You recognised the lustful stare, only growing darker as he alternated between lightly tracing your most sensitive nub and pinching it between his forefinger and thumb until your legs quivered beneath you.

Carlos attached his mouth to yours, biting down and tugging on your lower lip, the sharp pain only added to the pleasure coursing through your body. He thrusted his fingers into you with such force it had you yanking on his dark hair so hard Carlos hissed through his teeth. 

“Cum for me,” Carlos’ groan was masked with a demand. One you had no possibility of ignoring as your body reacted to him and his words. With his fingers so deep inside you, Carlos worked you through your release, slowing but not stopping as you dropped your head to his shoulder, holding him as close to you as you possibly could.

When he finally pulled his fingers out of you, you weren’t surprised when he brought them up to his lips. There was a perfectly fine sink right in front of him but Carlos would never waste an opportunity to taste you. 

He then cupped your chin, his gaze softened but you could still make out the mischievous glint. This night wasn’t over.

“Let’s get out of here.”

That’s all it took. Those five little words. The one request and you had forgotten every logical decision that had led you up to this moment. He helped you off the counter, kissing you once more before you had to leave the privacy of the bathroom and before long you found yourself walking the same route as the first night you met.

Past the dance floor, sending your friend an assuring smile, silently telling her everything was fine. Carlos led the way at first, you kept a safe distance behind him and when you walked outside there was already a car waiting out front. You climbed into the backseat alongside him, ignoring the flashes from paparazzi and the call from them asking if Carlos was back together with his ex.

You couldn’t keep your hands off of each other. From the ride to the elevator to the hallway until finally he dragged you into his hotel room, or maybe you dragged him once the door opened, you were both desperate for the other at this point.

It was hard to think rationally. In the back of your head you knew you’d have to leave in the morning before you found yourself clinging to him the way you used to, but you just wanted to enjoy the time you had now. You wanted to hold onto every beautiful sound that came from the back of his throat, each kiss he pressed to your skin, the sound of your name escaping his lips because no one would ever say your name that way he did. 

You loved him.

You loved the way he knew your body better than you did. How he had you desperate for a release in a matter of minutes, and only giving in when you begged for it. You loved the way he stretched you out, needing a second to inhale a quick breath as he slid his cock into you with little warning, deciding you were wet enough already after making you cum once in the bathroom and again on the edge of his bed with just his tongue.

You were used to his size, you had spent enough time in bed with him to know what to expect tonight but after four months your mouth still fell open and he swallowed all of your moans by pressing his lips to yours and taking all of your air out of your lungs.

Carlos wasn’t patient. Why would he be? After months without you he didn’t feel the need to wait. He found a steady pace but within minutes he had picked up his speed and hiked one of your legs up around his waist. 

That position turned into another which turned into a third and at one point during the night Carlos had you sit on top of him, staring at your own reflection in the mirror as you bounced on his cock, listening to his encouraging words and his praise while his fingers made for a beautiful necklace on your throat.

He cherished you, treating you like royalty on his sheets as you both carried the same thought, both of you knowing that you wouldn’t stay past the morning. As much as you wanted to forget that you broke up with him and as much as he wanted to pretend that you were still his, there was no denying your relationship was over. 

You loved each other, but that wasn’t enough to make up for the distance and the lost time during races and the anxiety of not being able to come home to each other at the end of the day. You loved each other, truly, but it was never enough.

Which was why when morning came, you climbed out of bed, careful not to disturb him after getting very minimal hours of sleep. You slid on the clothes you had discarded all over his room and decided that leaving without a second look would be easiest.

You had just cracked the door open when Carlos stirred in the blankets behind you. You had no choice but to turn around, to look at what you were walking away from for the second time.

He sat up in bed, the sheets draped over his lower half and his hair unruly and sexy and almost enough to make you crawl right back in next to him. 

He saw that you had redressed yourself, made yourself as presentable as you could wearing the clothes from last night. He didn’t have to ask where you were going, he just nodded to himself and let out a breath of acceptance.

You were never going to stay.

“I’m sorry,” you said, but those two little words were not the words he was hoping to hear during his short time with you. 

“No you’re not,” Carlos shook his head. He looked away from you for a second, his tongue poking out to moisten his lips. He was asking himself if last night was a mistake. It probably was.

“I don’t want to have this conversation again.”

“You’re leaving because it’s easier to walk away than to fight for what you really want.”

“I’m leaving because it’s what’s best for both of us, Carlos.” You sighed, leaning against the frame of the bedroom door. “I can’t live the life you want me to live and I’m not going to ask you to give anything up for me. We’re at a crossroad here.”

Carlos dragged his line of sight back towards you, “Even though I love you? That doesn’t make any difference?”

It makes things harder. 

You shook your head, repeating that you were sorry one more time and letting the last image of Carlos be of him dropping his head back down to the pillow before you turned around and walked out of his life once again.

August 17 2023

You practically ran to the receptionist, slamming your hands against the desk, “Carlos Sainz Jr., is he- is he here? What room is he in? Is he okay? God please tell me he’s okay-”

“Ma’am, I need you to take a breath,” the nurse was calm, she had been through this hundreds of times. Dealing with the frantic loved ones of a patient. She stood up, hand outstretched to rest over yours as she pushed the box of tissues closer to you. You grabbed one and dabbed the corner of your eyes, having been imagining the worst the entire drive over and unable to stop crying.

You didn’t even have time to question why you were still his emergency contact. You had no idea how your name and number came up in the conversation and it pained you to think that when the paramedics brought him to the hospital, the only phone number he could think to mutter was yours.

“Is he okay?” You repeated after a deep inhale. “I need to know he’s okay. The lady on the phone earlier wouldn’t tell me anything, she just said there was an accident.”

“Carlos Sainz?” The nurse asked, looking at her screen as she sat back on down. She typed on the keyboard, muttering a few things to herself until his file popped up. “He’s undergoing surgery right now, should be done soon though.”

“Surgery for what?” You asked, desperate to get information. “Is he going to be okay? He’s a racecar driver, can he still drive? Is it life threatening-”

The nurse seemed to crack a smile, “I’m familiar with his occupation, Miss. Unfortunately I am not able to give you any more information on his condition.”

You couldn’t tell if the whole confidentiality act was because of his fame or because she really had no idea how he was doing. Regardless, the not knowing stressed you out beyond relief and you tried for a few more minutes, pestering for answers, until finally she told you that the only option for you was to sit and wait.

So you did. Foot tapping against the tiled floor. You thought about calling his parents or his sister but last you saw from social media, his sister was somewhere in Greece and you had absolutely no way of contacting his parents as you weren’t with Carlos long enough to get their contact information. 

It was just you in the hospital waiting room, nervously watching the minute hand on the clock go around way too damn slow. Every time a doctor or another nurse entered the room, your heart dropped in anticipation, but none of them were there to keep you informed.

Twenty minutes went by with no news, and in hindsight, that really wasn’t that long of a waiting period. But it felt like an eternity, not knowing. Left drawing your own conclusions, your own terrible scenarios. 

When a doctor did finally emerge from the swinging doors, he stared down at his clipboard before approaching the nurse behind the reception desk. You watched them interact, of course you did, you needed to know if he was Carlos’ doctor.

When he walked over to you, a tight smile on his lips, you stood up instantly.

“You must be here for Carlos,” he said, holding out his hand for you to shake with not nearly enough strength you wished you had. “I’m Dr. Alejo.”

“Hi,” You tried to glance at the clipboard tucked under his arm but you wouldn’t understand anything anyway. “Is he-”

Dr. Alejo nodded and you felt as though you could breathe when his smile grew even just the slightest bit. 

“He’s fine,” He assured you. “A few broken ribs that will heal on their own, a fracture of his left wrist that required surgery and some severe bruising along his abdomen, but no internal bleeding to be concerned about. He’s okay.” Dr. Alejo scratched his jaw, “Might not be able to finish the season, but I think he’s just happy to be able to walk away from this accident.”

He nodded his head towards the doors that separated the patients from the waiting room, leading you through them and down the hall as he flipped through the papers on the clipboard. 

“It was a car accident?” You asked. “How? What even happened?” It was hard to believe that a professional racing driver would get into something so mundane as a car accident. During the break of the Formula 1 season.

“I believe the other driver was distracted,” Dr. Alejo answered. “I don’t have much more information than that as he wasn’t my patient, but he’s also okay. I think still in surgery, but both drivers are extremely fortunate in this scenario.”

He stopped in front of a room where the door was slightly ajar. Carlos’ name was written on the board outside of it and you asked for permission before going inside. The doctor nodded and allowed you in by yourself, instructing you to be gentle as he had just come from surgery.

You walked in, not prepared for the sight of Carlos on the bed with IV tubes sticking out of his wrist. His entire rib cage and abdomen was bandaged up and you could see hints of bruising on his legs and arms, aside from where the cast on his left wrist was covering them. There were minor marks on his face as well, cuts from the broken windshield, more bruising, everything that made you ache for him.

His eyes were closed so he didn’t see you slowly make your way to his bedside, sitting on the side that seemed to have less injury. You scanned over him, taking in the damages to his body and you didn’t think twice before raising your hand to brush a few strands of hair off his forehead. 

You hadn’t seen him in a few months, not since you left his hotel room. 

Part of you expected that you’d run into each again, you’d always been drawn to Carlos, but you never would have imagined this. 

You didn’t even know he was home.

Hesitantly, you took his hand in yours, thumb tracing over the few inches of skin that weren’t littered with dark bruises. You felt his fingers twitch in your grasp and you glanced up in time to see his eyelids flutter open.

“Hi,” you whispered, expecting to have to explain yourself. Carlos most definitely did not expect to get into any sort of accident today, let alone see his ex-girlfriend who walked out on him twice. Obviously there was some explaining to do.

But he only turned his palm upwards to interlock your fingers together, careful of the IV tubing. He tried to shift on the bed, only to grimace in pain and you inhaled a breath, worried for him.

“Just-” you swallowed, fighting the urge to put your hand to his chest like you would normally do if you just wanted him to sit. “Just take it easy, okay?”

Carlos nodded, glancing down at your hands and then at the cast on his wrist and then sighing with deep despair as he took in the bandages wrapped around his body. 

“Not like I had a shot at the championship anyway,” he joked, already thinking about the last half of the season. 

You didn’t want to laugh. Nothing about him sitting in a hospital bed was funny, but it was no surprise he was thinking about Formula 1. He was a driver, racing was in his blood. 

So you just cracked a hint of a smile and tried to change the topic to something else, something more pressing.

“I didn’t know you were back in Madrid.”

Carlos paused, “I just got in today.”

Your brows pinched together, “What do you mean? Didn’t your break start two weeks ago?”

“I was in Italy, for a bit,” he told you, his thumb brushing over yours. “But I didn’t want to be there. All I wanted was to come home. All I wanted was to see you.”

Your heart sank deep into your chest, “Don’t tell me you got into a car accident when you were on the way to my place.”

“Then I won’t tell you.”

“Carlos,” You wanted to scold him, really. You had broken up, he didn’t need to come see you. If he had just stayed in Italy, if he hadn’t decided he needed to see you, he’d be fine and not laying with limited motion in a hospital bed. You were the reason he ended up here.

He always said you’d be the death of him.

“I love you,” Carlos said, sounding more sure of his own words than he ever had before. “I love you, and I don’t care if you walk out on me every time I say it because I’m just going to follow you. I made a mistake the first time, letting you leave. I made it again in Barcelona and I’m not doing that anymore, I’m not going anywhere, hermosa and if I do, I’ll always come home to you.” 

You had thought you were all cried out, having tears stream down your face the entire drive to the hospital as you thought about your relationship with Carlos. The good, the bad, everything in between. You cried thinking you’d never get a chance to create another memory with him. You were distraught, wanting to scream into the abyss because even if you weren’t with Carlos, you couldn’t imagine a life without him.

You loved him.

You always had. You always will.

And you weren’t going to go another second with him thinking his feelings weren’t reciprocated. 

A single tear fell down your cheek as you locked eyes with him, the only person in your life you would ever give your heart to and know, without doubt, that he would give his back in return.

“I love you,” you finally told him, the biggest weight lifted off your chest, one that had been dragging you down for months. “I love you, Carlos, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I love you when I knew I did. I'm sorry it took this for me to tell you. I'm so sorry, I love you, I love you-”

You moved closer to him, dropping your head to rest against his after you kissed his temple, quietly repeating that you loved him over and over again. You placed your hand against his cheek, holding Carlos against you and he covered your hand with his, not wanting to let go.

He’d let you go one two many times and he wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

And you wouldn’t give him a reason to. 

[lnfours]

Congrats on 12k!💕

🩰 Lando + How come you were in love with me all this time?!” “I THOUGHT I HAD BEEN OBVIOUS ENOUGH ALREADY!”

i am sobbing.

also, thank you, anon! <3

join the 12k and annual celebration!

the rain poured outside, the other wise dark sky lighting up whenever the lightning decided to strike. you walked through the apartment door, tossing your things onto the marble counter of the kitchen island. he watched you with raised eyebrows as you rummaged through the cupboards, reaching for the wine glass.

"that bad?"

you hummed, "don't even get me started."

another failed date to add to the books.

0 to 4. you weren't sure if you ever were going to win at this point.

you pulled the cork out of the wine bottle you had opened the night before, "go ahead, ask the questions i know you're dying to know the answers to."

he shook his head, bringing his lips away from the steaming mug of tea as he leaned against the counter, "just want to make sure you're alright."

you placed the wine bottle down and picked the glass up with a sigh, meeting his eyes in the dimly lit kitchen.

"'m fine," you mumbled, bringing the glass to your lips, "just wondering what the fuck's wrong with me."

he chuckled softly but it wasn't humorous, "nothing's wrong with you. if anything, it's those blokes. they don't understand that they have the most perfect person sitting across from them. they're not deserving of you if they can't see that."

you swallowed the mouthful of wine you had taken, a silence falling over the two of you as you watched him across the island.

"what're you trying to say?"

"i'm saying that if they don't see how special you are, how your smile alone can light up any room, then maybe they're not deserving to be in the same room as you. yet alone go on a date with you."

you rounded the counter, stepping closer to him. he watched you, his eyes locked on you as you stood in front of him.

"what're you really trying to say?"

he swallowed, eyes scanning the features of your face, "that you shouldn't be going on dates with guys who are just wasting your time when i've been here the entire time."

you reached beside him, placing the glass on the counter. being this close to him felt familiar, looking up at him as he gazed down at you with love filled eyes. the kind of look you had been jealous of his previous girlfriends for receiving and now you were the one to get it.

"lando?"

he hummed, letting out a breath, "yeah?"

"kiss me. please."

and he did, moving quickly to cup your cheek as he leaned down. his lips meeting yours, his hands pulling you in closer to him by your hips. your chest pressed against his, leaving little to no room for air between your bodies.

you pulled away after a while, lips swollen as you rested your forehead against his, smiling softly. he smiled too, his dimples making your heart swoon as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear and away from your face.

"i love you," he said softly, "i always have."

"how come you never told me you were in love with me all this time?" you teased, lips brushing against his.

"i thought i had been obvious enough already!" he laughed, squeezing your hip playfully.

"mm," you hummed, a smile still on your face, "your version of subtle and mine are apparently two very different things."

"yeah, whatever," he chuckled, pulling you back to his lips, "shut up and c'mere."

before his lips met yours again and you smiled, "i love you too, by the way."

"i know," he smiled, "now shut up and kiss me for gods sake."

make that 1-4.

[ferrariregina]

champagne kisses | cs55 × reader

pairing: carlos sainz jr x reader

warning: none just pure cuteness, oh just that oc cries. a lot.

summary: after carlos wins the singapore grand prix the first thing he does is run into your arms

the checkered flag signifying the end of the race waved frantically in the wind as carlos crossed the finish line first. your heart pounded against your chest, mind exploding with euphoria. he had won, he had actually won the singapore grand prix! the cheers were deafening, the applause thunderous, but all you could hear was a melody of his dreams finally turning into reality.

tears of joy rolled down your cheeks, subtly blending with the sweat beads that had formed due to the humid singapore weather. you wiped them quickly as if stashing away precious pearls. seeing carlos win was an emotion that words fail to fully capture. it was happiness and relief in the rawest form, a testament to relentless passion, hard work, and an unyielding belief in your dreams.

carlos gracefully descended from his car, his hands raised in victory and his face beaming with pride. his eyes scanned the frenzied crowd, eventually finding your ecstatic and teary one. he ran straight towards the barricades, manoeuvring through his team members who understood who he was looking for. with a gentle push from them, you moved towards the front, your heart pounding like a wild drum.

the world around you became a blur as he shifted his helmet. leaning forward, he removed a stray hair stuck on your lips. his eyes shone brighter than the singaporean lights as he planted a triumphant kiss on your lips making the crowd around you erupt into fresh cheers.

underneath those night lights, with the taste of victory sweet on your lips and carlos' laughter ringing in your ears, you savoured the feeling of unadulterated happiness.

hoisting the trophy above his head, his face broke into a radiant smile, one that lights up the night brighter than the floodlights around the circuit.

and then, as a bottle of champagne is handed over to him, carlos does something that steals your breath away. shaking the bottle high, he pops the cork emphatically. champagne sprays in a golden mist, anointing the triumphant podium while a cheer erupts from the crowd. a moment of deliberate pause, he turns towards you.

with a devilish grin, carlos catches your eye, pointing the champagne bottle in your direction. lifting it to his lips, he takes a pull from the celebrating bottle and then directs the streaming alcohol toward the gleaming podium. he winks, a private celebration of yours own.

a camera zooms on you as you stand amidst the crowd, your face landing a punch of joy, a warm flush creeping up your cheeks. a laugh bubbles from you, choked between tears and giggles. he has won, and he wants the world to know who he is sharing his victory with. lifting your hand to your lips you blow him a kiss. his eyes sparkle with joy and triumph as he continues his champagne shower.

that night, under the gleaming floodlights of marina bay, with the taste of tears and champagne on your lips, you share a victory. embracing each other in the raw emotion, the gloating joy seeps through you.

getting down the podium he runs towards you again, picking you up he places another kiss but this one much more passionate. a kiss that made you go to heaven and back.

p.s.this picture of carlos did something very unholy to me;)

xoxo

[lumosinlove]

Day three of @oknutzy-week-2024 !!

On The Line

Part Two

Logan took his time getting dressed. Finn was no where to be found. Maybe he knew just as keenly that if he entered their suite, there was no way they were going to leave on time.

The thrum of the want between them, the ache that was always there, had reached a summery sort of fever. Logan hadn’t stopped sweating with it. He could see a thin sheen across his nose and cheeks—which were flushed. He looked at himself in the mirror as he did up his tie and smiled a little, shaking his head.

Was he really going to get everything he wanted this year? Winning at home and—

Finn. For the first time. Finally.

There was a knock at his door and Logan had to cover his mouth for a moment, his pulse jumped so hard. It was Finn. No one else knocked like that. Bum-bum-ba-bum. Logan put a hand against the wardrobe and closed his eyes. He had to calm down. High off the win, high off Finn…

“Hel-lo?” Finn called. “I’m looking for Logan Tremblay the famous—what was it? Baseball player? Hockey? Oh, that’s right, ten-nis.”

“Coming,” Logan gasped out, laughing. His voice sounded strange to himself. “I…” He swallowed. He looked at himself again.

He looked good. Really good. But when he opened the door, Finn made him want to die. He hadn’t changed yet—had probably been giving Logan space by charming the pants off his parents and sisters. He was just in a t-shirt and shorts, but Logan had kissed him now and it was like he was glowing. The way he was smiling at him. Logan’s mouth went entirely dry.

“Let me guess,” Finn said. He stepped inside, letting the door swing shut and making Logan back up until they were chest to chest. “Armani suit, night-forest green is what they call it. A subtle velvet lapel and a black satin tie. And the trousers…well, look at those thighs. They’re custom made.” Finn arched a brow. “Am I right?”

“You picked it all for me,” Logan said.

“Oh.” Finn grinned. “That’s right.”

“You look really good,” Logan said softly.

Finn made that face he did—that smile-frown—and looked down at his sweaty clothes from the match.

“I think that was my line,” he said.

Logan just blinked at him.

“But thank you,” Finn said softly. His eyes flicked down to Logan’s mouth. “I have to change.” He looked at something behind Logan. “You didn’t pop your champagne. The ice is going to melt.”

“Why would I do that without you?”

“So…You’re scared of the cork.”

“Ouais.”

Finn slipped past him, and when he untwisted the wire and wrapped his hands around the champagne bottle, Logan understood that he was being teased.

“Finn—”

Pop. It smoked but didn’t overflow. Finn poured Logan a glass and brought it over to him. When Logan just stared at him, he brought the glass to his own mouth, took a sip, and then held it to Logan’s.

“Go ahead, champion.” Logan drank. Finn put the glass in his hand. “Finish that. I’ll be ten minutes.”

“Twenty,” Logan said faintly, and Finn sent him one last smile over his shoulder before shutting the bathroom door.

~

People were definitely trying to talk to Logan and Logan definitely kept losing track of what they were saying. Finn was in a navy suit. A black tie. He was wearing one of Logan’s watches and holding a glass of whiskey and ice that was sweating and sending droplets down his wrist. Logan wasn’t trying to be rude, he just had to excuse himself to get a drink or else he was going to drag Finn out of the party.

“Rum and coke,” he said.

“Yes, sir,” the bartender said in French. “And congratulations.”

“Merci.” Logan smiled.

“That was an amazing match,” said another voice.

Logan looked up at the bartender, thinking he’d spoken again and wondering why his accent had changed. It had been French but…odd French. Besides, the bartender was at the other end of the bar, cutting up a fresh lime.

“Hi.” Leo Knut leaned against the bar at Logan’s left with those blue eyes and—dimples. Logan hadn’t noticed those before.

“You speak French,” Logan said in English. “Strange French.”

Leo laughed. “If you say so. And you’re welcome, by the way.”

“What?” Logan looked up at him. He wasn’t wearing a jacket—it must have been draped over a chair somewhere—and the sleeves of a white button-down were rolled up to his elbows. His hands were huge and Logan caught himself before he stared too long. He knew how fast a serve they could create, how powerful a stroke. “Oh. Thank you.”

Leo nodded, looking out towards the crowd. Logan did the same and caught Finn watching him. Be nice his eyes seemed to say. The bartender brought Logan his drink and he took a long, much needed sip.

“Sorry about your run,” Logan offered. He was blushing again, why was he blushing? “Archer’s a fucking baby.”

Jack Archer had beat Leo and been a complete fuck about it. Holding his hands up to his ears for the crowd, holding his racket and miming playing a violin, like he was some kind of master. At least some of the crowd had been in the right mind to boo him.

Leo laughed and took a sip of his drink. “Oh, you got that right. For sure.”

“You used to train together, didn’t you?”

“Yeah,” Leo said. “Before I discovered that he was a fucking baby.”

“Lo,” Finn said, appearing at Logan’s side. He smiled briefly at Leo. “Your sisters are looking for you. Hey, Leo. I’m Finn. Thanks for the waffle.”

Now Leo was definitely blushing. Logan pressed minutely closer to Finn.

“Hi…Um. I’m a big fan,” Leo said, eyes flicking to Logan. “And, yeah, that definitely wasn’t my finest moment.”

“No, it was delicious. Send me some syrup next time—well actually…” He wrapped an arm around Logan’s shoulders. “He’s the sweet tooth.”

Logan shrugged. “Ouais.”

Leo laughed. “I saw you at breakfast have some coffee with your sugar.”

“Hey.” Logan ducked his head to play with his straw. “I’m a champion.”

“Can’t argue with that.” Leo raised his glass to Logan and Logan clinked it against his. Logan couldn’t help but laugh a little, too. It was so like Finn to break the ice like this. People came so easily to him and it impressed Logan every time.

“Well…” Leo hesitated. “Yeah. I just wanted to say congrats.” He looked between them. “Will I see you at Wimbledon?”

It took Logan a moment to realize Leo was asking both of them. He watched Finn realize it, too. Maybe the coach rumors were more widespread than Logan had known.

Oh,” Finn began and looked at Logan. He was obviously asking Logan and trying to be subtle about it.

As if Logan could go a single moment without Finn at his side. As if he wasn’t already planning to take Finn back to his house in Nice until Wimbledon started. As if he would go anywhere with Finn. As if he hadn’t already started looking up apartments in New York City because that was Finn’s home and that’s where Logan would go if Finn wanted it. Because this had to be equal. This had to be equal. A partnership.

“Ouais,” Logan said. “You will.”

Talking. Congratulations. Thank you. Yes, Wimbledon. Shaking hands. This is my mother and father. Yes, so proud. Are you the coach? Oh. Finn, bashful. I’m a friend. Helping out.

So far from the truth. There was that condensation droplet, tracking down his wrist, disappearing into the cuff of his suit. The curve of his throat. Finn, who could talk to anyone. Finn, who was looking at him. With a slightly raised eyebrow.

Logan blinked and looked away from him, at the circle of people.

A woman—what was her name?—was looking at him with expectance that was turning awkward.

“I’m so sorry,” Logan said. “I…”

Finn grinned and clapped a hand on Logan’s shoulder. “Got a tired champion on our hands.”

The woman laughed, the awkwardness fading.

“I only asked,” she said. “What you might be planning for your time off?”

They escaped to the hallway at one in the morning. Goodbyes. Good nights. Congratulations. Thank you. Thank youThank youThank you—

Logan began walking towards the elevator quickly. If one more person stopped him he would—

Finn caught up to him just as he turned into an empty hallway of heavily curtain windows. The wrong way, he’d gone the wrong way, but it didn’t matter, and Logan let out a small sound when Finn’s hands caught his hips and pressed him up against one of the windows. They disappeared in the curtains and Logan could hear nothing but Finn’s breathing, smell nothing but Finn, whiskey, and velvet.

His world narrowed down to Finn’s voice and and those brown eyes.

“What have you been doing all night?” Finn whispered. “Ignoring your admirers.”

“I need you,” Logan’s voice shook. He put his hands on Finn’s chest. “Finn, please. Please—”

Finn pressed their foreheads together and Logan felt Finn’s breathing jump. He was just as desperate. Logan’s fingers closed around the lapel of his jacket.

Finn's hands smoothed down Logan’s hips to his ass. Logan could only pant, head tilted forward against Finn’s shoulder, and hold onto him. Like the clay, Logan wanted to roll around in everything that was Finn. He wanted to be covered.

There was a smile in Finn’s voice when he spoke again. “Lo.”

And then Finn was finally kissing him. Logan let himself be pressed against the window, lost in the thick folds in the curtain, and pinned by Finn’s hands.

Aren’t you lonely? Finn had asked him.

He had been. God, so lonely he thought he would die. But not now. Logan threw his arms around Finn’s neck.

“Finn. Up—the room.”

Finn kissed him again, then pressed his forehead to Logan’s temple, breathing hard. They stayed like that.

“God…” Finn whispered. Like he couldn’t help it, he gently cupped Logan’s chin and kissed him again, again, again. Soft things, like sips of water, of whiskey, like he couldn’t stop. The teasing temper was gone.

Logan smoothed his hands through Finn’s hair, stole four more kisses, and then pulled back to look at Finn’s closed eyes. He kissed one lilac eyelid, then the other.

“Come with me,” Logan said. His hands trailed down to Finn’s and he held them fast. “Come.”

Logan took Finn’s hand in his and pulled them from their secret folds of velvet—and face to face with Leo. Finn stumbled and pressed himself up to Logan’s back. He began kissing Logan’s neck, as if that’s why Logan had stopped. Logan’s hand went to his neck as if that would stop him. It only encouraged him.

“Oh,” came out of Leo’s mouth, soft and breathy.

Finn looked right up. His hands tightened on Logan’s hips.

Leo took a step back. Another. His blue eyes were wide, surprised…And then he seemed to settle. His shoulders relaxed. He put his hands in his pockets. He gave them a smile so slight that Logan wasn’t even sure it was a smile. He inclined his head, just a little, and turned, disappearing back down the hall.

Finn’s breath washed across Logan’s neck. “Lo?”

“C’est bon,” Logan whispered. He turned in Finn’s arms, looking up at him. “It’s…It’s okay.”

He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew. Leo Knut might be his opponent, but he wasn’t his enemy.

Logan wasn’t sure, with Finn in his arms, that he had enemies. At least none that mattered.

The suite could have been a cell. It could have been underwater. It could have been not their room, it could have been a different hotel, a different planet. The heavy door slammed, locked, and Finn was against him again.

Logan was more careful when it came time to lay Finn out on the bed. He removed his clothes. No more need for satin or velvet or forest greens and navy. He wanted Finn’s pale ribs and lean, strong arms and narrow waist that Logan had to stop and put his mouth on. He kissed the pink scar on Finn’s knee, the soft skin of his inner thigh.

“You have no freckles here,” Logan whispered. “Only here.”

Finn looked down at him from the pillows, breathing hard. “I—I know.”

Logan brushed his mouth over the skin. He felt the muscle jump beneath his lips.

“Should I put something here?” Logan smiled. “Ouais, I think so.”

“You have to come here,” Finn said. “I’m going to die, you—come here.”

Logan went. How could he not? He sat back on his heels and began unbuttoning his shirt. Finn sat up and reached forward for Logan’s belt, but he got distracted and ended up kissing Logan until they both tumbled against the bed again, Logan’s shirt hanging loose. God, his kisses. Logan wanted more and closer.

“I’ve wanted you,” Finn said, words dragging when he was unwilling to break the kiss. “Lo, you have no idea—”

“Yes, I do,” Logan countered. “Yes I fucking do, you—I…You think I—Finn.” Logan kissed him so hard he felt their teeth knock. It startled a little laugh out of Finn and Logan kissed that, too. “I want…”

Logan pulled back to look at him. “I want you more than anything.” He put a hand against Finn’s hot cheek. “I want…I want to play cards with you, I want you to yell at me on runs, I want…”

How did he begin? How did he use words to make Finn understand?

But this was Finn. Finn who Logan knew understood him like no one else. He held Logan close to him, pressing until Logan let all of his weight go on top of him.

“Forget about my knee,” Finn said. “Say I was still playing and I was good. Winning and everything.” He reached forward and curled a lock of Logan’s hair around his finger. “If someone said to me, ‘Finn, you have to choose. You only get one thing that you really want in your life. What do you choose?’”

Logan tried to disguise his sharp intake of breath.

“You know what I’d choose?” Finn whispered softly. He was already smiling. “You,” Finn said. Then he leaned forward and kissed Logan’s forehead. “You.” He kissed Logan’s closed eyes, his cheek. “You.” His jaw, and his neck. “You.”

Aren’t you lonely?

“Logan, I love you.”

Logan wrapped him up, he let Finn ease his shirt from his shoulders, and couldn’t help his tearful laugh.

“I love you,” Logan said. “I love you…”

They fell together.

The sun of their sport was in Finn’s hands. Logan’s heart rushed like a win and he couldn’t keep quiet. Some accused him of never shutting up on the court—Finn inspired it. He coaxed sounds from Logan until Logan threw his head back. He didn’t care who heard him. He had Finn O’Hara. He had Finn O’Hara, he’d won.

Finn was no better. When Finn eased Logan down on his knees and forearms, Logan hoped his hips would be bruised by Finn’s grip on them. He hoped his neck and shoulders would hold the marks of Finn’s teeth forever. When the sun began to rise and Finn put Logan on his back and hitched Logan’s thighs around his hips, he fingers knotted in Finn’s hair, the other hand snapping to grip Finn’s ass. Finn ignited something vibrant inside him, raw and bright.

“I’m—” Logan tried to say. His thighs splayed over Finn’s hips now, his hands firm on Finn’s chest. He felt Finn’s palms round over his waist and everything in him melted. Finn tilted his head up to see his face. The grin Logan received looked blissed out, nearly drugged.

“Lo.” Finn’s mouth dropped open at the drag of Logan’s nails over his chest. Warmth. Sun in his veins. Logan bent and pressed his face into Finn’s neck. He smelled the traces of sunscreen and earthy clay, and let himself shake apart.

When the sky was pink, Logan got some ice for Finn’s knee, just in case, and Finn laughed at him. He brought them water and called room service to bring them two chocolate sundaes even though it was six in the morning. One melted while Finn fed Logan spoonfuls of chocolate covered vanilla, before kissing tastes for himself.

“I want you to stay,” Logan said.

Finn smiled. “Where would I go? Look at me.”

Logan took a moment to actually do so. Sweat cooling, hair a wreck. Logan touched a scratch on Finn’s shoulder, mumbled something about healing ointment, but Finn put a hand over it protectively.

“Stop, I like them.”

Logan pushed his face into his neck. “Well, non, I wouldn’t let you out looking like this.” Logan accepted another bite of ice cream. “But I didn’t mean that. I meant…”

Finn was looking at him so—hopefully. Logan felt himself blush—Finn laughed at that, too.

“Your blushing.” He kissed the heated skin and dropped his voice to a playful whisper. “I don’t think you need to blush with me.”

“Shut up,” Logan said, and kissed him to prove it. “Listen.”

“I’m listening.” Finn put the ice cream aside. “I’m listening.”

“I know—in the hospital, you said you might want someone separate from this life, but I—” Logan cut off again and sighed, laughing bit at himself. “Okay, there are two parts to what I want. You can say yes to only one or both. Or—or none, I guess—”

Finn rolled so they were even closer, so he was propped on a forearm and leaning over Logan, now on his back. Finn brushed his nose against Logan’s. He trailed his fingers up Logan’s chest. “Ask me.”

Logan swallowed. He sort of wished Finn would do what he always did and just know. But he’d also been holding in the words for so long that he needed to say them before they burned him up.

“I want you,” Logan said. “I want to be…I want us. Do you…”

Finn sort of fell against him. It wasn’t a kiss, though Logan’s bottom lip was pulled between Finn’s teeth.

“Yes,” Finn whispered, and then it was a kiss, a kiss like the one in the locker room. Hard. Sealing a fate. “Yes…”

“Again,” Logan heard himself say—embarrassing.

Finn tilted his head back and laughed, but Logan grabbed his shoulder and he was back, sharp teeth biting gently into Logan’s bottom lip, and then dipping to scrape against his neck. For a moment, Logan lay there with his eyes closed, feeling Finn’s teeth work his skin up into a bruise.

“Ask me the other part,” Finn said.

Logan settled his hands on Finn’s waist. “I’ve never loved this game so much as when I’m going through it with you.”

Brown eyes on him again. “Ask me.”

“These past few months, even when it was just over the phone—” Finn kissed Logan’s words and Logan held him tighter. “Watching tape, morning practices. I even like running when you’re there.”

Finn smiled and kissed the corner of his mouth, but stayed quiet.

“And I understand my opponents in ways I never did before. In your ways.”

“Ask, Lo.”

“I don’t even want this from you because I want to win everything,” Logan whispered. “I just want to spend every second of my day with you.”

“Ask.”

“There are rumors that you’re my coach.”

“And that we’re dating.” Finn smiled. “I think we’ve been dating for months now… So ask.”

“Let’s make them all true,” Logan said. “Be my coach and—and mine. Be mine.”

Finn studied him with soft, brown eyes. Logan could feel his happiness in his bones.

“Yes,” Finn said, then laughed, tearful. “Yes.”

Logan tugged until Finn rolled his weight to settle over him. Logan clutched at his back, turning his face until their mouths found each other again.

~

It was nice, winning Paris and being able to go home. Really home. Surprisingly, the house he kept in LA usually felt just as homelike, but there was something different about being able to go anywhere and having it be French that surrounded him, not English.

And there was something different about bringing Finn home…Finn. His coach.

His.

Finn did the same thing he did in the hotel suites. Walked around, took his time, touched things. Except this time it was Logan’s rooms, not some sterile hotel that Logan just happened to be in. He dropped his bags at the door and looked around the stone house with richly patterned terracotta tiled floors. The far wall was all windows with a patio that overlooked the cliffside and the sea far down below—and where Logan had both hard and clay surfaced courts with the same sea view. Finn leaned in to look at his photographs on the wall. His first wins. Him and his sisters. Finn smiled and touched the glass of one where a baby Logan was being squished nearly to death by the grinning little girls.

He turned back to the center of the living room and looked up at the high, vaulted ceilings where skylights let in more light. The open kitchen, only a massive stone island separating the living room and the appliances. A hallway leading down towards the bedrooms and…

“It’s gorgeous,” Finn said softly. He went to the balcony and slid open the glass door a little. Immediate, the sea whipped its salt and sun into the room, ruffling Finn’s red hair.

It was a good house. Logan had always thought so. But now it was gorgeous. With Finn’s socked feet and Finn’s bags by the door. Finn’s plane sweatshirt draped over the white, massive couch.

“Come here,” Logan said, holding out his hand. “I have a present.” Finn’s eyes dropped down Logan’s body and the entirety of it warmed. “Not me.”

“Then I’m spoiled,” Finn said, but followed.

It was a bit of work, walking Finn past the master bedroom’s door, but Logan had a goal. It had involved planning ahead, calls with his grounds keeper, Luna. Logan had only seen pictures, but he knew it would be perfect.

They came to the short ladder first. Logan touched the smooth, dark grain. Exactly as he had imagined it. He turned back to see Finn already staring upward, towards the still hidden, small loft space above that had replaced what had once been a bedroom.

“I never knew what to do with this room,” Logan said. “I didn’t need an office. I didn’t need a fifth bedroom. So…So I tore it down and made it this. It’s for you.”

Finn stared at him. “What do…What do you mean you made this?”

“I knew what I wanted,” Logan said. “I knew what you’d want.”

Finn was still staring at him. He already looked good from the salt air.

“You made this…for me?”

Logan just stepped away from the ladder and let Finn go up first. When Finn was a few rungs up, high enough to see what lay atop, he stopped.

Logan put a hand on his calve. “Your knee. Is it—”

“It’s fine,” Finn said softly. He was gazing around the space. “It’s…oh wow, Lo.”

A pleased little shiver ran up Logan’s spine and he followed Finn halfway up the ladder, enough to rest his arms on the floor but give Finn the space to himself. Finn looked at the cushy white chaise, the pillows and blankets. He flicked on the warm glow of the reading lamp, then off again. Finn touched the empty shelves, then the single filled one.

“These…These are what I’ve been…” He turned to Logan, wide-eyed. “Did you, like, take notes?”

“I like to know your game. That includes books you wanted,” Logan said. He took a breath. “You said that, as a player, you wanted a partner to feel like your equal. Mais…I’m the player. I want it to feel equal, too.” He pulled himself up another rung on the ladder. “Do you like it?”

Finn let out a watery laugh. He put a hand to his chest as he brown eyes filled. He shook his head in disbelief and looked up at the skylight. The waiting shelves. The soft, low chaise that he could stretch his injured knee out in. “Baby…” He sank down onto the chaise and covered his mouth with steepled fingers.

Logan climbed the rest of the way up the ladder. He knelt across the small expanse of floor until he was kneeling between Finn’s feet. He touched the tender scar on his knee protectively and bent to kiss the raised skin.

Finn let out a shaky breath, and then his hands were on Logan’s neck, his cheeks, drawing their mouths together. A salty tear came between their kiss and Logan pressed into it.

“Thank you,” Finn said into his mouth. He pressed a kiss to Logan’s cheek, then the other. “Merci.”

Logan smiled a little, eyes closed as Finn pressed their cheeks together. They wrapped their arms around each other at the same time. Logan cupped a hand to the back of Finn’s head and let him press his nose into his neck, rubbing his back gently, first over his t-shirt, then tucking his hand under it to feel Finn’s warm back.

Finn took in a shuddering breath and Logan felt it beneath his palm.

“I know,” Logan whispered. He stroked his fingers through the hair at the base of Finn’s neck. “I know.”

“I won’t play again,” Finn said, muffled. “Not like before.”

Logan could only hold him through it. He’d known it would hit Finn. He just hadn’t known when.

They stayed there until Logan heard Luna open the door and call out.

“She takes care of the property,” Logan said softly as Finn pulled back. His eyes were a little red, but he looked okay. He smiled and nodded that he was. Logan wiped gentle thumbs under his eyes. “She helped me with this. She’s wonderful. Probably here to welcome us home.”

He could all but see Finn linger on the word us. The smile that came with it.

“We better go meet her then.” Finn pressed a kiss to Logan’s palm, and they made their way down the ladder.

They slept and recovered. They ate and swam in the protected cove at the base of Logan’s cliffs. Logan sunk beneath the waves of Finn’s body. He didn’t need air. He needed Finn with salty hair and slightly pink shoulders. Finn mixing Daiquiris and Paper Planes.

And he needed Finn beside him on the hot courts, putting him through backhand drills and split sprints. Spotting him in the gym and keeping him pushing. The back of his t-shirt covered in clay when Logan pulled him down and kissed him until they’d lost the light and had to turn the court lights on.

“Nope, nope,” Finn said now, above his head and upside down with Logan on his back. “One more, come on.”

Logan blew air out and arched his back against the bench press. His muscles were shaking. Sweat dripped into his eyes.

“Come on, Tremblay,” Finn said. He hovered his hands just above where Logan’s were clenched around the weight. “Bring it to me.”

With a last burst of effort, Logan did, and Finn helped him guide the weight back into its rest.

“Good,” Finn said, coming around the bench as Logan lay there, chest heaving. Finn patted a hand over his heart. “That was good.”

“Good?”

“You’re gonna love me for it later,” Finn swung one leg over the bench to straddle Logan’s thighs and then bent forward slightly to dig his thumbs into Logan’s hip flexors. “Promise.”

Logan groaned. “Hm…”

“Fruit, water, then let’s do some band work.”

“How about you take me to bed.”

“Oh, I will.”

For a moment, Finn disappeared. Then he was back and holding out a strawberry to Logan. Logan raised his head only enough to take it between his teeth.

“Let’s go now,” he said chewing.

“Non, nom.” Finn took the stem of the strawberry back and ate the rest off himself. He balanced the bowl of fruit on Logan’s chest and threw the strawberry green at him. “Get up, let’s go.”

It was their last night before leaving for England and Wimbledon before Logan knew it. He hated packing, and Finn—for once in his life—was no help. He was just as terrible. They both wandered aimlessly around the bedroom Logan already couldn’t imagine not sharing. How had he slept alone before? When Finn eventually had to take some calls, Logan found that he actually didn’t mind packing Finn’s suitcase as much. He liked looking at his things. Which t-shirts had holes and where. The blue hat.

They met back up in the living room. Logan emerged with their suitcases, leaving them to push the sliding doors all the way open to let the evening breeze in, just as Finn threw his phone down on the couch before following it with a huff. He closed his eyes for a moment, then turned and looked at Logan.

“So many people want you, Lo.”

Logan just smiled and nudged for Finn to lift his head and shoulders so Logan could sit down, Finn’s head in his lap. He rubbed at the base of his neck. He made his fingers light and ticklish through his hair and watched Finn’s face relax.

“I love this place,” Finn said. “I really love this place.”

“It’s yours.”

“They say it’s going to be a heat wave in England.”

“I know. Good thing I’m used to the heat.”

“Black’s not playing.”

“His ankle.”

“Have to get through Lupin, though.”

“And Knut,” Logan said. He’d become more and more worried about beating Leo. He was skilled, yes, but even more than that he was unshakable. His mental game was the strongest Logan had ever seen—and then there was himself. Prone to throwing rackets and all sorts of stupid things.

“I was watching tape,” Finn said. “Of one of your first matches against him.”

“Ouais?”

Finn still had his eyes closed. He swallowed. “You broke a racket over your knee.”

Logan sighed. “Ouais, well…I do that sometimes, I guess.”

Finn shifted a little. He straightened his bad knee slowly and Logan stilled, understanding. He watched the way the fragile tendons moved under Finn’s pale skin.

When he looked back at Finn’s face, Finn was staring up at him with firm brown eyes.

“You’re never going to do that on a court again,” Finn said. “Okay?”

Logan touched Finn’s adam’s apple. He cupped a hand against his cheek. He wanted to kiss all the fragile, healed parts of him.

“Yes,” Logan said. “Okay.”

Finn put his hand over Logan’s. “Hey, Lo?”

Logan tilted his head. “Rouge.”

Finn smiled a little, brows drawn together. “Huh?”

“Red,” Logan explained, realizing what he’d said. He pushed his hand through Finn’s hair again. “Red.”

Finn’s closed his eyes, smiling. “Oh.”

“What were you going to say?”

“Hm,” Finn said, pushing into Logan’s hand. “Oh. I’m gonna love you forever.”

~

ONE YEAR LATER

“So, Logan. You’re back in Wimbledon as the defending champion. And this year it’s a re-match of last year’s insane six hour final against Leo Knut.” The interviewer shook her head, smiling. “Quite a day here. How are you feeling?”

Logan was at the Breakfast At Wimbledon desk with a mic clipped to his shirt. A girl had dusted some powder of his nose and forehead.

You’re pretty good, but for the shine, she’d said in her light accent. Hey, do you know how crazy your eyelashes are?

Logan thought of Finn, early in some blue mornings, making him stir with a tender thumb just under his eye.

“I’m feeling good,” Logan said. He cleared his throat. English had been coming easier and easier to him, but it was always harder to grasp somehow on television. “I think about that match a lot, of course. But my coach, ah, when we are studying the hard parts, parts where I almost lost, he has a good way of saying it’s a first draft and this one is—will be even better.”

“Oh gosh, imagine that, what a treat for the fans!” She folded her hands in front of her. “You bring up your partner and coach, Finn O’Hara. Speaking of him. Here we were thinking Finn was completely out of the game for good, but you two are set to play in the men’s doubles finals today! What a treat that was this year to see you two together. How ever did that come about?”

“Oh,” Logan said. “Well.”

Finn had been nervous, or giddy when asking him. Maybe both.

I was—I mean, you’re going to be focused on the real deal, I know. But doubles…not as much running around for me. Doctors say I’m doing good. I think I’d enjoy it. I know I should ask Alex, but would you ever want to—

Logan smiled just thinking about the memory. About tackling him and kissing him and yes yes yes.

Logan rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s kind of romantic, non?”

He caught the show going on as he passed a TV in the lobby. The panel fluttered happily around the romance of it all for a good while and then moved back to the upcoming men’s final.

Well, you know we do love the Black brothers here, our hometown boys, and I am sad they were both knocked out. Really, though, I could not be looking forward to this match more. There’s something about Tremblay and Knut matches, the older generation and the newer. We always call Black’s game a sneak attack. Tremblay is different. The almost dark intensity, in your face, of Tremblay’s game…He wants you to know he’s taking you apart. And Knut’s the same but lighter, it’s vibrant in a completely different way, its buoyancy—

They really found so many ways to call him old in this place.

“Hey, baby.” Finn said when Logan came up behind his chair. Logan leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek, then his neck, then he tilted Finn’s chin to the side to kiss his mouth.

“Hey.” Logan sat down at the iron table on their hotel’s sun covered patio and tilted his face up to the sky. It had nothing on Finn, though. He scooted his chair closer to Finn and and settled his hand on his knee scar, “Ça va?”

“Good.” Finn pushed a plate of mango towards him and put his hand over Logan’s. “Picked up your match clothes. Oh, and ordered you an omelette.”

Logan smiled, chewing. “Merci.”

“Aren’t I romantic?”

Logan arched a brow.

Finn laughed one of Logan’s favorite laughs. Lips closed, smile making his eyes crinkle. He held up a slice of mango and Logan took it from his fingers.

“So,” Logan said, swiping a thumb over Finn’s knee. “Do I get to coach you today?”

~

It was something else, being on the court with Finn. It felt like a gift. Finn in a baseball cap—not the blue one, Wimbledon called for white fabrics only—but Logan loved it anyway. Finn holding his palm up to whisper strategy to Logan. Getting to watch Finn move on the court. It wasn’t the same—he used to do these glorious, long slides like Logan couldn’t believe. But it was still beautiful. His footwork. That wicked one-handed slice of a backhand. His top spin drop shots that won them more points than not. Getting to go down on a knee near the net and listen to the familiar power of Finn serving the ball behind him.

Logan wasn’t so used to doubles. He lost a millisecond every time the ball bounced in the sidelines before remembering it counted. The only easy thing to train himself into seemed to be letting Finn take some of the shots. Trading off with him, weaving around the grass court. They killed at it. Logan had thought they’d probably be good, but they knew where the other one was like magnets.

Logan had known they were going to win by the third round. The finals was nothing. He had Finn at his side. When Finn’s final, perfect shot was right down the line, Logan let out a shout and jumped into the air. He heard the crowd roar. He turned and looked at Finn. Finn had raised his fists. He had his head tilted back, grinning, his racket at his feet.

Logan didn’t even wait before running forward and hugging him around the waist hard. His nose went right where it always did, pressed against Finn’s collarbone, and Finn clutched him back.

“So good,” Logan said in his ear. “Fucking beautiful, you’re beautiful out here.”

Finn was laughing and slapping him on the back. He reached for Logan’s hair, knocking his hat off. “I love it. Oh, I love it here with you, Lo, I love you…”

He liked standing and being interviewed better with Finn at his side, too. He liked being able to reach out and squeeze his hand.

“Logan,” the woman interviewing them said. “You’re playing the Wimbledon final tomorrow and I don’t know if you saw but your opponent is here watching. Anything to say, how are you preparing for tomorrow after this win?”

Logan wiped sweat out of his eyes and squinted up at the stands. Sure enough, in one of the front rows, Leo Knut was sitting there. He wore a light blue t-shirt that rippled in the breeze and a pink baseball cap that tucked his blond curls out around his ears. He raised his hand slightly, looking like he knew he was probably on camera and a little awkward because of it.

He also looked good. The bright colors suited him, setting off his tanned skin. When the breeze pushed his t-shirt sleeve up a little, Logan could see a stark tan line like the one he always got and Finn never did.

“Oh,” Logan said. “Ah…C’est pas, um…See you tomorrow?”

The audience laughed and Logan looked at Finn to see if he was smiling. He was.

“And you, Finn, as Logan’s coach, how do you think this win will translate into tomorrow’s game for your player?”

Your player.

Finn glanced at Leo, too. “Well, it’s a totally different game. Leo isn’t going to make anything easy, he’s so talented and he has an outstanding team behind him. But…” He threw an arm around Logan’s shoulders. “This win definitely doesn’t hurt, so, yeah, see ya tomorrow, Knut!”

The audience laughed again, cheering as Finn raised the trophy over his head again for them. Logan took a step back, watching him bask in the sun of it all before the photographers would descend and want both of them together.

“Can we get one of you both holding the trophy? Thank you, thank you…”

They were positioned at center court, shoulder to shoulder, each holding one of the trophy’s handles. Logan hated this part. The flashes. His smile felt so posed to begin with and it would feel even worse after holding it for two minutes.

“Hey,” Finn whispered.

Logan turned his head, and suddenly Finn was kissing him. Smiling and kissing him.

The cameras went off like fireworks.

[beastofburdenxo]

Requested by @luceonedirectionfan

The meet up

It's time to meet your new boyfriend Tommy's brothers and you are quite nervous and shy about it.

You sit next to Tommy in the Shelby's designated spot in the Garrison. Today is the day he decided that you should finally meet his brothers. You are very shy and nervous about the whole thing and Tommy can see this. He loves that you are shy, he thinks it's cute, but he doesn't want you to be afraid. "Relax love," he tells you, squeezing your knee. "It's just family, they aren't going to hurt you. I'll be here the whole time. Here, have a drink."

Tommy pours you a glass to steady your nerves. Right when you go to take a sip, John and Arthur come busting in, already half drunk in celebration of their horse winning the race. "Boys, this is her. Love, this is Arthur and John." They both fall into the booth, grins plastered on their faces. "Well hello there," John says with a grin, "aren't you a pretty thing." Arthur interjects with "Yeah she's quite a peach Tom, now I see why you've kept her from us eh?"

Tommy throws the cork from the bottle of alcohol at them and they both start cackling. You giggle at them and Tommy snakes his arm around you and pinches your side. "See love, they're quite harmless. Just loud and drunk off their ass is all." He whispers in your ear. "Welcome to the family." You smile at him and kiss him on the cheek, ignoring the drunken coos from the peanut gallery. "Fuck off, you're all just jealous" You stop yourself too late, some alcohol already in your system.

Everyone, including Tommy, just laughs at your brave outburst. "Oh yes, you'll fit in just fine here." Replies John. "There she is, I knew you had it in you love." Tommy says to you, a sparkle of mischief in his pretty blue eyes. "We'll all get along nicely yeah? Make a gangster out of you yet."

[kefiteria]

FOR YOUR EYES ONLY.

A comfort letter from Scaramouche, just for you.

So, I've noticed you've been retreating into your mind more than usual lately. It's like you're doing a disappearing act even Houdini would envy. But hey, I get it. People are complicated creatures, and occasionally it feels safer to hide behind our thoughts than to face the chaos out there.

About this facade you've got going on. You know, the one where you're holding on to your inner child like it's a winning lottery ticket? It's almost comical how tightly you cling to it, as if someone's lurking around the corner waiting to snatch it away. Newsflash: nobody's taking it from you, dear.

Now, about those tears. I know, I know, crying is for the weak, right? Wrong. Even the toughest nuts crack sometimes. Take it from me, I've shed more tears than I care to admit, and yet here I am, still standing, still better as ever. You don't have to plaster on that smile 24/7, you know. Let those tears flow like a leaky faucet if you need to.

And speaking of tough times, let's talk about failure. It's not the end of the world, despite what your overactive brain might be telling you. Trust me, I've had my fair share of failures, and look at me now—still standing, scheming and myself.

So, when are you going to cut yourself some slack? Stop beating yourself up over things that are as out of your control as the weather. Tomorrow's just another day in the grand circus of life, and guess what? I'm your ringmaster, baby. You're not in this alone.

And those feelings you've been bottling up? Yeah, it's time to pop the cork and let 'em out. Trust me, it's like a pressure valve for the soul. Cry if you need to, scream into the void if you must. Just don't keep it all locked up inside. That's a recipe for disaster, believe me.

So, here's the deal: you're not alone in this. I've got your back, whether you're crying like a baby or plotting world domination (ugh just do it in moderation though). Just remember, it's okay to let your guard down once in a while. After all, even the sharpest swords need a little sharpening now and then.

Alright, let's wrap this up before I start growing a conscience or something equally absurd. Seriously, who knew pouring my heart out on paper could be so exhausting? I feel like I've been on a marathon run through a field of emotional landmines, and I'm not even wearing my running shoes.

But hey, if this little rant of mine manages to knock some sense into that stubborn head of yours, then I guess it's worth the carpal tunnel I'm bound to get from all this writing. Just promise me one thing: don't go making a habit out of this whole “feeling your feelings” nonsense. It's bad for my image.

So, there you have it. Consider this your one and only free pass to the sappy side of Scaramouche. Don't get used to it. Now go on, get out there and conquer the world, or cry yourself a river, whichever floats your boat. Just remember: you're not alone in this crazy circus we call life. I've got your back, whether you like it or not.

“It's okay, your world, and feelings are precious, so precious just like you are now.”

Fondly yours (don't make it a habit),

Scaramouche.

Other Version 🍨: Zhongli , Kazuha, Xiao, Thoma

[morrigan-sims]

𝔖𝔞𝔦𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔬𝔫 𝔞 𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔭 𝔦𝔫 𝔞 𝔟𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢

𝔄𝔫𝔠𝔥𝔬𝔯 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔲𝔤𝔥𝔱𝔰 𝔱𝔬 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔟𝔬𝔱𝔱𝔬𝔪 𝔓𝔲𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔯𝔬𝔭𝔢𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔭𝔲𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔡 𝔟𝔞𝔠𝔨 𝔗𝔬 𝔰𝔢𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔟𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔨𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱 𝔜𝔬𝔲 𝔰𝔢𝔱 𝔰𝔞𝔦𝔩 𝔞𝔩𝔬𝔫𝔢, 𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔦𝔰 𝔫𝔬 𝔠𝔯𝔢𝔴 𝔑𝔬 𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔬𝔫 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔠𝔨 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔠𝔞𝔫 𝔥𝔢𝔩𝔭 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔦𝔰 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔟𝔞𝔱𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔱𝔬 𝔴𝔦𝔫 𝔗𝔥𝔦𝔰 𝔦𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔰𝔥𝔦𝔭, 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔞𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫 ... 𝔒𝔥, 𝔠𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔞𝔦𝔫, 𝔪𝔞𝔨𝔢 𝔲𝔭 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔡 𝔅𝔢𝔣𝔬𝔯𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔞𝔩𝔱 𝔟𝔲𝔯𝔫𝔰 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔢𝔶𝔢𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔯𝔲𝔫 𝔬𝔲𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔦𝔪𝔢 'ℭ𝔞𝔲𝔰𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲'𝔯𝔢 𝔭𝔬𝔭𝔭𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔠𝔬𝔯𝔨, 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔤𝔢𝔱 𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔱 𝔦𝔫 𝔶𝔬𝔲𝔯 𝔟𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔄𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔢 𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔞𝔩𝔩 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔱𝔥𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔡𝔢 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔣𝔢𝔢𝔩 𝔰𝔞𝔫𝔢

(A million thanks to @intramoon for helping me get the rain and stormy sky textures.)

lyrics plain text:

Sailing on a ship in a bottle Anchor all your thoughts to the bottom Pulling ropes and pulling your head back To see what is breaking the foremast You set sail alone, there is no crew No one on the deck who can help you This is all your own battle to win This is your ship, and you are the captain ... Oh, captain, make up your mind Before the salt burns your eyes and you run out of time 'Cause you're popping the cork, you get lost in your brain And you lose touch with all the things that made you feel sane

I really could have just put the entire lyrics of Ship in a Bottle on here, because every bit of them are applicable to Rook and his current place in the story. I've loved this song for years and I was dying to put it on Rook's playlist. Now that he's gone through emotional hell and is about to be named captain of the Tide Breaker, I finally can.

(I swear he is actually in a bottle. I want to do a render that shows that better, but I haven't figured out how best to do that yet.)

[libraryofneith]

Hiding Place (Frankie Morales x GN! Reader)

Summary: a reunion between you and the guys goes south when you have a panic attack, but your friend Frankie is there for you

Tags: frankie morales x gender neutral! reader, platonic relationship between frankie and reader but it could be read romantically, hurt/comfort, fluff, wholesome

Warnings: PTSD, panic attacks, bullet wounds, very mild cussing

This was written for @punkshort AU August Writing Challenge! Thanks for this prompt, it was so much fun! Be sure to check out my joel miller x reader fic Out of Mind.

A champagne cork.

Or rather, a sparkling cider cork.

That was what started it.

It had flown off the bottle with a pop and gone whizzing past your ear as you were cleaning dishes. You'd tried to laugh it off with the others. It was just a stupid accident. Everyone was there to celebrate Benny winning one of the biggest fights of his life and you weren't going to spoil everything with another one of your stupid panic attacks. But the pop and the feeling of the cork flying past you had made time stand still.

Suddenly you weren't in Will's kitchen anymore; you were in a trench, a rifle in your hands, trying to find a fix on your target as bullets fired around you. Your hand went to your shoulder as if it had a mind of its own, grazing over the point where a bullet had shot through five years ago. It was throbbing as if it had only been five minutes ago. You could hear a voice far off. It sounded like it was a million miles away, barely getting through over the pounding in your ears.

"You ok?" You jumped. Frankie was standing beside you looking concerned. When did he get here?

"Yeah, fine. Just gotta take a leak." You pushed past him into the hallway, completely blundering past the bathroom.

Fuck fuck. Where were you? What were you doing? Your chest felt like it was tying itself in knots. You couldn't breathe. You blindly grasped a door handle and stumbled into what you realised too late was Willy's bedroom. As if the flashbacks weren't bad enough now you had to deal with the anxiety of going into someone's room without their permission. But you couldn't deal with that now. Alone, desperate and completely out of breath, you did the only thing you knew you make you feel better.

---

Frankie closed the bathroom door. Nope, not in there. There were three other doors on that floor - one opened to a study, one to a cupboard, and the third a bedroom. It seemed empty but he had this strange feeling of being watched, like someone else was waiting to exhale.

"Hello?" No answer. "You in here?"

"Down here." The voice came from underneath the bed.

"You ok?"

"Yeah."

"Is that why you're under a bed?"

"I… I just… It was just too much."

"Ok, I get it." He paused. He didn't want to intrude but he didn't feel he could leave it like that. "You want some company?" There was a lengthy silence before you replied: "Alright."

He shuffled while you scooched until you were lying side by side staring up at the graying mattress poking through the timber slides. It was a while before he plucked up the courage to break the silence.

"This takes me back."

You snorted. Depressing as it was, you'd spent more than one occasion huddled in a bunker or trench together avoiding bullets, drones or bombs.

"Everyone Ok out there?"

"They're fine, just worried about you." You groaned.

"Now I feel bad, I didn't want to make a whole thing out of it."

"No one holds it against you, we all have… stuff." Stuff. That was one way to put it. You started absentmindedly rubbing the bullet hole on your shoulder again.

"Still hurt?" Your hand flew back to your side.

"Sometimes, when I have these… episodes. Therapist tells me it's not actually the wound, just the trauma."

"Is there a difference?" You shrugged then winced. It was weird, sometimes you hardly felt it, sometimes - like today - it felt so painful you could hardly think straight.

"I'm sorry I haven't been there for you."

"It's OK, you had your own stuff to deal with."

"By stuff, you mean a pile of snow?" You weren't looking at him but you could still hear the self-loathing in his voice.

"Christ Frankie you know I don't blame you for that. After I got shot, I couldn't sleep without polishing off a bottle of whisky."

"You had a good reason."

"And you didn't?" you said, turning to look at him. It was dark under that bed but you could see those big brown eyes filled with regret.

"Not the same." Maybe not but Frankie still had wounds that couldn't be seen on his body. "I know after I just… disappeared."

"You were there when it mattered." You meant that in more ways than one. He'd been the one who dragged you back to his chopper, you screaming with every inch, him muttering "you're gonna make it, you're gonna make it" over and over. After, Pope told you he'd flown like a bat outta hell while you drifted in and out of consciousness. Everyone agreed that if anyone else had been the pilot on that mission, you'd have bled out before you got back to base. Not that it made a difference to Frankie. Something had changed in him after that. Then came the suspension for drug abuse and after that you both felt like animals used up then put out to pasture.

Your hand found his in the dark. He glanced down in surprise. You had always been close, the others always called him your work husband, only partly joking, and there had been times when it felt as though there was… something, like a line neither of you were daring to cross. But that had been a long time ago. You had lost touch after you came home and now he had a wife and a baby on the way and you had… your therapist? You didn't mind, honestly. Just, right now you needed him, his presence, his touch. Neither of you made any other movement. You just lay there under the bed, side by side, fingers interlocking.

"Hey if you assholes are fucking you can use someone else's goddamn bedroom" Will called out, having finally found you both.

"Fuck you William" you responded.

"What're you doing under the bed?"

"Hiding from you" Frankie replied. "Now piss off."

"Fine, not like it's my fucking house or anything." He slinked off muttering.

"We should probably head back out there." You started to crawl out but you were stopped by Frankie's hand on your shoulder.

"Can we… can we not?" You gave him a long look, then nestled back in next to him.

"Ok, whenever you're ready."

"What if I'm never ready?"

"You bring a book?" You both snorted. "But seriously, we can't stay here forever. You least of all, you have a life."

"And you don't?" You resisted the urge to face him.

"Honestly, not really. Maybe I should get one." Frankie didn't seem to have any response to that, so you lay next to each other in silence, counting the boards on the mattress frame. Finally, you asked, "do you think it's gonna be a boy or girl."

"No clue. We wanted to be surprised." At length, he added "hope it's a girl."

"Why?"

"Less chance it'll turn out like me."

"Would that be so bad?"

"You tell me." You found his hand and squeezed.

"I hope it's like you. World needs more Catfish Moraleses." His expression was inscrutable, until his voice finally husked out with all the fear, heartbreak and salvation of the past years,

"I really fucking missed you."

[mysteriouslyjovialcolor]

Brazil 2024

-George!!! He’s flying off!!

-Max and Lewis making up positions together

-Yuki still p3!!

-“Verstappen…and that’s Sergio Perez!” Dude I almost died!

-Yes!! Max!! Let’s go!!

-“17th on the grid! He’s made up 7 places on the first corner of lap 2!”

-Imagine having to drive Senna’s car and then downgrading to that…I feel for Lewis

-There was an extra formation lap? Damn, I missed that

-No DRS in these conditions

-Oh no Ollie :((

-This is giving Brazil 2016 so much, but I really don’t want to jinx it

-Franco Colapinto under investigation for causing a collision on Ollie Bearman (the rookies are fighting)

-“Norris could do with his teammate holding off Verstappen here- because so far no one seems to be able to do that”

-Don’t think I’ve seen Max and Oscar go wheel to wheel in a while

-Oh it was Ollie who caused the collision: 10s penalty

-“Max Verstappen hunting down through the mist and spray”

-I hate that Mercedes so much, what do you mean Lewis Hamilton can’t make up positions

-Carlos stuck behind a Sauber??

-Let’s go Max!! That’s the third time he’s pulled off that move!

-Yellow flag? Oh god Lewis- thought that was George for a second

-“Wheel to wheel with Hamilton” Franco probably giggling in his cockpit

-“Starting procedures infringements” what happened??

-Ohmygod Charles versus Max again! Brazil is giving!!

-I’m so happy for Yuki! Look at him still holding p3! (Please let him make podium)

-Yuki just being the cork in the bottle for everyone behind him

-Honestly give Lewis Senna’s car back

-“Car’s not drivable mate. I’m locking up, bouncing everywhere” “Understood” The way I would scream at that response

-“Carlos Sainz, is this the smooth operation he was looking for?” Haha

-Oh god, both the Mercedes struggling

-Ahh Charles and Max!

-“That was Charles Leclerc knowing exactly where Max Verstappen was going to go” He was like “mistakes”, what mistakes?

-Carlos dropping back two places again??

-So much spray

-“Who is going to make that right call?” The pressure to change to the right tires would make me throw up

-Charles pitting first???

-Ferrari please do right by us or I will cry

-I need to be watching this race with someone so that we could scream at Ferrari together

-There goes the RB! Of Liam Lawson” Stop with the pauses!! My heart can’t take it!

-“Leclerc pitted for new tires, he went into traffic and can not not clear it” Ferrari whyyy

-Nico?!!?

-Aaah Yuki?!?

-VSC!

-Worked out I think, sort of, for Charles

-Oh shit Mercedes in technical trouble?

-Ocon leading the race??

-Yuki no!! P6 :(

-Ohmygod how are they driving like this??

-Oscar penalty??

-Pierre P3?? Alpine!! What’s going on?!

-Safety car again?

-“Give Esteban Ocon his due” Yes, I swear

-The spray is so bad, you can barely see the cars

-Oh hell! Franco?! That looks bad!

-“The Williams mechanics, they’ve had such a tough day” Someone check on them please

-Max: “My tires are just like a boat”

-I feel for the marshals who have to take care of that

-The pit lane looking so colorful with all the different team mechanics, such a stark contrast to the gray skies

-Aw the team reassuring Yuki>>

-“Oscar Piastri has just come over to apologize to Liam Lawson” :)

-Maxplaining in intense action

-I kind of like these moments in wet races. The drivers getting a comfort break and us getting to see them in between everything

-Black flag?? What does that mean?? Why is he out!

-Rolling start?

-Ollie Bearman has served his penalty? When?

-Lando Norris behind Max Verstappen on the running down the pit lane game” haha

-“George Russel has a scooter. I wonder if he’s nicked Lewis Hamilton’s”

-See?? This is fun

-“First driver to get a black flag since 2007” That’s the opposite of fun

-Honestly just give Alpine the win, they need it

-Standing start…nope, rolling start

-We’re still only halfway through

-Carlos’ “Hello?” was hilarious. Ferrari what are you doing

-Yellow flag? Green flag!

-Oh shit Lando!

-Ohmygod Charles too??

-Ocon I’m sorry if I’ve ever doubted you

-Yuki losing positions is going to make me cry (please at least stay in the points)

-Charles stuck in a McLaren sandwich

-“Hamilton just driving into a wall of water” You really can’t see anything out there

-What is going on with Carlos?

-Oh bloody hell, another red flag? No! He got out

-Ollie is having the worst race right now

-Okay apparently if Alpine stay where they are right now they go past Haas in the WCC. I’m slightly less happy for them now

-I think Liam and Checo are just destined to fight every race weekend now

-Carlos Sainz???

-Another safety car

-Honestly this is such a bad weekend for so many team mechanics

-Kimi Raikonnen mentioned!!

<interlude cause I forgot to breathe>

-Charles!!

-Ohmygod Lando!

-Max!!!!

<screaming, crying, screaming>

-What is this race!!

-“Leclerc is the big beneficiary there” YES HE IS

-“Swap positions”

-Ohmygod Max calm down. He’s doing fastest lap after fastest lap!

-Max seriously how many??

-“Class 1 rain” Can McLaren just talk normally sometimes

-“Trying to lick it and send it” Daniel come back, they’re stealing your thing

-Oh Liam and Checo are going for it

-Aand Checo’s lost position

-Max!! What are you doing?? How many fastest laps!!

-I’m so paranoid of something going wrong and me being happy for nothing

-10s lead! I had only heard about days like this

-“It’s vintage Max Verstappen” “He hasn’t changed an iota from when he came here”

-Just remembered I watched Brazil 2019 yesterday and witnessed a Pierre podium, so I basically manifested this

-“You know what that is? Simply Lovely” Ohmygod I’m crying

-The Alpines driving in formation >>

-“The emotions today.. I’ll take it”

-17 fastest laps! That man is insane

I am so so so happy! No one talk to me for the rest of the week!

[iceman-kazansky]

Celebrations Together

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Requested by: Anon

Request: Can you write an Ayrton senna fic which they’re both teammates and it’s just fluff between them and they’re dating

Pairings: Ayrton Senna x F!driver reader

Warnings: Kissing, nothing much just fluff

Word count: 690

A/n: This is really similar to a part of the Seb fic I wrote haha. Anyways, first fic of the new year!! Hope you enjoy, anon. Also, I’m experimenting with replacing the gifs usually featured at the top of my works for pictures or moodboards :)

Taglist: None. If you'd like to be tagged in my works, either ask in the comments or fill out this form !! :)

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

You were sweating hard, a sheen layer of moisture gathered on your brow beneath your balaclava and helmet and breath leaving you in low pants. The knowledge that each corner you took was bringing you closer to winning– to a championship– had you stressed yet excited. All you had to do was hold onto this position for a few more seconds–

Ahead, you could ses the chequered flag waving above the track barriers, white and black squares a blur. Your tires roared against the pavement, engine howling, wind rushing past you.

As you crossed the finish line in first place, you nearly burst with joy. Tears sprung to your eyes immediately.

The cool-down lap felt unreal. You were still in shock. Had you really just won a driver championship for yourself? The first woman in the sport to do so? As you pulled into the parc ferme, you scrambled out of your car in the Mclaren garage. A flash of a signature yellow helmet in your peripheral told you that Ayrton wasn’t far behind.

When you turned to look at him you shouted in joy and he was quick to join you. Together, you jumped around excitedly, his arms looped around your waist with your faces creased into broad smiles. You weren't sure which one of you did it but in a minute your lips were connected in a moment of pure joy.

“I did it!” You exclaimed, pulling away and voice bursting with delight, “I won!”

Ayrton had a wide smile present on his face. “You did it, meu amor!” He repeated, “Você é um campeão mundial!” [You are a world champion]

You smiled wider at his words. Tears pricked the corners of your eyes. Your team had gathered around you, cheers and the feeling of their congratulating shoulder pats overwhelming your system.

“Thank you guys,” you said, voice wobbly with emotion, “I mean it. I couldn't have done it without everyone.”

The Mclaren garage was teeming with bright joy. Smiles were present everywhere you looked. Everyone stood around, cheering for you. You, who had proven yourself to Mclaren and the world that you belonged here. You, who had proved that you were worthy of a seat and the investment. You, that had proved you could do everything male drivers could. You.

Eventually, you were forced to part with the team for the podium. You climbed the stairs to the walkway, waving to the crowd as you climbed onto your spot on the #1 spot. As you stood on display for the world to see, the booming sound of your national anthem began loudly in your ears, reminding you of your achievements. You were trying so hard to be strong, to not get emotional, but it was impossible. You had tears in your eyes as you stood with your face to the sky, letting your overwhelming joy smother you.

The champagne spray began shortly after the anthems had been played. Ayrton, who had secured himself a p2 popped open his bottle, the cork shooting off the top and white fizz running over his fingers like lava before he turned and began pelting you. Immediately, you turned your head away from the onslaught, fizz erupting from your own bottle as you directed your own defensive spray back at you. A wet splash against your back caused you to gasp, body tensing as a second spray of champagne hit you. As your bottles emptied, you laughed, the other podium members joining you.

Slowly, everyone filed off the balcony when the celebration came to an eventual end. After throwing a final wave to the crowd, Ayrton reached for your free hand tenderly as you walked off. “I love you, querida,” he murmured into your ear, pressing a kiss to your hair and squeezing your hand. “I could never be prouder of you.”

You smiled, turning to receive the kisses against your lips. The smile had scarcely disappeared from your face, and your cheeks were beginning to sting. Yet, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. You were beyond happy with your achievements, and Ayrton being by your side to celebrate them made it infinitely better.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ || ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

[kyoooowooo]

OKAY OOKAY I GOT THIS SONG I'VE BEEN LISTENING TO A LOT LATELY CALLED "ship in a bottle" BY FIN ARGUS AND I FEEL LIKE IS SO.. EPIC!ODYSSEUS CODED?? AND ALSO EURYLOCHUS TOO??

ESPECIALLY IN THESE LYRICS

"Sailing on a ship in a bottle

Anchor all your thoughts to the bottom

Pulling ropes and pulling your head back

To see what is breaking the foremast

You set sail alone, there is no crew

No one on the deck who can help you

This is all your own battle to win

This is your ship and you are the captain

Oh, captain, let's make a deal

Where we both say the things that we both really feel

I feel scared and I'm starting to sink

And I only sink deeper the deeper I think

Oh, captain, oh, captain, deal

Oh, captain, deal, oh, captain, deal, oh

Oh, captain, make up your mind

Before the salt burns your eyes and you run out of time

'Cause you're popping the cork, you get lost in your brain

And you lose touch with all the things that made you feel sane

Oh, captain, oh, captain, deal

Oh, captain, deal, oh, captain, deal, oh"

LIKE TRY TO CONVINCED ME THAT THIS ISN'T JUST THE GHOST OF EURYLOCHUS HAUNTING ODYSSEUS ALIVE!?

[diejager]

Joyce, can we have headcanons regarding that sicko bastard known as Jeffrey Hawk aka The Clown? I ADORED that thing u said about him having a dad bod ❤️❤️

*Hands you an ordinary Ultra Ball as a gift*

Oddballer, you’re asking a lot from me, aren’t ya?? That man is just so big and filthy that I’m sure he smells.

The Clown NSFW Headcanon

Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, drinking, blood, gore, amputation, clown stuff, manhandling, gas/hazing??, tell me if I missed any.

Once a young and athletic kid, building his body to fit a certain way to help him ease through all the hard labour he did, now it his under a warm layer of fat, thick and heavy, bulging over his belt and breast round and soft. He might’ve had some difficulty to run, ambling or striding across the fields with a slow and taunting skip to his step, menacing while he hit the cork of his bottles and shook his special concoction. It made him all the more terrifying, slow and comfortable in his walk, strategic and strangely familiar with every type of hunt, ears keenly aware of the screams and pants of survivors, hungry for the dopamine those pained sounds gave him —especially yours. 

His special bird, the first he’d every wanted to keep, locked away from the other killers and survivors alike, chained to his carney’s caravan by the ankle, bloody and filthy just to his liking. It brought back memories, favourable ones, his first successful hunt, catching a little robin in his hand, the soft and pretty red plumage picked and broken, but you weren’t something he wanted broken.

He liked the fire in your eyes, the fearful and spiteful glare you sent him when he cornered you in the chosen realm, snarling at him like a feral creature. While he hated doing unnecessary work, abhorred the thought of you losing the flare in your being, taming such a wild cat was rewarding by itself. If he could tame you enough to be able to hold and touch you without too much fight, but keep your temper, it was a win-win in his mind. There was nothing more he hated than a husk, a shell of a broken man to keep as a pet. 

He took brave and foolish alike, young or old, nothing was off the table for him, all he needed was the true part of them, a finger to remember his exploits and victory, throwing away the part he deemed trash —fake. He could smell it from their bodies and figured that the hands - fingers - were the truth, a part that showed the person’s life, deeming it a satisfactory boon for him conquest, but you, all parts of you sang a different story to good ol’ Jeffrey Hawk. A true treasure to keep intact. 

While he would love to keep you to himself, a little bird that would sing to him every day with snapping teeth and kicking feet, he wasn’t as favoured by her as other killers were, almost forgotten to his dirty little corner of the forest in his bloodied and smelly caravan, fingers littering every flat surface and beer bottles stacked or rolling across the floor. If he had such a favour, he would keep you in a comfortable corner, placed over a sullied mattress with blankets stacked over it, keeping you warm while he dressed you in his shirts, all browned and smelling of metallic blood and his musk. 

It was thick and heady, mixing with a scent of alcohol and iron, age-old sweat and dirt. You’d complained about his stink, gagging and choking on the many times he cornered you, pressing himself against you to feel and smell you under his grasp. Nose buried in your hair and arms pulling you to his front, your back arching by the neck against the solid mass of his stomach, soft and pudgy if it wasn’t for his rough clothes scratching your tender skin.

It brought tears to your eyes. Be it from the stench of him and his intoxicating tonics, or his wandering hands, slipping under your shirt until it rode up, removing a piece of protection from his hungry eyes, he loved watching you cry. Call it a recreational hazard from his job, tears and wails were just a part of his duty under The Entity’s guidance, but he simply adored your pretty tears, pearly things rolling down your cheeks and your cute sobs filling his lecherous ears.

You don’t know how much it affected him, the pout when you bit your lower lip in frustration while you struggled against him, the squirming that riled him when he had you in his arms, and your spitfire-like tongue, hurling every insults under the sun at him. It stirred something deep in his guts, a dark pleasure bubbling from his loins, fattening the growing hardness between his leg. He easily got worked up by you, the solitude of his lifestyle and the starvation for any kind of touch led his to drool and hunger for it. 

Your skin against his, soft and beautiful, bending easily under his kneading hands, his rough and bloodied glove as forced you on his lap, seated still to let him lap and suck at your small fingers. His tongue curling around your index, thick and lithe, and suckled in his warm and wet mouth while his tongue felt around, drool running down your wrist. He lost himself in these moments, aroused out of his mind and huffing hot breath against your disgusted face.

He liked your reaction —he liked any reaction you gifted him. He savoured each and every one, your gleeful ones, your sorrowful ones, your frustrated one, and your painful ones. He drank it all up like the drugs and alcohol he found pleasure in, gorging on you like an addict would. You were his new addiction, his new drug and dependence. And he hungered.