#las vegas track walk

[64sue]

OSCAH PASTRY 🍰

he looks so comfy heree, I love him in white hoodies goood

he wears this cap just like I did I when I had short hair lool

fuck the best rookie ever, look at his smile- hypnotizing...

[no-144444]

Hiyaa there!! Can I pls request a scenario with Oscar. Reader never had her first kiss (and that makes her nervous) and they talk about it and he's being really patient and gentle with her like hugs her closer kisses her and it's really cute and fluffy😊 that would be adorable and it's so Oscar. Thank youu!!!

first kisses- o.piastri

summary: being jack wolff's nanny is a pretty sick gig, especially when your old friend is an f1 driver and is interested in you...

pairing: oscar piastri x fem! reader

part one part two part three

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23 with no romantic prospects probably should’ve made you feel worse about yourself than it actually did. Yes, you occasionally wondered what it would be like to have someone to love and cherish, but you knew it wasn’t exactly realistic. You were extremely busy, like, all the time. Being Jack Wolff’s live-in nanny was quite the chore, despite him being only one child. Don’t get me wrong, he was well-behaved and sweet, but he still had a packed schedule of going to F1 races every now and then. When he wasn’t spending his weekends in the Mercedes garage, he was busy spending them in his own garage. Jack was in the beginning stages of his karting career, and he was damn good at it too. He loved the rush of trying to go as fast as he possibly could through every corner, every chicane, every straight. When he took his helmet off after a race and ran straight to you, it was one of the best feelings in the world. You loved Jack like a little brother, he adored you like a second mother. 

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“Why did we have to get up so early?” he yawned as you walked through the Harry Reid airport, just after landing in Las Vegas. Due to the fact that Jack was two public figures’ son, you two always got the craziest flight times to avoid crowds. 

You smiled, picking him up and placing him on his suitcase so he could sit while you pushed him. “Because your mom and dad missed you,” you explain. “And they want to see you as soon as possible.”

“I could’ve waited a little longer,” he mumbled. 

“Das ist nicht nett,” (that is not nice) you chuckled. “They miss you, and you haven’t exactly been very good at texting them back.” 

“But we could’ve had a race this weekend,” he whined. 

“We do, you’re just not racing in it,” you smirked as he rolled his eyes. All 7 year olds really were sassy. 

“Do you want me to ask your dad if we can go to a track for a little bit of the weekend?” you offered after watching his sad face.

The frown on his lips instantly turned into a smile. “Yes please! You’re the best!” 

The kid knew how to play you, you’d give him that. 

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It was 7am when you finally got checked into the hotel, and it was finally time for Jack to go see his parents. As much as he pretended he didn’t, most nights than not he would sneak into your bed and ask you to call one of them, so much so that you’d just made a time where you called each of them so he could talk. He had been getting better at the whole ‘long distant parenting’ but it still hurt him sometimes. Sometimes, he just wanted his dad, but his dad was 3,500km away at a race where their car was a piece of shit. 

You knocked on the door of their hotel room and it immediately opened to reveal a very excited Susie. “Jack!” she cheered, picking him up in his arms and hugging him tight as he giggled. Toto wrapped his arms around the both of them as they all reunited. 

You 4 have breakfast together where you popped the question about going to a kart track at some point over the weekend and they begrudgingly agreed, upset that they’d miss out on precious ‘Jack time’, but understanding of his want for more track time all the same. You had agreed to join them in the garage for the morning though, since seeing everyone again was nice. 

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“God, I’ve created a monster,” Toto joked as you both sat and watched Susie showing Jack around the garage. 

You chuckled. Jack was obsessed with anything to do with cars. He loved his kart more than anything, and h e couldn’t wait to move up into single seaters. He also had a mechanical engineer as a nanny, which probably didn’t help all that much. “We’ve created a monster. I’m the one teaching him about tire temp and degradation,” you chuckled as Toto just put his head in his hands jokingly.

“How are you?” he turned to you. “Any news?”

“Nothing new, just Jack’s news, I guess,” you shrugged. To be honest, you loved your life. You loved nannying Jack, you loved living in Monaco, you loved being at a kart track every single weekend, but you knew that wasn’t the typical experience of every young adult. 

Toto squinted his eyes. “How are your friends?” 

“They’re good, we went over to London the other week to go see them, since Jack had a race there on the weekend,” you explained, knowing what Toto was trying to say. “Don’t worry about me, I’m taking care of myself just fine.” 

He nodded. “We worry about you too,” he shrugged. “You’re like another daughter to us, we want you to be happy.”

You smiled. “I am.”

“And any boyfriends-?”

“Shut up!” you playfully hit him to stop the awkward conversation that would follow. “Enough Toto.”

“What?” He feigned innocence. “I can’t be interested in your dating life?”

“Nope,” you shook your head. “No you can’t.” 

“Y/n!” Jack shouted as he ran over to you. “Can we go to the track now please?” 

You looked to Toto, who nodded, then off you went to go grab Jack’s things and get into the car. When you pulled up to the track and got him stretched and warmed up, you watched as he circled the track while Toto and Susie went over strategies for the weekend in the cafe of the place. Toto had booked it out for Jack (mostly so he or you wouldn’t get papped, but also because that’s how Jack likes tracks when he’s practising), or so you thought. About 40 minutes into you being there, half of the McLaren garage showed up in papaya, apparently ready to race.

“Hey Toto,” Zak smiled. “Jack’s looking fast out there.”

“Hi Zak, what’re you doing here?” 

“Racing,” he chuckled. 

“We’re supposed to have it booked out for the day,” Toto argued. 

You came in as the two men started getting heated (which didn’t take much) and pulled them away from each other as Susie went outside to keep an eye on Jack. “What’s the issue?”

“We have the track booked out, and they want to race,” Toto scoffed. 

“We also have the track booked out,” Zak explained. “Also hi Y/n, nice to see you.”

“Nice to see you too,” you smiled at him. “So just let Jack go until they’re done getting ready, they do a session, Jack does a session, and so on. We need to get out of here at 3 anyway, and you and Susie are leaving earlier.” 

They both pondered the deal, feeling rather stupid for not being able to compromise on their own. 

“Sounds fair,” they both said at the same time, then they went back to their respective groups. 

You went out to tell Jack, who agreed quickly, wanting to watch what the F1 drivers would do in a kart. You two watched at the sidelines as they went around the track, Jack literally taking notes beside you as you watched one kart only. Oscar Piastri. 

Oscar and you had been friends in boarding school, and you’d always had this inkling he liked you, but he never acted on it before you left school, so nothing ever came of it. You had definitely liked him back though. He was so nice to you, so sweet, so funny. He was just… Oscar. 

As Jack got back on track, Oscar came over to sit with you. “Hey,” He smiled. 

“Hi,” you smiled back, scooching over so there would be more space for him. On track was Jack v Lando, and Jack was winning. 

“How are you?” he asked. 

“I’m good, thanks, you?”

“Great,” he smiled. “It’s really nice to see you again.”

“It’s really nice to see you again.”

“I thought I’d seen you around the paddock but then I realised how strange that sounded so I just chalked it up to my imagination, which is an even weirder thing but, yeah. It’s nice to know you’re not just a figment of my imagination,” he chuckled, awkward and shy, just how you remember him. 

You laughed. “Yeah, not a figment of your imagination, just Jack’s nanny.” 

“Cool,” he nodded. “He’s a good driver.”

“He’s very good,” you agreed. “Every weekend we’re at tracks, it’s madness.”

“Where are you living now?” he asked. 

“Monaco,” you explained. 

“Me too,” he smiled. “We should meet up sometime.”

“I’d like that,” you nodded, and you couldn’t help but feel the charged air between you two. 

“I’d like that too.”

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Asking for a night off was a nightmare. Both Susie and Toto had their noses stuck into your business no matter what, so they begged and pleaded to be told why, but you somehow kept your kind-of-date-not-really-a-date under wraps until you got to the restaurant. 

And it was nice. Oscar was just as sweet and funny as he was when you two first were friends. He even walked you back to the apartment, stopping before you went upstairs so as to not be seen by Toto or Susie. 

“I really had fun tonight,” he smiled, the cold Monaco air making his cheek red. 

“Me too,” you smiled. “It was really nice to catch up.”

He stepped closer, a nervous smile on his face. “Tonight was a date, right?”

“I-I’m- I don’t- I…” you trailed off, looking away from him as you both chuckled. 

“I’d like it to be,” he admitted. 

You nodded. “Me too.”

“So I can kiss you, right?” He smiled. 

Your heart slightly stopped, you’d never been kissed before. How did you even do it? Would he think you’re awful? Would this end the entire relationship?

“I don’t have to, I’d just… I’d like to,” he smiled understandingly. “If you’re not ready for that then that’s alright.”

“I just… I’ve never been kissed,” you admitted, deeply embarrassed. 

His jaw dropped. “You’ve never been kissed?” He asked despite himself. “Sorry, that sounded rude I-“

“It’s alright Oscar,” you shook your head. “I get what you mean.”

“No, I mean I’m just shocked, you’re so amazing and… yeah. It’s just surprising,” he chuckled. “I’m kind of honoured that I get to be the first.”

You chuckled. “Shut up.”

He chuckled. “Can I kiss you?”

You nodded, much too nervous to actually speak. He placed a hand on your cheek and leaned in, his lips softly meeting yours. 

And it felt good. It felt really good to kiss him. His other hand circled your waist as you tentatively placed your hands on either side of his face. When he pulled back you felt your heart stop once again. 

“You’re sure that was your first time?” He teased and you laughed. 

“Pretty sure,” you chuckled. 

“When can I see you again?” He asked, bashfully smiling.  

“I’ll be at the next race, or here,” you explained. “So whenever it works for you.”

“What about-”

“OSCAR?! You picked Oscar?!” Toto shouted, making both of you jump apart. “Absolutely not! Y/n get up here!” 

You sighed. “Text me about the date? Yeah?”

He nodded, laughing (trying to hide his terror of Toto) as he watched you go upstairs and start trying to explain to Toto.

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[gguk-n]

hey could you maybe write a lando x reader where when it was clear that lando lost the championship the reader just comforts him but he is distancing himself from her but she doesn’t give up on him so pls a happy end ❤️

established relationship, not very angsty, short

My World Champion

Things had been rough between the pair for a few months. With the mounting pressure on Lando to perform had left him pushing all those close to him away. He wasn't very happy with it but he felt like maybe he could focus better. The person who had to deal with the brunt of Lando's distance was his girlfriend, Y/N. They'd been together for a while and friends for longer. They just got each other like no other but lately Y/N felt like she didn't know Lando as well as she used to.

Y/N did try to bring up the distance. It was Azerbaijan, "Lan, don't you think we barely talk" Y/N spoke slowly, trying to start a conversation with her boyfriend who was sat across from her on the sofa. He didn't bother to even look up, "What's there to talk about when I'm busy trying to win a championship. Let me focus" he huffed. "I didn't mean it like that. I just thought we could spend some time together" Y/N trailed off. "We are sat together right now. How much more time do you want to spend with me?" Lando sighed and finally looked up from his laptop. "I just" she felt her voice die in her throat. 'I don't remember the last time we kissed Lan' her brain thought as she got up and left the room before another fight ensued.

It was during the winter break when things were starting to look up. Lando had just won the Singapore GP, he was more attentive and present; they even cuddled the whole day. Y/N thought that she had her boyfriend back. Oh how wrong she was because as soon as they were back on track; Lando was back to square one. The Austin loss hit deep, making Lando double down on strategising and spending every waking hour with the team or thinking about Formula One. It was like he forgot Y/N existed or for that matter himself. She would sit there and stare at her boyfriend who looked more and more like a stranger with each passing day.

Things had become rocky between them. She felt the divide growing with each passing weekend. Mexico wasn't any better. But Brazil landed a huge blow to Lando. He shut down, he stopped talking to anyone and spent all his time scrolling on his phone. There was nothing she could do without Lando walking out or shutting the door on her face. So, she sat and waited. She would cook his favourite food or leave out his favourite snacks to munch on. But she didn't make much break through on him; as he still chooses to stay reserved, opting to carry the burden alone.

It was after the Las Vegas quali, when Y/N noticed the light begin leave Lando's eyes. All she could offer were words and cuddles but Lando had put up a wall between them. The bed seemed too big for the two of them with either on each side. She stared at the space in between them wondering when it had gotten this big.

After the race, Y/N sighed a sigh of relief. The Championship battle was over and that meant she got her Lando back. She saw glimpses of him when he congratulated Max and couldn't wait to jump into his arms. But it was like Lando was back, just not for her.

That night, they spent it like any other, on either side of the bed. But as Y/N tried to fall asleep, she felt the bed shake. On further inspection, she saw Lando's frame quietly shaking from the sobs as he tried to not make any noise. Her heart hurt watching him, she slowly scooted over causing Lando to stop crying for a moment. She wrapped her arm around his torso and buried her head in his neck. "I love you, my world champion" she whispered causing Lando to turn around. His face was streaked with tears which she carefully wiped off. "I don't like it when you cry" she muttered and pecked his lips. "I thought you fell asleep" Lando mumbled. "Can't sleep without my cuddles" she quipped. "But, I'm not the world champion" was all he muttered, remembering her first comment. "For the world, no. For me, always" she smiled. Lando searched her eyes for anything, but all he found was undeterred love. "And you're not angry?" he asked. "No. I'm happy to watch you compete for the championship because I know, sooner or later you'll win it. Just waiting for that day" she reassured. "I'm sorry for being a dick. I was just" Lando spoke before she cut him off, "over whelmed. I know. But you didn't have to do it all alone. What am I here for?" she spoke tenderly. "I love you" he whispered kissing her for the first time in a long time. "I love you too, muppet" she whispered back. He looked at her for a long time as his hands pulled her closer, running along her frame; "What would I do without you?" he asked. "Crash and burn" she chided. "Agreed" he mumbled pulling her in for another kiss. "You alway know how to make me happy" he mumbled in between kisses. "Only when you listen to me. Otherwise you're Mr Grumpy" she chuckled. "I promise not to be Mr Grumpy anymore" he laughed kissing her again. "Next time I'm grumpy, kiss me. I think all my worries melt away with your kisses" he said pressing her against him. "So, the next time you start an argument, I'm gonna kiss you" she said cupping his cheeks. "Best way to end an argument" he smiled pressing their foreheads together. "I won't disagree" she kissed him again, making up for all the lost time.

[lovemomhatepolice]

(my) world champion - max verstappen

navigation taglist requests

pairing: max verstappen x fem! reader

warnings: established relationship, cursing, p in v, pet names, English is my second language!

type: smut!with small plot

word count: 2k

belonging: NO NUT NOVEMBER, las vegas gp

summary: it's time to deal respectively with the winner of the fourth championship

more content: formula 1 masterlist, max verstappen masterlist

a/n: I encourage you to give requests in the Christmas marathon! click here :) and my first thousand celebration

Las Vegas was noisier than ever before. Bright lights and colorful neon signs lit up the paddock. Noise caused by people who were celebrating. The night was amazing - and although Russell, Hamilton and Sainz stood on the podium, the eyes of most were on Max Verstappen. Vegas was not in his favor, but what it gave him was a fourth championship title.

Fireworks burst in the distance, showering the sky in golden sparkles. Cameras flashed, champagne sprayed, and his Red Bull team surrounded him with hugs and cheers. But through the chaos, Max’s eyes searched for only one person.

And then he saw you.

You stood on the side, waiting for Max to finish celebrating with his team. You were as happy as ever, wearing a jacket with his name on it, which you proudly displayed. This was your second time to stand by Max's side, celebrating with him this greatest of all possible victories. This year it was even more exciting - after all, there were as many as seven race winners, while the year before, besides your boyfriend, only two managed to break through.

Max walked away from his team, making his way through the reporters who insisted on getting his attention at least for a moment. When he reached you, the noise around you faded into the background. You smiled at each other, simply standing and looking into each other's eyes. It didn't take much to realize how close and important you are to each other.

“You made it,” you said quietly, and your voice trembled with emotion as you reached out to touch his face. “Four times, Max. You're amazing.”

He smiled, and adrenaline was still bubbling inside him as he drew you into his arms. “We did it,” he corrected, his voice muffled by your hair. “I couldn't have done it without you. All this time you've shown me that I'm more than just a man driving around the track”

“Oh stop, or my makeup will run off,” you laughed lightly, pulling away from him just enough to look into his eyes. Max focused all his attention on you. He didn't give a damn that there were people around who he should be interviewing. He didn't give a damn that there was even more formal business ahead of him. The moment he had you in his arms, he thought of nothing else. “And to me you'll still be the most beautiful,” he muttered, smiling at you. His hands moved to your cheeks and without a rush, he drew you even closer to him. Your lips joined in a sweet kiss. Your hands wandered over his collar from the suit he was still wearing. In the background you could hear cheers and photographers taking pictures of you, but this time it didn't bother you, you were already used to it. As soon as you felt his smile against your lips, you moved slightly away from him, but your foreheads were still connected.

"I love you the most, Max"

~~~

Inside the luxurious suite, Max reclined on the plush sofa, sliding his head onto the backrest. The faint clink of the champagne glass in your hand caught his eye and elicited a small smile as he looked in your direction.

“You did it again,” you muttered, and your voice was filled with admiration. “Four times. You make it look so easy.”

Max couldn't take his eyes off you. And even though you were already without makeup and your hair was already slightly curled, he thought you were the most beautiful thing that evening. You were wearing his shirt from the celebration, which was too big for you, but that was the whole charm. Surrounded by the lights of the city, you headed toward him.

“Easy?” he laughed, crossing his gaze with yours. “Certainly not with you distracting me from the side.”

You giggled quietly, setting your glass down on the table, then sat on his lap. Your fingers traced the line of his jaw, combing through the faint stubble. “You love it,” you purred close to his lips until they met in the process.

“I love you,” Max replied, and his hands found their way to your hips, quickly finding a rhythm together.

Max's hands explored your body, memorizing every curve, just as he memorizes every turn of the track. Each kiss was unhurried, each touch purposeful, as if you had all the time you needed for each other.

Max's fingers entwined in your hair, tugging gently as your lips clung to his. The faint taste of champagne lingered between you, reminding you of the celebration just hours ago. This time the kiss was deeper, hungrier, as if you were pouring all the emotions bubbling inside you into it. His hands slid lower, grasping your buttocks and pulling you closer until there was no more space between you.

You didn't even notice when you found yourself in the middle of the bed in your hotel bedroom. It was even darker here, with only the golden lights from the street illuminating the room.

“You are mine tonight,” he said, his voice firm but laced with tenderness as he laid you gently on the large bed, his body pressing against yours.

“I've always been yours, Max,” you replied, and your voice trembled with both love and anticipation. “And I always will be.”

Max's eyes softened, and his intense gaze stopped on you as his hands roamed your body, each touch igniting the fire between you. He took his time, savoring every moment, every reaction - your sharp breath, the way your back arched under his touch, the way your hands gripped his as if you couldn't bear to let go.

You didn't wait any longer. In a heated kiss, your hands reached the faucets of his shirt, exposing his trained chest. You stopped your gaze on him for a moment, looking hungrily at your boyfriend.

Max smiled at your reaction, his confidence rising as he leaned closer, his lips brushing your collarbone. “Do you like what you see?" he teased you in a low and hoarse voice, causing you to shudder.

“Mhm,” you muttered, rising slightly from the bed.

Now the two of you were in one straight line, looking into each other's eyes. The room was filled with your uneven breathing, which grew louder with each passing moment. You could see that the way you were moving at the same time forcing Max to lie down on the bed by himself, as you had moments before, was bringing him out of the control he had just built up for himself. Rarely did Max lose control, and she relished the power she had over him at that moment.

You moved your hands down his torso, and your fingers followed the hard lines of his abdomen, tracing the contours with a slow, deliberate touch that made him breathe rapidly.

Your hands quickly found their way to the buckle of his pants, unbuttoning them as quickly as you removed his shirt. Along with his pants went his boxers, too, freeing him all over. His excitement was already evident, and the way your eyes lit up with mischief made his chest tighten. He propped himself up on his elbows to get a perfect view of you.

“You're too good for me,” muttered Max, his voice strained as you wrapped your hand around him. Your touch was light and teasing, too much for him.

“You deserve it,” you replied, then leaned in to place a kiss on the tip of him, and your tongue slid out to taste him.

Max's head fell back against the pillows behind him, and a low moan escaped his lips as you took him into your mouth. Your movements were slow and deliberate at first, and your tongue swirled around him as you explored every inch of him.

“God, you're perfect,” muttered Max, entwining his hands in your hair as you took him deeper.

You set a steady rhythm, your hand working at pace with your lips, looking at him through your lashes. The sight of you in such a state, so eager to please him, made his stomach clench with desire.

“That's right,” he groaned, and his voice was filled with pleasure.

Encouraged by his reaction, you increased your pace, your movements becoming more confident as you puffed out your cheeks and let him slide deeper into your throat. Max's hips moved involuntarily, and his body was overwhelmed by the sensations as he muttered curses under his breath. You licked slowly along his length, and your eyes never left his face.

You felt him approaching the edge, so you slowed down and your lips slowly moved away from his. Max hissed under his breath, looking at you with a mischievous smile, in which displeasure also prevailed.

“Don't be like that,” he muttered, looking at your lips next to his craving red member.

You giggled quietly before taking it back into your mouth, your tongue working expertly as you brought it closer to the edge. Max's breaths became faster, and his grip on your hair tightened as his muscles tensed. Max's moans soon gave their vent, his body trembled, and your mouth flooded with his cum. You swallowed it all, and your hands continued to work around him, helping him come down through the aftershocks.

Max was quickly over you, leaving you no longer in any clothes. His movements were quick and decisive, but gentle on you. It was as if he had the greatest prize in front of him, and yet it wasn't long before he won something else.

There was a warm smile on his lips and his body tensed from restrained desire. His weight pressing you against the plush mattress was grounding, but every touch made you float. His hands gripped your thighs, his fingers digging into your skin with just enough pressure to leave a memory, drawing you closer until there was no space left between you.

His movements were slow at first. He tried to pick the perfect pace for you, but he didn't speed anything up, gently teasing you, seeing as you were impatiently pushing your own hips out to meet him. You arched your back, and his body instinctively pressed you against him. Max kissed you tenderly, but at the same time it was very intense, even making you dizzy - the best of your life. His hands moved over your body, tracing the curves of your hips and waist, trying to memorize every little part of your body, even though he already knew it so perfectly. Like a favorite circut he was never wrong on.

“God, [Y.N.],” he breathed, his voice strained as he tried to maintain control.

Max shifted slightly, adjusting your position to push in deeper, hitting a spot that made you moan into the hollow of his neck, and your fingers quickly went to his neck, pressing him harder against you.

“Let me,” he muttered, looking into your eyes. “I've got you.”

His hand wandered between the two of you, circling around your swollen clit, which was begging for attention. Because of the feelings you were experiencing, you practically screamed into his neck, crying from the pleasure. His words were your undoing.

The orgasm gripped you so hard that your body trembled under his heavier muscular body, which continued to smell of champagne. You clung to him, and your breathing picked up speed, turning into desperate gasps. Max came a moment after you, spilling inside you and creating quite a mess on the mattress beneath you.

You were both panting loudly, trying to catch your breath, but all you were able to do was laugh quietly. Max placed gentle kisses all over your face, ending with your lips. In his eyes flashed those beautiful skylights you hadn't seen in a long time through the pursuit of mastery.

“I've got you champion,” you purred, kissing him once again on the lips and smiling at the same time.

You could finally have a break from all the hype for a while, until the next season, where everything was going to start all over again, as it had for the past few years.

“For you I would even be able to give up the title,” he muttered, looking into your eyes.

And even though you didn't want to believe it, let alone for it to be true - you knew he was sincere.

A/N: God, I won't even hide how much I already want to end the season of smut. i have so many cool fluff stories that i want to publish!!! but it's my first time writing for max - i hope it went well

although I kept my fingers firmly crossed for Lando in this battle for the title of champion - congratulations to Max, he deserved it! May the next season bring us as much excitement as this one

I encourage you to give requests in the Christmas marathon! click here :) and in my celebration to the first thousand!

please do not copy and translate my works! in case of any issues related to this - I invite you to discuss privately :)

[bunny-jpeg]

Hi bunny I have an idea

What if reader and lando lowk hate each other and are rivals but one night at vegas they wake up after being blackout drunk married and they only have photos (a bit like the hangover movie) and then they get a flashback of everything with a fruitcake, crostata, cranberry juice and coffee plss thanksss bunny !

bakery menu

want to submit your own order? then hit up the menu! there are tons of items to check out, thank you so much for those who have submitted, these have been a lot of fun to make. i really love this concept so thank you for putting it in front of my eyes! i hope you enjoy <3

fruitcake: "i'll make tonight special." + crostata: “stupid slut, this is what you wanted huh? wanted me to fuck you like i hate you.” + cranberry juice: mean!character + coffee: rivals served by lando norris (formula one)!!

tags: smut/pwp, rivals au, driver!reader, drinking, drunk marriage, hate sex, mean!lando,

light streamed through the large windows in your hotel room. your eyes cracked open and your mouth felt instantly dry. your lips couldn't form words as you just groaned. you were no stranger to hangovers, but when you turned away from the evil sun, your cheek collided with something firm. someone firm. it was a body, your eyes open wider. you looked to see who was the mystery man in your bed.

while you were expecting some babe from the strip. you instead saw a sleeping lando norris.

and when you recoiled away from you and put your hand over your mouth, you noticed something even more terrifying. you had a gold band on your left hand.

it started over drinks, you could see lando from across the bar as you leaned back into your seat. your teammate followed your gaze. not this again.

lewis had the displeasure of hearing almost all of your drunken rants about lando. he knew very intimately how much you loathed, but also wanted lando. he was your proper rival. while the rivalry wasn't the more fierce in the history of formula one, he wanted you to just get over your stubbornness and sleep with the mclaren driver to get over the tension.

"i hate him." you sighed, "he walks around the paddock like he has the biggest cock."

"and how would you know his cock isn't the biggest?" lewis laughed which spurred you to laugh.

"well, c'mon. we all know that my cock is the biggest. in a metaphorical sense anyway... but it takes big balls to be the only female driver. gotta keep up with the boys." you laughed and winked at your teammate.

lewis chuckled, "can't argue with that." then took a sip of his (non alcoholic) drink. he watched you look over at the mclearn drivers at the other end of the bar. while oscar gave a wave, lando glared at you.

you made a face before you took another sip of your cocktail, "he doesn't act like that with anyone else. he is practically running max off the track and he is still more friendly than with me. maybe he hates women." the alcohol was flooded in your brain and your tonuge felt looser.

your teammate laughed, "right, right. he hated woman." he watched you ramble. an unintentional plus side to not drinking was that he got to be the sober person in the room when fellow drivers spilled their guts over drinks. eventually he said, "i think you need to talk to him."

and you were so drunk at that point you took hew advice and got up on shaky legs. you started to make your way over to lando, which shocked lewis. you never took his advice like that. he also knew that he wasn't going to be seeing you for the rest of the night.

he looked around for a moment before he took another sip of his drink. he hoped that you didn't get into too much trouble tonight. and made a mental note to check in on you in the morning. someone could get into heaps of trouble in a place like las vegas.

you don't know this happened or what you said. but lando was soon in your room with his large hands all over you. you groaned at his touch and he wanted to devour you whole. you wanted the same for him.

"i'll make tonight special." he said as he got you out of your mercedes branded t-shirt. and eyed your breasts.

"never seen tits before, norris? i thought you went through women like pairs of socks." you laughed before lando pushed you further up against the wall.

he chuckled lowly, "you like getting me mad, huh? you like driving me up the fucking wall. stupid slut, this is what you wanted, huh? you wanted me to fuck you like i hate you." lando then groaned, he pinned you to the wall, "you're such a whore. i bet you keep toto's bed nice and warm during the off season."

"fuck, shut up. you basically are between the legs of zak any time he asks. like a fucking dog." you bit back before lando kissed you once more.

the months of feuding had come to a head. as lando continued you to mark up your breasts before he took your bra off. he hungrily licked his lips and groaned a little.

the bed seemed far and you ended up on the couch. both of you were stripped naked, your flushed body on display for him as you straddled his waist and he held on to your hips like you two had done this a million times. you moved well together.

"i thought you were a virgin because you never put out. turned out you're a proper whore." your moan only spurred him on as he pushed himself inside of your achy cunt. he felt you in such an intimate way.

"i'm not a whore" you groaned as you fully seated yourself onto his cock.

he gripped you by the ass and replied, "there's no shame in being a whore. especially my whore. don't worry, i won't throw you away. nah, i'm keeping you." he groaned as he started to fuck you. and you felt the flood of pleasure in your body.

you had to admit, lando made you feel good. there was something about how it made you feel that made you move faster. damn lando norris, damn him.

his kisses got hotter the more you both rutted against each other.

"you feel like heaven. the hottest piece of ass on the track." he groaned, "you're always trying to be the best, but i know you well enough. fuck you drive me crazy!"

you asked, "is that why you hate me?" you felt the pleasure pair with the liquor in your system. it all clouded your mind.

"could never actually hate you." he groaned, "i'd bully and tease you. but that's because i want you so badly. spent so many nights jerking off to the thoughts of you." his breathing became heavier, "wanted to fuck you in front of the grid. i wanted you all to myself." his tone was hungry, but his words were true. he needed you. you had invaded his thoughts.

"fuck, lando." the haze of it all kept you moving. there was a painful heat between you. it was unlike anything you felt before with anyone else. sex was fun with others, but with lando it was a deep need.

he excited you sexually, just as he ddi on the track. you two kissed once more and lando moaned against your lips. youmoved faster, you could feel his cock hit against your softest areas. and you felt heaven on earth. and as you climaxed, the feeling was closely compared to winning a grand prix.

"fuck.' he groaned as you came. you kissed once more and practically melted against him. he gripped your hips tightly.

you continued to fuck him through your orgasm. and by the time he finished inside of you, you had marked up his shoulders with your nails because he made you finish for a second time.

when you slowed to a stop, you rested against his toned chest. he wrapped an arm around you and gave you a lazy kiss on the mouth.

he groaned when he pulled away, "fuck it. i'm keeping you. let's get married." there were a lot of ways to get into trouble in las vegas.

-

you laid in bed beside a sleeping lando. you looked at your wedding ring in shock. it only made the hangover worse. you had no recollection of most of the night, you remembered being intimate. but no details about your wedding.

your phone rang and you reached for it. you picked it up and heard lewis' voice on the other end, "good morning mrs. norris."

you sat up in bed and the throb in your head got worse. "how did you know? jesus christ." you said as you got out of bed to have this conversation in the bathroom.

"i mean, you sent me photos of your wedding. didn't take you as someone who wanted to be married by an elvis impersonator. how drunk were you last night?"

you closed the bathroom door and looked into the mirror. and saw all the marks lando left you the night prior. you said, "i couldn't tell you... i remember nothing."

"well they already updated your name on the track for next weekend." lewis laughed, "i'd suggest your change it on your track id, don't want any problems, mrs. norris."

"you hate me, lewis. you want me dead."

lewis replied, "not as much as toto wants you dead. have fun with your husband, let me know if you're flying to qatar with him or not."

when the call ended, you looked through your photos. you got married to lando norris. your rival. you felt your stomach dropped when you saw all the photos. the bathroom door opened and you were face to face with your husband.

you looked at one another in shock. you looked down at the photo on the phone screen. it was you in a short white number and lando in a white button up and tan slacks. you had no memory of this.

your hands shook as you showed him the photo. there was a silence between you two. before you could say anything, you jumped as you phone rang once more.

your stomach twisted when you saw the caller id. it was your boss, toto wolff. <3

[verstappen-cult]

Hi!! First of all i love your fics🩷

I saw you were asking for petitions about lestappen so how about a meet cute between lestappen and an anonymous reader? Like she’s not famous or the child of anyone famous, she’s just a fan of F1 and they meet in like a library or something like that, maybe even the paddock? I don’t know if this makes any sense, probably not.

“Max, for the hundredth time I swear to God we are in a school book.” Charles walks into the library as Max rolls his eyes, trying to understand why is that so important.

“And that’s relevant because…” He was just trying to buy some groceries and bumped into Charles, who was very excited and dragged him out of there even before he could pay for his food. And he can’t say no to Charlie, so.

“That makes us literally legends,” He says, peering into every bookshelf for the correct one. “kids are learning about racing and us. At school.”

“Yea’ that’s actually pretty cool.”

“Oh.” Charles suddenly stops walking, making Max stop in his tracks, bumping into him.

When Max looks up, he’s met with the prettiest girl he’s laid eyes upon. She has a few books in her arms, and is trying to grab one that is on the top shelf.

“Do you need any help?” Charles takes a step closer and then, she’s facing them. She’s silent for a couple of seconds, looking between the two of them.

Next thing they know, she’s smiling brightly at them. “Yes, please. I just need that one.” She points to a black and red one.

Charles tries to grab the book but it’s a little out of his reach. Max tries to hide a smile behind his hands, and doesn’t say anything when the boy turns around, silently asking him for help.

“That’s actually the book we were looking for.”

“You can have it.” The girl pushes the book against Charles’ chest, but he just gives it back.

“You probably need it for school or something.” Max says, giving her his best smile. “We were just trying to see ourselves in that book.”

She raises her eyebrows, immediately opening the book and looking for the picture. “Oh, that’s why you looked so familiar!” She exclaims, turning the book around to show them the page.

And Charles was right, there is a picture of both of them alongside Checo on the podium in Las Vegas last year. There’s a paragraph talking about what is Formula One and who are they.

Yeah, it’s pretty cool.

“So,” Charles says, cheeks burning red. “Do you need it for school? Are you like in senior year or something like that?” Max laughs because he can’t help it. He has never seen him flirting before.

“No, my nephew needs it. I’m just helping.” She then proceeds to introduce herself, saying her name and waving. Max and Charles find it so cute, they seem to have fallen for her charm. And they just met her.

“It’s your nephew a Formula One fan?”

“Actually,” The beautiful girl pulls her phone out of her bag, showing them her lockscreen. She’s there next to a boy in a kart. “He’s into karting and is gonna be so jealous when I tell him I met you two.”

“Well,” Max tries to sound nonchalant but he’s so nervous. He just hopes she doesn’t notice, or Charles because he’s gonna make fun of him for the rest of their lives. “We would be very happy to meet him.”

“Oh my God, seriously? He’ll be so happy if you come to one of his races. He will lose his mind.”

“I was actually talking about Facetime.” Max hates himself when he sees her face falls, but forgets about it the second she’s blushing.

“Just ignore him. Max is nervous because you’re so pretty and he doesn’t know how to talk with pretty girls.” Max wants to punch him in the face. “And you’re like very pretty.”

“You get nervous around pretty girls too, Charles?”

If looks could kill…

The pretty girl giggles, and they turn to look at her so fast their necks start to hurt. “Why don’t you come to the race this weekend and you can see if I get nervous around pretty boys too?”

[formulawolff]

"just one dance" - t.w.

pairing: horner's daughter!reader x toto wolff

word count: 1.9k

warnings: toto lusting after a woman thirty years younger than him (what's new on this blog lmfao), sexual references, maybe some cursing (idrk), mentions of drug use, alcohol use, flirting, banter, yadayadayada

a/n: i played "here" by alessia cara like 20x on repeat while writing this fic. so we could say that this fic is veryyyyy loosely inspired by that song. also! this was a request by an anon! i hope y'all enjoy! <3

"come on," the words as slurred as he rolls his eyes, "come dance with us!"

bringing your hand to your mouth, you stifle a giggle, "max, for the last time, i am not joining the horny middle school grind circle you guys have going on over there."

"it's not a grind circle," he puts his hands on his hips, "i would say it's more like a mosh pit."

which, given the occasion, was not quite appropriate either.

at the moment, you were perched at one of the many elegant banquet tables, the rigid surfaced draped with a thick, cream-colored tablecloth. adorning the table were numerous vases, filled to the brim with floral arrangements, their fragrance oh so sickeningly sweet.

the plates, utensils, and other various dining ware were now cleared, only leaving numerous wine glasses, their crystalline stems glimmering in the dim light, swathed by the golden hue of the chandeliers as they sparkle above.

this was the annual fia prize gala, one of the most coveted events of the season. it was the showcasing and peacocking of sheer and utter wealth, as the drivers got to pull up to in their luxury vehicles, their keys handed off to the valets. every individual was dressed head to toe in designer clothing from nearly every brand possible, from christian dior to saint laurent.

you lost track of the amount of rolex watches, cartier jewelry, and hermès bags you noticed throughout the course of the evening.

the main event wrapped up hours ago, leaving the rest of the night for the drivers, crew members, mechanics, engineers, executives, and team principals to mingle and dance. and well, consume copious amounts of alcohol.

and well, perhaps do a few lines in the restroom. or light a joint outside. maybe even pop a few pills.

with the exuberant amounts of cash involved with events like this, there were surely some illicit affairs. ones that the fia ignored, simply turning their heads.

if they didn't see it, it didn't happen.

after all, you were in monaco. it was like las vegas in a way.

what happened in monaco, stayed in monaco.

and here max verstappen was, three-time world champion, standing before you, so drunk he could barely walk, begging for you to come join him on the dance floor.

too bad your phone was almost dead.

this would have been a prime opportunity to record what was unfolding before you. it would have fed the max girlies all over instagram and tik tok for months.

glancing over max's shoulder, you pick out lando, oscar, charles, and carlos. they were apart of the large formation, jumping up and down, barreling into one another. alexandra, rebecca, and lily linger around the group, their gowns swishing as they laugh, their cheeks dusted with a bubblegum pink glow.

a drunken mosh pit with a bunch of sweaty men? no thank you.

but gossiping with the girls? that was more your speed.

"my dad would have a stroke if he caught me with you guys," you simply shrug, sipping on your wine, "and what if something happened to my dress? we have to return this, you know."

"ugh," the dutch driver groans, "you're no fun."

"hallo, max," a new voice cuts in, thick with an accent you can't quite place your finger on, "congratulations on your accomplishment this year!"

shifting in your chair is none other than torger christian wolff, better known as toto wolff, team prinicipal of mercedes.

your heart skips a beat as your eyes drink in the sight of him, the way his crisp tuxedo fit him effortlessly. his dark brunette hair was messy, more than likely from the events of the evening. his bowtie was untied, hanging loosely around his neck. the first few buttons of the snowy white dress shirt were undone, exposing his skin.

fuck, was he a gorgeous man.

with sharp cheekbones, a chiseled jawline, and wide, beautiful coffee brown eyes, he knew that he was attractive, his aura brimmed with nothing but sexiness and dominance.

his hands land on the chair beside you, pulling it out as max rambles, the words drowning out in your ears.

you were more focused on his stature as he sits to your right, his thighs spread in the chair, a hand running through his hair.

"is there a reason why i haven't seen you on the dance floor?"

due to the excessive volume of the music, his mouth hovers by your ear. a shiver runs down your spine as his eyes lock with yours, lips forming a radiant smile, flashing his perfect pearlescent teeth.

"cat got your tongue? or are you just as intoxicated as maxie boy over there?"

"neither," you counter, straightening in your chair, "just not really interested, that's all."

"did daddy not give his precious diamond any dance lessons growing up?"

your father was none other than christian horner, team principal of red bull racing, sworn enemy of toto wolff.

quickly, your eyes scan your surroundings, in an attempt to pick out your father among the throng of people. to your dismay, you cannot find him.

which, in this case, could be a good thing.

if he saw toto speaking to you? oh fuck. it would be game over. you'd probably be grounded at your big age of twenty-four years old. could parents even do that when you were an adult?

you didn't really want to find out.

yet, you couldn't turn down a few moments with the team principal.

after all, this was a once in a lifetime opportunity.

why not seize it?

for most of your life, you obeyed every single one of your father's wishes. you maintained your distance from the red bull drivers, careful not to get too close. you stayed out of the spotlight, ensuring that no negative publicity ever came his way. as much as you yearned to get to know members of the mercedes team or crew, you shied away, maintaining the promise that you would never befriend a rival.

so, for this one night, you could be a little selfish.

just this once.

even if it involved your father's biggest foe. the bane of his existence. the man he spoked about so bitterly for years on end.

"i was offered dance lessons, actually," your voice is melodic, like an angel's from the heavens above, "i turned them down. opted for horseback riding instead."

"so you know how to ride?" the team principal runs a tongue along his lower lip, his brow slightly raised, "well, i have an offer for you. one dance with me, and then later you can show me how well you can ride."

"and what am i going to be riding?" you inquire, folding your arms across your chest.

the corners of his lips curl into a devious smirk, an emotion glinting within the mocha depths as he leans in, "my cock."

heat flourishes into your cheeks, seeping all throughout your body. as your mind scrambles, struggling to formulate some sort of witty response, the team principal nods, "not expecting that, were you? i like seeing you like this, all flustered. it's cute."

"y-you're ridiculous," you manage to sputter out, hands instinctively shielding your face.

"not as ridiculous as any of those fools," his head motions towards the group of rambunctious drivers, "tell me, why aren't you with any of them? i'm sure maxie boy would love to take you on a date. lando too."

"just not interested," you shrug, regaining your confidence a tad, "don't get me wrong, they've asked. but i've always just turned them down."

toto cocks his head, his voice laced with a tease, "why? scared daddy is going to ground you for dating a driver?"

"i just rather wouldn't be involved with anyone of them romantically," you wave a hand, "it'd be too awkward if things didn't end up working out. could you imagine having to spend so much time at the paddock with someone who your dad could fire at any given moment? it'd be like walking on eggshells. i'd feel bad for any poor soul who wants to court me. they'd constantly be seeking my father's approval, on and off the track."

"well it's a good thing that i already know where i stand," toto shoots you a wink, your heart thudding against your rib-cage as he offers you his hand, "come on, just one dance. that's all i ask of you, gorgeous girl. one dance and then you can come right back over here, spending the rest of your night sulking in the corner."

"i haven't been sulking," you snort, accepting the gesture, "i've just been bored."

"how about you accept the other half of my offer then?" his accent is prominent, lingering in every word, "i've just been flirting, you don't really have to ride me. unless you know, you want to-"

"are you forgetting that we're in a very public space?" you hiss, elbow interlocked with his as you make your way to the dance floor, "people can probably hear you."

"good thing we're all drunk," he responds, the casual delivery sending you spiraling, "here, place your hand on my shoulder. i'll take this hand. the other will go on your waist."

as you follow his lead, you can't help but feel the pairs of eyes fixate on the two of you, murmurs rising above the music. yet, toto's focus is honed in on you, and only you.

"don't worry about them," he takes a step forward, your feet following in suit, "they're probably just envious that i'm with the most coveted woman in all of formula one."

"you don't mean that."

"oh schatzi," a chuckle rumbles in his chest, flowing from his lips, "do you not hear the things they say about you among the paddocks?"

"enlighten me then," your heart swells as his thumb tenderly kneads into your waist, fingers interlocking with yours.

his mouth is merely centimeters away from yours now, dimples apparent as his eyes glitter like the chandeliers above, "there's whispers that you are the most breathtaking woman in the world. the drivers talk about you all of the time, debating who would look the best by your side. you're a hot commodity. a prize to be won."

"people say those things about me?"

"would i ever lie to you?" toto arched a brow, "i have no reason to."

"that is true."

there's a twinge of resentment that bubbles up in your stomach as the song ends. oh how this moment ended too soon.

way too soon.

"still no sign of your father," toto's voice is hushed, barely audible over the music, "you think i could have you for just one more song? after that, i promise i'll leave you be."

"i think so," you feel a smile form the moment he pulls you in closer, the space between you crumbling away, "careful, mr. wolff. you need to maintain some sort of distance between us, remember?"

he shakes his head, fingers squeezing your waist, "right now, i could give any fucks what your father would think. he's lucky that i have some sort of self-control."

"and why is that?" you press, blood roaring in your ears as his head lowers, situated by your ear.

"because it is taking everything within me to keep myself from getting on my knees right this instant and lifting up that gown of yours."

[vigilante-3073]

Daddy's Credit Card

Edward Cullen x Female Vampire Reader (Platonic)

Cullen Family x Female Vampire Reader (Platonic)

Summary: Y/N is an entitled brat with the power of mental manipulation. She makes life for the Cullen family a bit more difficult.

TW: Entitlement, mention of death, threats and violence, lack of regard for the feelings/property of others.

Edward Cullen had the unfortunate honor of being considered Y/N's closest friend. This role came with a lot of responsibility as Y/N could be quite impulsive, unpredictable and short-tempered. His ability to read her mind came in particularly useful because it allowed him to stop an idea in its tracks before it could be carried out.

Y/N was the first Vampire that Carlisle was able to create and she fell in love with him during the years they spent together. It had been only the two of them since the early 1800s before he turned Edward in 1918 to be a potential mate for her. Y/N felt like Carlisle was pushing her to the wayside and trying to placate her by introducing Edward.

Y/N harbored quite a bit of disdain for Edward upon meeting him, but eventually came to accept him. She grew resentful towards Carlisle, especially after he introduced Esme into the family and married her soon after. Carlisle tried his best to mend his relationship with Y/N, but it was nothing like it had been all those years ago.

Edward and Y/N were virtually inseparable, but there were no romantic feelings involved. Y/N could be quite possessive of him, but he tried his best to reassure her that he wouldn't abandon her as a friend. As the Cullen family grew, Y/N started to rebel against Carlisle and push back against some of the rules he had set, especially about using her powers.

Carlisle tended to let her get away with almost everything, as long as no one was harmed. He had been dealing with her outbursts for hundreds of years and was understandably exasperated. Carlisle's hands-off parenting approach with Y/N was most likely the reason that Edward was in his current predicament.

Y/N had "borrowed" Carlisle's credit card and had completely disappeared for almost two months before returning to the Cullen home with a brand new black Camaro and too many shopping bags to count.

The week before her disappearance, Edward had caught one of her ideas before it was able to snowball into a very expensive trip to Las Vegas on Carlisle's dime. He could only imagine what she had come up with instead.

Carlisle welcomed her back into the home with open arms, not daring to ask her where she had been. Edward couldn't stand her continuing sense of entitlement, but he was honestly impressed by how creative she could get with her rebellious behavior.

Y/N walked up the stairs, lifting her sunglasses up onto her head as she made her way into Edward's room.

"Get up, we're going hunting," She said.

"I have school in an hour," Edward stated, closing his book and setting it aside.

Y/N scoffed, taking her sunglasses off and tossing them onto his desk. Y/N had become indifferent to high school over the years and Edward couldn't blame her.

"Where were you?" Edward asked, Y/N shrugged, "Everywhere... Europe, mainly," She said.

"How much of Carlisle's money did you spend?" Edward questioned.

"Not nearly enough. Get up," She said. Edward clenched his jaw as he stood up from the couch without any intention of doing it.

"I hate it when you do that," He muttered, shaking his head.

"Come hunting with me," Y/N repeated.

"I'll get you one deer, then I have to go," Edward bargained, "Deal," Y/N replied.

...

Edward rode to school in the passenger seat of Y/N's new car, "I met someone while you were gone," He stated.

"You should know that you don't have room in your life for anyone besides me," Y/N replied without looking at him.

Edward huffed a laugh, "You aren't even here half the time," He said.

"Doesn't matter. I don't share my things," Y/N stated, driving up into the parking lot of the school.

"I don't belong to you," Edward said.

Although it was true that Carlisle had saved him with the intention of creating a companion for Y/N, their relationship tended to be one sided. Edward was expected to be available to her at all times for whatever she may need, but the same standards didn't apply to her.

Y/N could disappear for years and would still expect Edward to be waiting for her upon her return like a loyal lap dog.

"You can keep thinking that all you want," She said, pulling into a parking spot beside Rosalie's car before putting the car in park and shutting off the engine.

Y/N reached for the door handle, "Wait," Edward said, she looked over at him, "I haven't asked you for many things in the time that we've known each other, but I'm serious about this person and I would appreciate your support in this," Edward said.

"Is she human?" Y/N asked.

Edward nodded, "Her name is Bella," He said.

"I don't care what her name is, Edward. This relationship is not going to continue," Y/N stated.

"She already knows about us," Edward said.

"You told her?" Y/N questioned.

"No, she figured it out herself," He replied.

"This shouldn't even be a conversation," Y/N scoffed.

"Bella has met the family and they accept our relationship... I'm in love with her, Y/N," Edward said.

"This is ridiculous," Y/N snapped, opening the door and getting out of the car. She slammed the door as hard as she possibly could have without shattering the window.

Edward sighed, resting his head back on the seat behind him before reluctantly stepping out of the car and making his way into the building.

...

Bella jumped as he locker was suddenly slammed shut. Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked up at the young woman with golden brown eyes, "I-You must be Y/N... Edward has told me about you," Bella said nervously.

Y/N stepped forward, crowding Bella back against the wall of lockers as she stared the girl down, "He's told me plenty about you too. But none of it matters because you and Edward are done. You're going to break up with him and forget all about us," Y/N instructed.

Bella scoffed softly, "I-I'm not gonna do that. I love him," She said.

Y/N's face fell, "You little-," She started, an arm quickly wrapped around her waist and pulled her away from Bella.

"Don't even think about it," Edward growled.

He looked up at Bella, he could hear her heart racing, "Are you okay, Bella?" He asked.

She nodded, "I'm fine," She said softly.

"Go wait in the car," Edward said sternly to Y/N. She shoved his arm away from herself before storming off down the hallway.

"You weren't kidding about her," Bella said.

"I'm sorry, that shouldn't have happened," Edward said, making his way over to her.

"You don't have anything to apologize for," Bella assured.

"She'll come around eventually, I promise. She hated me at first too," Edward said.

"I find that hard to believe," Bella said, picking up her backpack and slipping her arms through the straps.

"Y/N is a very complicated person to understand," Edward sighed. The pair began walking down the hallway towards the exit, "Does she try to intimidate people very often?" Bella questioned.

Edward flinched at the question, "What?" Bella asked.

"That wasn't her attempt to intimidate you... Y/N has the ability to control people's minds and if you were anyone but you, you'd be doing exactly what she told you to," Edward said.

"Seriously?" Bella asked, Edward nodded.

The pair made their way outside, Edward's eyes quickly located Y/N, she was leaning against the hood of her car with her arms crossed while staring daggers at Bella.

Edward read her thoughts quickly, resting his hand on Bella's back and walking her over to her truck when he found no immediate threats to her safety in his friend's mind.

"Is there any way that I can talk with her sometime? Just to clear the air," Bella asked.

"That's really not a good idea right now. Just go home and I'll come see you later, alright?" Edward said, she nodded.

Edward opened the door to her truck and allowed her to climb in before closing door for her. She sent him a small smile as she started the truck before putting it into gear and driving off the lot.

...

The Cullen family gathered in the living room, the air was tense as they discussed the incident that had occurred between Bella and Y/N at the school.

Edward had told Carlisle about what Y/N was thinking before he was able to intercept her attack on the young girl Edward had come to care for.

"You were going to hurt Bella, that is absolutely unacceptable," Carlisle said firmly. Y/N rolled her eyes, "I didn't even lay a finger on her, Carlisle, you're being dramatic," She replied.

"Edward heard your thoughts and was able to stop you before inflicting any physical harm to her, but your intentions were clear," Carlisle said, glancing over at Edward.

"Having an incident in the school would absolutely draw enough attention to our family to require us to leave Forks again," Esme said.

"Especially after what happened in the parking lot," Rosalie muttered.

"It's not like I was going to kill her, just maim her a little," Y/N shrugged.

Edward clenched his jaw, taking a breath to try and calm himself down before doing anything rash.

"Bella is with Edward and that makes her a part of this family," Carlisle said.

"Understand that this human girl is not even close to a part of this family. She will die and the world will be left no different than when she was alive. We are wasting time arguing about something ridiculously insignificant," Y/N said.

Edward ran at her, slamming her back against the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. She stared up at him with a blank expression, "Tell me that I'm lying," Y/N said.

Emmett moved to take a step forward, Rosalie grabbed his arm wordlessly before he could get himself involved. Edward and Y/N had to work this out on their own and there was definitely the possibility of an ugly fight breaking out.

"I've seen a vision of Bella as one of us," Alice said.

"That's not going to happen," Edward snapped.

"Then she'll die and this will mean nothing. Take a stand on a topic that matters, Edward," Y/N replied, effortlessly pushing him away from herself and making her way out of the room.

...

PART 2

[writergirlll]

Will you write a lazy day with Charles Leclerc and Leo? Maybe Charles came back exhausted from a race that didn't go so well and all he needs is a hug from his girlfriend?

LAZY EVENING/ CL16

Charles Leclerc x reader

sorry if this isn't what you wanted, but I enjoyed writing it! It's just a lot of fluff sorry guys!!

Charles was always good at what he did. Cooking, making things, cuddling with your dog, or driving in Formula 1. He broke the curse of Monaco and thus began his huge career. But this race he ran didn't go too well, due to Ferrari's bad strategy and bad tires. And so he got a DNF in the first qualification and placed 5th in the overall race.

Which is certainly not a bad thing, especially since this race was in Las Vegas, where there are always the most participants and the track is very difficult to remember, but for Ferrari, who had to finish the season well, it wasn't enough.

Charles was mainly angry with himself. He knew that he should have tried harder and that he had messed up the race, but all he wanted was to finally get out of the cameras and pitiful stares and get cozy in bed with his girlfriend.

Unfortunately, You wasn't at his race because you had to stay at the hotel and do computer work due to work reasons that you hated. However, you definitely did not miss the race and watched it until the end, when Verstappen, Sainz and Norris stood on the podium.

But as midnight slowly approached and you tried harder and harder to stay awake to wait for Charles, your eyes closed until they closed completely and you fell asleep over an open laptop with work and the TV on with the main broadcast of interviews with F1 drivers.

When Charles came home, he expected you to be waiting for him. Therefore, he opened the door sharply, put his backpack on the floor and gave a small shout; "Love, I'm home"!

You twitched and grunted slightly in your sleep before turning over on the couch to face the TV and snuggling further into the blankets. You didn't plan to open your eyes because in your sleepy state you didn't realize that Charles was home.

Hearing no response, Charles frowned slightly and slowly walked into the living room. When he saw how the TV was on with F1 and you were sleeping on the couch, he couldn't help but feel happiness and love.

You were his everything. In good times and in bad, you were his sunshine. And that's why when he saw you sleeping in front of the TV with the footage of the other Formula 1 drivers, it warmed his heart. He knew very well how sad you felt when you couldn't make it to his race.

He slowly walked over to you, kneeling by your head and slowly brushing your hair away from your face. Then he bent down so as not to wake you and planted a soft kiss on your forehead.

You smiled a little under his touch as you realized who it was and slowly opened your tired eyes. “Hi Char” you smiled at him and reached out to stroke his cheek. “Congratulations on the race” you smiled.

He leaned into your touch and his smile brightened even more. “Shall we go to sleep?” he asked as he saw you close your eyes again even though you were trying not to and you slowly nodded.

“And where is Leo?” he asked one more question before he could pick you up in his arms and carry you to bed. You didn't answer anything and just lifted the blanket, where a small golden dog was hidden by your lap, which has become your "child" for the six months you've had it.

When he saw Charles, he immediately got up and ran his short legs to him for a kiss and a cuddle.

After Charles cuddled up to him, he scooped you up in his arms as a reward for having to wait for him and carried you to bed with Leo at your heels.

He slowly laid you down on the bed, you shifted to your side and waited for him to take off his shirt, change his pants and come to you.

Before long, he finally appeared by the bed in just his shorts and you couldn't help but bite your lip when you saw him like that. You still didn't understand how someone like him could be yours.

He climbed into bed behind you, pulling you to his side and you rested your head on his shoulder. One of his hands caressed your back and the other brushed your hair away from your face. Again. You should probably get a haircut..

“I love you do you know that?” he whispered in your ear and you raised your head to be directly facing him.

“How could I not know Char?” you smiled and leaned down so your lips met his halfway. It was a loving kiss that you thought was more of a good night, but later it got more and more passionate.

When you were both out of breath, you had to pull away from each other. “Are you sure you want to go to sleep?” he asked, looking all over your face.

You did, you think them even though you were actually 100% clear. "I'm not sure..." you whispered before smiling and bringing your head closer to his.

"I think you know" Charles smiled lightly and connected his lips to yours again, this time in a hungrier kiss.

[megamindsecretlair]

Sweet Escape, Part 2

Pairing: Bodyguard!Terry Richmond x Singer!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, trying out some angst, teasing, mentions of loneliness, mental health, power imbalance. Mentions of violence, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some.

Summary: You are on top of the world as one of the world’s most popular R&B singers. But behind the glitz and glam, you were unmoored, lonely, and aching for something you couldn’t put a name to. Terry makes you breakfast, bringing a sense of normalcy to an otherwise chaotic life. Still shaken from the shenanigans of your stalker, you enjoy the break Terry offers you. But all too soon, you’re forced to adapt to an ever-changing schedule. Your label makes you go to a club to promote your new single.

Word Count: 7,152k

AO3 Link | Part 1 | Part 3

A/N: Idk why I keep doing this to myself, LMFAO. But ya'll see that man show out with his gold chain? Lordt help me, I love that man. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

You stood beside the door to your balcony staring at the brightening day. The cry last night was everything you needed to reset. Perhaps it had just been too long since the last time you did. That was okay. It was okay to cry.

You clenched your fists and felt your nails dig into your palms. It was a terrible grounding technique. But pain was good. Pain meant you were alive. And as long as you were alive, your stalker wouldn’t win. He wasn’t winning when you worked hard for this shit.

All the blood, sweat, tears, predatory producers, dickhead managers, trashy bitches with their “gossip” websites, all of it. You didn’t survive this shit to let an anonymous motherfucker get you down. 

You took a deep breath. One day, you’d be able to open the balcony and actually feel the sun on your bones. You had to agree with Terry that it was too easy for someone to take a pot shot at you. Though the stalker seemed to only want to scare you so far. Killing you would kill his fantasy, wouldn’t it? 

It was too morbid to think about on such a pretty Las Vegas day. It was nearing the end of your run here before you would travel to LA. You turned and pulled your robe tighter while walking to your bedroom door and flinging it open. 

It smelled like home. Like warm biscuits, sizzling bacon, and fresh eggs. You followed the smell to the common kitchen and peeked around the corner. Terry stood in the kitchenette in a gray tank top and matching lounge pants.

Your eyes tracked the subtle vein in his arm and followed it to where it ended in his hand gripping the pan. Terry looked up at you and smirked. “I figured after what happened we could all use a little normal,” he said. 

“This…is your normal?” You asked. You hopped onto the nearest barstool and leaned over the bartop to look at the spread. He actually did make biscuits. Fluffy ones with butter melting in the middle. You were tempted to grab one but something told you Terry didn’t play about his kitchen.

You grinned and glanced at Terry who lifted his eyes to yours. You peeked down at yourself and noticed that your girls were threatening to slip out. “I am so sorry,” you said. Though you flirted and harassed the man, you weren’t predatory about it. You truly didn’t mean to let them hang out. You fixed your robe and sat back in your seat like a proper lady.

“It’s all good. Biscuits look good, don’t they?” He asked, his lips dipping in the corners. He almost smiled. Hot damn. Terry brought his thumb to his mouth to lick it and he hummed. The sound vibrated in his chest and you couldn’t help thinking what the hell he was doing as a bodyguard. Bottle that sound and package it into a vibrator and there wouldn’t be a dry cooch in the house.

“Mhm,” you said absently. Maybe the cry hadn’t done its job. Now you were just stuffy and foggy and clearly off your damn marbles. You watched Terry as he finished with the bacon. He moved on to a bowl of eggs he had already cracked and watched his arms work as he whipped up the eggs.

“I really only know how to make scrambled eggs. An omelet if I’m feeling fancy. If you want something else –”

“No, no, this is…sweet of you. I can’t remember the last time someone actually cooked for me. It’s been mostly dining out,” you said. 

“You don’t cook when you’re home?” Terry asked. 

You had to turn away from Terry. He looked downright delicious and he was being sweet. The last thing you wanted to do was make him uncomfortable by eye fucking him. 

“No, not really. There’s not usually enough time. When I have downtime, I’m usually writing a song or working out or preparing for the next tour. Gotta do something with this brain of mine,” you said. 

Terry nodded. “Shame. Nothing better than some good food cooked with love,” he said. His voice grew hoarse around the word love. Did he have an ex-wife? Did someone break his heart? There was so much you suddenly wanted to know about your bodyguard. You wanted pieces of him that no one else got. You were hungry and greedy for it. Though you had no right to be. 

“So you can’t make anything other than scrambled eggs, huh?” You asked.

Terry scooped out butter and placed it on the hot pan. It immediately sizzled and Terry’s bulging muscles worked back and forth to spread it around. He added the eggs and then turned to you. “I did say an omelet, too. Give me some credit,” he said.

“But only when you’re feeling fancy,” you said.

Terry chuckled. “You get me,” he said.

“So what makes you feel fancy?” You asked. Your eyes drifted to Terry’s every so often and it was bordering on creepy. So you hopped down from the stool and rummaged around in the cabinets.

“What are you doing?” Terry asked. 

“Setting the table,” you said. You grabbed two plates and placed it on the counter. 

“This was my gesture for you. You’re not supposed to set the table,” he said. 

“My grandma would roll in her grave if she knew I didn’t help some kind of way. You wouldn’t want to hurt poor Grammy Bean, would you?” You turned doe eyes to him and added in a cute pout, sticking out your bottom lip. 

Terry chuckled, turning back to the eggs. “I suppose I can’t hurt poor Grammy Bean,” he relented. You grinned and continued setting the bar top with plates, two cups, and forks. By the time you were done, Terry had finished up the breakfast. 

You stood behind him and handed him the plates one by one while he loaded up the eggs, bacon, and biscuits. He handed you the full plate and you set it down. “That was for you,” he said.

“Oh,” you said and giggled. “Thank you.” You rounded the edge of the bar top, suddenly feeling shy and girly. There was no reason for it. You just…fuck, how long had it been since someone did something for you just because? Not because you were paying them to do it? No hidden agenda?

Technically you were paying Terry too, but to guard you, not cook for you. It was unprompted and there was nothing you could do in return for him. There was nothing you could do to feel like you earned it. 

Terry grabbed his own plate and joined you at the bartop. He sat down and spread his legs to accommodate the long length of them. Feet planted firmly on the ground. “Don’t be too harsh on me. I know it’s not the fancy restaurant stuff you eat,” he said.

You laughed. “Don’t believe the hype, Mr. Terry. I am a southern girl at heart. This is way more up my alley than that french reduction, tuna tartar, or whatever else they think people want to eat.”

Terry chuckled and waited until you took a bite of your food. You sighed in appreciation and smiled closed-lipped at him. “This is delicious, Terry,” you said.

Terry grinned, showing off his beautiful smile. It was gone just as quick and he nodded. “Good to hear,” he said. 

What you wouldn’t pay or do to see him smile like that again. You ate beside Terry, soaking in the domesticity of it all. You were burning with questions. But you bit your tongue and just enjoyed the stillness. The peace. The quiet. 

Terry finished in record time, wolfing down his meal like he had just come back from jail or something. He stood up and grabbed two more biscuits. You didn’t know where the fuck he put it all. 

“Did Grammy Bean get you into singing?” Terry asked. 

You smiled and nodded, thinking of your grandmother. “Yup. She had a piano that she let me toddle on until she buckled down and got me piano lessons. She was a mainstay in the jazz scene. She knew them all. I was always following after her, so she ended up getting me started with singing. Encouraged me to do it for me if I was going to do this professionally. She bought me my first audition dress,” you said. 

Bless Grammy Bean, but whew, that dress was hideous. You were twelve at the time and she somehow transformed you into a little version of her. A blue and purple paisley dress with swirls and waves and too many clashing colors. Old lady shoes. If it weren’t for the studio rep who actually listened instead of laughing at you, you would’ve been sent home with tears to keep you company. 

“She sounds like an amazing woman,” Terry said. 

“She really was,” you said softly, remembering the pain of losing the most important person in your corner all over again. “How about you? Any grandma stories?” 

Terry wiped his hands on the paper towel beside his empty plate and then wiped his mouth. He missed a crumb in his mustache but you decided not to tell him. If anything, it made him more endearing. He followed the towel with his hand, swiping away the crumb anyway. Bastard.

“Yeah, my grandma was no joke. Me and my cousin Mike were terrors. Always running in and out of the house, always getting into trouble. One time, we had been play-fighting in the rain. We were covered in mud. When grandma saw us, she hosed us down, gave us a proper whuppin’ for tracking mud on her porch, and then made us clean off her porch before we could come inside,” Terry said, smiling at the memory. 

You smiled with him and shook your head, trying to imagine Terry at such a young age. Was he an awkward teen? Probably not. He was probably born with “responsible" stamped on his forehead. 

“Oh, she was really no joke,” you said.

Terry smiled and shook his head. “Not a one. She’s the one that got me into the Marines. She would tell me all her stories of the Air Force and how she was in charge of making sure the women who served were in bed by curfew. A lot of them tried sneaking out to meet up with boys. My grandma was there with a clipboard and her service weapon telling them to try her,” he said, chuckling to himself. 

“Not the clipboard too,” you said, chuckling with him. 

“They could either get checked off or checked out,” he said, pitching his voice to sound like an older lady. With his deep voice, the sound didn’t quite manage what he went for. You continued to laugh at his impression, waving your hands. 

“I’m not trying–” you kept laughing, unable to apologize. 

“It’s all good. She was a funny woman. She’d want us to laugh,” he said. He sobered and looked at you while you tried to catch your breath. Giggles escaped you as you calmed down yourself, finding yourself getting lost in his stormy eyes. 

You cleared your throat and sucked on your bottom lip. You both opened your mouth at the same time and then giggled. “You go,” he said.

“No, please,” you said.

“Ladies first,” he said. You sighed and rolled your eyes just as the doorbell rang. You cursed under your breath. You almost forgot for a few moments that you weren’t a normal person.

Terry stood up from the bar stool and went to the door for you, checking to see who was there. But you already knew. In five, four, three…

“There you are! Didn’t you get my text?” Mirage asked, walking into the room. 

Joya followed close behind with a shy, pained smile on her face. She clutched her calendar to her chest and you smiled. You nearly had a heart attack looking at Terry. There was no way in hell your sweet assistant could handle Terry’s muscles on full display. 

“I did not. I was eating breakfast, forgive me. Remind me what we’re doing today?” You asked. Because at this point, Terry effectively made you forget for a morning that you were a singer. 

Terry re-entered the room silently, moving around Mirage and headed towards the kitchen. He began to pack up the plates. “Let me help,” you said, hopping off the stool. 

“I got it. Go be awesome,” he said. 

You rolled your eyes and giggled. You followed Mirage and Joya into the living room and sat down on the huge, white pleather couch. Joya sat down in the armchair, faced away from Terry, and opened her calendar. 

“I managed to push your LA costume fittings to eleven to let you sleep in. You have an interview with Essence at three. Here is the list of questions,” she said, sliding over a piece of paper to you. You looked them over. Nothing too bad, not much you hadn’t answered before. 

“Okay, pretty light day,” you said. 

“Jake called. He needs you at the club tonight, rather than tomorrow,” Mirage said.

“What? Why?” You asked. 

“Lord AK flew in early and will be there and Jake needs you to hype up the single,” Mirage said. She cringed at your expression as you sighed and fell back against the couch. 

“I was looking forward to staying in,” you said. 

“I know, babe. I’m sorry,” she said. “I couldn’t push it. I tried telling Jake about what happened yesterday-”

You waved off her incoming apology. “It’s not you. I know Jake is only thinking dollar signs right now,” you said, thinking of your good for nothing agent. 

“How long do I have to show my face at the club?” You asked. 

“You can’t go to a club. There’s no way to secure your safety,” Terry chimed in from the kitchen. 

“I have to. If I don’t, the single won’t get promoted. If the single doesn’t get promoted, it doesn’t sell. If it doesn’t sell, my ass is out of a job,” you said. 

Terry’s jaw flexed as he took in the information you gave him. “There’s no way around it?” He asked.

“Ah, sorry. No,” Mirage chimed in for you. 

“There’s going to be a lot of influencers there. Lots of cameras. I don’t know if you could have a bodyguard close by,” Mirage said. 

“I can blend in,” Terry said. 

You looked at Mirage and Joya before glancing guiltily at Terry. He caught on, a smirk stretching his lips. “Don’t think I can hang?” 

“I mean…I wouldn’t call you a square…” you said.

Terry chuckled and nodded his head. “I can blend in, princess,” he said.

You stuck your tongue out at him and he chuckled, returning to cleaning up the kitchen. You shook your head and turned back to your team. You went over a few more details for the day, the logistics of everything. 

“Ugh, I didn’t pack club clothes,” you said. 

“Already have you covered. After the interview, you’ll have a few choices the label is sending over,” Joya said. She consulted her calendar and thousands of tabs and sticky notes. You marveled at the way her mind worked. 

You smacked your teeth thinking of the type of clothes your label wanted you in. “Oh ye of little faith, girl! I already told them nothing silver, nothing sparkly, and nothing that’ll have your ass hanging out,” Joya said.

“I love you,” you said and giggled.

“I love you too, miss lady. We have fifteen minutes to get on the road before we’re late for your fittings,” Joya said. 

“Ugggghhhhh,” you groaned, sliding off the couch like a toddler. 

Mirage laughed and shook her head. “It’ll be painless. Well…as long as it isn’t Francois,” Mirage said.

You shivered from the floor. “I’m convinced he pokes me so many times to see if my ass is real,” you said. You all laughed and for a brief moment, you pretended that you were sixteen again with a circle of good friends, having a movie night. But those days were long past and gone. 

“Alright, alright, alright. I’m getting up. Fuck,” you said. You stood up from the floor and collected yourself. You squared your shoulders, threw your head back, and took a deep breath.

Movement to your right made you turn to Terry who had stopped cleaning to watch you. He nodded his head at you and you nodded back. Yeah, you had business to attend to.

The fitting was a breeze. Luckily Francois was nowhere to be found so you didn’t have to grab bandaids as you were done with the fitting. That was the secret part you loved about being a musician. Playing dress up. Seeing the mix of fabrics and clothes and getting to see the hidden seams to allow for quick costume changes on stage. 

The interview went just as well, talking with Brandi Harper, a journalist for Essence. She was cool, down to earth, making the interview feel like a conversation rather than a Q&A. You had bonded over your love for anime, discussing the different shows you watched. 

She did end up asking about the A’Kierra interview that you did and you had to fight everything in you not to drag A’Kierra’s nasty ass. You only ended up shrugging and dismissing it. Why give that clown more ammunition? 

Now, you were back at the hotel, getting dolled up for the club. Terry sat on the couch watching everyone like a hawk. He only allowed one make up artist and one hair stylist and only after he did his little background investigation on the both of them. Your team was loyal. You told him as much. Yet he still looked at everyone like any one of them could snap. 

Angie worked on your makeup while Nicky worked on your hair. “You gon’ sweat this out?” He asked.

“Probably, yeah,” you said with a grin. Nicky rolled his eyes but laughed with you as he switched tactics. He quickly abandoned what he was doing and then undid your hair from the ponytail. 

“You gon’ stress me out, chile,” he said.

“I love you, Nicky,” you said. 

Nicky harrumphed and you blew him a kiss while he started to braid your hair. “You lucky I stay ready, miss thing,” he said. He grumbled about you while he got to work, braiding quickly and efficiently. That was why you paid to bring Nicky wherever you went. No one had hands like him. 

Joya entered the circus that was your hotel living room carrying a garment bag over her shoulder. Mirage was in the corner, on the phone with Jake setting up details about the club. 

You snuck a glance at Terry who caught you looking. You rolled your bottom lip into your mouth and Angie groaned. You apologized to Angie who had to switch tactics as well. “Every time, girl?” She asked. 

You giggled. “You’re right. I’m a bad client,” you said.

She sighed and shook her head. “You’re lucky I like you,” she said. 

“Oh, it’s my lucky night then. I need to do some gambling before we leave Vegas,” you said. You let Angie remove the gloss from your lips and went with a lip stain instead. It was a darker red than what you were used to but some sneaks in the mirror had you feeling yourself.

You may be a homebody but deep, deep down in your crevices, you liked to party too. Liked to dance and move and sing your heart out. Get some drinks going and you were the life of the party. 

Joya managed to get closer and tapped the bag. “Got what you needed,” she said.

“Thank you,” you told her. “Terry? Can I see you please?” You asked.

Terry was by your side in a second, crowding your space. It wasn’t entirely unwelcome. You pointed to Joya. “I had her get some outfits for you as well. If you’re going to blend, I need you to really blend. And I doubt you have a club outfit in that duffel you carry,” you said. 

“I’m good, thanks though,” he said.

“And just what do you plan on wearing to blend in then?” You asked.

He spread his hands and you looked at the black T-shirt and jeans he usually wore. You giggled and shook your head, much to Angie’s and Nicky’s frustration. “You cannot go to a club like this wearing your uniform, soldier,” you said.

“It’s a club,” he said. “No one’s worried about me.”

“Sheeit,” Nicky whispered. Angie elbowed him and he cleared his throat, returning to braiding your hair. He was already halfway through your head. 

You were tempted to lick your lips to keep from laughing at the adorable, confused expression on Terry’s face. “You’ll stick out like a sore thumb if you don’t make some kind of effort. Please, indulge me. Otherwise I’d have to go in by myself and without you there to guard me, who knows what could happen?” 

Terry’s jaw flexed. “I know what you’re doing,” he said. He grabbed the clothes bag from Joya who looked like a deer caught in headlights. She lowered her eyes and tried to back away as nonchalant as possible. Poor tink. You understood though. Terry was intimidatingly sexy as hell. 

“I wouldn’t dream of pulling anything,” you said. 

He gave you a blank stare before disappearing to his side of the suite. You turned to Joya with a grateful smile. 

In no time at all, Nicky had your head braided and put on a wig. He flat ironed it and then pulled it into a half up, half down style. “Oh, I like this,” you said, looking at yourself in the mirror he brought. 

“I know, I know. I’m the greatest,” he said.

“We’re running behind, let’s wrap it up soon,” Mirage called out, returning to her call. 

What was taking Terry so long? You wondered which outfit he chose or if he’d stick to his uniform. You had to get dressed yourself so you went into your bedroom with Angie and Nicky to help put on your club outfit and make sure you didn’t mess up your hair and makeup. 

The jumpsuit was sheer and looked painted on when you got it on. The back was out but it made your ass look extra fat. Oh, you were so keeping this. It had a tropical flower design on it that looked fun and perfect for the club. Partnered with your hair and makeup, hell, you’d fuck you tonight. 

You left your room and Terry stood up. You paused, your heels near skidding on the floor. Got. Damn. He chose to wear a navy dress shirt with gold flowers on it. He left it buttoned all the way to the top and his black jeans made him look extra delicious. 

He smoothed the shirt and looked at himself like he couldn’t believe how he got here. You giggled to get over your initial shock. “Not bad, Mr. Terry. Not bad,” you said.

“Don’t look so bad yourself,” he said. 

You smiled and followed your army of people out of the hotel, to the waiting car. Terry opened the door for you and helped you inside. He went around to the other side, climbing into the back with you. 

“Oh, not driving tonight?” You asked. 

“I gotta blend, right?” He asked. 

If he did any more blending, people would think he was a famous movie star. He pulled on some shaded glasses, completing the look while a member of your security team got in the front seat. Mirage and Joya would be in the follow car. 

Sometimes they were your best friends. And sometimes they were your best employees. The ride beyond to the club was short, really only going from one hotel to the next. But because you’d be spotted instantly, it was somehow easier to take the car than walk. 

Paparazzi lined the entrance to the club and those flashing bulbs immediately turned to your car when it was your turn. You took a deep breath, looking out at the sea of vultures. There were some fans mixed in. 

“Guess word got out that I’d be here,” you said with a rueful smile. “Wondered who leaked that.” 

Jake was such a leech. But you kept him around because if nothing else, he could hustle a dollar from a beggar. And for an artist determined to do this shit right, you needed all the money you could scrounge up. After living paycheck to paycheck growing up, robbing Paul to pay Peter, you had plans. You didn’t ever want to go back to the poor little girl you were before. 

“We can turn around,” Terry offered.

You sighed. “No. We really can’t,” you said. You took a deep breath and pulled on your metaphorical armor. You pictured it encasing you in the hardest known element. Not a chink or weak spot to exploit. 

You pulled on your own shades because the flashing lights left you dizzy. Terry’s counterpart got out of the car and then swooped around to open the door for you. Terry got out by himself and quickly walked around the car, offering you his arm. 

The paparazzi resembled a feeding frenzy at the zoo. They called your name endlessly, squawking with demands to turn here, look here, give us a smile, give us a pout, who’s your man, and on and on it went.

You posed and waved to them all, playing into your persona. You singled out a few fans and took pictures with them, signing some autographs. You blew kisses as you walked up the club’s doors and the bouncer let you in without any fuss.

The sudden darkness of the club’s interior foyer after all the flashing lights gave you whiplash. You swayed on your feet and Terry steadied you with a hand on your hip. “You okay?” He asked. 

You shook your head to clear it. “I hate that shit,” you said. But you were fine. You’d live. 

“We made it,” Mirage said, coming up from the side entrance. She wore a simple black party dress that fit her full figure well. She pulled her braids back into a ponytail and added on makeup. You hugged her and then Joya who peeked out from behind Mirage. She had changed as well, into a pair of dark jeans and a flirty shirt. 

“You both look amazing!” You said. 

“Not as good as you!” Joya said. You waved them off. They were too adorable. Linked arm in arm, you passed through the curtains and entered the club proper. Nothing was small in Vegas on the strip. The place was huge, a mass of people gyrating on the dance floor, hanging out by the bar, or trying to make moves on each other.

You made your way to the VIP section. The section was already bumping with multiple artists bopping their heads to the music. Groupies hung around the various rappers and singers, each all similarly dressed in baggy pants and jerseys or oversized coats. 

“You’re here!” Another singer, Alexandra Crane, beamed and then wrapped her arms around you. You screamed with her. The cute little singer from Atlanta had become a friend during a concert you performed together. You were glad to see that she ditched the other two in her group. 

“It is so good to see you!” You said. You introduced Mirage and Joya and true to form, Joya fangirled. 

“Oh, and who’s this?” Alex asked. 

“This is my-”

“I’m her toy for the evening,” Terry said, extending his hand to Alex. She shook it but gave you an exaggerated wink. You waved her off and let your eyes adjust to the dizzying array of spinning neon lights in the club.

The dance floor was full of uncoordinated people jumping up and down to the same four club remixes on repeat. Ugh. “Have you seen Lord AK?” You asked.

Alex shook her head. “Are you meeting up with him?” She asked. 

You nodded and bent closer to be heard over the music. “We’re promoting ‘Down Bad’,” you told her. 

She smiled and nodded her head. “Oh my god, I love that song!” She said.

You flopped onto the couch with Alex and caught up, leaving Terry to sit beside you and scan the club for potential threats. You relaxed as the night went on, going shot for shot with Alex and your girls. 

As the night progressed, some fans dared to approach and ask for pictures. Terry tried to deter them but you went against his orders, taking pictures anyway. It was incredibly brave to even ask. You wouldn’t deny them a quick picture and wave. 

The club finally changed the music to something you could actually shake your ass too. The alcohol warmed your belly and had you feeling yourself. You grabbed Alex’s hand and made your way to the dance floor. 

Terry grabbed your hand as you reached the bottom step of the VIP section. “I can’t protect you around all of them,” he said.

“I wanna dance. You can join meee, boy toy,” you sang, crooking your finger. Terry tilted his head and if you could see his eyes, you were sure he would be judging you. Ah well. You hadn’t had fun in a long time. Your stalker preferred to catch you unawares. The mask had been the creepiest contact so far. 

The fanboy letters and poems were what really creeped you out. You shivered just thinking about it. But that was the point. You didn’t want to think about your stalker. You wanted to have fun. 

Terry let your hand go and then you squealed, getting onto the dance floor and immediately started shaking your ass to the Ying Yang Twins song. You let go. You just followed the rhythm of the music and danced with Alex, pretending you were just a girl in a club, quietly hoping some man would come holler at you for a second. 

You danced in a circle so that it would make you face the VIP section. Terry’s profile was turned towards you, eyeing you as you danced. You put extra flair into your sexy dancing. Swaying your hips, shaking your ass, flirting with him with your body from across the room. 

He watched it all. He didn’t even pay attention to those around him. Didn’t give the waitress a glance as she lingered, hovered, trying to grab his attention. He lifted his fingers to wave her off and she left with a huff. That only made you smile and roll your body to the music. 

The DJ scratched the record, getting everyone’s attention. Everyone turned to the DJ in the middle of the club, up on stage surrounded by a paneled wall full of screens with colors dancing in the display. 

“Ya’ll ready for some hot, new shit? Fresh off the tracks?” The DJ asked. The club screamed. 

“Ya’ll ready or not, damn!” The DJ asked. 

Behind him, Lord AK stepped out with a microphone. “Call me a simp, ‘cause that ass got me mesmerized…” he started rapping the opening lyrics to your song. You screamed, just as shocked as everyone else.

Why didn’t Mirage tell you this was part of the plan? You looked towards the VIP section but Mirage wasn’t there. Were you supposed to sing as well? Were you just there to witness? This mickey mouse shit was unprofessional as fuck. 

Lord AK seemed to know what the hell was going on because he made a beeline through the crowd to you, serenading you with his rap, grinning widely. Gahh, he was so damn cute. If he didn’t have some deep seated fucking issues, that would be your man for real. But after the scare last year at a party, he had disappeared for counseling. 

Fuck it. You grabbed the mic from him when it came time to your part, singing to him, flirting with him and the crowd. You involved them, making them think that they were the ones you were down bad for. 

Mirage’s head bobbed in the crowd. She gave you a harried look, waving a microphone covertly. You pushed on Lord AK’s chest and sang while backing him away. You grabbed the microphone from Mirage just as Lord AK leaned in for a fake kiss. You tapped the microphone on his lips and he grinned, grabbing the microphone and began the breakdown of the song. 

There was a call and response in the middle of the song, getting quicker as the lyrics turned nastier. You and Lord AK circled each other, getting closer and closer, until you reached the climax of the song where you belted out the final lyrics. The club exploded with cheers and whistles. 

The DJ played another one of Lord AK’s songs. The idea was to get people focused on the music, not his hiatus. You felt bad for him, really. He was a talented rapper. People should already focus on the music and not that he was going through shit. Everybody was going through shit. 

Mirage fought her way to you, grabbing your microphone and Lord AK’s. “Fuckin’ Jake sprung this shit on me. By the time I knew, he was already in place and I couldn’t find you and…”

“Babe, breathe,” you said. Mirage stopped mid sentence and took a deep breath. 

“I’m going to fuckin’ kill him,” she said, shaking her head and walking away. 

“I’m sorry, I thought you knew. Somethin’ told me this shit wasn’t right, ‘cause I almost didn’t find you out here,” Lord AK said. 

You waved him off and hugged him, covertly taking a deep whiff of his cologne. He smelled heavenly, like a mix of spiced flowers and sandalwood. You should’ve been having his babies. You inwardly groaned at the loss of your fictional family as you pulled away. 

“It is so good to see you. Need some familiar faces, for real,” you said. 

His grin was wide and genuine, his eyes no longer cloudy now that he got rid of most of his entourage. That whole group had been toxic and you were glad to see him on the other side of it. Healthy looked good on him. 

However, back in his presence, his luminance seemed to dim. He no longer really turned your head. You only had eyes for – him. Terry remained in the VIP section but there was some unknowable expression on his face. You didn’t know him well enough to decipher this particular look. 

He was always so damn grumpy. “How long you here for?” You asked.

Lord AK shrugged his shoulders. “Enough to be seen. Then I’ma dip. This club is ass,” he said. 

“True that. Don’t leave without me seeing you again,” you said.

“You’re gonna see me in LA, girl,” he said.

“And what that mean!” You tapped his shoulder and made your way back to the VIP section. Most of it had cleared out but there were still a few movers and shakers talking, their phones out recording everything. 

The lights began to go crazy, turning the VIP section darker as the lights danced in time with the club remixes again. “Having fun?” Terry asked when you got up the stairs.

“Are you? Have you gotten up once?” You asked.

“Mhm. Just sitting here. Enjoying the free concert,” he said.

You giggled, looking away. You wanted so desperately to ask what he thought of the performance. The words to excuse the behavior were at the tip of your tongue. You wanted to make it clear that it was all an act for you and Lord AK. That you weren’t really into him, ya’ll just had good chemistry. 

But there was nothing to really explain, was there? You didn’t owe Terry an explanation. You grabbed two shots and handed him one. “If this was what you call blending in, it’s so bad. You scream cop,” you said.

“I look good, what you mean?” He asked. He smoothed down the front of his shirt and you shook your head with a giggle. 

“You gotta drink. You gotta dance. Those are the rules,” you said. 

“I don’t drink,” he said. 

“Like a you can’t handle your liquor thing or is this a health nut thing?” You asked.

Terry chuckled. “Health nut?” He asked. 

“You know you can be addicted to working out, right?” You asked. 

Terry shook his head. “I don’t drink on the job,” he said. 

“This isn’t a job. You’re blending. Blending means going method,” you said. Terry sighed and grabbed the shot out of your hand. He knocked it back without a grimace and you matched him, tipping the shot glass back and grinning at him. 

The DJ gave the club remix a break and turned on Post Malone’s “Rockstar”. You squealed and threw up your hands. “I love this song! Dance with me,” you said. You grabbed his hand and tried to pull him to standing. He remained firmly planted in his seat.

“I definitely don’t dance on duty,” he said. 

The alcohol made you petulant. At least that was your excuse and you were sticking to it. You gave up trying to get him to stand so you took another shot for courage and then began dancing in the VIP section.

The neon blue and purple lights danced across the shades he still wore. You couldn’t see his pretty eyes and you pretended that he was a famous person. Someone who understood what it was like to feel lonely in the middle of a crowd. That image quickly disappeared though. You didn’t want a fantasy. 

You wanted to remain yourself. You wanted Terry to remain Terry. The inflexible, professional, gorgeous man who took your safety seriously. The same man who let you peek behind the curtain of his control earlier today. The same man who made you feel in ways you hadn’t in a very long time. 

You turned around and began dancing for him. Just for him. Rolling your ass in a slow circle to the song, bending down as you did so, making your knees do most of the work to entice Terry. 

He adjusted himself in the seat, tilting his head at you. “What are you doing?” He asked, his voice rough. 

“Dancing with you since you won’t dance with me,” you said. You continued to dance, looking back at him every so often to make sure he was still looking. You grew more bold as you danced, now doing it just because. Just because he made you feel normal when so much of your life wasn’t. 

You backed into his lap and mimicked bouncing on it. You grabbed his knees and ground your ass in lap, used him for support while you danced slower and slower. The thrumming beat matched the beat of your heart, turning you bolder. 

You looked over your shoulder and bit your lip, still grinding in his lap. Terry took a deep breath but you weren’t making it easy for him. “You know you want to dance with me,” you said over your shoulder.

Terry leaned forward and grabbed your hips, slamming you down onto his lap. You yelped, feeling a third leg pushing at the fabric of his jeans. He placed his lips next to your ear and whispered, “Behave.” 

You grinned and kept grinding and dancing on him, giving him a lap dance whether he wanted it or not. He didn’t stop you, only gripped your hips harder with his thick fingers. He slowly began to move with you, rubbing his bulge into your ass.

He moved one of his hands from your hips to trail a finger along your exposed, sweaty back. You gasped, feeling electricity pass from his fingers to your skin. You took back control by abruptly standing up, turning around, and climbing into his lap. 

You continued your dance, wriggling in his lap. You bent backwards, stretched, and then rolled forward. Terry dragged a finger down your chest and you wished it was open in the front too. You liked his hands on you. You really, really liked his hands on you.

Your skin grew overheated, waves of heat rolling through your body. Terry gripped your ass and squeezed. You gasped and fell forward, knocked off your rhythm with just a firm grip. You ought to be ashamed you were that easy, but hell, who could blame you? 

When he looked that good? Smelled that good? Felt so damn good? 

Terry leaned forward and you steadied yourself on his shoulders. You braced for those full, lush lips to touch yours. Watched as if in slow motion as he leaned in. Your breathing was so rapid, your chest rose and fell. 

Terry moved one of his hands to your face, bringing you closer by cupping your cheek. Your eyes drooped, too eager to get this over with yet wanting to savor every little second. His hand was hot against your cheek. His breath fanned across your face.

He bypassed your lips to bring his closer to your ear. “I don’t take advantage of drunk women,” he whispered. He licked your neck and you moaned, shivering as if someone dumped a bucket of ice water down your veins. “I like my women sober when they’re riding me.”

You gasped while he stood up and gently placed you on the couch. “Stay here. I’ll grab you some coffee.” 

You stayed put while he disappeared to do just that. You stared after his retreating form, at a complete loss for words. You were hot and bothered. Your flabbers were ghasted. And you were so damn horny you thought you’d pass out. 

Such a bastard. You fanned yourself as Terry returned with coffee and water, making you somehow drink both. He escorted you out of the club with a few stops to take pictures with fans. Despite whatever the hell he thought, you were not drunk. 

He had you tucked into the car before you could say, “Cinderella”. There was nothing to talk about in the car. The interior was too tense. Too thick. Too cloying with the mix of cologne, perfume, sweat, and hairspray. You rode in silence back to your hotel, escorted to the room, and stood silently while Terry checked every nook and cranny of the room. 

“Goodnight, Mr. Terry,” you sang lazily, heading to your bedroom doors. Terry crossed the living room to his side.

“Goodnight,” he said. 

You stared at each other as you closed the doors at the same time. Finally alone, you turned and leaned your back against the door feeling like the biggest fucking loser on the planet. 

Whew. Help yourself to some more treats! The Secret Terry Richmond Files | Part 1 | Part 3

Tag list: PLEASE. I love ya'll FRFR.

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[64sue]

my babe in Vegas today 🤤

[vivwritesfics]

Military Flyover

The dagger squad don't want to do a military flyover of the Las Vegas grand Prix. None of them really knew much about and, those that did only really knew about Nascar.

She hated the Vegas Grand Prix as much as those doing the military flyover. But the cute WSO there to support his friends was making it bearable.

Robert 'Bob' Floyd x F1 driver!reader

5.6K

a/n: yes a military flyover doesn't make sense for vegas buuuut let a girl dream lol - i'm hoping I've managed to write this for an audience that might not really know f1 but idk how confident i am in my abilities lol

Bob couldn't quite believe what the two time Top Gun graduates were having to do. They had completed an insanely dangerous mission and returned to be permanently stationed in San Diego, except from when they were called away for deployment.

They were a part of the military, why were they doing this?

Well, at least Bob didn't have to actually fly. He was a Weapon Systems Officer, he didn't have to take part in this. But he still went, more to morally support his squad.

Nat wasn't happy about have to do a military flyover of the Las Vegas Grand Prix. She, Bradley and Jake were constantly complaining. None of them knew anything about Formula One, not enough to appreciate doing the flyover.

(May I just say, even if they did know about F1, they still wouldn't appreciate it. They'd train for years to be in the navy and now they were having to waste their time on this.)

The flyover was on the Sunday. Only Natasha, Jake and Bradley were taking part. Bob didn't have to go, didn't have to visit the track on the Friday and the Saturday with the three of them.

But Natasha had begged him. "Drive up with me," she'd said to him. "It's five hours and I could use the company."

So, Bob agreed. His dad had sometimes watched Nascar while he was growing up. He didn't know much of anything about motorsport but, if Nat wanted him there, he'd go.

The navy pilots didn't know they'd been invited to meet the drivers. Bob followed Natasha through the paddock. "Getting to meet the drivers might be the only good thing thing to come from this," Nat mumbled as she led the way.

The paddock was buzzing with life. There were cameras following people around, interviews happening as they walked through the paddock. Fans stopped men in team shirts and hats for pictures before letting them continue.

There was a familiar whistle, just loud enough for Natasha and Bob to hear over the crowd around them. They turned and saw Rooster and Hangman striding towards them.

"Where are we meant to be?" Asked Hangman as Rooster pulled off his aviators and looked around. The three of them (Natasha, Jake and Bradley) were in their overalls, looking proper in their uniform. Bob, though. He was dressed down, wearing jeans and a sweater (Vegas really wasn't that warm this time of year), his military issued glasses sitting on his nose. He looked cute, even if he didn't know it.

"Cyclone said the Ferrari garage, right?" She said as she looked between the other aviators. Bob, who had studied the itinerary, nodded his head and the four of them set off towards the red garage.

***

The Las Vegas Grand Prix was a joke. All of the drivers thought so.

The Ferrari drivers weren't happy about it (just like the rest of the grid). They had spent the season struggling behind the Red Bulls and driving on an unknown track wasn't going to help that.

She needed a lot of mental preparation for this one. Just like the other drivers, before the first practice session her only experience on the track had been through sim racing. She was nervous in a way she hadn't been before.

She donned her red fireproofs, the overalls hanging from from her hips. She pulled her cap onto her head when there was a knock on her driver room door. "Yeah?" She called and the member of Ferrari staff walked in.

"The navy pilots are on their way," she said and went to back out of the drivers room.

"What?" The Ferrari driver called suddenly, her brows furrowed. "What navy pilots?"

The member of staff gulped. "They're doing a military flyover before the Grand Prix," she said. "They're on their way here to meet you and Charles," she said.

The driver let out a huff. She grabbed her drinks bottle and marched out of her drivers room, heading to find her teammate.

Charles was doing an interview for Sky Sports when she walked through the garage. She didn't much care, though. She powered on, her hand on Charles's shoulder as she stood at his side. "Chuck," she said, looking at her teammate.

Lawrence Barretto moved his microphone back to his mouth. "Is that his official name for the Vegas Grand Prix?" He asked and moved the microphone towards her.

"Yes," she said as Charles shook his head, repeatedly saying 'no'.

She stood beside him until the interview was over, answering any question Lawrence sent her way. As soon as they were done she grabbed Charles and pulled him away, pulling him further into the Ferrari garage.

"What's up?" Charles asked. He was a brilliant teammate, one of her best friends. They'd known each other for yeas and were close enough for people to think they were together at one point. Brocedes 2.0, many commented on the pictures of the two of them posted on the Scuderia Ferrari Instagram account, as if they were a disaster waiting to happen.

"Did you know we're having to meet the navy pilots doing the military flyover?" She asked, hands on her hips.

Charles furrowed his brows. And then his face relaxed as he shook his head at her. "Start checking your emails, please," he said.

She gently pushed him as a member of the Ferrari staff, the same girl from before, approached them. "They're here," she said and left them to it.

Charles led the way back through the garage, heading to where the navy pilots were standing around his car. Three of them, the three that looked the part, chatted with Fred while one, one that was dressed down, stood to the side.

Suddenly, she pulled Charles out of sight. "What is it?" He asked quickly, concern written on his face.

She looked back around the corner at the pilots for just a second. "Holy shit, Cha, I think I'm in love," she said and Charles just laughed.

"Do you need a wingman?"

She furiously shook her head. "Don't you bloody dare."

She steadied herself and followed Charles over to the navy pilots. Fred spotted his drivers first. He gestured over to them as he back away from the pilots, letting the drivers take over.

Charles held his hand out towards them introducing himself first. She went next, giving them her name as she reached out to shake the woman's hand.

"Natasha Trace," she said with a smile as she shook her hand. "Callsign Phoenix."

She moved on to the man with the moustache. "Bradley Bradshaw, or Rooster," he said and shook her hand, his grip firm. He wore a smile, but it was respectful.

Unlike the man next to him. She could tell who he was from the moment she looked at him, wearing that flirty smile. "Jake Seresin," he said, pulling her hand up to his lips to kiss the back of it. "You can call me Hangman."

The smile dropped from her face and she pulled her hand away, clearly unimpressed. She looked past him, at the guy in the sweater and the glasses. "How about you?" She asked, completely ignoring Hangman. "Are you in the navy too?"

Bob blushed bright red as he stepped forward. "Robert Floyd," he said and shook her hand. "I'm a weapon systems officer."

"Oh," she said. Just that one word and she sounded incredibly fascinated. "Do tell me more."

She'd asked Charles not to wing man her, but he did it anyway. She might not have been aware as Charles spoke to the other navy pilots, doing the job for both of them. (Charles didn't know if Bob was the one she had fancied, but it was easy to guess. He looked like her type).

They spoke for a good twenty minutes before the drivers were told to wrap up the conversation. "You got a call sign?" She asked Bob as she crossed her arms over her chest and leant against the wall.

Jake had been wrapped up in the conversation he, Rooster and Phoenix were having with Charles until that point. Upon hearing her question, he placed his arm around the WSO's shoulders and grinned at the driver. "This is Baby On Board," he said with a grin, going to pinch Bob's cheeks.

Again, his cheeks were flaming as he stepped away from Jake. "It's Bob," he said. "Just Bob."

"Just Bob," she repeated as she smiled at him, completely ignoring everything Jake had said (something that Bob was grateful for). "It's simple, I like it."

Her engineer called for her. She turned and put her thumbs up before turning back to Bob. "Are you staying for the free practice?" She asked and Charles couldn't stop himself from answering.

"Sorry," he said to the pilots. "She doesn't read her emails."

She sent a glare in Charles's direction. The drivers said a quick goodbye to the navy pilots (although she hoped it wasn't for the last time), and got themselves ready for the first practice session in Las Vegas. They pulled up the red and white overalls and placed the balaclavas over their faces.

Bob watched as she pulled her helmet on, hiding her undeniably pretty face. He really did think she was beautiful, and she seemed interested in him, but he wasn't going to read too much into that.

He couldn't see as she gave him a smile from beneath her helmet. When she climbed into the red car with the number 53 on it, Bob knew which one he had to look out for.

The track wasn't ready, everybody knew it. But they didn't know how bad it was until they shower of sparks coming out the back of her car. "What the fuck was that?" She said to her engineer down the radio. "I just hit a fucking manhole cover."

The pilots were leaning forward as she stopped the car. The session was stopped, the other drivers coming into the pits. She jumped out of the car, waiting for it to be lifted onto the truck so that she could look at the extent of the damage beneath.

As the car was taken back to the garage and workers surrounded the manhole cover, she climbed into the medical car and was taken back to the pitlane.

Bob watched as she stormed into the garage, pulling off her helmet and balaclava. "Nine fucking minutes!" She heard her say to somebody in a Ferrari shirt. "I officially hate the Vegas Grand Prix."

She looked around the garage, eyes focusing in on the pilots. They were watching her, too, and she forced her expression to soften as she walked over. "Sorry you had to see that," she said, unzipping her race suit.

Bob shook his head. "'s no worries, ma'am," he said before he could stop himself. When his fellow aviators looked at him, his cheeks flushed red.

"We're just glad to know you're okay," Natasha said for him.

The driver smiled at them. But the interaction was short lived as she was called over to her wrecked car. (It looked fine on the top, but everybody knew the damage was beneath, invisible).

The nine minutes of practice wasn't enough to help the aviators get into F1. Rooster, Hangman and Phoenix wanted to head back to their hotels, but Bob wanted to stick around.

"My dad was into Nascar," he explained as the others left. They nodded, but they knew better. Their Baby On Board had a crush.

She hadn't expect him to stay, that much was clear. She'd seen the other aviators leave and had gotten on with what she needed to do, speaking to the mechanics about the parts they needed to replace and speaking to Fred about the potential consequences.

"Oh!" She said when she saw Bob still sitting there. "I thought you would have left."

Bob gave a polite smile and shrugged his shoulders. "I wanted to learn more."

The smile she gave him matched his own. "Well, you're not gonna learn much here," she said. "Let me get changed and we can get dinner."

Bob didn't expect dinner to be in the Ferrari hospitality suite. He'd didn't exactly think he'd be going out to dinner with her, but he didn't expect this.

She sat Bob down at a table and got a selection of food for them to share. "I can't exactly go crazy," she'd said as she sat down opposite him, placing the single plate in between them. "I still have a car to drive later."

Bob grabbed something from the plate. "Why does that mean you can't go crazy?" He asked curiously, innocently.

Every question Bob had, she answered. He told her that his dad watched Nascar while he was going up but he couldn't get into it. Didn't have the time once he joined the navy.

She asked him all about that, just as curious as he was about her job. Bob knew she was meant to be this big celebrity, but she was normal with him, and he really appreciated it.

He hadn't known who she was going into this weekend, but he heard the way the fans screamed her name. She was so famous, and he was just a boy from Montana.

"Are you and your friends watching anything else of the Grand Prix weekend?" She asked as she ate a piece of lettuce (literally just holding a big piece of lettuce to her lips and crunching on it).

Bob shook his head as he looked down at the table in front of him. "'Friad not, ma'am," he said, looking at her over the top of his glasses. Bob didn't know what compelled him to do it, but he took them off.

"Aw," she said with a pout. "I liked them."

"Really?" Bob couldn't hide the surprise in his voice. "I used to have ones with slightly thicker frames, but these are military issued," he explained, putting them back on his face.

She grinned at him. "They're cute," she said, resting her cheek in her hand. It was undeniably flirty, and her grin was only making it worse. Well, that would have been if Bob could have allowed himself to believe that was flirting with him.

"I could get you tickets, if you'd like," she said. "You and your pilot friends. You can come back back to the Ferrari garage, support us for the rest of the weekend."

Bob gave her a gentle smile. "I'd like that," he said.

They continued chatting until she had to head back to the garage. Bob followed her, walking behind her.

She took him back to the garage, leaving him to stand with the rest of the Ferrari guests while she disappeared into her drivers room. Bob couldn't help but think of her as she got herself ready, getting dressed into her fireproofs and race suit. If Nat was here, he could ask her for advice.

Ten minutes before the start of FP2, she walked over to Bob. He'd seen her dressed down in a Ferrari hoodie and cute cargos, seen her in her race suit, and seen her in her fire proofs, race suit sitting low on her hips.

That was how she walked towards him. He'd seen so little of her, but this was his favourite (and he certainly wanted to see more). "Want to sit in the car?" She asked, hands on her hips.

***

The first thing she did after FP2 was give Bob her phone number. He couldn't quite believe it, and made a mental note to recount everything to Natasha as soon as he got back to the hotel.

"Have you got a way back to your hotel?" She asked, her helmet tucked beneath her arm.

"I, uh..." No, he and Natasha had gotten a cab together.

She waved him off before he could give her a proper answer. "I can drive you, if you'd like," she offered.

That was how Bob found himself sitting in an F1 drivers car, telling her about his childhood as she took him back to his hotel. He told her about his big family and the mountains he grew up around. He told her about when he joined the military, about his first time in Top Gun and his permanent stationing in Coronado.

Before very long they were pulling up outside of his hotel. "Well, here we are," he said, patting his legs. He didn't move to leave the car, but she didn't much mind.

"I really liked meeting you today, Bob," she said as she tapped the heel of her hand against the steering wheel.

"It was lovely to meet you, too," he said.

"Promise you'll text me?"

"Promise."

She held out her pinky finger and Bob wrapped his own around it, sealing the deal. He looked at her one last time and climbed out of the car, heading into the hotel.

Bob couldn't hide his smile as he walked through the lobby and into the elevator. Just days ago he'd hated the thought of a military flyover for the Las Vegas Grand Prix. Now, he couldn't wait to get back to the track, back to the Ferrari garage.

Nat noticed it the minute he walked through the door of the hotel room they were sharing. "Had a good time watching the rest of it?" She asked as she pushed away from the desk in the room.

Bob nodded as he pulled out his phone, clicking on her contact. But, the moment he was there, he didn't know what to say to her. "Nat," he called, looking up at her. "I need your help."

He only needed Nat's help to get the ball rolling. But soon, she and Bob were sending messages back and forth with just a second long gap between. Sometimes Bob took a little longer to reply, but only because Nat was reading the messages over his shoulder and assuring him that she was flirting.

Bob couldn't believe it. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't.

"I'll go with you tomorrow," Nat said as she climbed into her bed. It was incredibly late and Bob was hyper-aware that they were still texting. "Find out if she really is flirting with you."

"Nat..."

"Goodnight, Bob."

Natasha went to sleep, but Bob stayed up. She was still replying to his messages, and he couldn't bring himself to not respond. At least until she turned around and wished him goodnight.

When Bob woke up, she had already texted him. I don't have to be on track until later - wanna get food?

Who was Bob to say no? Natasha grinned as he got himself ready, including his glasses. (He had brought his contacts to Vegas because of how much he hated wearing his glasses. He didn't have time to put them in before they headed to the track the day before, but Nat didn't expect him to wear them now).

He walked out of the hotel, ignoring Hangman and Rooster as they called after him. They sat in the lobby, do doubt waiting for Natasha as they whistled at him.

Bob kept going. He saw her car before he walked out of the glass doors, and had to stop himself from breaking into a small jog. As he approached, she pushed open the passenger side door. "Hey, Robby!" She called, wearing a grin.

"Hey," Bob said, wearing a smile as he climbed into the passenger side.

As soon as he was buckled in, she began driving. "Have you ever been to Vegas before?" She asked as she headed towards the strip.

Bob shook his head. "No, ma'am," he said. It wasn't in the same way he'd said 'ma'am' before. No, those time he had been nervous saying it. This time, it was so fucking cute and she loved it. "I don't get enough leave for that."

"Why do you call me ma'am?" She asked, but she never wanted it to stop.

Bob couldn't stop his smile. "My momma raised me right."

That much she could tell. She parked the car and climbed out as Bob did the same. "Come on," she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him along.

They went to a restaurant. Bob didn't catch the name of it as she pulled him through the doors. Even when sat gave the waiter her name, she was still holding his hand.

They sat down at a table for two. It felt far too intimate, almost like a date. She couldn't order a drink, but insisted that Bob did. He ordered one beer and made sure to make it last through their entire lunch.

She ordered a salad. Bob wanted to do the same, but she could see how conflicted he was. "Have whatever you want," she said, lowering her menu.

So, he did just that. Bob got himself a burger, the cheapest one on the menu (which was still incredibly expensive).

While they ate, Bob couldn't ignore the way her foot touched his knee beneath the table. He gulped as he reached for his beer.

While they waited, she told Bob about how she had grown up. Karting from a young age before moving onto single seaters.

The more she spoke, the more Bob could imagine getting into F1. Watching races, coming to see her in Vegas when he wasn't deployed. He just had to hope she still liked him enough to keep in contact with him.

They spent the entire afternoon together, until she was taking Bob to the track with her. Pictures of the two of them were taken as they walked through the paddock, too close to just be friends.

Once again, Bob stood in the garage while she completed the last practice session. She led, the fastest car until the Red Bulls were released onto the track.

But still, Bob couldn't stop watching the number 53 car. She came into the pits, had her tyres changed and went out a few minutes later.

Bob couldn't help but smile as he watched her climb the leaderboard. When practice ended, she didn't come in right away, doing a practice start with the other drivers.

When she got out of her car, she pulled off her helmet and balaclava, and spoke to her engineers. She had looked so happy when she climbed out of the car, but Bob watched as her face fell.

She walked over to him, unable to keep herself from sighing. The anger dropped from her face, replaced by sadness. "Wanna come sit in my drivers room?"

So, Bob followed her to her drivers room. She led him inside and shut the door behind him, letting out a breath as she leaned against it.

"Everything okay?" Asked Bob as he pushed his glasses up his nose.

She unzipped her overalls and let them fall to her hips. Bob shuffled over on the couch, giving her space. She sat beside him, shutting her eyes as she leaned back. "Because of the parts they'd had to replace in my car, I'm probably going to get a penalty later," she mumbled.

Her head fell onto his shoulder and Bob didn't move. He hesitated before wrapping his arm around her shoulder. That that, she shuffled slightly closer, which Bob didn't mind one bit.

Suddenly, she let out a weak laugh. "You're kinda making me want to stay in the states a little longer, Robby," she mumbled.

He looked down at her. "Would you? Seriously?" Bob could imagine it then, taking her to stay with him in San Diego, taking her to Montana to meet his mom at Christmas.

She shook her head. "I can't," she said and sighed through her nose. "There's one last race before the end of the season."

After that, Bob wanted to say. But he squeezed her shoulder instead.

When her trainer came in, Bob wished her good luck and headed back out to the garage. While he waited, he pulled out his phone and sent Natasha a text. She hadn't gone to the track with him, instead going with Bradley and Jake to the hangar they would be flying from.

If Nat showed Rooster and Hangman his texts, he'd never hear the end of it. But Bob realised he didn't mind. Let them talk, he was here with her.

The first round of the qualifying session was about to start. Bob sort of knew what to expect, she'd explained it to him while they sat in her drivers room, her head on his shoulder. He watched as she walked towards the car, her red, gold, black and white helmet on her head.

She climbed into the car and somebody strapped her in as somebody else spoke to her. She nodded at whatever they were saying and put her thumbs up.

Admittedly, Bob couldn't tell the difference between the practice sessions and the qualifying session. He watched as she went from having no time on the board to being the quickest car on track. But then she was knocked out of the top spot, down in eighth by the end of that session.

Bob had assumed that she was starting the race in eighth position after the eighteen minute long qualifying session. But then she and fourteen other drivers were going back out onto track.

Again she was at the top of the board, knocked out by the same driver. But she stayed in fourth, unable to get a quicker time in before the end of the session.

She went out for a third and final time. Bob heard her calling down the radio as somebody got in her way. But she put an impressive time on the board, finishing third.

It may have been obvious to everybody else in the garage, but Bob had to ask the girl standing next to him. She pushed her dark hair behind her ear and answered with a thick French accent. Bob thanked her and watched as the 53 car came into the garage.

She hopped out, did what she needed to do and came to find Bob.

It was near midnight and she couldn't quite believe he was still there, watching her. They'd spent the entire day together, and she'd loved every minute of it.

"Want me to drive you home?" She asked and Bob nodded his head.

She did just that, driving Bob back to his hotel. "They haven't confirmed if I've got a penalty or not," she said as she drove him. "So, for now I'm starting in P3." She quickly glanced at him and then looked back at the road. "Think you might be my good luck charm, Robby," she said and he blushed a deep shade of red.

She pulled up outside of the hotel, just as she had done the day before. And, like the day before, Bob was hesitant to climb out of the car.

As Bob reached for the handle of the door, she opened her mouth, ready to say something, and he stopped. But she closed her mouth. Still, Bob didn't move.

She sucked in a breath and tried again. This time, words came out. "Can I come up?"

Bob knew what that meant. How could he not? Some part of him had been wanting her to ask something like this for the last few hours. But still, he shook his head. "I, uh, I can't. I'm sharing my room with Nat."

"Oh," she said and looked down at the centre console between them. "Oh, shit. Are you and Nat- I didn't mean to overstep... I-"

Bob quickly shook his head. "No. No, Nat's my best friend, but only my best friend," he said. "But, her bed is a couple feet away from mine, so..."

She couldn't help but let a smile cross her face at that. "Can I kiss you, Robby?" She asked.

He leaned over the centre console. Her arms went around his neck, fingers playing with the short hair at the back of his neck.

Bob kissed her. He closed the gap between them, his arm awkwardly resting on her shoulders as his lips moved against her own. Her nose bumped the lens of his glasses, but neither of them minded.

If the expensive car left room for it, he would have moved her onto his lap. But he couldn't. He pulled away, staring at her as his eyes opened again. "Holy shit," he whispered and she grinned at him.

"I'll come and get you before the race," she said and Bob climbed out of the car.

***

He didn't wake up to a text from her. Immediately Bob's mind played tricks on him, telling him that, after they had kissed, she didn't want him.

He sat in the hotel for half of the day, in a perpetual state of anxiousness. Part of him didn't want to move until he heard from her, until he knew that everything was okay.

"You coming?" Nat asked him. He checked his phone one last time before following her out of the hotel room.

He didn't know what she was currently dealing with, that she had just found out about her grid place penalty. "This is such shit!" She cried as she and Charles walked through the paddock. She'd woken up to the news and hadn't had time to message Bob.

"Well, there's nothing we can do about it now," Charles said, stopping to sign things for fans (signs, hats, and even a packet of oreos). "How are things going with the navy guy?"

She grinned as they kept walking through the paddock. "We kissed, Cha," she said, suddenly much happier.

"Kissed and..." Charles tried to push.

She shook her head. "Just kissed."

Charles nodded as they walked into the garage. "Just kissed, but you wanted more," he said. "Are you gonna see him before we leave?"

"Yeah," she answered. "I'm gonna go and pick him up before the race."

Through the evening, she and Charles did what they needed to do for the race. When she got a minute, she texted Bob, but she didn't have many opportunities to check her phone.

As soon as she had a chance, she ran out of the paddock. She held her phone to her ear as she went, making her way to her car. Bob picked up on the third ring. "Hey," she said, opening the door of her car. "I'm on my way."

Bob hesitated before he answered. "I'm not at the hotel right now."

"Do you still want to come to the race?" She asked quickly.

"Do you still want me there?"

She let out a laugh. "Of course I do, Robby. Give me the address and I'll pick you up."

That was just what happened. She picked Bob up and took him to the track. She promised the other aviators that she would get him there to watch the military flyover and drove off with him in the passenger seat.

"Have you ever been to San Diego?" Bob asked as she drove. It had been playing on his mind a lot since they kissed, his best case scenario (which was currently happening. He could have laughed at himself for being so worried).

She shook her head. "I haven't had a chance to explore outside of the places we have Grand Prix," she answered.

"So, you haven't been to Montana?"

"Nope."

Bob couldn't help but smile. He sucked in a breath, steadying himself. "I don't know when you're gonna have time off, but I could show you Montana, if you'd like."

She grinned at him as she parked the car. "I'd love that, Robby," she said and climbed out of the car.

She checked the time on her watch, grabbed her hand and began running. "I'm late!" She cried. Bob was only happy to run beside her, heading into the Ferrari garage. He slowed to a walk, but she kept going, running to her drivers room to pull on her fireproofs and overalls.

Bob watched it all. He watched as she stood for the national anthem with her fellow drivers, watched as she completed the formation lap from the back of the grid (something he had to ask about), and watched as she raced.

Bob couldn't help but be impressed as she fought her way across the track, racing past most of the grid. She overtook ten other cars, finishing in 5th.

When she climbed out of the car, Bob could see just how happy she was from her body language alone. She did what she had to do, spoke to the team and was interviewed, before she ran over to Bob and threw her arms around him.

"That was incredible!" He cried, smiling down at her. "I didn't realise racing was so exciting."

She grinned and kissed his cheek. "Think you'll watch next weeks race?"

"Definitely," he said.

He hadn't expected her to kiss him in front of all of the cameras. But Bob didn't mind. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close until she pulled away.

"I leave in the morning," she whispered in his ear. "Stay with me, in my hotel. One last night."

"Until Montana?" Bob asked, his forehead against her own.

"Until Montana."

a/n: ok i loved this and it may need a part two lol

[youkissedareaderinthedark]

The Scare

Synopsis: A terrifying crash puts Y/n in an even more terrifying situation, and it affects everyone, in the end.

young female driver x 2023 F1 Grid

A/N: for this one, valtteri is retired and reader has taken his seat at alfa romeo

also, @badassturtle13 you requested a fic like this a month or two ago while i was in my writers block-era, but if you remember your ask and would still like to read it, here it is

You knew the risk. All twenty of you did. That’s how yet got into these cars every weekend. But that doesn’t make it any easier when you actually face the risks.

You weren’t the biggest fan of the Las Vegas Grand Prix from the start. You knew the planning for it was rough, and that there were a lot of elements of the weekend that everybody was unsure of.

You weren’t exactly surprised when the reasoning behind the storm drain incident was released after Free Practice 1, or when race directors revealed they didn’t even look at the predicted weather for this weekend.

But there wasn’t much you could do about either, about any of it really, so you put your head down and focused on your car.

You joined Alfa Romeo as the third rookie of the 2023 season, and although you and Zhou weren’t getting wins and podiums each weekend, you finished in the points nearly every race, and helped bring your team up to 8th in the Constructors Championship.

As of the second to last race, you were having a good first season; you and Zhou got along great, your team trusted you, and you liked getting to know and hanging out with the rest of the grid. Specifically, your closest friends Logan and Oscar, who you were walking with in the paddock before Sunday’s race.

“Is it bad that I’m not excited for the race?” Oscar asks from the middle of you three, as you walk down the grid.

“I don’t blame you, I wouldn’t want to start P17 either” You admit.

“You’re gonna be fine Oscar, you’ve made your way up the field before, you’ll do it again” Logan shrugs, assuring him.

Oscar nods as you speak up with the beginning of a smirk on your face. “When you make it up the field and into the points, along with me and Logan, what are we doing to celebrate?”

“No. No, we have-” Oscar’s already shaking his head as Logan laughs. “I know some of the grid is going to a club a few blocks away, you guys wanna go?”

“Yes,” You rush to say after you see Oscar start to protest. “we’ll go. No objections”

“We have flights tomorrow-” You interrupt the Australian. “I don’t care, we should all go. And I have to leave now so you can’t say no” You point out as you near the Alfa Romeo garage. Oscar rolls his eyes playfully as Logan continues to laugh.

“Good luck Y/n, see you after the race” Logan says, still chuckling as Oscar waves and continues down the paddock with the American by his side.

You greet Zhou as you walk towards your drivers room to meet with your trainer. The last 20 minutes you have before you’re needed on the track is spent doing reflex tests and speaking with the strategists one last time.

You leave the garage to stand for the national anthem after a brief Grid Walk interview with Martin, and quickly return for the formation lap.

“Alright Y/n,” Your team principle, Alessandro, comes over your radio as you’re pulling out into the pit lane. “do your best to maintain P7 or higher, just be aware of the tires. Stay safe, good luck”

“Thanks, will do. See you at the finish line” You reply before flipping down your visor and accelerating onto the track.

“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s a cold night here in Las Vegas, but the city is awake and ready to watch the last U.S race of the 2023 season. Our drivers are approaching the starting line, the five lights are coming on, and it’s light’s out and away we go!”

You manage to pull away from Magnussen behind you and advance closer to Logan in front of you as you near Turn 1. You get through the first and second lap fine, until your race engineers Alex, informs you that Lando’s crashed during Lap 3, and the 19 drivers remaining are being led by the safety car until Lap 7.

You think your race will be uneventful past that point until you notice the reluctance in the car’s breaking during Lap 19. “There’s something wrong with my brakes, it’s getting hard to slow down” You radio concerned, back to your team.

“Stand by Y/n, we’re checking” Alex tells you as you approach Turn 1 on the next lap. After a few moments without an update, you radio again.

“Anything? It’s getting bad, I can’t slow down” Your voice shows your clear concern. It’s clear to everyone that you’re getting more and more distressed each minute.

“One moment, Y/n, we’re trying” The engineer becomes audible again, and you get that everyone in the garage is trying, but right now it’s not enough.

You’re going at 150 miles an hour down the straight after Turn 4, and you could practically hear your heart beating nervously as you approach Turn 6.

You press on the brake pedal. Nothing. You try to release your hold on the accelerator pedal and clutch on your steering wheel. Nothing.

You go through the options in your head;

Turn and crash purposefully now to slow your car down? There are drivers less than a second behind you, the straight isn’t that wide, they could get hurt.

Turn and hit the curb as you pass the corner to slow down? There are drivers less than a second behind you, the corner isn’t that wide, they could get hurt. You could get hurt

Your adrenaline is pumping, thoughts are flying through your head at a million miles per second, and you don’t know what to do.

You’re going 150 miles an hour down a straight, but now the corner is coming closer.

“I can’t fucking stop! Alex!” You’re pressing the radio button frantically, hoping someone, anyone responds.

Nothing.

It all goes by in a flash.

Turn 6 comes at you faster than you imagined. Your Alfa Romeo crashes front-wing first into the barriers, the momentum of a 150 mile-per-hour car so strong, not even your harness can stop your body from colliding into your steering wheel.

Everything goes white for a moment, all you could hear is a deafening ringing in your ears, and then the only thing you could feel is pain.

The hurt in your chest is intolerable. You think you’re screaming. There’s smoke or clouds of dust or something else you can’t begin to decipher in the air surrounding you. You could feel the vibrations of the track from the passing cars below you, but you don’t bother to move your head up from where it rests on top of your wheel.

If the ringing wasn’t so loud, you might’ve been able to hear three of your ribs on the right side of your chest break when you first made impact with the wheel. If the pain wasn’t so unbearable, you might’ve been able to notice how because three of your ribs on the right side of your chest are broken, your lungs can barely produce oxygen for you to breathe.

It’s only when you try to gasp for air against the tears running down your face do you notice. The second you try, it sends streaks of pain overflowing throughout your body. Then you realize. You can’t breathe.

You want to stay calm, you really do, but you’re crying so much you could feel them soaking your balaclava, you’re scared to the point that your hands are shaking uncontrollably, there’s still so much adrenaline in you, and you can’t breathe.

You try to radio your team to tell them to send medics or just do something to help, but when you open your mouth to speak, the same thing happens as when you tried to radio for help earlier.

Nothing.

You’re stuck in your crashed car, without a voice, without a breath, and you think this is it.

It feels like hours, but really, it’s only been about a minute since you’ve crashed. Every grand stand is silent, and Martin Brundle and David Croft are speechless. Alex is trying to communicate with you while the other engineers attempt to figure out the the state of your car. Drivers are being led by the safety car under a red flag, anxiously talking to their own engineers to find out if you’re okay. And finally, the safety marshals and medical staff have made their way onto the track and to your car.

The marshals repeatedly shout to you for a sign of responsiveness while the medics move to pull you out of the car. Everyone else is either running in and out of the ambulance that’s just arrived, or helping place a curtain around you for privacy.

The medics transfer you onto a gurney on the ground while the lead medic assess you. She’s pulled off your helmet and balaclava and is left staring at your pale face, alarmed eyes, and gasping mouth.

A few touches to your pulse and lungs confirm her suspicion, and the woman quickly asserts her team. “She has flail chest, she needs an oxygen machine and an IV for pain meds. Her ribs are broken on the right side of her lungs, she’s been barely breathing”

The materials asked for are provided in seconds, and within a few moments, an oxygen mask is placed around your face, and the skin in your left forearm is being pierced with a needle.

For the first time since you started Lap 19, you’ve found both your voice and your breath, the pain striking through your body isn’t as severe anymore, and your nerves have calmed down.

The lead medic hovering over you notices your less-tense state, and lets out her own breath. “You okay kid?” With an oxygen mask, 3 broken ribs, and an IV in your arm, you nod with small smile of relief on your face.

The medics let you stay laying down on the gurney, and transfer you into the waiting ambulance to get you to the nearest hospital. The safety marshals update the Alfa Romeo garage on your state of health, and your damaged car gets moved off the track. Once informed themselves of the situation, Crofty and Martin advise the anxious and waiting fans of your condition and when the race will resume.

The 18 drivers that were restlessly sat in their garages are now visibly relieved and preparing for the race start. The engineers on your side of the garage are pouring over the data from Lap 19 to figure out where it all went wrong, while your trainer leaves to go meet you at the hospital.

While you’re in the hospital, you get hooked up to a new IV and get assessed by a nurse before a doctor comes in to take your X-rays. The results show your 3 broken ribs and the few bruises on your lungs that are set to heal within a week or two.

You’re put on a ventilator to help your breathing after the doctor tells you that you had to stay in the hospital for at least 3 days, and you’d miss the last race of the season as a precaution.

You also undergo surgery hours later to stabilize the broken ribs, and ensure you’re not internally bleeding. Because of all the anesthesia and pain medicine, your either asleep or painless for your first night in the hospital.

The next day is when you’re brought into the real world again, and your trainer tells you everything you missed. He tells you Lando, who you learn was in the room a few doors down when you came in, visited you after your surgery and wished you to get better soon. He tells you about the rest of the race and everything the rest of the drivers have said about you and your crash.

You talk to your team eventually and convince them to let you travel to Abu Dhabi on Saturday to at least watch the race from the garage. You talk to your parents and friends to inform them that your lungs are healing accordingly, that you’re off the ventilator, and have been breathing fine by Thursday.

You’re discharged from the hospital Friday night, and only stop at your hotel to collect your things before catching a flight to Abu Dhabi. You told Logan and Oscar you’d be arriving Sunday morning, which explains why they’re so surprised when you show up in the paddock after Qualifying Saturday night.

“It’s not the best place to start from but-” Logan spots you first, in the middle of a conversation with Oscar. “Oh my god” Is all he mutters before running up to bring you into a hug. You’re smiling, almost laughing at his reaction, until you hear what the American says.

“Don’t do that again. I thought you-” You notice his voice break, and you’re once again aware of what everyone else was feeling while you were breathless inside your car almost a week ago.

“I won’t Logan, I’m okay now” You assure him as best you can before Oscar comes over to both of you. Logan lets go momentarily while the McLaren driver hugs you.

“We were all really scared, y’know. We didn’t know,” He pauses, his voice catches before he’s speaking into your shoulder again. “we didn’t know if you were okay”

“I know Oscar, I’m here though, I’m okay” You know you can’t say much in sympathy to either of the drivers right now, you’ll never exactly know the anxiety and worry they felt on Sunday, but you do tell them about your time in the hospital and how you’re expected to make a full recovery in time for next season.

“I wish you were driving today though, you should be in your car for the last race” Oscar says as the three of you walk through the paddock together.

“I know, I want to drive too, but at the same time, I’m kind of glad I’m not driving until next season. I want to let my lungs rest and everything before I get in my car again” You say with a shrug.

You were being truthful; you weren’t afraid of crashing again, you actually couldn’t wait to drive your Alfa Romeo, but you heard all the possible long term affects of rib and lung damage, and you’d rather miss out on one race than your entire F1 career.

“I’m just glad you’re okay” Logan admits as Oscar nods.

“Yeah, me too”

a short, somewhat emotional f1 fic. 1 down, 3 to go

[afterglowsainz]

i'mgonnagetyouback pt. 2 | max verstappen

part 1

summary: max is determined to win y/n back before leaving las vegas and an unexpected reunion at the hotel's pool might be just what he needed

warnings: none

word count: 1.5k

a/n: okay so i wasn't actually planning on doing a part 2 to this but a few people requested it and since i'm a pathological people pleaser here it its !!

“okay so, step one.” charles’s voice caughts his attention.

if max was gonna get y/n back, he needed to do it that weekend, she was leaving for her other tour dates and he had other races, and he needed a plan. that’s where charles, daniel and lando come in.

“break up with your girlfriend.” the monegasque continues. the other two men in the room nod, agreeing with the ferrari driver.

the second y/n’s concert finished, max felt the urge to go running backstage to her just like old times, but his plans were interrupted by the women he went to the concert with in the first place. his girlfriend wanted nothing more than to go back to the hotel and her daughter was too exhausted to even walk in a straight line, so he took them both to the hotel and then ran into charles’s room to create a plan, calling daniel and lando to join them.

“you’re right.” max says.

the thought of breaking up with his current girlfriend has been on the back of his mind for a while now. he didn’t really wanted to accept it, but he’s been in love with y/n all this time and it just wasn’t fair to be with someone else. step one was the most urgent.

“step two, call y/n and tell her that you wanna talk to her.” daniel speaks this time.

this one was the step he was the most nervous about. they haven’t talked for ten months and now suddenly he was thinking of getting back together, i mean, what if she moved on already? just because he hasn’t doesn’t mean she didn’t either; but he remembered her singing a few hours ago about getting him back, even if it was just to punch him in the face. he would take what he can get.

“maybe mention that you went to see her show as well.” lando adds.

“what if she thinks i’m a creep or something?” charles gives him an incredulous look.

“mate, come on, you’re her ex, not some random dude.” max nods again and felt the stress of anticipation already creeping in.

“it’ll be fine, max, nothing to worry about.” daniel tries to reassure him and lando smiles at him in the same way.

he exhales and stands up from the chair he was seated on.

“i should go back to my room. start things with the right foot.” they all agree with him and wish him good luck.

when he got back to his room, he saw his girlfriend’s daughter already asleep on her bed and his girlfriend laying down and watching something on tv. he prepared himself internally and went into the room.

“hey.” he says. “can we talk?”

he was quick. it was as uncomfortable as breaking up with someone is, but he felt a bit relieved after. she tried to persuade him into thinking about it, he said he didn’t want to hurt her. he told her they could stay at that room and he would just ask for another at the reception, she agreed. she asked if this was because of y/n, he stayed silent for a moment. he couldn’t lie, not that it was all already out there, and y/n was not a secret he had to hide to anyone. he said yes. she asked him to get out. he did.

max went down to the hotel’s reception and asked for an extra room. since it was a bit late at night they asked him to wait an hour until they arranged one of the suites for him. he agreed without complaining and was about to head back to charles’s room, however, already on the elevator he impulsively pressed the button for the last floor that took him directly to the pool. it was dark and there was no one there, the dim lights on the inside of the pool being the only lightning.

he walked over to the balcony and admired the view of las vegas beneath him, from his position he could see the whole downtown, including the track that he would be driving that weekend. if he wouldn’t have been too distracted he would have heard the sound of small steps going his way, stopping right at the entrance.

you thought you were seeing things, or that you had gone mad. you blink twice, and when he didn’t disappear, you knew max verstappen was standing right in front of you. you could recognize him anywhere.

the uncomfortable burning feeling of being looked at got the best of him and he finally turned around. he didn’t say anything, thinking it was his imagination playing games, but it wasn’t, you were right there, just mere inches away from him.

“y/n.” was all he could say. he figured a hello would be the way to go. “hey.”

you looked just as shocked as he was, but that didn’t stop you from answering.

“hi, max.” your voice was more confident than how you actually felt.

you had just done a three hour show and just wanted to relax a bit in the pool before going back to your room, and now you were there, facing your ex-boyfriend.

“you’re staying here?” he asks, regretting it instantly because of course you were.

“yeah.” you answer, not moving a single centimeter. “i have a few shows this weekend.” you explain.

“i know.” he says, almost too quickly. you arch a brow at him but don’t say anything. “i’m racing here this weekend.” you nod.

“i know.” you copy his answer, although you take a few more moments to say it.

“i went to your show.” he says out of nowhere.

this shocks you even more than before because what does he mean he went to your show?

“what?” is all that you could mumble.

“tonight.” he clarifies. “i went to see you. i hope you don’t think that’s… inappropriate.” his eyes finally leave yours and he looks at the pool instead.

“i don’t think… why would it be inappropriate?” you ask, a bit flabbergasted still. “i don’t think that.”

he nods relieved to hear you say that.

“so you went to the show?” you ask again. “you heard me sing all those songs?” you question, a bit shy.

“yeah, it was incredible.” he smiles at you. “you’re the most talented person i know.”

this makes you blush because he still has that power over you. you couldn’t manage to thank him for the compliment, so you just smiled at him, which was enough for him.

“i liked your surprise song.” he states, more confident this time.

“oh.” you reply. “you did?” he nods. “yeah, i guess it’s a fun song.” you chuckle, knowing damn well you wrote it thinking about him.

this was it, he thought. this was the moment he had been fantasizing about since he stepped into the stadium that night. how to get y/n back? this was his opportunity to do something. no charles, daniel or lando to whisper in his ear. it was all him.

“is it true?” he questions.

“what?” you frown.

“what you were singing in the song?” he explains. “i’m not gonna flatter myself thinking you wrote it about me, but, did you?”

you bit your lip trying not to laugh. how could you confess that to him?

“are you asking me if i want you back?” he notices that you ignored his question, but he didn’t care.

“i know i do.” you looked at him for a few seconds too long, processing his answer.

“i thought you had a girlfriend?” you mumble and he shakes his head.

“we’re not together anymore.” finally, he moves slowly from the other end of the balcony toward you and you remain still. “i’ve always been yours.”

you look at him properly this time, you could see every detail of his face now with how close he was to you and you felt like the ten months you haven’t talked to him hadn’t passed at all.

“and i can understand if you moved on already, but i must tell you i haven’t, for me it has always been you.”

the reasons of why you had broken up all those months ago seemed so silly now. he wasn’t a bad guy, and you weren’t a bad person. your break up wasn’t ugly, both of you had just been too busy with your crazy schedules and you thought ending things would be for the best, but not a day had passed where you didn’t regret that decision.

max was everything, and he was here in front of you, asking for a second chance.

“and when i saw you tonight at your show and i just fell more in love if that’s even possible, and i thought of all the time we wasted and i…”

you touched his face with tenderness and cut him off with a kiss that was long due.

—

liked by maxverstappen1, lilymhe and 5.482.049 others

yourusername viva las vegas! 🏁 incredible crowd for and incredible night ⭐️

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user1 omg best day of my life 😭

user2 night 1 post we wonnn

user3 girl we see that emoji 👀

user4 we see max in the likes too 👀

user5 please don’t start this i couldn’t take it 😩

user6 max at the concert, she posted pictures and she sung imgonnagetyouback as a surprise song, las vegas n1 really won 😭

user7 MAX WAS AT THE CONCERT ???

liked by yourusername, schecoperez and 893.482 others

maxverstappen1 Brand new, full throttle… 🏎

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redbullracing congrats legend! 🏆

user8 the only time he smiled during this whole weekend 😭

user9 max is so me cause i also talked shit about this race only to lowkey enjoy it at the end

user10 not him using the lyrics of so high school 😭😭

user11 sir is there something we should know? 👀

yourusername who’s that grand prix winner? 😮‍💨

maxverstappen1 i love you ❤️

user12 WHAT SINCE WHEN

user13 chat is this real ???

user14 y/nstappen back together the earth is healing 🤍

liked by francisca.cgomez, maxverstappen1 and 7.482.949 others

yourusername where’s the trophy? he just comes running over to me 💘

tagged maxverstappen1

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user15 EXCUSE ME MA’AM ???

user16 omg y/nstappen i used to pray for times like this‼️

user17 the alchemy mentioned we won !!!

user18 Y/NSTAPPEN NATION LET’S RISE

alexandrasaintmleux so happy to have you back in the paddock🫶🏽💞

yourusername girl i’m happy to be back😭

user19 the fact that he actually run over to her after winning the race ohhh i’m so normal about them 😩

user20 MAX VERSTAPPEN CAN YOU FIGHT?

maxverstappen1 could never fight the alchemy❤️

yourusername my maxxx ❤️

user21 pls they’re the cutest 😭

[julietsf1]

Factory Reset - Franco Colapinto x Engineer!Reader

summary: After a major crash, Franco Colapinto is sent to the Williams factory to work alongside the engineers repairing his car. Tensions run high as he’s forced to confront the realities of their work and the sharp wit of performance engineer Y/N. What begins as a clash of worlds becomes an eye-opening experience for both. (6k words)

content: overconfident Franco; smart but salty Y/N; 3rd person POV; written by someone who doesn't know much about engineering lol it's the vibes that count innit

an: Sorry for disappearing cuties! I had some unexpected work obligations but will be uploading all my WIPs today! thanks for sticking around <3

---------------------------------------------------

The tension in the Williams Racing debrief room was almost as palpable as the screeching halt Franco Colapinto’s car had come to in Las Vegas. The crash had been spectacularly disastrous, with debris scattered across the strip like confetti. And now, here he was, summoned not to a glamorous event or strategy meeting but to a mandatory visit to the Williams factory in Grove. Franco couldn’t remember the last time he felt this much dread walking into a building.

James Vowles stood at the head of the room, his usual calm demeanor carrying an edge of authority that demanded attention.

“We’re implementing a new initiative,” James began, his sharp eyes darting between Franco and the engineers gathered. “To strengthen team spirit and accountability. After a crash like the one in Vegas and our previous years with many crashes, it’s crucial to recognize that Formula 1 isn’t just about what happens on track. It’s also about the people who make it all possible behind the scenes.”

Franco leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. He wasn’t a fan of the lecture tone, but he wasn’t about to interrupt.

“This initiative,” James continued, “involves drivers spending time at the factory. Working alongside the team. Seeing firsthand the hours, the sweat, and the dedication it takes to repair the damages—damages that fall under the cost cap.”

There it was. The thinly veiled jab. Franco sat up straighter, his jaw tightening.

“I’m sure we all agree,” James said with a smile that wasn’t entirely warm, “this will benefit everyone. Franco, you’ll spend the next three days with us here in Grove.”

The engineers in the room exchanged glances. Some smirked, others looked indifferent, but one person in particular didn’t even bother to mask her displeasure. Y/N, one of the team’s senior performance engineers, leaned back in her chair, arms folded, with an expression that screamed, “Of course it’s him.”

Franco noticed her immediately. He’d seen her around the garage before but had never exchanged more than a brief nod. Now, as her steely eyes bore into him, he felt the weight of the animosity she clearly didn’t bother to hide.

“Any questions?” James asked, breaking the silence.

Franco raised a hand half-heartedly. “Yeah. What exactly am I supposed to do for three days?”

James smiled, his tone sharper than the words themselves. “Learn.”

…

The hum of machinery filled the Williams factory, a symphony of clanging metal, whirring drills, and distant chatter. Franco stood awkwardly at the edge of the main floor, dressed in a team-issued polo and jeans, feeling painfully out of place. Engineers bustled past him with purpose, pushing carts laden with parts or gesturing at detailed schematics. Everyone seemed to know where they were going—everyone but him.

Y/N emerged from a row of workstations, a tablet tucked under her arm and a look of mild irritation on her face. Her presence was commanding, despite her relatively small stature among the towering racks and machinery. When she spotted Franco, her expression tightened further, as if this entire ordeal was a personal inconvenience.

“Right,” she said, stopping in front of him. “Let’s get this over with.”

Franco raised an eyebrow. “Wow. You really know how to make a guy feel welcome.”

Y/N didn’t bite. Instead, she thrust the tablet toward him. “Here’s your schedule for the day. You’ll shadow me for the morning. Try to keep up.”

“Keep up?” Franco smirked, taking the tablet. “I’m an F1 driver. I think I can manage.”

She didn’t even look back as she turned on her heel. “We’ll see.”

The morning was a whirlwind of tasks that Franco barely understood. Y/N walked him through the telemetry department, where engineers analyzed data from his car. The lead analyst, a middle-aged man named Paul, greeted Y/N warmly but barely spared Franco a glance.

“So this is the data from Vegas,” Y/N said, pulling up a graph on one of the monitors. “See these spikes here? That’s where you oversteered.”

Franco squinted at the screen, trying to make sense of the jagged lines. “Okay, but in my defense, the rear was completeshit by that point.”

Y/N shot him a sharp look. “In your defense? Do you know how much work it took to rebuild the floor after that?”

Paul cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the tension. “It’s not all bad,” he interjected. “We did get some valuable data—”

“Valuable data doesn’t fix a wrecked car,” Y/N cut him off, her eyes still on Franco. “Next time, maybe don’t treat the car like it’s disposable.”

Franco clenched his jaw. He was used to criticism from team principals or the media, but this felt different—more personal. “I don’t crash on purpose, you know,” he muttered.

Y/N turned back to the screen. “Could’ve fooled me.”

The tour continued through the machine shop, where technicians were crafting replacement parts, and the aerodynamics lab, where wind tunnel models were being adjusted. Franco noticed that while most people greeted Y/N with respect, their reactions to him ranged from polite nods to outright indifference.

By the time they reached the assembly area, Franco was bristling with frustration. “Is everyone here always this friendly, or is it just me?”

Y/N glanced at him, her expression unreadable. “They’re busy. Unlike you, they don’t have time to play the victim.”

Franco stopped walking, forcing her to turn around. “What’s your problem with me?”

“My problem?” Y/N folded her arms, her voice low but pointed. “You think this team exists to make you look good on Sundays. But for us, this is our life. Every crash, every mistake, it’s hours of extra work. Late nights. Missed weekends. Let alone you blaming it all on the car every time. So yeah, excuse me if I’m not rolling out the red carpet for you.”

Franco opened his mouth to respond but couldn’t find the words. Instead, he fell silent and followed her as she led him to the next department.

The afternoon brought more hands-on tasks. Y/N handed Franco a wrench and pointed to a disassembled gearbox. “Think you can manage this?”

“Depends,” Franco said, inspecting the gearbox. “What’s the record time for putting one of these together?”

“This isn’t a race,” Y/N snapped, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes.

Franco worked diligently, occasionally asking questions that Y/N grudgingly answered. By the end of the day, the gearbox was reassembled, and Franco felt a small sense of accomplishment—though Y/N didn’t offer any praise.

As they packed up, Franco noticed her pause by one of the workbenches, her expression softening as she examined a photo taped to the wall. It showed a younger Y/N during her internship at McLaren, laughing with Daniel Ricciardo and Lando Norris.

“You worked at McLaren?” Franco asked, genuinely curious.

Y/N nodded without looking at him. “Internship during uni. Best year of my life.”

“Let me guess,” Franco said. “You were one of Danny Ric’s ‘shoey’ victims?”

Y/N laughed, a sound that surprised them both. “Only once. But it was worth it.”

For a moment, the tension between them eased. Then Y/N’s phone buzzed, and she glanced at the screen. “Back to reality. See you tomorrow, Colapinto.”

As she walked away, Franco found himself smiling despite himself. 

…

The second day at the Williams factory was already shaping up to be a long one. Franco arrived earlier than expected, determined not to let Y/N accuse him of slacking off. The factory came alive with distant murmur of conversations slowly filling the space. He leaned against the telemetry lab doorframe, holding a cup of coffee that smelled like it had been brewed by an engineer experimenting with car oil, waiting for Y/N to show up.

When she finally appeared, cradling a steaming cup of tea and glancing down at her tablet, Franco couldn’t help himself. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

Y/N looked up, unimpressed. “You’re early. Trying to win points or just lost?”

“Maybe I just enjoy our morning chats,” Franco replied, grinning over the rim of his coffee cup. “Your warmth really sets the tone for the day.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but there was a flicker of amusement behind her usual sharpness. “If sarcasm counts as effort, you’re doing great.”

The morning routine started where the conversation with Paul had left off the previous day: telemetry analysis. Franco was seated in the simulator cockpit while Y/N pulled up detailed graphs of his Vegas laps, pointing out each mistake with the precision of a scalpel.

“See this spike here?” she said, her finger hovering over the screen. “That’s where you decided braking wasn’t necessary.”

“I didn’t decide that,” Franco countered, leaning forward to study the data. “The rear was loose, and I had to adjust—”

“You overcompensated,” Y/N interrupted, highlighting another section. “Instead of making a gradual adjustment, you panicked. A car doesn’t respond well to panic.”

Franco frowned, leaning back in the seat. “I didn’t panic.”

Y/N turned to face him, her gaze piercing. “You’re telling me plowing into the barrier was part of the plan?”

For a moment, Franco stared at her, at a complete loss for words. Then he laughed, the tension easing slightly. “You know, you’d make a great drill sergeant.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” she said dryly, though the faintest hint of a smirk played on her lips.

By lunchtime, Franco had decided to stop avoiding the canteen drama and instead followed Y/N to her usual table. She sat with a group of engineers, all engaged in animated conversation about the latest updates to the floor design. Franco tried to follow along, but the technical jargon quickly became overwhelming.

“You look lost,” Y/N said, leaning toward him. Her voice was low enough that only he could hear. “Too many big words?”

Franco smirked, stealing a chip from her tray. “Just biding my time. Waiting for you to talk about something interesting.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow but didn’t stop him from taking another chip. “Bold move.”

“I can be bold,” he said, popping the chip into his mouth.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward, betraying her amusement.

…

At four o’clock sharp Y/N stood by the sideline of the nearby paddle court, tapping her racket against her leg and scanning the group of engineers gathering for the weekly game. It was her favorite way to let off steam after a long week - competitive enough to keep her engaged but lighthearted enough to remind her that work wasn’t everything.

“Where’s Ethan?” someone asked, voicing the question on her mind.

Y/N’s usual partner was nowhere to be seen. A quick check of her phone confirmed it: Ethan had bailed last-minute with a text about a migraine and a sincere promise to make it up to her next week.

“Great,” Y/N muttered under her breath. Without a partner, she’d be sitting this one out.

“Problem?” Franco’s voice cut through the crowd, his grin as smug as ever as he leaned against the court’s railing.

Y/N turned to him, crossing her arms. “Ethan flaked. No partner, no game.”

“Shame,” Franco said, though he didn’t sound particularly sorry. “Guess you’ll just have to cheer from the sidelines.”

Y/N glared at him, but before she could retort, he held up his hands in mock surrender.

“Or,” he continued, “I could step in. You know, save the day.”

She snorted, looking him up and down. “You? Save my day?”

“Hey,” Franco said, grabbing a spare paddle from the bench. “I’m more coordinated than I look.”

“That’s a low bar,” Y/N shot back, but her lips twitched as if suppressing a smile.

“You need a partner,” Franco said, spinning the paddle in his hand. “I’m offering. Unless you’re too scared I’ll outplay you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the thought of sitting out was more annoying than the idea of teaming up with him. “Fine,” she said, pointing at him with her paddle. “But if you screw this up, I’m never letting you live it down.”

The first few minutes were rocky. Franco’s confidence far outstripped his paddle skills, and Y/N found herself darting across the court to cover his missed volleys.

“Are you actually trying?” she called after him when he completely whiffed a return.

“Relax,” Franco said, jogging back to his position. “I’m just warming up.”

“You better warm up fast, I have a competition ranking to keep up,” she snapped, returning a wicked shot from their opponents.

But to her surprise, Franco adjusted quickly. His natural athleticism took over, and soon he was diving for impossible shots and landing them with a flourish that almost made Y/N forget his rough start.

“Not bad,” she admitted after he scored their first point with a sharp return.

“Not bad?” Franco said, feigning offense. “That was textbook genius.”

“Let’s not get carried away,” Y/N said, though she couldn’t help the grin that tugged at her lips.

As the match progressed, Y/N found herself enjoying their unlikely partnership. Franco’s energy was infectious, and his relentless determination to win made her laugh more than once.

“Nice shot!” he shouted after one of her perfectly placed lobs.

“Thanks,” she replied, her voice tinged with mock sweetness. “Try not to ruin it.”

“I’m carrying this team,” Franco said, panting as he prepared for the next serve.

“Only thing you’re carrying is that big head of yours,” Y/N muttered, but the teasing tone softened her words.

At some point, a stray ball sailed out of the court, bouncing into the parking lot. Franco volunteered to fetch it, jogging off while Y/N leaned against the net to catch her breath.

James Vowles strolled over from the sidelines, hands in his pockets and a wide smile on his face.

“Not bad out there,” James said, nodding toward the court. “You’ve got Franco moving, at least.”

Y/N laughed, brushing a stray hair from her face. “He’s not as useless as I thought. Still reckless, though.”

James chuckled, his eyes twinkling. “You know, it’s good to see him having fun. It’s been a rough season—rookie pressure and all that. Moments like this are rare for him.”

Y/N glanced toward Franco, who was bent over retrieving the ball. His usual bravado seemed lighter today, less forced. She’d never thought about how intense the pressure must be for him.

“He hides it well,” Y/N said softly.

James nodded, still smiling. “He does. Sometimes I forget how young he still is.”

When Franco jogged back onto the court, tossing the ball into the air with a cocky grin, Y/N felt a twinge of sympathy she hadn’t expected.

“Ready?” Franco called, positioning himself for the next serve.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” Y/N replied, her voice softer than before.

Franco’s serve caught her off guard. It was precise and powerful, skimming the net and clipping the edge of the line.

“Nice serve,” Y/N said, the words escaping before she could think better of them.

Franco froze mid-smile. “Did you just compliment me?”

“Don’t get used to it,” she said quickly, but there was a faint blush on her cheeks.

The rest of the match passed in a blur of fast volleys and laughter. Y/N found herself encouraging Franco more often, and he responded by playing even better, his confidence growing with every point.

By the time they won—21 to 17—they were both breathless and grinning.

“Good game,” Franco said, holding out his hand.

Y/N shook it, her grip firm. “Not terrible.”

“Coming from you, I’ll take that as glowing praise,” Franco said, his grin widening.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she said, though her tone was more teasing than cutting.

As the match wrapped up and the court cleared, Y/N crouched down to zip her bag, her mind still buzzing with the game’s energy. She couldn’t help but replay the last few points in her head—the unexpected precision of Franco’s serve, the way he’d thrown himself into every volley, and, perhaps most surprising, how well they’d worked together. It wasn’t something she’d anticipated when she grudgingly let him join her earlier.

Franco, standing a few feet away, adjusted the strap of his bag and hesitated. He glanced at Y/N, his usual cocky grin nowhere in sight. Instead, his expression was softer, more sincere, as though he was wrestling with what to say.

“Thanks for letting me play,” he said finally, his voice quieter than usual. It wasn’t just a throwaway comment—it carried a weight Y/N hadn’t expected.

She paused, straightening up and meeting his gaze. For a moment, she wasn’t sure how to respond. Franco wasn’t looking at her with his usual smirk or playful glint. There was something vulnerable in his eyes, something she hadn’t seen before. Gratitude, maybe, or relief.

I should be thanking you,” she said simply, her tone gentler than usual.

Franco blinked, as though her words had surprised him, and for the first time since he’d arrived at the factory, he looked almost shy. He nodded, slinging his bag over his shoulder and stepping closer.

“Seriously,” he added, his voice a little firmer now. “I needed that. It’s been… a lot lately. You didn’t have to let me join, but you did. So, thanks.”

Y/N studied him, her sharp instincts catching the subtle way his shoulders relaxed, the way he shifted his weight like he wasn’t used to opening up. This wasn’t the brash rookie who crashed cars and cracked jokes at every opportunity. This was someone who carried more than he let on—someone who, despite his flaws, was trying.

Her reply came almost automatically, her voice softer than she expected. “Well, don’t let it go to your head.”

But there was no edge to her words this time, no undercurrent of sarcasm. It was the kind of teasing that felt less like a wall and more like an olive branch.

For the first time, she didn’t see him as just the reckless rookie who kept wrecking her hard work. He was something more—someone navigating a high-pressure world, someone trying to find his place just like everyone else. And, Y/N realized, he wasn’t half-bad at it when he let himself breathe.

Franco smiled—an easy, genuine smile that lit up his face in a way that was, dare she admit it, a little endearing. “Careful,” he said, his tone regaining its usual playfulness. “Keep this up, and I might start thinking you like me.”

“Let’s not get carried away,” she shot back, though her lips twitched into a faint smile of their own.

As they walked out of the court together, their banter trailing into the evening air, Y/N couldn’t help but feel like something had shifted. Maybe, just maybe, Franco Colapinto wasn’t as bad as she’d thought.

…

The hum of the factory felt louder than usual the next morning, or maybe it was just the lingering buzz from the paddle game. Y/N sat at her workstation, staring at the detailed telemetry graphs on her screen but not entirely focused on them. She couldn’t stop thinking about Franco—not in the way she was used to, with irritation bubbling under the surface, but something else. Something softer.

“Morning,” a familiar voice called, jolting her out of her thoughts.

Franco leaned against the edge of her desk, his trademark grin firmly in place. He was holding a cup of coffee—factory brew, by the looks of it—and looked annoyingly chipper for someone who had spent the previous day sprinting across a court.

“Don’t you have someone else to bother?” Y/N asked, raising an eyebrow but unable to keep the amusement out of her tone.

“Probably,” Franco replied, setting the coffee down on her desk. “But I figured I’d start with you.”

Y/N eyed the cup suspiciously. “What’s this?”

“Peace offering,” he said, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Figured I owed you for carrying me in paddle yesterday.”

Y/N snorted, picking up the cup. “You’re lucky I like caffeine.” She took a cautious sip, then looked up at him. “Still terrible coffee, though.”

“Hey, I tried,” Franco said, raising his hands in mock surrender.

The morning flew by in a blur of meetings and simulations. Franco had started shadowing her more closely, asking questions that, to her surprise, weren’t entirely stupid.

“So, this graph,” Franco said, leaning over her shoulder as she pulled up data from one of the wind tunnel tests. “What does this spike mean?”

“It means the airflow over the rear wing is separating,” Y/N explained, highlighting the section with my cursor. “See this spike? That’s where the turbulence is disrupting the downforce. Less downforce means less grip, especially through the high-speed corners.”

Franco leaned in, squinting at the data. “So that’s why we were losing time through Sector 2 at Interlagos—the Esses and that long left-hander?”

Y/N glanced at him, impressed despite herself. “Exactly. Nice to see you’ve been paying attention for once.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Franco said, grinning.

Their banter flowed more easily now, the sharp edges of their earlier exchanges softened into something almost friendly. Almost.

During their mid-morning coffee break, Y/N found herself sitting with Franco at one of the smaller tables near the canteen window. She usually avoided these moments, preferring to spend her breaks with other engineers or, more often, alone. But today, she didn’t mind the company.

“So,” Franco said, leaning back in his chair. “How’d you end up here, anyway?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Here, as in Williams? Or here, as in motorsport?”

“Motorsport,” Franco clarified, taking a sip of his coffee. “You don’t exactly seem like the type to spend your weekends watching races.”

Y/N chuckled. “You’d be right about that. My dad was obsessed with cars, though. Used to take me to karting tracks when I was a kid. At first, I hated it—too loud, too smelly. But then I started paying attention to the mechanics, how everything fit together. It just… made sense.”

Franco tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “And that led you here?”

“Eventually,” Y/N said, shrugging. “I studied engineering, did an internship with McLaren during uni. That’s when I realized this wasn’t just some childhood fascination. It was what I wanted to do.”

Franco nodded, his voice quieter now. “Well, you’re really good at it. I hope you know that.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity. “Thanks, Franco,” she said softly, a small smile tugging at her lips.

The afternoon was hectic. With the car rebuild still behind schedule, the factory floor buzzed with a sense of urgency. Y/N was stationed at one of the workbenches, assembling a new rear suspension with a few other engineers, when Franco wandered over.

“Need a hand?” he asked, pulling up a stool beside her.

“Can you tell the difference between a torque wrench and a spanner?” Y/N asked without looking up.

“Not yet,” Franco admitted, resting his chin on his hand. “But I’m a fast learner.”

Y/N sighed but handed him a tool anyway. “Fine. Hold this. And don’t drop it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Franco said, mimicking a salute.

Despite her initial reservations, Y/N found herself enjoying his presence. He asked questions, paid attention to her answers, and even managed to make her laugh a few times. By the end of the day, she was surprised at how much they’d gotten done—and how much lighter the workload had felt with him around.

As the factory began to wind down for the evening, Y/N was packing up her tools when Franco appeared beside her, hands in his pockets and a lopsided smile on his face.

“Busy tomorrow?” he asked.

“Probably,” Y/N replied, zipping up her bag. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” Franco said, his tone casual. “Figured I should plan my day around annoying you as much as possible.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face. “Good luck with that.”

As they walked out of the factory together, the air between them felt lighter, less charged with the tension that had defined their earlier interactions. For the first time, Y/N found herself looking forward to the next day—not just for the work, but for the company.

…

The pub was crowded, buzzing with the energy of Williams team members finally letting loose after a grueling week. Laughter echoed off the wooden beams, glasses clinked, and the occasional burst of cheering from the engineers at the dartboard carried through the room. Franco sat at a high table with James Vowles and a handful of other engineers, a pint of beer in front of him, untouched.

“So there I was,” one of the engineers was saying, his hands gesturing wildly, “under the car, trying to weld the damn thing back together while the rear wing’s hanging on by duct tape—”

James chuckled, leaning back in his chair. “Sounds like just another Tuesday.”

Franco forced a smile, but his mind was elsewhere. He could still hear the faint hum of the factory in his head, see the way Y/N’s brow furrowed as she focused on her work. He had no doubt she was still there, surrounded by telemetry data and spreadsheets, hunched over some impossible task to get the car ready for Qatar.

“Franco!” James called, snapping him out of his thoughts. “You’re quiet tonight. That’s not like you.”

Franco shrugged, lifting his pint and taking a sip just to appease him. “Just tired.”

James tilted his head, studying him with a faint smile. “You’ve been spending too much time in the factory. It’ll do that to you.”

“It’s not so bad,” Franco said, setting his glass down. “The coffee is shit though.”

James’s smile grew, but he didn’t press further. Another round of laughter from the group filled the silence, but Franco found himself restless. He glanced at the time on his phone and then at the door.

“Back in a bit,” he said abruptly, grabbing his jacket.

“Running off already?” James teased, but Franco didn’t answer. He was already weaving his way through the crowd, his mind made up.

The factory was eerily quiet when Franco returned, the once-bustling floor now deserted save for the faint hum of machinery. The lights were dimmed, casting long shadows across the empty workstations. He made his way to the telemetry department, navigating the maze of desks and monitors like he belonged there - which, after the past few days, he almost did.

He found her exactly where he expected: sitting at her workstation, her face illuminated by the glow of her screen. Her hair was slightly mussed, one hand absently running through it as she scrolled through what looked like another mountain of data. There was an empty coffee cup on her desk, and a faint crease on her forehead betrayed her exhaustion.

Franco paused, watching her for a moment. She looked so focused, so determined, and it struck him how much effort she poured into her work. Not just effort – her whole heart.

He cleared his throat softly, not wanting to startle her too much. She glanced up, her eyes widening in surprise when she saw him standing there.

“Franco?” she said, setting her stylus down. “What are you doing here? I thought you were at the pub.”

“I was,” he admitted, holding up two brown takeout bags. “But it was boring without someone yelling at me every five minutes.”

Y/N blinked, clearly caught off guard. “And you brought… food?”

“Figured you’d still be here,” he said, stepping closer and setting the bags down on the edge of her desk. “You’ve probably been here all night, haven’t you?”

“I’ve got work to do,” she replied, as though that explained everything.

“Yeah, and you’ve also got to eat,” Franco said, pulling up a chair and sitting down beside her. “So I’m here to make sure you don’t keel over from starvation. You’re welcome, by the way.”

She stared at him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then, to his surprise, she let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Ridiculously thoughtful,” Franco corrected, grinning.

They unpacked the food, and Y/N couldn’t help but appreciate the gesture despite herself. The noodles were still warm, the comforting aroma filling the small space around them. She took a bite, her stomach growling in approval.

“This is surprisingly good,” she admitted, glancing at him.

“You’re welcome,” Franco said, digging into his own container.

For a while, they ate in comfortable silence, the tension between them replaced by an unexpected ease. Franco leaned back in his chair, watching her with a curious expression.

“You really don’t stop, do you?” he asked, nodding toward her screen.

Y/N shrugged, setting her chopsticks down for a moment. “Deadlines don’t stop. Someone has to keep the car running.”

He tilted his head, studying her. “Why do you do it?”

The question caught her off guard. She hesitated, then sighed. “Because it matters. It’s not just about the car—it’s about the people. Everyone here gives their all to make sure we succeed, and I don’t want to let them down.”

Franco nodded slowly, his gaze steady. “You’re really one of a kind, you know.”

Y/N blinked, startled by the sincerity in his voice. “Thanks,” she said softly.

“Seriously,” he added, his voice quieter now. “It’s incredible what you do here.”

She smiled, a faint blush creeping into her cheeks. “It’s not glamorous, but it’s worth it.”

As the meal wound down, Y/N turned back to her screen, scrolling through the data she’d been working on before Franco arrived. Her fingers danced across the keyboard, but her mind wasn’t entirely on the numbers. She could feel him beside her, his presence surprisingly steady and not as intrusive as she would’ve thought a few days ago.

Franco, meanwhile, hadn’t moved. Instead, he pulled his chair closer, resting his elbows on the edge of the desk as he watched her work. The soft glow of the monitor lit her face, highlighting the faint creases on her forehead and the small, almost invisible smudge of grease on her temple.

“You really don’t stop,” he said, breaking the silence.

“Not when there’s this much to do,” she replied without looking at him.

“Still,” he said, his tone quieter now. “You’re doing all of this, late into the night, and you’re not even asking for help.”

Y/N glanced at him, her brows furrowing. “Because there’s no point. If I want it done right, I might as well do it myself.”

Franco tilted his head, his gaze unwavering. “That’s not true. You just don’t let people try.”

Her hands stilled over the keyboard, his words striking deeper than she expected. She turned to him fully, her lips parting as if to argue, but the look in his eyes stopped her. There was no teasing, no arrogance - just genuine concern.

“You don’t have to carry all of it alone,” he said softly.

Her breath hitched, the words lodging themselves in her chest. For a moment, all she could do was stare at him, her mind racing. He was so close now, close enough that she could see the faint stubble on his jaw, the tiredness in his green eyes, and the way his shoulders seemed more relaxed than usual.

“Do you need help?” he asked suddenly, his voice breaking the silence.

She blinked, his question pulling her back into the moment. “You? Help with this?”

“I’m serious,” Franco said, his grin reappearing, though it was softer now. “I’m good at following orders. Well, sometimes.”

She smiled faintly, shaking her head. “I appreciate ­­­­it but highly doubt you’d be any use here.”

“Try me,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his tone playful but laced with something deeper.

Y/N opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, his hand moved toward her. He reached out tentatively, his fingers brushing against her temple as he gently tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. The touch was light, barely there, but it sent a jolt through her all the same.

Her breath caught, and for a moment, time seemed to slow. His hand lingered near her face, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her pulse quicken. The usual sharp retorts and witty comebacks she relied on were suddenly out of reach, replaced by a charged silence that felt heavier with each passing second.

“Franco…” she began, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Just tell me what you need,” he murmured, his tone steady but impossibly soft.

Her heart pounded, her chest tight with a mix of emotions she couldn’t quite name. The walls she’d kept firmly in place all week seemed to crack, piece by piece, under the weight of his gaze.

And then, before she could second-guess herself, she leaned in.

The kiss was slow at first, almost hesitant, her lips brushing against his in a way that felt more like a question than a statement. But the moment his hand came up to cup her jaw, his fingers warm against her skin, the hesitation melted away. She tilted her head, her hands instinctively gripping the front of his jacket to pull him closer.

Franco responded in kind, his lips moving against hers with a surprising gentleness that caught her off guard. There was no urgency, no rush - just a quiet intensity that left her breathless. The air between them crackled with the kind of tension that had been building for days, unspoken and simmering just beneath the surface.

When they finally pulled apart, Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, her breath coming in uneven bursts. Franco was staring at her, his expression a mix of awe and disbelief, as if he couldn’t quite process what had just happened.

“Well,” he said after a moment, his voice huskier than usual. “If I knew takeout was all it took—”

“Don’t,” she interrupted, her voice firm but laced with amusement.

A grin spread across his face, the kind that made his green eyes crinkle at the corners. “Noted.”

Y/N shook her head, but there was no hiding the smile tugging at her lips. She turned back to her screen, though the work in front of her suddenly felt far less urgent. The weight of the week wasn’t gone, but it had shifted, lightened in a way she hadn’t thought possible just hours ago.

Beside her, Franco leaned back in his chair, his presence steady and unassuming. For the first time, Y/N didn’t mind him being there—not in the slightest.

…

The Williams garage in Qatar buzzed with the familiar energy of a race weekend. Mechanics hurried from here to there, engineers huddled around monitors, and the drivers moved through their routines with laser focus. But amidst the usual chaos, Y/N felt strangely at ease - a rare calm she hadn’t experienced in years of working in motorsport.

She stood near the garage entrance, tablet in hand, scrolling through last-minute setup notes for the car. It was a crisp, clear evening, and the desert air carried a cool breeze that contrasted with the heat of the track.

“Looking for me?”

Y/N didn’t even have to turn around. Franco’s voice, smug but undeniably warm, was unmistakable.

“You wish,” she replied without missing a beat, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Franco stepped into her peripheral vision, his race suit unzipped and hanging around his waist. His green eyes sparkled under the fluorescent paddock lights. “Well, if you weren’t, I’m a little disappointed.”

She finally looked up, tilting her head. “Shouldn’t you be focusing on the race? You know, doing the thing we all worked so hard to make possible?”

“I am focused,” he said, leaning casually against the wall. “Just… multitasking. Driver prep and talking with my favorite engineer - it’s all about balance.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, though her smile didn’t fade. “If you’re trying to charm me, it’s not working.”

“Who says I’m trying?” Franco countered, his grin widening.

Y/N shook her head, turning back to her tablet. “You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah,” Franco said, his voice softer now, “but you kind of like that about me.”

Y/N snorted softly, pretending to focus on the setup notes. “Delusional as ever.”

Franco leaned in closer, his voice dropping slightly. “Call it what you want, but I think I’m growing on you.”

She tilted her head, arching a brow. “More like you’re wearing me down.”

“Same thing,” he said with a grin, stepping back slightly but not leaving.

“You ready for this?” she asked, breaking the silence.

Franco shrugged, his grin softening into something more earnest. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

She studied him for a beat, noting the slight tension in his posture and the way his fingers tapped lightly against his thigh. Beneath the bravado, there was a trace of nerves—small, but there.

“Hey,” she said, lowering her tablet and meeting his gaze. “You’ll be fine. You’ve got this.”

Franco’s eyes softened, and for a moment, his usual smirk faded. “Coming from you, that actually means a lot.”

“Good,” Y/N said simply, her lips curving into a small smile.

The sound of an engine roaring to life in the garage snapped them both back to reality. Franco straightened, tugging at the collar of his race suit and exhaling deeply.

“Guess that’s my cue,” he said, his voice softer this time, though there was still a faint smile playing on his lips.

Y/N didn’t look up from her tablet, her fingers flying over the screen as she reviewed another set of setup notes. “Good. Try to avoid the barriers, would you?”

Franco chuckled quietly, stepping closer until he was just beside her. “You always know how to motivate me, don’t you?”

She finally glanced up, tilting her head. “Do you really need a speech? The car’s ready, the data’s solid, and you’re…” She paused, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “You’re as ready as you’ll ever be.”

“That almost sounded supportive,” Franco said, his grin warming.

“Don’t let it go to your head,” Y/N replied, shaking her head lightly before looking back at her screen.

Franco lingered, his hands resting lightly on the edge of her desk. “You know, you could just wish me good luck. It’d be nice to hear.”

Y/N sighed theatrically but set her tablet down, looking up at him again. “Fine. Good luck, Franco. Now go make it count.”

His smile softened, and for a moment, he seemed to hesitate. Then, with a quick glance toward the bustling garage behind them, he leaned down and kissed her—a quick, warm kiss that caught her completely off guard.

From across the garage, a few engineers burst into laughter and cheers. “Woo, Colapinto!” someone shouted, and another voice chimed in, “About time!”

Y/N’s face flushed instantly as she pulled back, her eyes wide. “Franco—”

“Hey, they said it, not me,” Franco said with a small laugh, holding his hands up as if to plead innocence. But his voice had softened even more now, his gaze lingering on her with something closer to gratitude. “You look cute with those red cheeks.”

She blinked, her blush deepening, but she managed to recover quickly enough. “You’re lucky I have work to do, or I’d make you regret that.”

“You’ll miss me out there,” he teased gently, stepping back toward the car. He turned just before climbing in, his grin more genuine now. “I’ll make sure your hard work shines.”

Y/N shook her head, picking up her tablet again to distract herself from the lingering warmth on her cheeks. As the car rolled out of the garage, she caught herself smiling - just for a moment - before diving back into her work.

“Unbelievable,” she muttered under her breath, though there was no mistaking the fondness in her tone.

[lovekt]

⋆ ｡˚ ⋆｡ SLEEPY NIGHTS IN NOVEMBER ⋆ ｡˚ ⋆｡

pairing; lando norris x girlfriend!fem!reader

word count; 1.5k

blurb; where practice goes on for a little longer than expected, and you’re extremely jetlagged. (based off of the las vegas gp fp2)

author’s note; this is my first completed fic ahhh! cant believe i actually finished something for once in my life this is a miracle

<< the library , ln4 masterist >>

LAS VEGAS WAS A BRIGHT CITY. So bright, and yet you were still battling with all-consuming darkness.

You’d arrived more than twelve hours ago. Cameras flashed, questions asked, your mind had been buzzing with excitement for the ever-anticipated Grand Prix at the new track. Hundreds of people; reporters, fans, drivers, bustled about. Drones and tripods followed your every move, microphones bursting your personal bubble, screaming people begging for their caps, shirts and babies to be signed. It crossed your mind more than once that you weren’t a driver, yet the cheers of sheer joy echoed when you walked by.

It was exhilarating, truly. You’d never imagined your life would turn out this way, your face being plastered onto live television, a banner across the bottom presenting you as Lando Norris’ girlfriend.

You’d arrived just in time for Free Practice 2, not getting a chance to find the man in orange before he was off and onto the track for the second time two hours later than scheduled. However, you were soon supplied with a pair of noise-cancelling headphones and a chair to get comfortable with.

It was colder than usual. Your eyes were permanently fixated on the screen above you. No matter how many times you’d watched your boyfriend race, in person or in the comfort of your shared home, it was never any less terrifying. The noises of pure acceleration, the sparks that would occasionally burst from the back of the car, the knowledge of what could happen and what’s already happened several times before. All of it was enough to keep you on your toes, wide awake, and alert every time.

Every single time, except this one.

The low hum of the engine through your headphones did nothing to help you stay focused, time finally beginning to creep its way back up to you. Your boyfriend’s voice calmly updating his engineers, the muffled chatter of the garage, all of it caused your mind to numb and breathing to begin evening out. It was so late. So, so late, and cold.

Your head suddenly lulled to the side causing your eyes to snap open, saving yourself before you slipped off the plastic foldable chair. God, you hoped the live broadcasting cameras were not allowing thousands of eyes to see you right now.

There were some eyes, though, that had seen you. The engineers dressed in orange pottering around were chuckling, they themselves trying to stay awake by toying with tools and fidgeting with other mechanical things that you didn’t understand. Most of them you were quite friendly with by now as you were a frequent member of the McLaren garage, and they all knew you were the one to go to whenever Lando needed a break. They were grateful to have you. An angry Lando is never a fun time.

Which is exactly why they decided to make an executive decision to save you from the concrete floor below. It was only a matter of time before you ended up hurting yourself.

The screen above you began blurring once more, eyes drooping against your will when a hand placed itself onto your shoulder. One of the engineers that Lando was particularly close with was smiling down at you, softly nudging you forward and guiding you to stand up. You looked at him, eyes glossy and brows furrowed, confused.

He sighed amusedly, “I think it’s time for bed.”

Slight slurred protests began to slip out of your lips but were stopped when you wobbled and had to grip onto the top of the chair for balance. The engineer’s hold on your arm tightened and your exhaustion was too heavy to resist as he began leading you towards the driver’s rooms.

You glanced back at the screen showing your boyfriend’s perspective of the car, not wanting to leave but knowing that it’s probably for the best. There wasn’t any action going on, every driver was tired, nobody was pulling any dangerous moves. It was safe enough to walk away, just for a little bit, just this once.

The door to Lando’s driver’s room was opened and you settled onto the small sofa in the corner, wrapping yourself in a papaya-coloured blanket. Darkness enveloped the room as the engineer flipped the switch, shutting the door quietly behind him and leaving you to your thoughts for all of two seconds before a soft voice filled your ears. You’d forgotten to take the headphones off.

Lando spoke to his team, his voice calm and soothing, almost as if he knew you were falling into the depths of unconsciousness in that moment. He was safe. You felt safe.

The second he’d hauled himself out of the car, helmet removed, and interviews finished up, he was on the search for you. Often, you would wander off as soon as the car had been parked, for a bathroom break or to have a quick snack, refusing to do it during the race.

He walked back to his room as fast as possible, weaving between hundreds of people who he didn’t bother giving the time of day. Usually, he would’ve stopped and had a little chat, but it was so, so late and his whole body felt like it was about to crumble. All he wanted was to find you, get changed and make the small trek back to your shared hotel room.

The door was unlocked when he arrived, a sure sign that you were inside and waiting. But when he opened the door ready to be greeted with a sweet kiss, all he was met with was complete darkness. Weird.

His hand reached for the switch and light flooded the room. Sure enough, there you were, cuddled up in his bright orange blanket and sound asleep. Your face was half covered and smushed into the arm rest, knees curled into yourself and a set of headphones askew on top of your mussed hair.

The smile that had etched itself onto his face grew when he noticed the headphones. You’d fallen asleep whilst listening to him talk, even when he wasn’t with you. Even when you were jetlagged, cold, and exhausted, you still made sure he was okay. His chest warmed at the thought.

Lando placed the bottle of water he was holding down onto the table beside him, trying his best to be as quiet as possible as he changed from his suit to a hoodie. You didn’t move a muscle, only light breaths filling the silent space.

You looked so peaceful, lashes fluttering every so often. The urge to try and squeeze himself onto the sofa with you was strong, but the more logical side of him told him that it was finally time to head back to the hotel, and if you stayed in that position much longer then your neck would be unbearably stiff by tomorrow morning. He loved you more than anything in the world, so he knew you well enough to know that you would be moaning to him about it once you’d woken up, and not the moaning that he enjoyed hearing.

 Carefully, he brushed the tips of his fingers across your cheek, moving a few stray strands of hair. Your cheeks were warm, a contrast to Lando’s cool touch that caused you to pull your face away and tuck it further into the safety of his blanket. His lips twitched slightly. You would hate him for this now, but thank him later, he thought, as he swiftly curled his fingers around the edge of the blanket and pulled it down.

Your skin, exposed to the night air, broke out into goosebumps as you wrapped your arms tighter around yourself. Lando slowly rubbed his palm up and down your arm, bringing his lips to your forehead and kissing you softly.

Your eyelids fluttered open, pupils narrowing to the bright light of the room as an almost silent groan escaped you.

Your eyes darted around for a moment before landing on your boyfriend, crouched down beside you with his hand stroking your hair. He was smiling at you lovingly, eyes squinted and laced with a tinge of mischief. “G’morning, baby.”

You didn’t reply, instead choosing to open your mouth in a yawn directed straight at his face. He chuckled quietly.

“I think it’s time we get you to bed, hm?”

You rested your head back against the armrest, closing your eyes once more, “I’m already in bed.”

“I’m sure you are.” He said, before rising back up to his full height and slipping one hand underneath your neck, wrapping his arm around your shoulders, and the other around the back of your knees. Your hand instinctively curled around his bicep as you were lifted into the air, taking note in the back of your mind at how effortlessly he seemed to manoeuvre you.

As Lando began to carefully place you onto your feet, a wave of adoration filled you to the core. He’d just been working for hours straight, and yet here he was taking care of you. The love you had for this boy was absolutely unmatched.

And what better way to show him this than by using the little energy you had restored during your nap to rise onto your tiptoes and press a sweet kiss against his awaiting lips.

@lovekt