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sunlightmurdock · 2 years ago

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The Odyssey | 0.1 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

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Summary: There are a few bumps in the road during your travel to Italy and your first day there. Bradley’s not a regular professor, he’s a cool professor.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, power imbalance (professor / student relationship), age gap (22 / 33), will be smut, virgin reader, swearing, themes of eventual infidelity, mentions of travel sickness and throwing up, wc: 4.5k

…

“I can’t do it, I just can’t go,” You throw yourself back against the leather seats and cover your face with your hands. Malcom drives a Rolls Royce corniche from last year with a black exterior and brown leather seats. You’re parked outside of Ithaca Thompkins Reigonal airport, your suitcase is in the back and your fiancé’s stroking tenderly at your cheek. “It’s going to be hell.”

“It’s a summer in Italy, honey, not jail time.” Malcolm laughs at you, lifting your jaw and giving a calm shrug of his shoulders. The sun on your face, the two of you had practically the entire winter to celebrate your engagement, it seems fitting that his last summer is his and his alone. His heart squeezes at the thought of the autumn to come. Your honeymoon, a short stay at his father’s place in the Bahamas.

Then, the rest of your lives together. The thought is enough to make you concede finally.

“It’s hardly a vacation.”

“You’ll be home before you know it, and then you’re gonna be my wife. I’ll take you on all the vacations you could want.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.” You point, tone begrudging as you finally move to pull open the car door. Your fiancé follows you out of the car, leaving the roof down as he

reaches into the back to grab your suitcase. It’s a gift from your mother, part of a matching his and hers set that should’ve stayed pristine until your honeymoon. Bringing it back tarnished isn’t an option.

He lifts it out of the car and walks around, closing your door for you and then wrapping an arm around your waist.

“This will all be a funny little thing that we look back on. Something to tell our kids the first time we take them to Italy.” Malcolm’s thumb nudges just slightly under your white t-shirt, stroking a gentle circle on your waist. He squeezes you against him, pleased with himself for finally drawing a smile from you.

“Alright, two, four, six…” Bradley counts the young adults in pairs, his brows drawing together as he searches for his seventh. There’s no need to wonder who it is that’s missing. Eight minutes after nine, he’s giving you two more before he leaves you behind.

“Hey, Bradley,” Luke is Bradley’s favourite TA. He’s not supposed to have favourites, but he’s also not supposed to have any tattoos. He’s supposed to wear a tie at work. ‘Supposed to’s’ haven’t mattered much to Bradley in the course of his career. Luke is a little shorter than Bradley, athletic and dark haired. He’s going to teach in France in the Autumn, inspired by his favourite professor. “Did you hear back from that guy in Sicily about August?”

Luke listens. He really cares about what he studies, Bradley likes that about him. They share the same sense of humour too. He smiled a little, and then shakes his head.

“No, I think he heard the American accent and made up his mind before I’d even asked him about it.” Bradley gives a small shrug, like it doesn’t matter, but they both know that would have been the opportunity of a century.

Luke’s sympathetic in his nod back. They leave it at that. Bradley lifts his arm and checks his watch again. As he’s about to turn and leave, he catches sight of you, strolling in and talking away to your fiancé like you aren’t holding everybody up.

“You’re late.”

You turn your head and look him over. He’s wearing beige shorts and white converse tennis blancs. No other professor you know would show up to a work trip in sneakers. The first impressions are set.

You’re late, he’s underdressed.

“Sorry, man. We hit traffic on Warren Road.”

It’s a maybe thirty minute drive from the furthest part of campus. Bradley doesn’t say anything at all. He just stares. Just the look on his face makes you seethe, wondering silently what kind of woman could have raised such an impolite adult.

His eyes pull away from Malcolm and fall down to the nice, white suitcase that you’ve brought along with you. It’s Ralph Lauren with an extendable handle and wheels. From this alone, Bradley knows that you haven’t spared a second to look at the itinerary. You watch him scrutinize your luggage, narrowing your eyes at him.

“Alright, well, since we’re already late. Let’s move.” Bradley decides, bored. He turns and hoists lifts his much more manageable suitcase into his right hand. Like ducklings, the other students gather quickly and follow him as he turns towards the check in desk.

“You can’t seriously expect me to spend three months in the middle of nowhere with that man,” You shake your head adamantly, folding your arms over your chest and looking to your fiancé for support. “I’ll wind up murdering him.”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to say murder in an airport, honey,” Malcolm teases. He pulls you into his arms and kisses the top of your head. “You’ll be back before you know it. Go, see the world. I’ll be right here to listen to all your stories when you get back.”

“I love you.” You mumble begrudgingly into his Tommy Hillfiger polo. He grins and kisses your temple, then tells you the same. Finally, he takes you by your shoulders and pushes you towards the other group of students.

You swallow dryly as your loafers carry you forwards. One of the students, dark haired and grinning, leans in and says something to Bradley while his eyes remain on you. Bradley chuckles as it and shakes his head, dropping his suitcase onto the scale.

Glancing back over your shoulder, trembling starting in your chest and spreading along your nerves, Malcolm smiles and nods for you to go ahead. He’s tanned already from the start of the golf season, cheeks dimpling, straight brown hair falling into his eyes a little. He’s going to have to cut it once he starts working for real, but you like the boyish look for now.

Pausing, you take your time to look him over. Taller than you by just a few inches, strong from his years of baseball, slim from his years of track, smooth skin and blue eyes that are just to die for.

Your gaze falls down to the rock on your finger. The knowledge that if you can withstand these two months, you’ll have everything you’ve ever wanted is enough to finally make you turn back around and set your suitcase down on the scale.

The next twenty four hours will be the worst. Your itinerary, which is wrinkled near the bottom from the stream of tears that had been pouring onto it the night before, tells you that it’s about seventeen hours of travel. A short flight, first, two Newark airport. Then, a six hour flight to London. Finally, a two hour flight to the north of Italy.

Bradley settles into his seat on the flight to Newark and glances behind him to search for his seven students. Three sitting together, two sitting together, Luke’s at his side and then you’re sitting on your own between an elderly married couple. His lips quirk to himself as he turns back around. It’s only fair that karma pays him back a little bit.

He’s less than thrilled about you being here. It just doesn’t seem fair that someone missed out on this opportunity because your daddy was able to pull some strings. You don’t give a shit about this trip. So, if it’s miserable for you, Bradley really couldn’t care less.

You rub at your temples, the volume of your Walkman turned up as loud as it will go, Joy Division blasting in your ears as the Houseman’s lean over you to argue with each other. Lifting your head, you find Bradley soundly asleep, arms folded over his chest and lips parted slightly — perfectly comfortable aside from his knees pressing into the seat in front.

He couldn’t care less when you’re panicking in the lounge at Newark airport, thinking you’ve lost your passport. Or when you’re stuck next to a screaming baby on the flight to London. Or, when on the flight from London to Turun, there’s such bad turbulence that the first thing you do upon landing is rush down the steps and puke.

“Oh, here — did you want some water?” Abigail offers. Bradley doesn’t know her that well other than the fact that she is the only person he knows who has never gotten less than an A in his class, and that she’s probably more intelligent than he is. And apparently, more of an empath. She rubs her hand along your shoulders soothingly and offers you the unopened plastic bottle.

You step back from the trash can, letting go of your hair and groaning quietly, blinking the tears from her eyes.

“Thank you,” You seem surprised by her kindness, taking the bottle from her slowly like she might have snatched it back from you. Gratitude. That surprises Bradley. “That’s really sweet of you.”

It’s not your fault that you were taught early on that there’s no such thing as a free handout, or that selflessness is a myth. Abigail comes from a much different background. Her mom does soup kitchens and charity drives, she taught all three of her children the meaning of kindness early on. Your mother taught you the value of womanhood early on.

“It’s no big deal.” She smiles, reaching into the pocket of her light washed jeans and pulling out a packet of gum. “You can keep this.”

Bradley watches the exchange, then checks his watch again. As much as it seems fair to watch you suffer, the last thing he needs is for you to call your father screaming on the first night.

“Alright. It’s a twenty minute ride to the hotel, there’s a bus for us outside. Are you going to be alright?”

Exhausted, your ears are ringing and this is the most professional that he has acted all day; you know not to push your luck with him. You nod weakly at him. He can’t help but notice how colourless you’re starting to look at baggage claim, and how much trouble he’s going to be in if you die on the first day. You chew tiredly on the peppermint gum, trying to pretend that the motion of just chewing alone isn’t enough to still make you queasy.

You should be in Malcolm’s television room, right now. Sitting curled into his side with your legs across his lap, watching some action movie that will keep his attention long enough for the two of you to finish it. Closing your eyes and picturing that you’re there just doesn’t cut it.

Stepping out of the airport, an iron-tight grip on your suitcase handle, you inhale deeply. The fresh air makes you feel a little less light headed. You sip slowly at the water. Everyone keeps looking at you.

It’s not half as warm as you had expected it to be. When you had pictured Italy, you had pictured vineyards and thick heat. Tonight, you’re in a city, and it’s actually a little cold even with the thick denim jacket you’re wearing. The chill helps breakthrough that sick, sweaty feeling that you’ve got going on though, which is nice.

“Mr. Bradshaw!”

Bradley’s lips turn up into a big grin as he locks sights on the short, bald man that’s grinning at him from in front of a black minivan.

“Pasquale!” He chuckles as he speaks, dwarfing the older man as they hug. You’ve never seen him that pleased to see anyone. “How’s it going?”

“Same old, same old,” Pasquale shrugs, giving Bradley a knowing wink. They share a laugh again. “Big group this year.”

Bradley turns to look at all of you over his shoulder, then nodding slowly. His gaze lingers on you. “Uh-huh. They’re a little tired.”

“Well, then, let’s get the kids to bed.” Pasquale jokes. He grabs the handle and tugs open the middle door to the van, then walks around to tug open the back doors.

Everyone hands their bags to him, then finds a seat inside. Making the most of the fresh air whilst you’ve got it, you’re intentionally the last.

Pasquale grunts as he lifts your suitcase off of the ground, struggling with the weight of it. Bradley shoots him a look and then grabs your arm, stopping you before you can step into the van.

“Sit up front. In case you puke.” He instructs, grabbing the passenger side door and pulling it open for you. Waiting for the ground to just swallow you whole, you nod weakly again.

Bradley was right. It’s a twenty minute ride to the hotel. He just hadn’t warned you that it was going to be the longest twenty minutes of your life. Turin has a tram system and passing over the tracks, and the bumpy roads makes your stomach churn. Pasquale tries to make conversation but there’s not really much you have to say. Everyone behind you is in pretty good spirits, looking out of the windows and talking about the city.

“Alright, everyone gets a roommate — are we going to be mature about this and buddy up, or do I have to treat you like you’re six?”

You’re blinking at him now, knowing that no one here will want to share with you, hoping that you get assigned a room so that you can finally pass out. The hotel is ninety years old and it looks older, cracks through the paint and cobwebs in the corners, but you just can’t find it in you to care. Dust fills your nose and makes you blink like you’re going to sneeze. The entire place smells like cigarettes. Speaking of cigarettes, Bradley’s just itching for a couple of seconds away from you guys.

Everyone around you buddies up. Your eyes widen, finding that there are only seven students.

“Uh, no, no — you two cannot share a room. I’m not taking anybody home pregnant. Luke, you’re with me.” Bradley snaps his fingers, frowning sternly. You turn your head and watch as he takes his arm off of the girl’s shoulders. She whines, frowning at Bradley. “That goes for all of you actually. You’re all adults, just — I’m not your dad, don’t make me act like it. Okay?”

“Okay…” Come a few begrudging agreements as Luke sulks over to Bradley.

“Cool. That leaves you two.” Bradley decides, nodding to you and the girl who just had her evening’s plans ruined. You swallow, nudging the toe of your shoe into the faded red carpet under you. “Okay. I’m going to give you your keys, there’s one per room so don’t be a dick and lock your roommate out. Don’t lose your key, there’s a twenty euro replacement fee and I’m not paying it.”

What no one had mentioned to you about Italy was the stairs. You’re still fairly naive about it as you drag your suitcase up to the third floor — you’ve got a long summer ahead of you. Your room is at the furthest end of the hall. Bradley makes his location known to all of you, and then suggests that you try to get as much sleep as you can.

“Dibs on the bed by the window.” Your roommate, who you now know to be named Robin because of a conversation you heard as you were coming up the stairs, declares before the door is even open.

You’re far too tired to argue, and not really bothered by that kind of thing anyway.

It’s a twin room with dated paint on the walls and patterned sheets, heavy curtains covering the window and faded carpet under foot. You swallow softly as you look around you. Quickly, you realise what’s missing.

“What? — Not what you’re used to?” Robin teases as she lifts her bag and drops it onto the bed by the window. It’s most definitely not what you’re used to. Your mother wouldn’t touch this place with a ten foot pole and your father dismantles businesses like this one just for the fun of it.

Still, the decor isn’t your biggest issue. “Where’s the bathroom?”

“Huh,” She stops to look around the room, frowning, then shrugs and turns back to her case. She unzips it and flips the top open. Your eyes land immediately on the box of trojans at the top of her belongings. “I don’t know. Ask Brad.”

You’ve never heard anyone call him Brad, or heard him introduce himself as that. You don’t like it. But, you turn and walk down the hall anyway. All that you want right

After approximately thirty seconds of peace, Bradley winces at the knocking on his door. Something in his gut tells him that it’s you, or something you’ve done, before he even answers.

“What?”

The force with which he swings the door open makes you jump. You almost shrink away from him, pushing your sweaty hair back off of your face, then remember everything that your father taught you about being taken seriously. You swallow, straightening up again, “Our room doesn’t have a bathroom in it.”

“There’s one at the end of the hall. It’s right next to your room.” Bradley answers, resting his hand on the chipped paint over the doorframe, nodding his head in the vague direction of it. He watches your face change in realization. You look more sick now than you had when you were hunched over that bin.

“Oh. It’s… a shared bathroom?”

“Yeah. It’s for the floor.” Bradley’s tone tells you that he thinks you’re even more stupid than you feel. You don’t even share a bathroom in your own home. Safety is the first thing that crosses your mind.

“What if someone tries to get in while I’m in there?”

“Locks are still a thing here.”

Luke snorts in amusement from inside of their room behind him.

“I know that,” Your tone slowly starts to stray from sheepish to snappy. It’s been a long day and being made fun of isn’t how you would like to end it. “But, I really need to take a shower and I—“

“Luke, go stand outside of the door until she’s done.” Bradley’s already turning away from the door, bored by his conversation with you and starting to pry open the buttons on his blue shirt.

“Me? — Why do I have to do it?” Luke frowns from his perch at the end of the twin bed closest to the door.

“Because I want her to shut up and quit whining at me, and you owe me a favour. Remember?”

It seems unprofessional for Bradley to be close enough to one of his students that they’re now owing each other personal favours. That’s something to think about another time. You shift back awkwardly as Luke pushes himself up from his bed and starts towards you.

“Alright. Go get your stuff.”

Exhausted, you’re on the verge of blacking out the entire time that you’re standing under the stream of water. It’s lukewarm and the pressure is poor, but it helps.

You brush your teeth quickly and dress yourself in your pyjamas. Sitting on the floor, Luke falls backwards into the bathroom as you tug it open.

Now laying on his back, you catch his gaze starting to wander. Even about to fall asleep standing, you’re awake enough to jump back before he can sneak a peek up your nightdress.

“Pig.” You mutter, stepping around him without thanking him for standing guard. He watches you wander back to your room and slam the door shut, then pushes himself up laughing.

He walks calmly back to his room and lets himself in, swinging the door shut behind him. Bradley’s on the bed by the window, a cigarette dangling from his lips and a stack of six books, all opened to different pages sitting in front of him.

“D’you think she’s really going to make it two whole months?”

Bradley looks up, scratching an itch on his bare shoulder and then taking the cigarette from his mouth. He exhales, then shakes his head with a breathy chuckle.

“Buddy, the sooner that she calls her dad to come and get her, the better.” He mutters, flicking ash from the cigarette into an empty water bottle and picking up his pen to scrawl a few notes onto the page of one of the books.

Luke drops down onto his bed and tucks his arms behind his bed. He wishes all of his professors were as cool as Bradley is. “She wears a nightdress like my freaking grandmother.”

Bradley scoffs, taking a long draw on the cigarette, his dog tags dangling between his collarbones as he flicks through the paperwork for the trip. His lips quirk up slightly as he shoots his friend and student a playful look, “Well, what does your grandmother wear?”

Luke pulls a face and then shrugs, running his hands through his feathery, raven coloured hair. “I don’t know, it comes down to like here. Hers was this cute little yellow with cap sleeves and a heart shaped kinda neckline.”

Bradley’s smirk grows around the thin cigarette as he looks over. “Didn’t you say your Mom was one of six kids?”

“Yeah, so?”

“Maybe your grandmother was onto something with those little nightgowns, huh?” Bradley taunts, chuckling and turning back to work while Luke gasps in horror at his side.

“You’re sick.” Luke complains, amused but playfully offended as he turns onto his side and presses his face into his pillow. Bradley just laughs to himself.

The next morning, you can’t help but notice that Luke seems to have modeled himself after Bradley. Both of them are wearing nearly the same thing. A half buttoned, cotton shirt — Bradley’s is a pale yellow, Luke’s is a deeper blue — and five inch shorts.

Once again, you’re late, he’s overdressed.

You’re in a cute little sundress with a sweet little purse in your shoulder and a pair of expensive, Dior sunglasses on your face.

“Did everyone eat?” Bradley asks, tucking his Ray-bans into the opening in his shirt by their arm. He’s got a baseball cap on today, his auburn curls peeking out from under it. You bet Luke’s pretty upset that he didn’t get the memo on hats. A chorus of quiet yes’ come from your class. “Good. Because lunch isn’t for another five hours and we’ve got some walking to do.

“Now, remember,” He pushes his hands into his pockets and looks straight at you. “You’re a big group of kids in a foreign city, so watch your stuff because someone will try to take it if you’re not careful.”

That seems like common sense. With Pasquale as your tour guide, you’re led through the streets of Turin. Bradley already seems to know his way around well enough, walking ahead of everybody else, studying the streets as he passes. This is his sixth summer consecutively spent in Europe, his fourth year spent in Italy. Turning his face towards the sun, indirectly looking up at the laundry hanging between apartments over his head, he misses it here more than anything.

As much as this is a research trip for himself and his work, it’s also somewhat of a cultural exchange. So, the first stop is a museum near the centre of the city. Today’s itinerary starts with this place, the museum of national something something. You cross your arms over your chest and look over the detailed architecture. It’s pretty, but you can’t pretend that you wouldn’t rather be sat on a rooftop in Manhattan with your girlfriends on this sunny morning.

Although, back there it would be the middle of the night, barely 3am. It still feels like 3am for you, you would have happily spent another five hours in bed just to avoid returning to that shared bathroom.

“Who knows what this place is?” Bradley stops and turns on his heel. Everyone seems to know at once, spouting off the name of the museum whilst you’re still standing there with your arms folded. “Cool. And who can tell me what Risorgimento is?”

“It was the nineteenth-century Italian movement of unification.” Abigail answers calmly, tucking a braid behind her ear. She’s well prepared for the day, wearing her backpack on her front so that she can keep an eye on it.

The streets are busy already, the centre of Turin at almost 8am is bustling with people trying to get to work and tourists trying to get to the sights.

In retrospect, it was a bad place to stop. Standing in front of a big museum with a group of students. It’s practically a target. You, with those fucking Dior sunglasses on your face, are a target. The man isn’t dressed like a thief. He’s wearing blue jeans and a green Ralph Lauren polo, walking quickly like he has somewhere to be. You don’t take any mind as he bumps into you, inhaling quickly as you’re surprised by the impact, but then stepping out of his way without much notice.

Bradley has watched as the man had sped up, knocking his shoulder into yours and curling his hand around the strap of your bag. With one swift tug, he has the strap off of your shoulder quickly. Your brows draw together, surprised and confused as you turn to look.

Immediately, Bradley steps forwards and catches hold of the back of the man’s navy shirt. He tugs hard and pulls the man back swiftly before you’ve even registered what was happening. Bradley tells him something in Italian, the man lets go of your bag accordingly and then sneers at your professor. He mutters something back that you don’t understand Bradley lifts his hands and shoves hard at his shoulders.

The man stumbles, sneering at you as he turns and hightails it away from your group.

“What did I tell you? — Watch your stuff.” Bradley mutters in annoyance, like it’s your fault that you were almost mugged. Your mouth opens to back with an immediate protest. He narrows his eyes at you. “I’m not going to babysit you this whole trip.”

“No one’s asking you to.” You bite back.

“Hey, he did a nice thing. Maybe stop being such a bitch.”

Bradley and you both turn to look at the same time, finding Robin tucked under Luke’s arm and looking at you like you just kicked her. You gaze darts quickly back to Bradley, waiting for him to scold her.

Instead, he just looks at you like it’s all your fault and then turns away, calling for the group to follow him inside. You flinch as someone bumps into your other arm, finding Pasquale smiling at you.

“Are you okay?”

“Fine.” You answer Bradley’s friend begrudgingly.

He’s older, maybe in his late forties or his early fifties. A little shorter than you, with a seemingly perpetual smile on his face. He guides you after your class with his hand on the elbow. “Seems like Italy doesn’t agree with you much,” You’re not certain if that’s a polite way of him saying that Bradley doesn’t like you much, you leave him without an answer anyway. “Stick with me, I’ll help you find your feet, miss.”

…

If you’re wondering what her nightgown looked like, it’s the yellow one on the right

tags:

@thedroneranger @batdanceq @wkndwlff @littlemissobsessedwitholdermen @sunflowerziva @cassiemitchell @himbos-on-ice @bradshawseresinbabe @damrlova @fudge13 @xoxabs88xox @mak-32 @sihtricswife @callsignvenus @callsign-joyride @harper1666 @krismdavis @sheisanangell @thecitysgraveyard

#bradley bradshaw #bradley rooster bradshaw #miles teller #bradley bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw au #rooster x you #rooster bradshaw imagine #top gun smut #the odyssey

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piastrixpole · 28 days ago

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iii. spinning out

pairing: logan sargeant x fem!oc (daisy shaw)

genre: written

based on the 2023 season

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daisyshaw always happy to be back in Jeddah

The Jeddah Corniche Circuit was actually one of Daisy's favourite tracks even if it was a street circuit which she tended to find more challenging. It had been the race where she'd scored her first points last year and the first in her career so it had a special place in her heart. Even if it had only been a P9 finish, Daisy had been ecstatic to achieve points in just her second ever formula one race. It had helped ease the pressure coming from the critics who claimed she didn't belong in the sport and quickly put a rest to the comments already speculating who would be filling her seat next year because it was highly unlikely she'd last more than a season.

A novelty. That's what they saw her as. A shiny new toy thrown into one of the most mentally and physically demanding sports and told to sink or swim. And Daisy had fought tooth and nail to stay afloat.

Her first free practice session had gone relatively well. Daisy had been focused on gathering as much data as possible, experimenting with different lines and braking points to find the optimal balance between speed and control. With each lap, she gained valuable insights into the nuances of the circuit, identifying areas where she could gain time and areas where she needed to exercise caution.

There were a few minor setbacks including an interrupted hot lap where there had been too much traffic for Daisy to fully commit to pushing the car to its limits and a minor lock-up coming into turn 8 later on in the session. Other than that things had gone smooth enough. That wasn't enough for Daisy though, in this sport she knew she couldn't and wasn't going to settle for being mediocre. She had a solid car and was talented - there was no reason for her not to be at least putting it into the top 5.

In the interim between free practice 1 and 2, Daisy gathered with her team in the confines of the team's motorhome, ready to dissect the data from the morning session. They had been waiting outside the garage for her - Anja, Mila and Holly that was. Daisy was barely out of the car before Mila was at her side assisting her and passing Daisy her water bottle wordlessly.

"That felt pretty similar to what I remember last year," Daisy commented to Anja who was already tapping furiously on her laptop, pulling up the lap times and data from Daisy's session.

"It was a good drive," Anja praised her "definitely some room to improve but you were way more confident in the car than last week."

Leaning in to get a better glimpse of the numbers Daisy focused intently on the screen as they began to review each corner in detail, searching for areas where she could gain an advantage later that day.

Anja's fingers flew across the keyboard as she pulled up a graph. "I'm seeing some room for improvement in Sector 2," she remarked, her voice tinged with determination. "We're losing a bit of time on entry into Turn 8. I think we can adjust the braking point to carry more speed through the corner."

Daisy nodded, her mind already racing with possibilities. "Got it. Let's make that adjustment for the next run," she replied, her tone resolute. "And what about Turn 15? I felt like I was struggling to find the right line there."

Anja nodded in agreement, her brow furrowed in concentration. "You're right. We can work on fine-tuning your line through that section to optimize your exit speed onto the back straight."

Nodding thoughtfully as she absorbed Anja's assessment Daisy flashed a determined smile. "Sounds like a plan," she said, her voice brimming with confidence.

With their plan in place, Daisy continued to prepare for the upcoming second practice session until Mila dragged her away from the laptop to force her to eat lunch. Her trainer knew her far too well and was aware that if she wasn't reminded, Daisy would completely forget about eating sometimes when she was highly focused on something.

"Come on Daisy, you need a break," Mila asserted, her voice confident and carrying a rare authority "you've been glued to that for ages now and I'm not having you pass out in the car on us because you haven't eaten since dawn."

Momentarily hesitant, Daisy glanced between the laptop screen and Mila's insistent gaze before conceding and pushing back her chair, jumping up onto her feet "fine, fine," she acquiesced with a sigh "but only for a few minutes there's still stuff I want to look over."

Another win for Mila. As was evident in borderline triumphant smirk as she accepted the victory for this round "You'll thank me later nerd, lets get going then."

Letting herself be lead out of the motorhome and into the team's hospitality Daisy still couldn't shake the nagging feeling of leaving her work unfinished. If there was one thing that always caused a suffocating build up of guilt for Daisy it was taking breaks when she still had tasks to complete. She knew it wasn't healthy but the habit was impossible to shake.

Before she knew it Mila was gesturing for Daisy to sit at an empty table and she'd somehow procured her lunch, seemingly out of thin air, while Daisy was zoned out. Though she was opposed to wasting valuable time between the practice sessions, Mila of course had her best interests at heart and was only looking out for her. So she engaged in light conversation with her trainer, giving her brain a break from the intense scrutiny of the past hour. She could pull off a stellar performance in the second session, she was confident in her abilities, she just had to stop overthinking everything when she was out of the car.

Following a final review with Anja, Daisy found herself slipping back into her familiar routine preparing to get back in the car. With a practiced ease, Daisy untied the sleeves of her sleek black and gold race suit from where they had been wrapped around her waist. Slipping her arms into the sleeves the fabric hugged her frame snugly as she fastened the zipper up the front.

Getting into her race suit always felt like coming home to Daisy. A feeling of warmth washed over her that oddly resembled the way her stomach turned when she was reunited with her sisters after being apart for a long time. It was like her second skin at this point. The protective layer of fabric acting as a constant reminder that she had made it. She was racing in formula 1 and nobody could take that achievement away from her.

Then she reached for her balaclava pulling it over her head in a swift motion, her braided hair neatly tucked beneath the fabric. For the longest time Daisy had debated just cutting her hair short so it annoyed her less while racing but she was quite attached to her long curls so she decided against it in the end. Once it was in position Daisy fixed the protective earbuds she was wearing as they had moved slightly out of place when she was fixing her balaclava.

Daisy's usual helmet was sleek in its design. A combination of pure white colour and a vibrant shade of gold. Along the sides and the back of her helmet were flowers representing each of her sisters. A holly branch, a violet and a rose intertwined by a daisy chain. Emblazoned prominently on the front of it was her racing number. The font displaying '19' in crisp black against the brighter tones of her helmet.

Carefully securing it in place over her head, Daisy felt at ease again. Ready to conquer the streets of Jeddah and secure her name at the top of the timesheets. There really was such a noticeable difference in her demeanour on and off track. She was able to block out all the lingering anxieties and insecurities as soon as she was sat in her car and the only thing that mattered in her mind from that point on was the race itself.

Settling behind her steering wheel and feeling the familiar hum of the engine beneath her Daisy eased her way onto the track. Anja's voice crackled over the radio, clear and concise "Radio check, Daisy."

"Loud and clear Anja my love," Daisy replied within seconds, flicking the radio button on her steering wheel in the process.

With the green light from Anja, Daisy unleased the full power of the Porsche machine. Pressing down on the accelerator with precision and control, she hurtled down the initial straight and into turn one. Her focus remained unwavering and with each lap, Daisy pushed herself to the limit, testing the car's capabilities and her own skill as a driver. Navigating the twists and turns of the circuit with speed and precision, she knew that she was inching ever closer to unlocking the full potential of both herself and her team.

Anja provided a steady stream of feedback to guide her as she focused on fine tuning her approach to each corner and optimising her lap times. "Brake later into Turn 3, Daisy. You've got more grip than you think," she advised, her words spurring Daisy to push even further going around that corner.

Daisy responded with unwavering obsession, her eyes scanning the track ahead for any signs of opportunity or challenge. She adjusted her line through each corner, seeking the perfect balance between speed and control, pushing herself to the edge of adhesion with every lap. It was just her and the roar of the engine drowning out all other distractions as she hurtled down the track with reckless abandon.

"How am I looking now?" Daisy asked as she spun the wheel braking late in the corner, adrenaline surging through her chest.

"You're three-tenths from Verstappen," Anja reported back full of pride.

Those words didn't seem real. No way was she so close to Max who had seemed so unreachable during the morning drive. A surge of adrenaline raced through Daisy as she absorbed that reality.

"No way," Daisy laughed "Anja tell me you're not joking."

"I can confirm she's not joking Daisy," the far heavier German accent belonging to Klaus pulsed out of her radio "Mega drive so far - keep it up."

Daisy was grinning so wide as she realised her boss was observing closely. She was always looking for moments to shine, but especially when he was around. The other teams and the community in general hadn't been so forthcoming to the eleventh team joining the grid and had been highly critical of Klaus' decision to sign Daisy shortly after everything had been announced. He'd always been supportive of her performance but Daisy still felt the need to constantly prove herself. To remind him that he hadn't made a huge mistake taking a chance on her when they first met two years ago. To prove that she could be a champion one day and that glory would likely be shared with him.

"Boss man," Daisy greeted him quickly "I'll take my bonus in a coffee later."

"Keep driving like that and I'll make it two," Klaus promised her before he cut off so as to not distract Daisy from her momentum.

With renewed vigour Daisy sharpened each little motion of the track, familiarising herself with the intricacies until it was muscle memory. Satisfaction swelling within her as she pictured the rage fits she was certain some people would be throwing at her stellar performance so far.

Everything seemed to be falling into place. Her lap times were steadily decreasing and her confidence soared with each passing lap. The promise of success hanging tantalisingly within reach. As if it were the apple hanging in the garden of Eden, tempting Daisy with the pursuit of greatness.

Then, in the blink of an eye, it all came crashing down.

Behind her, Daisy caught sight of a blurred motion in her mirrors as one of the Williams spun out of control. Her instincts kicked in, reflexes responding at lightning speed as she attempted to evade the impending collision. But it was too late.

With a sickening crunch of metal on metal, the car careened into the back of Daisy's, the impact sending shockwaves that reverberated through her body. The sounding of screeching metal filled her ears as the car lurched forward, the force of the collision propelling her off course and into the unforgiving embrace of the barrier.

Time seemed to slow to a crawl as Daisy's car slammed into the barrier with bone-jarring force, the impact sending shards of debris flying in all directions. Pain flared through her body as the full force of the collision took its toll, her senses reeling from the sudden violence of the crash.

For a moment, everything was chaos—a blur of noise and motion as Daisy struggled to regain her bearings. But as the dust settled and the echoes of the impact faded into the distance, a grim realization dawned upon her. The radio sounding but she was unable to assess what was being communicated as her ears were ringing.

Her car was damaged—badly.

As she surveyed the wreckage around her, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of her stomach. The promising session she had worked so hard for had come crashing to a halt in an instant, replaced now by the harsh reality of the damage before her.

Amidst the chaos, a voice cut through the noise. One filled with a genuine concern and overwhelming guilt. "Daisy! Are you ok? Shit I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to lose control like that." The voice belonged to Logan. This was the first time she'd even interacted with the new Williams rookie.

Daisy's heart was clenched with a mixture of emotions - disappointment, anger but weirdly a strange sense of pity and gratitude. He was actually trembling with fear as he crouched down in the wreckage to be at eye level with her. With shaking hands, she reached out, her fingers brushing against his in a silent reassurance that she was ok, still breathing.

"I'm here," Daisy murmured, her voice quivering. "I'm... I'm okay, I think."

His relief was palpable as he hovered beside her, hands lingering anxiously as if he was unsure of what to do with them. "I'm so sorry," he apologised, voice thick with emotion "I didn't mean to fuck up your lap and your car. Here do you need a hand getting out? Wait, can you even get out?"

Forcing a weak smile Daisy tried to comfort him even though she was in a worse physical state "these things happen Logan. It's your second race and you're not exactly driving the easiest car. Besides, its racing. I signed up for dealing with a few bumps and bruises so it's nothing I can't handle. It's all part of the job - you and I both know the risks when we get into these cars."

As the medical team arrived on the scene to assess the damage and ensure both drivers were uninjured, Daisy and Logan exchanged a glance. Logan was ushered away by a member of the medical team and despite the situation she was in, Daisy couldn't help but feel a sense of respect for him. Yeah, he was inexperienced and that had partially caused the crash but he had faced the situation head on and immediately showed concern for her wellbeing.

Sitting patiently Daisy allowed a medic to thoroughly assess her condition. "Can you move your arms and legs ok?" the medic asked, his voice gentle as he guided Daisy through a series of movements to test her range of motion.

Daisy complied, flexing her limbs and wincing slightly as she felt the twinge of pain in her muscles. "Yeah, I think so," she replied, her voice strained with discomfort.

The medic nodded, his expression serious as he continued his examination. His focus then turned to the possibility of a concussion. He started asking Daisy a series of questions, testing her cognitive function and memory to determine if she had suffered any head trauma in the crash.

"Can you tell me what day it is?" he asked, his voice gentle as he watched for any signs of confusion or disorientation.

Daisy furrowed her brow, her mind racing as she struggled to recall the date. "Um, it's... Friday?" she ventured, her voice uncertain.

The medic nodded, jotting down notes on his clipboard. "Close enough," he said, offering her a reassuring smile. "Do you remember what happened just before the crash?"

Daisy nodded, the memory of the collision still fresh in her mind. "Yeah, Logan's car spun out behind me," she replied, her voice steady despite the remaining adrenaline coursing through her veins.

After a thorough examination, the medic gave Daisy a reassuring smile. "You seem to be doing well," he said, his tone calm and professional. "There are no signs of a concussion, but I'll continue to monitor you closely over the next few hours just to be safe."

Daisy breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that the crash hadn't resulted in any serious injuries. "Thanks," she said, offering the medic a weary smile. "I appreciate your help."

Her mind was relentless in its racing as she was transported back to her team by another staff member. There was a sense of relief flooding over her as she had escaped serious injury in the nasty crash but she couldn't shake the simmering frustration at the thought of the extensive damage done to the rear of her car and the lost track time.

Soon enough she was thanking the medic for the ride and Anja was approaching her, brow furrowed with worry "Are you ok?" Her voice was tinged with obvious concern.

Daisy offered her a tired smile, nodding in reassurance. "I'm fine," she replied, her voice tinged with fatigue. "Just a bit shaken up from it. Can't say the same about my poor car though."

Before Daisy could express further worry about the vehicle, Klaus intervened, his voice calm but firm. "Don't worry about the car, Daisy," he said reassuringly. "It can be repaired, but your well-being and safety are far more important to us."

Daisy nodded, grateful for Klaus's reassurance. "Thanks, Klaus," she replied, her voice tinged with gratitude. "I appreciate that."

Despite his reassurance, Daisy couldn't shake the nagging concern about her car. As she watched her team spring into action to assess the damage and begin repairs, she couldn't help but wonder if they would be able to get the car ready in time for qualifying tomorrow evening. It definitely seemed like she would be out of free practice 3 the next morning to give the team all the time they could.

Anja, sensing Daisy's apprehension turned to her. "Don't worry, Daisy," she said, her voice confident. "We've got the best mechanics in the business, and they're already working on getting the car fixed. With a bit of luck and some hard work, we'll have it ready for qualifying tomorrow. What's important now though is that you rest up and take care of yourself."

Daisy nodded, taking comfort in Anja's words. "Thanks, Anja," she replied, her voice tinged with relief. "I trust you and the team to get the job done."

With a renewed sense of optimism, Daisy turned her attention back to the task at hand, determined to focus on her preparation for qualifying while putting her faith in the capable hands of her team. They had suffered a setback with the crash but she trusted them fully.

Then came Mila and Stella, their expressions filled with visible fear. They rushed to her side, voices overlapping as they bombarded her with questions about her well-being.

"I'm so sorry Dais," Stella was shaken, almost as if she had been in the crash "we saw it on the monitors...fuck I was so worried about you. I actually think my heart stopped for a second there - especially when you didn't reply on the radio."

"I'm fine, really Elle," Daisy told her, feeling rather like a broken record at this stage but grateful for Stella's caring nature nonetheless. "I really appreciate you both being here for me," she added, giving them a weak but sincere smile.

Mila wrapped an arm around Daisy's shoulders, offering her a comforting squeeze. "Come on, let's get you to the medical tent," she said gently. "You need to be under observation for probably the rest of the night to make sure you're okay to drive if the car is ready tomorrow."

With Mila and Stella's support, Daisy allowed herself to be escorted to the medical tent, where she would need to wait for a few hours under observation. As they entered the tent, Daisy couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for her friends' unwavering support and concern. She knew she was safe in their hands. All she could hope for now is that she would have the opportunity to drive again tomorrow and come back from this mess.

As Daisy slowly stirred awake, she found herself in an unfamiliar room, the soft glow of morning light filtering through the curtains. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, she took a moment to orient herself, her mind still foggy from the events of the previous day. It took her a moment to remember where she was and the events that happened the day before.

Memories of the crash flooded back to her, accompanied by a dull ache in her muscles and a sense of unease. She remembered being escorted to the hospital the night before, just to be safe, and undergoing overnight observation. Despite the discomfort of the hospital bed and the constant hum of activity around her, Daisy had eventually drifted off to sleep, exhaustion winning out over anxiety.

With a sigh, Daisy shifted in her bed, taking stock of her surroundings. The hospital room was quiet, save for the gentle hum of machinery and the distant sounds of footsteps echoing down the corridor. She felt a twinge of discomfort from the various monitors and IV lines attached to her, but it was a small price to pay for the peace of mind that came with knowing she was in good hands.

The familiar figure of her best friend rushed into her line of sight. Stella's normally bright face appearing exhausted and etched with concern but there was a glimmer of relief shining in her eyes as she realised that Daisy was now conscious.

"Daisy!" Stella exclaimed, her voice filled with a mix of worry and relief. "You're awake! How are you feeling?"

"I've been better," she replied, her voice hoarse from sleep. "A bit sore still but not too bad all things considered."

Stella nodded, her expression softening with relief. "Thank goodness," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "We were so worried about you. Mila and I stayed here all night, just in case. I sent her to get us coffee by the way, I actually don't know if you can have that I should probably check with someone but I figured we were going to need it badly."

Daisy felt a surge of gratitude towards her friends for their unwavering support. "Thank you, Stella," she said sincerely. I don't know what I would do without you both."

"Lets hope you never find out huh," Stella reached out to grasp Daisy's hand gently "I just got off the phone with Anja by the way, I hate to be the bearer of bad news but they're not going to be ready in time for practice later. On the bright side she sounds pretty positive about their chances at being finished in time for qualifying.

Daisy's heart sank at Stella's words, a wave of disappointment washing over her. She had hoped that the team would be able to repair her car in time for the next practice session, but it seemed that their efforts had fallen short.

"Oh," Daisy murmured, her voice tinged with disappointment. "I was really hoping to get back out on the track this morning."

Stella nodded sympathetically, her expression mirroring Daisy's disappointment. "I know, Dais," she said softly. "But Anja assured me that they're doing everything they can to get the car ready for qualifying this evening. We just have to be patient and trust in the team."

Daisy sighed, knowing that Stella was right. There was little she could do to speed up the process, and she would have to accept that she wouldn't be able to participate in the next practice session.

"I guess you're right," Daisy said with a resigned smile before rolling her eyes playfully "Well, I guess that's one way to keep me out of trouble," she quipped, trying to inject some humour into the situation.

Stella chuckled, shaking her head. "You and your daredevil ways," she teased, giving Daisy a knowing look. "Always trying to get back behind the wheel, even after a crash."

Daisy grinned, unable to resist a bit of self-deprecating humour. "What can I say? I've got a need for speed," she joked, wincing slightly as she shifted in her hospital bed. "Maybe I can try break the on foot speed record in practice instead."

Stella laughed, the tension of the situation easing as they shared a moment of levity. "Oh, come on, Daisy," she teased. "I know you're itching to get back in that car, but even you have to admit that crashing into barriers isn't exactly the best way to make an entrance."

Daisy feigned offense, placing a hand over her heart in mock indignation. "Hey now, I'll have you know that crashing is just my way of testing the limits of physics," she quipped, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. "Besides, where's the fun in racing if you're not living life on the edge?"

Stella rolled her eyes, unable to suppress a smile at Daisy's irrepressible spirit. "You're actually insufferable sometimes, you know that?" she said with a laugh. Not even getting into a high speed crash tones you down."

"It's all part of my charm Elle," Daisy winked.

Shaking her head in mock exasperation but with clear affection in her eyes Stella just looked at Daisy "well, just try to take it easy for a while, okay?" she said, her tone gentle. "We need you in one piece for qualifying tomorrow."

Daisy nodded, her expression turning serious for a moment. "Don't worry, Stella," she said earnestly. "I'll be on my best behavior from now on. No more crashes, I promise."

Stella raised an eyebrow sceptically, but she couldn't hide the fondness in her smile. "I'll believe it when I see it," she teased. "But for now, let's focus on getting you back to full speed."

#f1 #abby's writing #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fic #logan sargeant #logan sargeant x reader #logan sargeant x oc #ls2 #ls2 x reader #the blue

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xshyhana · 10 months ago

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The weekend I am most looking forward has arrived

🏎️🇸🇦 home race in Jeddah Corniche circuit!

That’s a poster of my team @mclaren under the incredible paddock lights 🌴

Overtake the Future!

#saudi arabian gp 2024 #saudi arabian gp #formula 1 #f1 art #my art #formula 1 art #f1 fanart #lando norris #oscar piastri #poster art #Jeddah gp #jeddah gp 2024

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as-you-think · 1 year ago

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How do you feel about battlecars? I personally love the aesthetic of a chopped up sedan made to look like a mad max extra

I fucking love battle cars! Whether it's an Outback with cut fenders and some big knobby tires or a Bentley that looks like it's ready to invade a small country I think they're so cool. I especially love cars that achieve the battle car aesthetic for practical reasons like the Rolls-Royce Corniche that competed at Dakar or Helge Meyer's Camaro he used to deliver humanitarian aid during the Yugoslav Wars.

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kestrelteens · 1 year ago

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Hi !!! Thanks for all your sharings, it's amazing you're amazing :) Can I ask you wcif the corniche from one of your last post (the grocery store/cafe/restaurant) please ? Thank you very much !

Hiii! ^^ Thank you so much! ♥

I have linked that cornice at the bottom of this post! :)

#kestrelwcif

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superm4ks · 10 months ago

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M [max/charles] on ao3 | re-published 2024-02-26

relationship study, unreliable timeline, unreliable narrator, time skips, reckless driving, unhealthy relationships, 2023 szn compliant, ‘something’s cosmic’ by angel Olsen 🔭🔮

before we draw

Need has a strange grip on him lately. Need filters through everything else, slips through the cracks and fills him up to the brim. It doesn’t spill, though, not until he has Max’s hands on him. It’s Max’s permission that he seeks, the wet glide of his lips and the press of his body, all-encompassing and hurried but also disciplined. Thorough. No need to rush. Rushing is for the gokart tires burnt down to the rubber and rain splatters on foggy lids that don’t close so well. Faulty equipment given to children who wanted to see death and more often than not, did. That was the time for rushing. If you’d ask Charles, his time is running out. He’s on a schedule, still, while Max collects what he calls 'bonuses'. No, Max has no need to rush. Outside the track, Max only chases what he wants. He never races, either. He chases right up until Charles realizes it’s futile to pretend he hasn’t been looking over his shoulder expecting to find him there. Then, they make a conscious bargain of mutually assured destruction. They draw. Need spills. And takes everything else with it. A great flood.

Charles is walking home, or trying to, anyway, stumbling through narrow, dimly lit streets that he knows to be empty at that hour of the night, drunk and moody and overall a bit of a pitiful sight. He’s going on an adventure. Sometimes he gets into these funks, especially in Monaco. The music becomes too loud, and the arm around his waist isn’t welcome anymore, the smell of hard liquor is nauseating, and he wants to slap the vape out of his friend’s mouth and step on it.

He’s not a dramatic person. Not really. The solution to this is usually simple. He leaves, alone, or asks his girlfriend to go home with him. Tonight, he’s alone.

He hears the Porsche before he sees it, the engine’s sweet, gentle purr slow to a stop next to him, terrible EDM blasting from inside, before the window rolls down and Max wolf-whistles from the driver's seat.

“Oh my goodness, it’s Charles Leclerc.” He mocks, high-pitched and annoying. Then he laughs. There’s no one else in the car with him. He’s in boxer briefs, his shirt is on backwards, and his hair looks like it’s been tugged at. Charles wants to climb inside and check if his thighs are as warm as they look. They look warmer than his face feels. He settles for a smile.

“Hello. How are you?”

Max’s grin grows like Charles said something funny. “I’m fantastic, man. It’s a lovely night.” Charles leans against the Porsche door, even though that’s rude, it’s a Porsche, and finally catches the haziness in Max’s eyes, his full blown pupils and bitten lips, gooey almost, slick with spit. Someone’s been kissing him, blowing smoke into his lungs. Charles licks his own, slowly, and Max’s hands squeeze around the steering wheel. Max is on an adventure, too. Charles has half a mind to make him chase tonight.

“Not so lovely for me.” He comments. “See, I’m too hot, mate. Too fucking hot."

“Ah, yeah. You need a ride home? It’s not a problem.” He says. Charles almost rolls his eyes. Easy come. Hard go.

Then, again, they’re the same.

“No, not home.” He says, affronted, almost. Charles looks across the street, checks both ends. He drops into the passenger seat like he’s done it a hundred times before. If he shuts the door too hard, Max doesn’t mind. He seems happy enough that Charles cut their little ritual short. It hasn’t even been that long. Max should count his lucky stars. God knows he’s got plenty. “Alright, then, drive me somewhere, racing driver.” Charles says. He meets Max’s hooded eyes with his own, faux-wide ones. “Oh, Max. Max, I know. Let’s do La Corniche. Whichever you prefer. You know what I mean, yes? Like, route nationale, by the sea. It's so pretty at night."

Max takes a deep breath. “Yes, I know. I do live here.” Charles looks back outside so he can hide his smile.

“Oh, really? Sorry. We barely see each other."

“Monaco is such a big town, mate, 's easy to miss.” Max says under his breath. He fiddles with the radio for a bit, picks another playlist, a dirtier, matured selection, and lowers the volume, like Charles doesn’t know what he’s up to. Max does certain things, to focus. To calibrate, not just his car, but Charles, too, like an engineer. Rile him up, drag him back down. “You look nice, by the way.” Max adds, nonchalantly. He lays one hand on the back of Charles' neck and squeezes. “‘had fun? Where did you go?”

Charles hiccups on a breathless little laugh, and then another, louder one. He is sticky, red and disheveled. His hair is a mess. But Max has jerked off watching him wash yellow puke off his sleeves in a dirty bathroom sink. He’s seen Charles after maman got too bold with her scissors and ran his fingers through his hair with a stupid look on his face. Max is the easiest hookup of his life. And the most complicated. “Oh, you wouldn’t know the place. Max. La Grand Corniche, then. Allez.” Charles says, instead of, you’re so sweet. Don’t bother.

He’s not a dramatic person.

Once upon a time, he didn’t think about Max’s hands at all. Definitely not the way he does now, how they look on the steering wheel of a sports car, how they feel, inside him, barely outside, inside again, wet, dry, wrapped around his cock, covered with tape, and the marks they leave behind, the weight they carry, hours later, when Max is gone but Charles isn’t, and nothing lingers quite like being held by someone who could break him, and never does. Never rushes. Takes his time. A racing driver who takes his time.

•••

Go karts are quiet before the start. Charles only qualified below third a handful of times, and one of those times, Max didn’t beat his lap, either. It wasn’t often that they were next to each other. Behind each other, in front of each other, but it was strange, and startling, to glance at the space to his right and find Max’s head already turned in his direction. Waiting.

Max held up his glove, and Charles watched as he brought his hand up to his own helmet and tapped on it, twice. Charles mirrored him, instinctively, and realized he’d forgotten to shut his visor.

He flickered it closed. There was a hint of something scary, there, something reckless, and oddly satisfying. Kind of like standing too close to open flame. Flame that you own, that belongs to you. Flame you can lick off skin, and spit down a cupid's bow. A Strange feeling. It'll pass. They raced. Poorly, by all accounts. Charles isn’t sure who won that time, if they finished the circuit at all.

Some weekends it only took seeing the CRG motorhome to get a twitch in his jaw. It'll pass.

He could find out, if he wanted, about their gokart classifications. Maman kept all his karting notebooks, even the stupid Spiderman ones. He hopes Max never asks to see those, although they’ve spoken about it. Max has vivid memories of Charles sitting next to his father in snack bars all over Europe, scribbling away after races. He told Charles he thought it was ‘impressive’ for a kid to have such an analytical mind. Charles was writing mean things about him. Whole pages. Sometimes racing had nothing to do with it. Just fucking mean shit. Big lips. Gay. Gay hands. My friends think you’re a cocksucker. I agree. If Max ever reads those pages--Charles doesn't know what he'd do. Max is a stranger he knows all too well. For a long time Charles made the mistake of underestimating just how fucking crazy Jos Verstappen's son was. Jos Verstappen's son would skim through Charles' Spiderman notebooks and sigh and purse his lips. Those fucking lips of his.

They’re adults now. Max chased to claim and he claimed Charles the moment they met. Why he still bothers to chase him, Charles doesn't know.

A week after the tournament, back in Monaco, Charles noticed a tiny crack on his practice helmet. He tapped on it with his finger. His heart beat faster, and he tapped on it again. He flickered his visor shut, then opened it once more.

It didn’t pass.

•••

Charles puts his head out of the window, then his shoulders and finally his waist. He holds onto the roof of the car for balance and keeps one leg hooked under the seat, just in case. He’s not that drunk anymore.

Warm air hits his face, thick and suffocating like the blow of an exhaust pipe. Max says something, probably a little annoyed, get down, but Charles isn’t listening. He takes a deep breath and screams, hard enough to make his throat hurt, “Fuck you. Fuck me. Fuck you. Que veux-tu de moi? “His voice breaks. Charles heaves, laughs, tries again. “Fuck you.”

He gets no answer, nothing but the quiet echo of the night, the infinite stretch of the sea, a platform of darkness held suspended in some planet, of some universe, that is both uncaring as it is merciless. Charles hits the roof with a closed fist. “You see?” He yells. “You see what I get, Max? I get nothing.”

He tries to breathe in some fresh air, catch some of the cooler breeze. No relief. It’s too warm.

The car is too fucking warm when he slides back inside.

He slumps down on his seat with sweat pouring down his back, his shorts rucked up into the crease of his thighs. He spreads his legs under the glove box, arches his spine against the sticky leather, panting. He puts his hand on the ventilators and feels nothing. The AC isn’t on. Why the hell isn’t the AC on? Max is a fucking furnace.

“Can you, sweetheart, please—can you turn on the air conditioner? I’m begging you.” Charles heaves. He reaches for the touch screen and Max lets go of the handbrake to grab his wrist and hold it still. Max isn’t looking at him. His eyes are glued to the road, red but still watchful. Charles’ panic morphs into an urge of a different kind. Ah, but that is what he came for. That unshakable focus. All to himself.

“It’s on. 'have to wait a bit, yeah.” Max says, voice curt. He blows out a breath and adds, "You could've fucking dented my car, mate."

“Aw, but it's too hot. I'm not thinking right. Look. Regarde moi, putain."

Max huffs, drags a hand across his face. He looks at Charles, finally, and smiles. “I am. I like you like this.” Charles purses his lips and pretends that doesn’t make him blush.

His heartbeat quickens, still, as Max’s foot gets heavier on the pedal. They go faster on the straight. His stomach drops to his gut. “You're not angry?" He leans in to kiss the corner of Max’s lips again, but Max tilts his head. It catches him off-guard, and his heart soars. He makes a noise that Max definitely hears over the music and he doesn’t care.

Every time they kiss Charles forgets himself. It’s never like that, with other people. He's addicted to it, the ease with which they fall into each other. The way Max's spit coats his tongue and his lips, and when they part for air he takes Charles’ weight over the console and lets Charles hide his face in the curve of his shoulder. He lets Charles touch his waist, his stomach, his chest, every part of him he can reach, even the dampness under his arms. Max keeps dragging his hand over Charles' back, up and down, and it’s grounding and exhilarating all at once.

Charles does have a setup. And Max knows his setups.

•••

The last time they slept together, Max left his phone behind in Charles’ living room, and Charles tiptoed into his apartment hallway and waited for the elevator to come back up. Max stumbled out of the cabin with the grace of a baby giraffe, face tired, usual spit-bitten smile, oh, Jesus, thank you, my fucking car told me, mate, because like, it didn’t connect to the blueftooh, and Charles almost asked him to stay. Almost. He thinks he might, one day. It feels that way, like they’re building into something truly terrifying. And when Charles does ask him, stay, and Max says no, because he has a family, and Charles has a girlfriend—then maybe that’s when it finally ends. Chase over. Nothing more to offer.

Or maybe Max says yes. He stays. And saying yes would mean something like, I’ll keep chasing you for as long as you'll let me. I’ll chase you forever. In Monza, in a red racing suit, what could that possibly fucking mean? Jos Verstappen' son, what could he possibly fucking mean?

Charles likes to pull things apart so he can put them back together. Like puzzle pieces. Max’s piece never fits because the whole point is to build around him.

•••

It’s late. He’s in a funk. Max has terrible taste in music.

Charles buries his hand between Max’s thighs and squeezes Max’s cock through his briefs “You should probably stop the car.” He whispers in Max’s ear.

The breaks screech with a sharp turn of the wheel and the car comes to a sudden halt on the side of the road. The world tilts, spins, then freezes. He fucking drifted, the asshole. Max turns the engine off, and the radio goes with it. He keeps the headlights on, though. Red and blue beacons in the dark, pointed at the ocean right below.

The cliffs are empty. He starts shimmying out of his gross shorts, max starts tugging his own shirt over his neck, and there’s nothing in this world that could stop them from coming together tonight. Nothing. Charles knows that, even if nothing else. It’s the only truth he knows, has known, since he was a kid with an open lid and Max signaled him to flick it shut. Max lowers back Charles’ seat without much finesse and Charles opens his legs to accommodate him. It's a Porsche, not a truck. He doesn't fit. But he's Max. That's not his problem.

•••

It didn't pass.

#kit writes #f1 rpf #lestappen #max/charles #🔭🔭🔭🔭#repost #shrug #long post

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