#driving his maserati

[dramaticlacrosse10]

proof that Andrew Minyard is the goat. shutting bitches up with a single sentence. because neil smacked you... now what. you'll WHAT? WHAT, HOE? nothing. exactly,,,, stinky ass,

QUIET AINT NO BACKTWALKKKKKK

[vederchi]

A certain sunshine boy is late for his date with the local celebrity/mafia prince. Said local celebrity/mafia prince doesn’t like to be kept waiting, especially when he hasn’t seen his sunshine boy all week. 💢

[saerins]

heyy you don’t have to do this but could you please make those moodboards that was like the one you made of otoya and yn’s aesthetics awhile back but based of on yn and sae in chapter 5?

-🐰

of course here you go :)

[jane-the-fool]

someday ill make a whole dissertation about why hozier is actually not the forest prince that people perceive him as and actually modernity and its imagery is at the forefront of so much of his work and it is actually so much more interesting to see his work like that rather than an escapist fantasy about some made up fantastical past, in this essay i will

[dykekarkat]

two of my favorite hcs that i have are that andrew is like an extreme car guy he fucking loves expensive fast cars but he also knows like jackshit. refuses to learn anything about them. originally bought the gs by asking for the most expensive thing he could get within his budget. the maserati gets a flat tire and andrew is staring down at the tire jack like he can explode it with his eyes. the engine makes a weird sound and he just plays the music louder and ignore it. and then u have neil who knows literally nothing about car breeds and what makes them impressive but is like magical when it comes to making them work. takes him 10 minutes to change a tire. he looks under the hood once and suddenly the engine light that was on for 2 months? disappears. he's like 'hey andrew have u ever checked the oil' '...' 'andrew you've had this car for 4 years'. they go on a drive one day and the maserati breaks down so neil shows him how to hotwire a car so they can drive to a nearby garage and andrew thinks it's the hottest thing he's ever done

[elene78-blog]

When the Maserati brand talks to Andrew about being the face of their new sports line, Andrew looks at the high-end cars with a bored expression.

Naturally, they are going to give him a car. Andrew calmly lights a cigarette, without responding. The public relations get nervous.

"I guess you know I have a doppelganger. They confuse us quite a bit, unfortunately for me. What will people think of me when they see me driving a Maserati one day and a Honda the next? That's not good for my reputation, Brian. "

Maserati's public relations director is not named Brian, and besides, what Andrew says would be bad for the Maserati brand, not him. Paul lets him know. Andrew nods.

"You're right, Paul. I must have been wrong about Brian Mc. Adams," Andrew says.

The representative knows that Brian Mc. Adams is the CEO of Ferrari.

"We could double the offer. As long as we offer him something, his brother will receive the same."

"Mine will be black. My double's will be bright orange" Andrew declares without hesitation.

"Is that your brother's favorite color?" Paul asks.

"What do you mean, Paul? My brother hates bright orange."

Paul doesn't try to understand that logic and they sign the contract.

These are Andrew's birthday gifts to Aaron.

[redeemingvillains]

full throttle (how mattheo drives) ♡

ˋ°•*⁀➷ Here's a thought that literally no one asked for, but I cannot get out of my brain...

Mattheo genuinely cannot imagine anything worse than being a muggle, than not being able to use magic to get what he wants when he wants, to control the world around him.

Really everything about muggles seems useless and pointless to him.

But then he's on a guy's trip to London.

And he sees a muggle whip into a parking spot in front of the bar in all-black Maserati Granturismo.

It's fast and loud, flashy, dangerous and ungodly expensive and he needs to have it.

Next thing you know you're getting a text: "Sooo, I did something 😬"

And for a moment you're panicking.

Then he sends you a picture of the car.

And you're genuinely so confused, because what the hell does he need a car for??

But then you're beside him in the soft leather seats, watching him poised comfortably in the driver's seat, legs spread, one hand on the wheel, one hand on your thigh that keeps riding higher and higher as he's pushing 80, 90, 100 miles an hour.

You can feel the power of the car thrumming beneath you as he's taking turns and weaving in between other cars in a way that has your stomach in your throat.

He is reckless, driving like he's untouchable, like magic will save you if you go careening off the highway.

And he doesn't give a single fuck because he's gotten a taste of the adrenaline, and he's addicted to it.

He listens to his music as loud as it can go, the bass shaking the frame of the car, rattling the rearview mirror, sending pulses through your body.

(Probably Kendrick Lamar or some amped up house music).

He loves being immersed in the music, the hum of the car, the speed of the world as it passes by his window, the feel of your warm skin under his fingers. It's the one godsforsaken place that his mind is actually quiet.

He gets a smirk on his face every time his recklessness coaxes a gasp out of you, when he gets a little too close to the car next to you, or he pushes the accelerator even further.

(Even better if you grab his hand and squeeze).

He loves the sight of you as his passenger princess, how perfect you look by his side, in the curved plush of the seat, like it was made for you.

He loves how you'll shift in your seat to look at him unabashedly, or how you'll scoot closer to him, leaning over the center console to reach your hand into his curls or press a kiss to his cheek.

The dichotomy of the raw power beneath him and your gentle touch just does something to him.

Before long he's pulling over and tugging you into the back seat, desperate to have you on top of him, extraordinarily thankful for the extra tint on the windows.

@kenjikishimotoswifey @mattiesgf @sleepiibunniiii @darlingshecried @girllblogging777 @foivetimesacharm @clar2aa @broadwaybaby123 @slytherinscreamqueen @chelawrites @loverliner @smut-anarchy

[boyfhee]

MASERATIㅤ───────ㅤ재이

✶ 𝒊𝒏𝒄𝒍ㅤ｡⠀bf ! jay, est. rel, slightly suggestive

you're focusing on the road & jay is focusing on you. ( 868 )

╰⁠(⁠＾⁠3⁠＾⁠)⁠╯ㅤ..ㅤ new work after so long omg this is a bit rusty >< hope u enjoy it nonetheless

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ⠀⭑ rbs&feedback ♡

jay can't help but fixate his eyes on you as you drive the car— his car, slick black maserati— well, now yours too. he knows by the subtle smile on your lips that you're aware of his little staring game and, he's knows that you love the fact that he's obsessed.

“again, i could've driven us back,” he insists, leaning back against the seat with his eyes travelling to the ring on your finger. a shy smile makes its way to his lips.

you huff softly, giving him a brief glance before focusing back on the road. “you can trust me with this beauty.”

“i do trust you,” a swift reply, as if the words were waiting on the tip of his tongue to be said. the car is the last thing he has to worry about anyway. “it's just that you look prettier as the passenger princess.”

he notices the way your lips curl into a smile, the way you mumble something in response that he fails to catch because he's too busy admiring you.

unknowingly, he's staring at you again—how the setting sun is casting its rays onto you, the way your hair is tousling in the cool breeze, your neck adorned with a dainty gold necklace that's being reflected off the golden hues off the evening.

“you're staring again,” you chuckle, feeling his gaze on you.

and he simply shrugs, still looking at you shamelessly. “can't help when i've got the prettiest angel right beside me,”

you look peaceful.

your hands guiding the steering and changing gears with practiced ease, the way a quiet laugh rolls off your glossy lips at his words— he's dying for a glance, but you're looking at the road, and then it's as if the heavens heard his prayers when you turn your head towards him, giving him a smile that makes him go haywire. you're doused in warmth and he swears, he's falling for you all over again.

“you're beautiful,” he whispers softly, just loud enough for his words to reach your ears. “and i want to kiss you senseless but you're driving,”

your heart almost skips a beat at his words, cheeks heating up at just the thought of his implications. it almost takes you back to the quick & messy makeout session you had in the parking lot earlier this noon, the way the cramped space of the car made you more hot and bothered, and how his hands traced your curves—

“imagining it already, doll?” he smirks, words laced with a seductively teasing tone. his hands slowly trail up one of your thighs, feeling you shiver under his touch. “i think you should focus on the road,”

you try, you do, but it's just so damn hard when he gives your thigh a light squeeze. you know he's messing with you and it's working. you're a mess, letting out a soft gasp, torn between driving home and pulling over somewhere discreet.

he chuckles at your reactions, enjoying your flushed face and nervous eyes. you shoot him a quick glare but he doesn't let up, trailing his hand to the slit of your dress before you end up slapping his hand away.

“jay—” you speak in annoyance once you stop at the red light. “you're going to get us crashed!”

“that's why i told you to focus on the road, angel,” he shrugs innocently, the action betraying the mischievous glint in his eyes. “or am i distracting you?”

your eyes settle on the traffic light, ignoring his words, waiting for the signal to turn green.

“oh come on angel, are you sulking now?” he huffs at the pout on your lips, one that makes him want to kiss you even more.

and you mumble under your breath. “no,”

he shakes his head, gently grabbing your chin to make you face him before bringing his lips down to yours in a searing kiss. it turns out yet again that you can't stay mad at him, not when he's kissing you like you're the oxygen he needs to breathe.

and just when the lights go green again, he pulls back, much to your disappointment, whispering against your now swollen lips. “promise i'll make it up to you when we're home,”

[stankhole]

what vehicle i think veilguard characters drive/their mode of transportation

bellara- street legal dirt bike that she did all the work to. can go from the streets to the forests wherever she needs

taash- jeep wrangler with no top so they can have room for their horns and enjoy the rivaini sun

davrin- 2000 toyota tacoma. it’s may be a little beat up and dirty from work but it gets the job done just as well as bigger trucks

neve- public transit 💅, though she is also forklift certified

lucanis- a maserati ghibli or jaguar f-type. he would have a luxury sports car but it wouldn’t be overly ostentatious like a lamborghini, but just know that the price of it would pay off my rent for years

emmrich- a lexus rx. he will spend the extra money for the knowledge that it is a very reliable brand

harding- 2012 toyota prius with a bunch of bumper stickers from all the places she’s been

elgar’nan- a cyber truck lol fuck this guy

ghilan’nain- an amphicar. she would think it it the pinnacle of science to have a floating car and she can go visit her sea monster creatures

varric- a mom van to haul around all the strays he’s picked up over the years

rook- clown car/unicycle. 🤡

solas- runs, especially from his problems 💀

[feverdreamsandlucidnightmares]

I’m so happy for Andrew and the fact that he likes driving but I can confirm as someone his height that he can’t see over the dash. Road safety is entirely an estimation. It’s set in 2006, most cars didn’t have a backup camera or sensors or shit and he can’t fucking see. As if Andrew would ever strain to look around while driving. He has absolutely insane spatial awareness just so he can carpool his family.

(Going off of @strongqueercharacters post about Andrew’s car: the Lexus GS is longer than a Honda CRV. The Maserati is longer and wider than both.)

[jjsfavgirl]

Calm down party girl

JJ Maybank x partygirl!reader

Summary: JJ taking care of his girlfriend after a long night of partying.

I’m going to a party on Saturday and couldn’t stop picturing this hope you enjoy! :)

Warnings:alcohol, underage drinking, nudity, suggestive content( just reader being a horny drunk)

Part 1 Part 2

-

“Jay! Jay! Did you get my drink?” I smiled, stumbling into my blonde boyfriend as he caught me by my elbows and stabilising me. Chuckling at my drunken state, he knew that now was the time to cut off my tab and send me home.

“Calm down party girl.” He began, pulling my closer to him as to avoid shouting over the noise of drunk teens and the 2000s mix blasting over the stereo as cheers filled the room. “Let’s get you home, princess.” He smiled at me.

“Nooo.” I groaned, pouting out my bottom lip, praying it would convince him to let me stay.

“You can’t even stand without falling over, hun.” He chuckled.

“But-“ I began speaking.

“Nuh uh. No buts let’s go.” He spoke, not hesitating to take his hands off my arms and scoop me up bridal style, his arms setting under my neck and legs like they were sculpted for his touch.

Not wanting to argue with him, I allowed him to carry me to the porch of the house. As he set me down on the wood, my heels clicked and my head spun from the sudden position change.

“Can you make it to the car?” He quizzed, taking my pink purse off my shoulder and stuff both our phones into his pocket as he fished out the keys to the Twinkie.

“Yep.” I giggled, my drunken state driving my emotions hire wire.

Shuffling my way through the car park, my eyes glowing up at my handsome boyfriend who was looking back every so often to make sure I was still following him.

He smiled at me brightly, interlocking our hands together and helping guide me as he spotted the Twinkie behind a black Maserati.

My bottom lip poured out once more as the pain of my pink heels dug deeper into my ankles, my feet dragging even more.

JJ took notice to my struggle and immediately stopped walking to check on me.

“Put one foot on mine so you can take of your heel.” He ordered, knowing exactly what was hurting me.

We had both seen this before, partying every weekend then ending in me getting a foot massage from JJ after wearing my iconic pink heels that were one size too small for the long hours of the night.

“No, I’ll hurt you.” I spoke, looking up at him with puppy dog eyes.

“I don’t care, you’re in enough pain as it is.” He said.

I obliged with him, doing as he said and placing my skinny heel on his foot as I removed my right heel then did the same with my left.

Groaning slightly as my bare feet tingled from the cold, sharp gravel beneath them, JJ turned around, placing both hands behind his back and motioning for me to hop on.

“I’m not a little kid jay.” I laughed at his movements, placing my hands on his shoulders as I hopped on.

“What ever do you mean? This is a very serious piggy back.” He chuckled, turning his head slightly to flash his pearly white while both his hands linked under my calves once more.

He carefully placed me down in the passenger seat of the Twinkie, tucking my legs under the dash as he placed my pink heels in my lap.

Joining me in the car, he started up the engine and we headed back to the Château.

-

Arriving at the Château, we spotted John B and Sarah laying with legs intertwined on the hammock outside.

“I swear she went out yesterday?” John B laughed, noticing my skimpy clothes and drunken state.

“You are one crazy lady y/n” Sarah laughed.

“You know it!” I cheered, throwing my hands in the hair as my strapped heels swinged around my bracelet covered wrists.

“Come on, party girl, let’s get to bed.” JJ ushered me inside the Château, guiding me by my bare waist.

I giggled, turning around to my boyfriend and placing a sloppy kiss on his lips then trailing them down to his tan neck.

“Nuh uh.” JJ pulled my wrists away from his chest, forcing my lips to retract from his body.

“Whyyy.” I groaned, pouting like a spoilt little kid once again.

“Bedtime.” He smiled, spinning me back around and leading me into the spare bedroom we called our own.

Plopping myself down onto the bed, savouring the smell of JJ (weed, sweat and cheep booze) JJ searched through his drawers and pulled out a baggy shirt of his and black biker shorts of mine.

“Arms up.” He spoke as he approached me, fingers motioning me to put my arms up.

A bright smile covering my whole face from eyes to mouth, I obliged as my arms swung in the air and JJ began to strip off my small “shirt”.

He did the same action with the mini skirt I had on, immediately sliding on my shorts and carefully shimmying his shirt over my long locks.

We both lay down together, his arms immediately wrapping around my frame as I played with our matching bracelets which lay so perfectly on his tan wrist.

“Did you have fun tonight?” He smiled down at me, his smile growing even wider than what seemed possible as I grinned up at the surfer.

“Yeah, I broke the record for most shots taken.” I smirked back, very proud of my accomplishment.

“That’s my girl.” He laughed heartily, placing a warm kiss on my forehead.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[2:24 pm]

(cw: f!reader, suggestive, profanity, written on my phone so expect some typos)

“Baby, are you sure your big gave you permission to drive his car?” You asked fratboy!Jaehyun, eyes on him as he drove.

“Sweetheart, he basically begged me to take this baby for a spin! He asked me to water his plants, feed the dogs, and asked me to make sure the car was alright! A car like this needs to be taken out on a regular basis!” Jaehyun explained, his eyes not leaving the road ahead of the both of you.

Earlier today when Jaehyun had told you to come to the frat house, you hadn’t expected anything out of the ordinary. Even when he’d told you to make sure you were dressed up, you didn’t question it. It was pretty safe to say that you definitely weren’t expecting to see your boyfriend waiting for you while leaning against a Maserati! A sleek and shiny luxury car that had you wondering if cars were actually sexy like guys always talked about.

“Please don’t tell me you took out a loan for this. I know guys find cars sexy, but you’re smarter than this. Did you mix alcohols last night?” You asked with concern clear in your tone.

Jaehyun waved you off with a laugh and explained that his big, a major donor to the frat, had asked him to house sit for the week. That’s how you’d gotten here, in the leather passenger seat of the fanciest car you’d ever been in and on your way to a restaurant equally as fancy.

This restaurant Jaehyun had insisted on taking you to was about half an hour from campus, so while he focused on the road, you were in charge of directions. At least you were supposed to be, but how could you possibly focus on the screen of your phone when your boyfriend looked absolutely scrumptious behind the wheel?

He was in a crisp dress shirt, a bow tie around his neck with one hand at the top of the wheel and the other pinching his bottom lip gently while he hummed along to the song on the radio. “How far away is the exit, sweetheart?” He asked, looking at you from the corner of his eye.

“Huh? Oh, um…” you looked at the screen of your phone in your hands, “oh shoot. It’s rerouting. The next exit is in 3 miles.”

“Alright, thanks, Sweets. I made a reservation for this place so we can’t be too late,” he tells you, leaning over to give your thigh a gentle squeeze.

With his touch you feel your heart pound even faster, face growing hot. Did he even know what the hell he was doing to you? Touching you, taking you on a spontaneous date, looking like a model right off the runway, and just being the best boyfriend ever. He was everything you’d ever dreamed of, everything any girl dreamed of.

This effect he had on you was something else completely. So strong and intense that you’d now missed the exit you were supposed to take and the next 4 that followed. You even make him accidentally take the wrong exit a couple times because you glance at the screen right after you miss the exit you’re supposed to take and panic as you tell him to take the next one, even if it’s the wrong one.

Jaehyun groaned, trying to keep himself calm despite how frustrated he was feeling,“Sweetheart, we have 5 minutes before we lose our reservation and we’re 15 minutes away. What is making you so distracted?! It’s not hard to look at your screen, Sweets, we do it all the time.”

You flush with embarrassment, “baby, I’m distracted!”

“Distracted by what?! Sweetheart I’m going to have to break a handful of driving laws to make it to this restaurant on time,” he sighs tiredly, trying to hide his frustration with you.

He was trying to be spontaneous! How often did a couple of college kids get to go to a restaurant this fancy? Never. Since his big was paying him pretty handsomely for house sitting, Jaehyun had figured he could treat you by taking you out to the nicest dinner both of you had ever shared. This was a big step up from the usual diners and small food shops you usually went to.

“But you just look so fucking good right now! How am I meant to be looking at a phone when I would so much rather be looking at you? Seriously, babe, you look so sexy. I don’t know if it’s the dress shirt or you behind the wheel but something is doing it for me,” you confess with hot cheeks.

It’s Jaehyun’s turn to flush now, was the car hitter or was it just him? And then the next words that leave your lips have him wishing for the earth to swallow him whole. Very sweetly, very calmly, you ask, “do your think your big would know if we had sex in here?”

Jaehyun swerves the car, hearing multiple honks from his fellow drivers on the freeway. He swallows hard, eyes wide, “Sweetheart, you can’t just ask a guy that when he’s driving!”

You pout at him, reaching across the center console to hold his hand, “but you’re not just a guy. You’re my guy, you’re my boyfriend.”

“God, you’re going to be the fucking death of me, Sweetheart,” he sighs under his breath, then his back straightens and a smug smile comes over his handsome features, “I’m that distracting in a bow tie, huh?”

“Don’t let it get to your big head, take this exit,” you instruct with a playful roll of your eyes.

So that’s how you and Jaehyun find yourselves sitting across from each other with the finest food you’ve ever eaten. You have a happy smile on your face while you take another bite of the delicious food on your plate, and Jaehyun who sits across from you and wishes he’d never chosen a restaurant so far from home and chosen some looser dress pants. The things he does for you…

[carelessflower]

On Testing and Qualifying Magnus Lightwood-Bane's Sugar Daddy Behaviors - An Analysis

Multiple arguments have been made against the current High Warlock of Brooklyn, superficially regarding whether this gentleman's reputation as the current Consul of the Clave's sugar daddy is underappreciated or exaggerated. This study aims to dissect the argument with the support of textual evidence throughout the couple's appearances in the series

Paying for their first date

Taking care of the bill like a gentleman. From this instance, one can assume he takes his gentlemanly courting ritual very seriously, as he also reached for the meal cheques in other occassions

Conjuring and pelping to pick fine clothes for Alec

On their famous Europe vacation, it is shown Magnus has a habit of magicking tuxedoes, suits, and well-made sweaters for Alec. Now, if he could upgrade that GAP scarf to a Burberry one, it would be much appreciated

Gentleman behavior

Even though his boyfriend is supernaturally strong with biceps to bite for days and hunts bloodthirsty demons for a living, Magnus would still rather pay someone to carry the heavy luggage than his darling

Luxurious accommodation only

There has been a previously published study on the expenses for all these places here, so this article will be repeating the same key points:

one night at Istanbul Grand Suite on the Orient Express: $26,000

suite in Belmond Hotel Cipriani: $1,056

suite in Palazzo Manfredi, Rome: $729

It is understandably relatable when one pulls Alec Lightwood and wants to do everything in their power to woo him. For Magnus, it apparently includes never letting Alec stay in any place less than five stars

Letting Alec drive the Maserati

It costs around $10,860 to rent a red Maserati 3500 GT Vignale Spider for one day. Therefore, it speaks volumes to Magnus's affection for his boyfriend that Alec almost crashes them and the expensive car off a cliff is just a "tiny accident". It is also very likely he buys this type of car later, seeing his husband's fascination with them

Living together in Brooklyn

Months into the relationship Alec has already possessed a literal key to Magnus's home and proceeds to move in after weeks of getting back together. For other poor souls who are looking for a 3-bedroom brownstone in Greenpoint, Brooklyn, the rent would be estimated at around $5000 per month. For the Consul, it certainly would involve a different type of payment method

Alec's magically money-full pocket

The consul carrying energy bars in his duffle bag instead of using the 15000$ in his pocket guarantees the funniest mental images one could possibly imagine

Enchanting Izzy's whip for Alec's birthday

Knowing Alec's top wish is to keep his family safe, Magnus chooses to tip his boyfriend's sister's whip in a prized potion to help her on the battlefield. Loving someone to the point you want to protect what else they love

Assisting shadowhunter without payment

This element may prove to be the strongest supporter of Magnus's claim as THE sugar daddy of the shadowhunter chronicles universe title, seeing how he used to overcharge shadowhunter on their business (deservingly so), and now he is willing to do all kinds of crazy shenanigans without an ounce of money. Whoever's in charge of the Clave's budget better send Alec the biggest, freshest, most expensive fruit basket

Final note

In conclusion, this research paper does not provide a definitive answer to the argument but encourages readers to draw their own perspectives. Nevertheless, it is a great possibility that in his report, the consul stated he used 10-20 dollars each week while he was traveling across the world, going to Japan when he craved sushi and staying in the finest places, all thanks to his generous husband

tag list: @magnus-the-maqnificent @literallytypogod @hoezier-than-thou @sociallyineptbibliophile @queenlilith43

@khaleesiofalicante @wandererbyheart @raziyekroos @onetimetwotimesthreetimess @alexandergideonslightwood @andrwminward

@noah-herondale-lightwood @elettralightwood @dustandducks @deliciousdetectivestranger @delightfullyterrible

@letsgofortacos

@kita-no @thelightofthebane @secrettryst @goldendreams3 @cityofdownwardspirals

@stupidfuckindinosaur

@i-have-not-slept @rinadragomir @potato-jem @kasper-tag @cam-ryt

@banesapothecary

[jabberwockymoreau]

Aaron driving the Maserati brings me so much joy but can we also talk about Andrew coming to practice despite his injury? Like Kevin clearly didn't want them there and maybe he's just there because of Neil but like!! he's just had surgery. Arm in a sling. and he's at court!!

...twinyards growth you are everything to me

[trippinsorrows]

midnight sun

authors note: don't ask. don't ask. don't ask.

words: 1.8k

warnings: angst, domestic violence

song inspo: 'faithfully' by journey

And bein' apart ain't easy on this love affair Two strangers learn to fall in love again I get the joy of rediscovering you

Pressure.

A constant, almost soothing, irreparable thing. A loyal companion that hasn’t escaped nor forsaken him for as long as he can remember. The perpetual weight of responsibility that was assigned to him the day he entered this world, and something that will remain with him until the day he leaves it.

Whenever the fuck that’ll be.

At this rate and with his luck, not for a very long time.

“Did you know that the average person has four bad days per month?”  An overheard question.  Something Roman has to scoff at. Whatever sample that was used that produced such a statistic had to have been the fucking soccer and yoga moms. The ones who consider Starbucks being out of fucking pumpkin spice the definition of a bad day. “Adults also apparently smile 15 to 20 times per day.”

Another random fact that’s overheard, except it’s something that Roman realizes is much closer than he initially realized. The proximity does not align with something that’s in earshot. More so something that’s right in front of him.

“I don’t know if I—if I really believe all that, but—”

With a heavy sigh, he lifts his head, ready to lay into the poor, unsuspecting soul. “Why are you fucking talking to—”

Two abrupt stops. Two interruptions. Two complete collisions. 

A second round.

Years. Almost twenty, and yet the instant his eyes lock with hers, he knows, and judging by the way she drops the notepad in her hand, she knows, too.

It’s been some time since he’s felt so thoroughly shaken, but that’s exactly what he feels in this moment.

“Solana?”

Not that there was any doubt before, but the tiny gasp that leaves her mouth is all the confirmation he needs that this is most definitely her. 

Her eyes. So big, brown, and inquisitive. Once filled with an abundance of hurt and pain, an ideal match with his all that time ago, is no longer the same. Something different. There’s some trace of happiness. Yet, there’s something almost disingenuous about it. Like, it’s a poor attempt at camouflaging what was felt so long ago.

What might still be felt.

“Roman….”

His jaw clenches. It’s been so long since he’s heard his name leave the mouth of someone like her. Soft. Innocent. Kind.

None of those non-physical things about her have changed. He can tell that even in this brief, unexpected interaction. 

Naturally, his eyes move over her, noticing her hair is no longer long and cascading down her back. It’s short, barely brushing past her shoulders. Lighter. It suits her.

Her body is filled out, shapely, womanly, heavy in the desired areas. And the minute her mouth curls into an almost hesitant smile, he finds himself pleased that that has remained unchanged.

She always had such a soothing, beautiful smile.

“I—what—what are you doing here?”

A good fucking question considering he has a million and other things on his to-do list and not one of them includes sitting in this random coffee shop he drove past on his aimless drive. 

“I mean,” she laughs nervously, hand to her face, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, that’s—that’s a silly question. You don’t have to answer—”

“I was driving and saw it. Wanted coffee.” Not necessarily a lie. He does now want coffee but not necessarily when he chose to park his Maserati and enter into the quiet, almost wholesome shop. “You work here.” A statement. Not a question.

Nodding, he’s much more pleased than he should be to see her smile grow. “Well, technically, I—I own it, but—”

“You own this place?” To anyone else, it’s perhaps a silly thing to “ask” given she just said as such, but for him, for them, it's so much more.

Her smile is bright, a light that contrasts the still unhealed bruises on her face as she shares with much more hope and optimism than anyone in their situation should have, “I want to own a coffee shop some day.” Looking over at him, consciously or unconsciously scooting closer, she challenges, “guess what I’m gonna name it?”

A bitter scoff leaves his mouth. He rolls his eyes but still gives it a go. “Sunshine’s place or some shit like that?”

Her giggle is a respite from the heaviness of the past two weeks. The only escape he’s found in this hell hole. And not just the facility. 

“No. I’m gonna name it—”

“Dulce’s…..” Roman pulls himself from a memory buried so deep, he doesn’t know how he was able to retrieve it. “You always said…..” 

“Yeah…..” she answers in a low voice, pushing back some of her hair, a nervous habit he sees still exists. But, it’s not the habit he’s focused on. It’s the diamond on her finger.

An engagement ring. 

“You’re engaged.” Another assessment. One that shouldn’t stir up whatever the fuck is brewing within him.

For a second, she looks like it’s a surprise to her as well. And, he sees it, catches the brief glimpse of an attempted escape. 

That sadness. A feeling that doesn’t quite escape a person, not to the extent she felt.

That they both felt.

Still feels, clearly.

For her, at least.

Maybe.

“Y—yes. Ummm—”

“Solana.”

Another voice introduced to the conversation. Male. Gruff. Infuriating. Roman cuts his eyes to the out of shape man who looks like a recovering alcoholic and someone who doesn’t need to be talking or even around her.

“Cody’s waiting.”

Cody?

But, Roman doesn’t have time to think too much about that ugly ass name. His focus is back on Solana, Solana who has suddenly shifted from slightly timid to downright terrified. She’s grasping at the material of her apron. “But, I—I thought he said I could work all day tod—”

“Plans changed.” A rude, coarse interruption that has Roman’s jaw ticking. Just who the fuck is this man and why does he think he can talk to Solana like that?

“Don’t you see we’re in the middle of a fucking conversation?” A much too late entrance into whatever this is, but an arrival nonetheless. “Leave.” 

For some reason, it seems the man only now decided to pay attention to just who she was speaking to, a recognition that has his eyes widened as he turns back to Solana, poorly whispering, “do you know who the fuck this is?”

“Kevin, please. I’ll—I’ll be out in a minute.” It ticks him the fuck off that she’s practically begging this motherfucker, a man who Roman doesn’t even know but would love to put a bullet in.

Just might after today.

Kevin scoffs and shakes his head. “Your mistake.”

He says nothing else, turning to walk away, Roman standing to possibly commit murder when Solana moves her hand in front of him, as if trying to stop him.

“It’s—it’s fine. My—my fiancé is here.”

Roman looks down at her, still completely unnerved by her complete shift in demeanor. Her fear is practically palpable.

“Solana….” He sees her eyes shut as her name leaves his mouth. “What’s going o—”

“It—it was good to see you, Roman,” she cuts him off, forcing a smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. “But, I—I have to go.” And it’s as she turns to walk away, he makes the mistake of grabbing her wrist. Instant regret fills him when she jumps but something else as well.

Suspicion. 

Solana has always been jumpy. He’s known that from the day they met at that god-awful place so many years ago. But something about the fear that courses through her, is stamped on her voice, feels….different.

He drops his hand, stating in a low voice. “Give me your phone.”

Her eyes widen. “Roman—”

“Please.” A word no one on this goddamn earth could torture out of him, but something that so easily rolls off his tongue for her.

Obviously confused, her expression remains torn even as she reaches in the pocket of her apron, pulling out and unlocking her phone. He takes it from her, ignoring that strange feeling when their hands touch.

Moving fast and thinking quick, he programs his number, choosing an unsuspecting name, one he knows she and only she will recognize. 

Handing it back to her, he instructs, “you need anything, you call me.” It’s not preferred. What he’d prefer is to walk outside and snap that Kevin and this Cody person, if he’s outside too, necks. Would prefer to tell her to just stay with him. But, it’s too much. Much too much given how long it’s been.

And yet, they seem so easily falling back into routine. 

She’s still visibly nervous, holding her phone in her hand instead of placing it back in the apron. Another pained smile followed up with, “goodbye, Roman.”

He doesn’t say it back, almost refuses to. Just watches as she moves to the back of the shop, coming out a few minutes later, apron discarded, purse on her shoulder, nearly rushing out without sparing him a glance even if his gaze never leaves her.

Solana is only able to barely slide into the back of the SUV, the door held open by an irritated Kevin when she’s yanked by her hair.

Piercing blue eyes stare down at her, his other hand wrapped around her neck, squeezing tightly but not enough to completely restrict speech.

“Where the fuck were you?!”

His voice is harsh and angry, as is the look in his eyes. She opens her mouth to try to respond when he instead smashes her head into the window. She winces but refuses to cry out in pain even when his fist collides with her jaw. Her eyes clench shut, Solana already tasting the blood forming in her mouth.

“When I tell you to come, you fucking come, you understand me?!” He shouts, once again grabbing a fistful of her hair. 

Nodding helplessly, she forces out an answer, ignoring the blood leaking out the corner of her mouth. “Y—yes, sir.”

He scoffs, a cruel, wicked smile on his face as he takes pride in his work. In her terror. “Pathetic,” he hisses, shoving her away. Solana moves as far into the corner as she can, forever grateful when he pulls out his phone and initiates a phone call like nothing happened.

It’s stupid and risky and something she most definitely shouldn't be doing, but Solana can’t stop herself from also pulling out her phone and scrolling through her contacts, moving to the R’s only to find nothing there.

There’s an emptiness that accompanies that realization that makes no sense. A sadness that fills her at the thought that he didn’t, but…..the look on his face, so handsome and strong, the fact that he even asked….he had to.

So, she continues to scroll, carefully assessing for each stored contact, stopping when she sees it. Emotion fills her for a completely different reason, reading the single word that carries such weight and meaning.

Journey

[f1byjessie]

IN FAIR VERONA ━━ CL16.

things are hard when you're the only female in a male-dominated space, and the newest driver for the newest team knows this best.

( charles leclerc x driver!schumacher!reader )

━━ part two.

The car ride to the hotel is silent and subdued. Earlier that morning, the journey to the circuit had been buzzing with nervous anticipation━ the type of fidgety excitement that only comes from knowing you’ll be speeding through a straight and whipping around corners imminently━ but the atmosphere now lacks that euphoric enthusiasm and has settled somewhere between weary resignation and fatigued disappointment.

The car… is certainly a car. It isn’t bad, in the sense that it doesn’t seem to face the same struggles that other teams like Haas and AlphaTauri appear to be dealing with, but it fought you every step of the way throughout your session. The battle for dominance had felt more like you were trying to wrangle control of a wild stallion and less like you were attempting to navigate an understeering nightmare of a vehicle. With the added difficulty of now needing to anticipate every new challenge it could throw your way, driving it had left you feeling just as drained mentally as it had physically.

By the time you’d crawled out from the cockpit, you’d been teeming with frustration and your body had coiled taut from the forced hyperfocus necessary to keep you from spinning off into the gravel at every turn.

Mick hadn’t fared any better. Your brother reported the same resistance following his own session later in the afternoon. He’d been red in the face both from the heat of the Bahrain sun and annoyance at the car’s less-than-ideal performance, and his voice had sounded clipped like he was trying his hardest to bite back the less polite opinions he had on how things had gone. He’d ended things by tossing his helmet into the arms of his frazzled trainer and storming back into the garage in a huff, and it’s plain to see that the irritation still lingers.

He sits beside you in the backseat now, his arms crossed over his chest and his glaring eyes pinned to the sprawling landscape passing by just outside the window. If looks could kill, you imagine whatever’s out in the desert between the track and your hotel would be a good six feet under.

Similarly, the stress of the morning still clings to you even now, hours later. No matter how far you press yourself into the seat, your shoulders feel tight with a soreness you haven’t felt in a long time and despite kneading at the muscles and tendons in your hands since the early afternoon, your fingers still ache from the force of your grip on the wheel.

Your trainer, Sofia, had done what she could to try and alleviate the discomfort while your brother had driven, but you’re halfway certain that the tension is all a psychosomatic manifestation of your apprehension towards the car and the precious little time you have left to get it race-ready. It would explain the mirroring throb of dull pain beginning to rear its ugly head in your temples.

Your mind wars with itself, torn between trying to forget about today and stubbornly focusing on what new struggles you’ll be forced to deal with all over again tomorrow. Just the thought of another morning full of the same straining attempts to grapple control feels like your own personal Hell on Earth. The only thing that keeps back the slew of curses on the tip of your tongue is you closing your eyes and imagining sinking into a hot bath when you get to your room.

It is, of course, never that easy.

When you get to the hotel, you bid a half-hearted good night to the Maserati team members who endured the exhausting ride back from the track with you and then you and your brother make your way inside.

The lobby is quiet. There’s an attendant at the front desk who seems more interested in whatever’s on her computer than the two of you, and a man having a hushed conversation on the phone off in the far corner by the bar, but you only spare each of them a cursory glance before you’re stepping into the elevator with Mick just a half step behind you.

The ride up to the fourth floor is silent, save for the mechanical hum of the elevator and the soft ring of the bell as you pass by each floor.

Mick, despite the furrow of his brows and clench of his jaw betraying the anger he can’t yet seem to rid himself of, reaches out and pulls you into a reluctant hug before he steps off.

When the doors close, it’s just you.

The peace lasts for a few fleeting moments as the elevator climbs higher up the building. You pass the fifth, the sixth, and the seventh floor, and only as the digital display flashes to eight do the doors open and━

Charles Leclerc, Ferrari’s golden boy and the fated “il Predestinato,” stands just outside the door to your room.

Seeing him crushes any hope you had of a potentially peaceful rest of your evening.

He lifts his gaze from his phone screen as the elevator chimes, and the smile that stretches across his lips is as dazzling as it is infuriating. A small part of you wants to smile back as was habit for so long, and the other half wants to scowl and demand to know what he thinks he’s doing waiting for you outside your door. He looks comfortable, like he’s already ready for bed, and you’re not sure if that makes it better or worse.

At the very least, you know better than to assume it’s a coincidence that he chose to wear the hoodie you gifted him for his twentieth birthday all those years ago. He wants something from you, it’s obvious, you just don’t know what.

You mentally kiss your hot bath goodbye.

“Leclerc,” you greet, stepping out from the elevator before the doors can close on you. You say his name not unkindly, but there’s an edge to your voice that you secretly hope he picks up on.

“Schumacher,” he greets back, smug at your exasperation.

You and Charles have a… track record, of sorts.

He was your first in many things. Your first kiss, in the parking lot outside Prema’s factory, early in the morning on a random Tuesday. Your first boyfriend, a secret kept from your friends and your family and your fans, a secret just for the two of you. Your first time, a soft moment hidden away in your bedroom, with gentle touches and whispered words, with the glow of the moon through the gaps in the blinds as your only witness.

Your first heartbreak.

“Is there a reason you’re standing outside my door?” You ask him, slipping your bag off your shoulder and pulling the keycard from one of its pockets.

Charles hums, “Do I need a reason to see my friend?”

“No, but I wasn’t aware you considered me such a thing,” you quip back, feeling the irritation from earlier this morning rise to the surface again. “I thought I was, as you put it, ‘a distraction.’”

He, at least, has the decency to look chastised.

“Is it really fair to use the words of my twenty-year-old self against me?” When your door clicks open, he follows you in. “I have changed in many ways since then, as have you.”

He isn’t wrong, though it pains you to admit. You have changed in many ways since that fateful year you spent as teammates. You prefer tea to coffee now, and the songs that were your favorite back then have since been filtered out of your most frequently played playlists. You listen to audio books when you’re stuck on long flights instead of scrolling through the movies on your seat’s screen, and your perfume is scented differently. You don’t like chocolate fudge anymore, and the thought of summer nights in Italy fills you more with dread than any of the giddy excitement it did all that time ago.

You’ve seen similar changes in him.

Six years will do that to a person.

Though, it would seem six years still isn’t long enough to change what matters.

“Can you blame me?” You let your bag fall to the floor and step over it to reach for a bottle of water on the counter. “I don’t think I ever got an apology for that, either.” Quite frankly, you have half a mind to kick him out purely for his audacity— how could you possibly forget the single most shameful night of your life? And how could he possibly think that you’d just forget it all when he hasn’t acknowledged the hurt he’s caused even once in the six years he’s had to fix his mistakes?

The comments on Instagram, the forced friendliness for the cameras, and the politeness for the sake of PR is one thing. It’s easy to follow the motions— shake a hand, give a smile, stand here, go there, say something polite but impersonal, stick to the script and everything will be fine.

But there are no cameras here in the privacy of your hotel room. No cameras, no microphones, no witnesses to your performances. There’s no need to adhere to the script and yet you cling to it like it’s your only protection. Probably because it is.

He steps over your bag and walks further into your room like it’s his own. When he turns back to you, it’s only after he’s lowered himself down onto the couch in the corner, legs strew out before him, arms spread out across the back.

“Sorry,” he says with a lazy shrug.

You feel your eye twitch.

“You know, Charles,” you abandon the bottle, opting instead to squeeze your hands into fists so tight your knuckles turn white, “for someone who clearly wants something from me, you’re not doing a very good job of convincing me to help you.”

He heaves a sigh and overexageratedly rolls his eyes, but you can see beneath the facade he’s fronting. He’s acting like an asshole because he knows it’s what’s expected from him— it’s the role he’s chosen to play in your story now, and no matter how much he, or you, long to go back to how things were, that moment has long passed. He, and you, have no other choice but to continue to play your new parts dutifully.

“I—” he clears his throat, suddenly finding his hands to be far more interesting than anything else in the room. “I just wanted to say congratulations. For making it to F1. I know this has been your dream for a while, and if anyone deserves to have a seat here it is certainly you.”

“Thank you,” you answer after a moment, startled. His words are strange— off script. They’re the type of thing he would’ve said to you when you were teammates, not now when you’re barely more than aquaintances with a history.

He’s broken character, but as fast as the mask falls away it’s put back in place just as quickly and the Charles he used to be is once again locked away in the recesses of your shared memories. Despite the brief moment of something, it seems he, too, is just as desperate to cling to the normalcy and protection of the distance that now exists between you two. He nods and rises from the couch, brushing imaginary dust from his clothes.

When he passes you on his way out of the room, the sleeve of his hoodie brushes against your arm and there is a long suppressed part of you— a younger you, a you that’s still hopeful for what things could be, that sings at the memory of a softer, sweeter Charles— that wishes to reach out and ask him to stay. There is a part of you that wishes you could both drop the act for an hour, just an hour, and humor the longing of your heart if only for a little while.

The truth is, it’s safer to pretend that the love you felt for Charles— still feel for Charles— grew over time.

You can so easily imagine it as a slow process— a fledgling crush developing into something more throughout your season spent together as teammates. It’s built up brick by brick, solidified into something seemingly tangible with every post-race moment shared in the privacy of your own little world. Each adrenaline-crazed smile shone your way, each sweaty arm thrown around you in celebration, each glance that lingers for a moment too long on your lips to be purely innocent.

It’s easy to fantasize about the back-and-forth dance it becomes. The touches that stray a bit longer than they need to and the touches that are entirely unnecessary to begin with, passed off as an accidental brush of fingers or a clumsy bump of shoulders. The looks secretly and silently shared across a tittering crowd none the wiser, a sparkling gaze that speaks louder than the raucous celebrations, meant for two people and two people only. The endearingly inelegant attempts at flirting, with stuttered and stumbled words and cheeks flushed too pink to pass off as anything other than embarrassment.

The reality is much more simple.

You fell in love with Charles Leclerc when you shook his hand across the table in a random conference room and introduced yourself as his teammate, and you’ve continued to fall in love with him again every day for the last six years. Despite, or rather in spite, of everything that’s changed.

But the opportunity to ask him is gone, the moment’s already passed. He stands at the door, hand on the handle. All that remains is the lingering scent of his cologne.

It’s different than the one he wore six years ago.

“For what it’s worth,” he starts, pushing the door open, “I am sorry. For what I said.”

You nod. You don’t know what else to do. And then he’s gone.

━━ tags: @maih23 @urfavnoirette @casperlikej @awritingtree @bwormie @samantha-chicago @miyo-0oo @lighttsoutlewis @itsjustkhaos @lovecarsgoingvroom @mess-is-my-aesthetic @almostjollypizza @sugyomama @butterfly-lover @lightdragonrayne @loloekie @meadhbhcavanagh @spideybv28 @tremendousstarlighttragedy @nebarious @peqch-pie @woozarts @spilled-coffee-cup @moonyseyelash @pausmoon @cherry-piee @nataliambc @1655clean @evie-119 @ironmaiden1313 @charlesgirl16 @shoularium @sarah-thatstings-ann @theblueblub @formulanni @awritingtree @taytaylala12 @emryb @the-navistar-carol (CLOSED)

━━ a/n: okay, wow! er, surprise? it's certainly been a minute, and for that i sincerely apologize. for the sake of keeping this author's note shorter than the actual story itself, i'll spare you all the reason for why i've been gone, but i am seriously so in awe of how much support the first part of this series got. i had no idea that so many people would be invested in seeing this continued, so i am so incredibly sorry that it took me so long to finally get around to posting the second part. i am hoping that this lives up to everyone's expectations! please forgive any mistakes, i was rushing a bit to get this ready to be posted as soon as i possibly could that i didn't really take the time to edit or check for any grammar or spelling issues.