#not just because they are very good drivers

[cheriladycl01]

Hey! Could you write a fic where female reader is an older driver (maybe debuted around the same time as Seb) and just little scenarios of her being a mother figure towards the drivers. Maybe mix of SMAU and written story (if you do that) xxx 😊 big thx

MUM! - Grid x OlderDriver! Reader

Plot: Everyone needs their grid mum, and that’s everyone!

F1 was you’re life.

Not in a oh I love watching the races every week and going to one race a year. No, you were convinced there was fuel in your veins.

You drove for about 16 years in F1 being the first female driver to win a race. You debuted at the same time as Sebastian Vettel, you guys were bestfriends and didn't let racing affect that friendship. And that's all it ever remained. Every bone in your body loved Seb, he was quite literally your platonic soulmate. When you first met, your now husband, he'd become fast friends with Seb and never questioned your friendship with him and never tried to involve himself too much to the point it felt forced and thats why you knew he was the one.

When you left F1, you left the same year that Seb did, it felt right leaving the same year he did and you discussed it with him. For you it was because you wanted to focus on family. You were 17 when you first got into F1 and now 33 years old and you wanted to settle down with your husband and expand the family. Which apparently wasn't as much as a struggle as you thought it would be as you'd gotten pregnant 5 months after retirement. Giving birth in 2023 and now being pregnant again in 2025.

But F1 and half the drivers you grew up with didn't want you to leave the sport. So when Sky Sports reached out you knew you had to go.

But with the growing amount of Rookies you seem to have adopted children as well as having had them as well.

Sebastian Vettel

y/user

Liked by sebastianvettel and others

y/user: 25 years of friendship! Happy Birthday to the Grid Dad from the Grid Mum! 🫶🏼

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sebastianvettel: woah, I wish I looked this cool now! Look at that haircut 🫨

-> y/user: a diva once, a diva always

fan1: OMG MOTHER AND FATHER!!

You and your husband always made sure to vist Seb for his birthday, it was like an annual gathering that was held where you both were able to have a massive catch up without being near anything to do with racing.

"Happy birthday!" you crashed him handing him his huge bag of gifts before you went to his wife who you'd become very close to and hugging her handing over a cheeky bottle of wine for the both of you to share.

Your husband stood with Seb while you and Hanna went into the kitchen to unpack the food that you'd got for Seb's birthday dinner.

"Thank you for coming" Seb smiles pulling you into a hug, sighing against you.

"I havent missed one in 25 years, even when i had Tonsillitis i still got here. Wasn't much fun for you guys, but you all had a great time" you grin at the memory making him laugh. He could still see you, wrapped up in a bundle of blankets on his sofa with a box of tissues and a honey and lemon tea.

"Mmmmm good times" he laughs, pulling out of the hug and helping you and Hanna dish up.

"What are you doing?" Hanna cries seeing him doing work.

"Huh?" he asks confused.

"It's your birthday, go sit! Keep out other guests entertained and enjoy yourself!" Hanna exclaims, forcing him out the kitchen where he went to sit with your husband.

Your husband and Seb actually did lots of what you and Hanna called 'guy things' together. They'd go on fishing trips while you and Hanna would go to Italy or Spain and soak up the sun. Or they'd play games while you and Hanna went shopping.

Your husband also found joy in travelling with you and your kids adored seeing their Uncle Seb who despite it being his birthday always had to have something for his favrioute kids.

However, another child always seemed to lurk their way into these parties, that being yours and Seb's first adopted child, Lance Stroll.

You and Seb had been officially made mum and dad of the grid. It started off with Lance being taken under his wing and you just sort of joined in with that.

Lance Stroll

Lance was one of your favrioute people, you could sit with him in a comfortable silence and didn't feel like you needed it to be forced. He was also incredibly funny when he wanted to be.

One time, you'd been talking to him off of camera and he's accidentally called you mom. You'd bursted out laughing before querying him wondering if he really did see you as a mother figure.

"Yeah and what?" he asked and you stopped shocked.

After that it was just sort of known that you and Seb had taken on the roll of parents to all the little drivers across the grid.

You would always make sure to make time for Lance as he always would make the time for you. You werent keen on his dad, as he always gave you strange stare that made you feel like he hated you, no matter how many times Lance told you to 'just ignore it'.

"Lance, that overtake today was incredible!" You praise and he nods in thanks.

“Im glad I managed to get us in the points after Fernando’s crash” he offers and you nod. He’d got himself P6 which was a good score considering how the rest of the season had been going.

“Mmmm you’re leading the Aston Team now” you exclaim happy at the fact.

“Thanks Y/N, you’re always there for me” he says making eye contact with you.

“Can’t get rid of me Lance, I’m your mother” you tease and he laughs looking down.

Charles Leclerc

y/user

Liked by charles_leclerc, lewishamilton and others

y/user: Interviewed my first son today. He asked for a hug :) always such a pleasure interviewing him and getting time to talk. Oh and then theres Lewis ...

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charles_leclerc: Ahhh thank you, ma mère adoptive! You should come see Leo your Grandson!

-> y/user: I have a grandson?! I'm so old!

fan1: argh she's so cute with everyone! We all knew she's be such a good mother (real mother)

-> y/user: I'll have you know I've been a real mother since 2018 when Charles joined the grid.

-> fan1: omg she replies!!!!!

lewishamilton: i'm not ignoring her i swear...

Charles and you first met in 2017. He was very nervous when he came up to you, asking you how you felt you're race had went. You later found out he had a whole script to say to you after your race that you'd started from pole. Little did he know that Lewis was going to turn into you on lap 3 and crash you out for the rest of the race.

"Well, i didn't finish so not great kid" you chuckle at his nervous expression where he'd finally realised what he'd said.

“I erm, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that” he blurts out and you can only laugh at him.

“I know I know. I’m just teasing you” you say placing a light hand in his shoulder trying to ease his nerves.

“You know you’ll be racing with us soon” you grin at him knowing he’s signed for Seb’s old team.

“Yes, I’m excited … and nervous. You’re all so great” he compliments looking down and you sigh.

“I bet you’re gonna be big. Like world champion big. I can see it now. Charles Leclerc WORLD CHAMPION” you say raising your hands in a jazzy manner.

“That should be you. You should have hand a championship but it’s HIS fault” he directs looking at the screen following Lewis in your P1.

“How are you so calm and not angry at him?” He presses and you just laugh.

“I used to get very angry when I first started and I was young. But you learn that you being upset gets you nowhere. I learn from my mistakes, I don’t let them have a hold over me” you explain to him. Knowing that you were a much calmer and level headed driver than you used to be.

“Do you think I’ll ever be as good as him?” He asks tone softer than it was before.

“I think anyone can be as good as him, given the circumstances. I’ve know Lewis for years and he’s where he is now because of how committed he is. He works and trains harder than anyone I know. He’s got an incredible team behind him and a car to match, when all of that falls into play you’ve got yourself a winner. He’s one of the greats and will be remembered by everyone” you offer and Charles nods, now seeing the current leader of the championship in a new light. He’d always looked up to him, but now he just seems like a hard worker and Charles wanted to be that.

Lewis Hamilton

Lewis by far was not one of your grid kids, being a similar age to you and having started your careers in the same year you’d know him for an incredibly long time.

Which means you knew his tendency to be a little … childish. And by a little you mean a lot.

Too put it bluntly Lewis is a massive brat.

He doesn’t act angry when races don’t go his way, he’ll pout and be all salty looking like a puppy whose just had his biscuits taken away from him.

He’d been know to throw caps at his teammates when they said something bad about him and would often try play the victim card. You’d know him for so long that you knew the games he played like the back of your hand.

“Lewis!” You chide the man whose currently slumped over on the drivers room. You were both on the podium. Max having taken the win.

“What! He’s taken my win from me!” He points at the empty seat where Max should be.

“That’s racing! You’ll get him next week, this week things didn’t go your way and that’s okay. So stop sulking and put that gorgeous smile on your face” You command sick of him moping when he’s still up on the podium. He looks up to see your famous mum look, and nods on instinct feeling like it’s his mum scolding him when he was a child.

“You’re scarily good at that look Yano? Ever think of having your own?” He asks and you roll your eyes.

“Yeah, but I gotta retire first” you smile and he nods.

“We’ll get out of here then, less competition for me” he grins and you shake your head laughing.

That’s the Lewis you knew.

Jamie Chadwick and Bernie Collins

y/user

Liked by bernie.collins.1, jamiechadwick

y/yser: COMMENTATING WITH MY DAUGHTERS!!! Look at how beautiful they are!!! So proud of Jamie for last weekend in Indy Car as well, as a ex-female driver I hope to see her in F1 in the future!

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Jamie and Bernie were a recent development in the F1 World. You couldn’t be more pleased that women were taking more of an interest in the sport than they historically had.

Not only as viewers but working there. You now saw so many female engineers and mechanics. And it made you so happy that women were comfy within the sport.

When Bernie came onto the scene you immedielty took the younger lady under your wing, almost becoming a mentor. But the mum side would slip out at times when people managed to pick up on it.

"Bernie did you put cream on? It awfully sunny and they haven't given you an umbrella!" you exclaimed one day, going into your back and taking out the aerosol can of sunscreen you'd brought with you incase anyone was in need.

"No i was a little rushed this morning leaving! I didn't realise how early they wanted us at the track" she sighed and you offer her the can showing her you can spray it in her cheeks. She closed her eyes letting you spray it on before you wipe it in.

"Don't wanna get greasy hands before you hold your mic hun" you smile at her as she opens her eyes thank you for the coverage.

It was very similar to Jamie, who was much younger but also whenever the girl came to the f1 track would find her way to you.

But the moment you really saw it was when you went to her Indy Car race. Her parents werent able to attend and you had the weekend free so of course you and you're husband came down for the show.

And you couldnt be prouder of her. You were one of the first people there to congratulate her on her amazing race, pulling her into a huge sweaty hug.

"I'm so proud of you darling! You did so well!" you smile kissing the side of her head pulling her in for a second hug.

"Thanks mum" she chuckles with a shake of her head before heading off with her team.

George Russell

y/user

Liked by georgerussell63, carmenmmundt and others

y/user: My son drove me and his girlfriend to work today! Recommended 10/10!

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georgerussell63: yeah you're welcome. Might need you to come to parents evening soon. Professor Wolff isn't happy with me or Kimi!

-> y/user: @ susie_wolff get your husband in check! lol

->susie_wolff: will get on this now, not our sons, not on our watch

-> georgerussell63: thanks mum number 2

kimi.antonelli: Mr Wolff is very scary. PS can i have some help with my homework?

George was one you always watched out for. Being a British driver you felt like you had to mentor him. Which is exactly what you did. The minute he came into Williams despite his awful first year, you knew he was something worth your time and knowledge. So you helped him out, gave him small pointers on the track and he got his first points in F1. The car got better as the year went on and he was driving with more ambition.

George had a special place in his heart for you after all you'd helped him do in his career. He was one of the saddest when you annouced your retiremeant. You had to actually to take him out to dinner and explain to him privately that you were leaving even before it got out in the media.

"So what's this treat of a meal for? Not my birthday!" he says digging into the Carbonara that was in front of him.

"Well, next years going to be a little different in the races!" you start to explain not picking up your own knife and fork, wanting to concentrate on getting everything out in the open.

"What, OMG are you changing teams?" he asks in shock.

"No, i'm retiring" you say and he chokes on the pasta making you look up in shock. He also looked shocked too.

"W-what? No you cant be!" he says looking at you. You were his favrioute person on the grid. He always came to you whenever he had a bad race or an issue with Max, which you always treated as if they were siblings in an argument.

"I'm sorry, but it's my time and i want to be with my husband and ... i wanna start a family" you smile softly looking at him.

"Were you're family. Here racing!" he demands a sour upset sort of look on his face.

"George ... i love you all. But i need to do this. For me, okay. I'll still come and visit. Think i've got a free paddock pass for life ..." you joke.

"But ..." he starts but you just smile.

"Come on, lets not spoil a good meal" you say, tapping his hand.

"You better come visit" he mutters looking up at you with a smile.

"Does that mean i'll get to be a cool Uncle?" he grins and you laugh with a nod.

"Oh absolutely"

Kimi Antonelli

Kimi Antonelli wasn't who you expected for Mercedes to replace a 7 time world champion. However, he was for sure the right choice. You saw him as this timid young teenager who was still going through school.

When he'd started in 2025, you were at every race as a commentator or guest. You loved travelling and being with the calendar as it went through the year and being in their to see the wins and talk to your old friends.

But Kimi was interesting. 2025 had brought many rookies who were in a very different age bracket from you. Which meant of course they all flocked to you like sheep.

Kimi was a special case where you met his mum in his F1 debut when he crashed. His mum was incredibly worried and you consoled her as much as you could until Kimi came to meet the both of you.

After that moment she trusted you with her son. You would go with him from the hotel to the track and you'd sit in the Mercedes hospitality with him.

"I don't get this, what does it mean?" he asks you about a question on his English homework that he didn't really understand. This was a typical race weekend now, between practices and interviews you were hauled up with papers both of you having what you called mocktails. It was literally just fancy water with lemons and limes and an umbrella in it but you and Kimi always found it funny ordering them.

"Well, its asking you how the poem makes you feel... its about emotion in literature" you then translate it into Italian, and he nods a thoughtful face appearing across his features before. He writes his answer out in english before showing it to you and you smile.

"I recon if you werent half the driver you are, you'd be a poet!" you grin and he frowns lightly knocking your shoulder.

"No! Shush!" he cries before laughing with you.

"Good thing I'm a good driver then!" he jokes and smiles taking some water.

Isack Hadjar

y/user

Instagram Story Caption: He destroyed the car, but got a hug from me!!!

Yuki Tsunoda

Instagram Story Caption: Mine and @ nicolepiastri child!

Lando Norris

Instagram Story Caption: MY SON WON!!!!!

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[ari-ana-bel-la]

We need Carlos being comforted by daughter reader after the Canadian gp qualifying 🥺🥺

My Little Sunshine

The Montreal air was thick with frustration and disappointment as Carlos climbed out of the car. The helmet came off with a sharp, practiced yank, his brows furrowed beneath damp curls. P17. Seventeenth. It might as well have been last.

He took a breath—deep, controlled, as his engineer approached with a tablet, numbers and deltas and sector times lighting up the screen. Carlos barely looked at it.

“I don't want to see it,” he muttered.

The engineer blinked. “Okay. Debrief at 4:30?”

Carlos just nodded. His hands went to his hips as he stared at the car, painted in Williams blue and white. He was grateful for the opportunity, truly. But today, everything just hurt. The tires hadn’t hooked up. The wind was unpredictable. And traffic during his final push lap ruined what little momentum he had.

He turned away from the car and walked toward the back of the garage, head low, pretending not to hear the murmurs of the media gathering just outside the barrier.

From behind the coffee counter, one of the mechanics—Jules—watched him quietly. “Tough one,” he whispered to his colleague. “Hope he’s okay.”

Carlos heard none of it. His mind buzzed with frustration, replaying every turn, every tenth he’d lost. He dropped onto a padded bench, elbows on knees, staring at the concrete floor.

And then—

“Papá?”

The small, familiar voice came from just outside the back of the garage, where a gentle breeze blew through the open flap.

Carlos looked up.

There she was—Yn, his little sunshine. Six years old, her dark curls bouncing in the breeze, a pair of oversized Williams headphones over her ears and a lanyard with her paddock pass swinging against her tiny chest. She held something behind her back, her smile as radiant as ever.

Carlos tried to smile, but it was tight. “Hola, mi vida.”

Yn stepped closer, lowering her voice in the way kids do when they think they’re in a serious moment. “Are you sad?”

Carlos sighed and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees again. “A little bit, sí.”

Yn tilted her head. “Did your car break?”

“No,” he said softly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “The car was okay. But Papá didn’t do a good job in qualifying.”

“You didn’t win?”

He shook his head. “Not even close.”

Yn seemed to think for a moment. Then, with both hands, she brought the hidden treasure from behind her back—a handful of white wildflowers. Daisies, messy and imperfect, with a few tiny green stems still clinging to them.

“I picked these for you!” she said brightly, holding them up to him. “Because you're the bestest driver. And I love you even when you don't win.”

Carlos blinked.

His heart squeezed so tightly in his chest he could barely breathe. Slowly, he took the flowers, cradling them gently in his calloused palms. They were a little wilted, a little crooked—but beautiful. Perfect.

“You picked these for me?” he asked, voice cracking just a little.

Yn nodded proudly. “By the fence! I had to be very careful because there were bees.”

He chuckled softly, the sound like sunlight after a storm. “Gracias, mi corazón. They’re beautiful.”

She smiled, and he scooped her up without another word, pulling her into his lap and holding her close. Yn giggled as he kissed both her cheeks, over and over.

“Mwah! Mwah! Mwah! Ay, you’re going to have too many kisses!”

“Nooo!” she squealed, giggling louder. “Not too many!”

Carlos’s arms wrapped tightly around her, burying his face into her shoulder. The scent of sun-warmed skin and strawberry shampoo hit him like comfort itself. His breath slowed. The ache in his chest lessened.

“You always know how to make Papá feel better, don’t you?” he murmured.

“I’m your special girl,” she said, with that proud little tilt of her chin that she definitely got from her mother.

He smiled against her shoulder. “Sí, you are. My special, perfect girl.”

Rebecca appeared a moment later, walking around the side of the hospitality tent. She looked elegant and calm, but her expression softened when she saw Carlos holding Yn so tightly.

“She saw you walking back looking all gloomy,” she said gently. “Told me she had a job to do.”

Carlos met his wife’s eyes and gave her a grateful nod. “She did more than a job. She saved me.”

Rebecca came over and sat beside them, reaching out to smooth Yn’s curls as Carlos continued to cradle their daughter.

“I know today wasn’t easy,” Rebecca said softly, her gaze on him. “But it’s just one qualifying. You always bounce back.”

“I know.” Carlos exhaled, leaning his head against hers. “It just… it gets to you sometimes. All the work, and then it goes wrong in a second. And you start to think—maybe it’s you. Maybe you’re not good enough anymore.”

Rebecca’s hand gripped his knee. “Hey. Don’t talk like that.”

“I’m being honest.”

“And I love you for that,” she said. “But don’t forget who you are, Carlos. You’re a fighter. You always have been. And this little girl?” She pointed to Yn, who was now playing with Carlos’s fingers. “She thinks you’re a superhero.”

Carlos smiled as Yn traced his palm, her small fingers exploring each line.

“I want to drive fast one day too,” Yn said suddenly. “Like you.”

“Really?” Carlos raised a brow, amused. “You want to be a racing driver?”

“Yes! But I want pink on my car,” she added seriously.

Carlos laughed, a full, warm sound. “We’ll make sure it’s the fastest pink car on the track, then.”

Behind them, a few team members had wandered over, watching quietly. There was something about the moment—Carlos’s smile returning, Yn’s happy chatter, Rebecca’s calm presence—that made the air feel lighter in the garage.

Jules turned to another mechanic and whispered, “Look at him. He needed that.”

The other man smiled. “Kid’s got superpowers.”

Back on the bench, Carlos stood up with Yn in his arms and looked at the white flowers again, still held tightly in his hand.

“Where should I put them?” he asked.

“Maybe in your room!” Yn said. “So you can see them before the race and feel happy.”

“That’s a very good idea.”

Rebecca stood as well, brushing dust off her pants. “Come on, I’ll help you get a little vase for them.”

They walked back toward the hospitality suite, Carlos holding Yn like she weighed nothing, her arms around his neck. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he could feel the soft rhythm of her breath against his collarbone.

“Papá?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re not allowed to be sad anymore.”

He smiled. “Is that so?”

“Uh-huh. Because I love you always, even if you're last. But I know you won’t be last, because you're amazing.”

Carlos kissed the top of her head. “You’re too good for me.”

“Nooo,” she said, snuggling in closer. “You’re my Papá.”

Later that afternoon, after the flowers were safely in a cup on his nightstand and Yn had gone off with Rebecca for a snack, Carlos returned to the garage for the debrief.

As he walked in, everyone looked up—expecting maybe the same low-energy version of him from earlier. But he was different now. His eyes were brighter. Shoulders relaxed. The white flowers were tucked gently into his water bottle like a makeshift vase.

“Better?” his engineer asked with a careful smile.

Carlos glanced at the flowers, then at his teammates.

“Much better,” he said. “I’ve got my lucky charm with me now.”

The team laughed, and the tension lifted like clouds parting after a storm.

As they settled into the meeting, someone whispered from the back, “We should give Yn a team radio. Bet she'd motivate him better than we do.”

And as Carlos sat down, fingers brushing the petals once more, he thought—

No matter what happens tomorrow, I’ve already won where it counts.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♥︎♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Authors Note: Hey loves. I hope you enjoyed reading this story. My requests are always open for you.

-♡○♡

[lanadelreyscokewhor3]

MICHELLE PFEIFFER- J. TODD

day fourteen of the june bug masterlist

pairing: older! mechanic! jason x innocent! fem reader

word count: 1.6k

summary: your car starts acting funny in the middle of nowhere, with no cell service or tow trucks in sight. you do the only thing you can do- wave now the nearest truck and pray for the best. luckily, your prayers are answered, because the man helping you turns out to be jason todd, a mechanic whose pretty... good with his hands.

warnings: SMUT! smuttiest of the smut, heavy praise kink, pet names, not manipulation per say (maybe a little but its jason todd who cares he can do whatever he wants to me) - but a power imbalance? (reader really has to rely on jason), daddy kink, finger sucking, degration/ heavy dumbification, manhandling and huge size kink

i was rlly horny when i wrote this lol. but im proud and happy with it :)

 “and everythings easier way out west, wholly mad and half undressed, i love the way it always feels to miss you. i tell all my friends everything you do, a sick obsession that i still try to prove- and but it's no good, cause who am i without you?”- michelle pfeiffer, ethel cain 

This was probably one of the worst things that could be happening at this very moment.

And of course, it had happened to you.

Here, all alone- in the hot summer heat, your tire gone flat. On the hottest day of the year, barely a tree for shade and your car already low on gas- you realized you had hit a new all time low.

Tears spilled out from the corners of your eyes, the humid wind brushing them away as you stepped out of the car- pulled off on the side of the road.

You had a spare tire- but you didn't know how to put it back on.

Needless to say, you could try.

There was no cell service out here to call for any means of help, as you were in the deep country, surrounded by hay bales and brush.

Your lower lip quivered, and you braced a hand on the car, as if your touch could magically fix the issue. You had to be a big girl, and figure this out yourself, you told yourself- but god you just wanted to sob more than anything.

Then- as if God himself had heard your call- a truck came up over the bend- leaving a trail of dust in its wake. All you could think to do was stand on your tippy toes, trying to get the driver's attention as you waved.

Please. Please stop.

And he slowed.

You could just make out his figure, tall and large, built of solid muscle. He looked strong. He could lift the tire, knowing damn well you couldn't by yourself.

His truck engine sputtered to a halt as he parked behind you, and you were so relieved you started to cry again. He stepped out, streaks of grey in his darkened hair, tattoos snaking around biceps that were the size of your head.

He was old enough to be your father. But his eyes were so pretty, all warm and coaxing as he approached you, as if you were a startled dog.

“Hey sweetheart what's going on?”

His gaze instantly dropped when he got close enough to see the tears staining your cheeks, rushing to place a hand to your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Awh little fawn don't cry. Shh, shh it's alright. What's going on? Why are you here all by yourself?” he asked softly, as you tried to pull yourself together.

“I was just driving and I just- my car-”

”Hey, hey calm down. It's okay. I promise.” he smiled and you nodded, wiping your fresh tears.

“I got a flat tire and I don't know how to put on the new one. And it's too heavy for me to grab and I just-”

You sighed, trailing off, kicking the ground.

“Well you’re in luck, fawn, I happen to be a mechanic. M’ Jason. Jason Todd.” he rubbed your arms in a soothing motion, forcing you to look up at him, staring into his intoxicating blue eyes.

“I’m Y/N. Thank you, so, so much Mr. Todd.”

“Oh god don't call me that. You make me sound old. I don't need reminders.” he teased, making you giggle.

“There's that pretty smile. See? It's alright fawn. Let me just get your spare, okay?”

You nodded, stepping aside to let him do his thing. He was so large he seemed to tower over your little camino, lifting the tire with ease from the trunk. You watched in awe as he hoisted it up onto his shoulder as if it weighed nothing.

A drip of sweat trickled down his bicep, tracing the ink on his skin and you caught yourself ogling like a cartoon character. You wouldn't be surprised if little hearts fluttered around your head, and you trailed behind him as if he was a fresh pie through an open window.

Stranger danger was a foreign concept today, but honestly, you didn't like to think about that danger.

Everyone was nice, at least you liked to think so. And Jason was super nice.

Stopping to help you fix your car? He just seemed to be the nicest man in the whole wide world.

A cluck of his tongue and a sigh broke you from your lovesick trance, and you peered over his shoulder as he crouched, examining the tire with a shake of his head. “Is everything okay Jason?”

He sighed. “M’afraid not fawn. This tire is no good either.”

“Oh! Well…what's wrong with it?” you asked timidly, trying to get a better look. He blocked your view from the commotion though, sweeping you up with his syrupy voice and southern charm.

“Nothin you need to worry your pretty lil head about darlin. But, I dont think it's safe to drive on. Do you wanna come with me to my shop and we can grab a new one and come back?” he asked, empathy rolling off him in waves you were swept up in.

Why couldn't you trust him? He was nurturing, wanting only the best for you. Plus, wasn't it dangerous for a little girl like you to be out here all alone?

You would be safe with Jason, he was a nice old man who probably just wanted to keep you hydrated and out of the sun- and any bad onlookers who would lure you in their trap.

There was no question to be asked, no second guessing.

You felt yourself nodding, happy and eager for him to lead you, a large hand on your lower back, all warm through the thin fabric of your little white dress.

“Good girl. No more tears, okay? I got you sweetheart.”

·•—–٠✤٠—–•· ·•—–٠✤٠—–•·

“Look at you, pretty lil thing. All those pretty tears.” Jason cooed above you, pounding into your tight cunt so hard you started to see stars.

All that could be heard was his sweet praises and gentle coos, mixed with the sound of skin slapping and your short gasps, and gentle moans. You couldn't help the tears from falling again as he splayed you out on a workbench, dragging you to the edge and splitting you in two.

He was so big and thick you couldn't think straight, and with the pace he was setting- it was as if he had no sign of stopping. You felt his thumb brush away the salty tears as you hiccuped, moaning as he slipped his fingers in your mouth.

You instantly sucked them, pacifying yourself as a means of grounding.

“Atta girl. Daddys gotcha.”

You clenched around him at the name he gave himself, and he chuckled lowly. “Oh you like that, don't you fawn? You like when Daddy takes care of you? Makes things all better, cause you're too lil to figure it out yourself?”

You nodded, eyes fluttering closed as he thrusted even harder, balls slapping your ass as the bench banged against the wall, making the tools above you jolt.

He had you wrapped around his finger.

That was the plan all along of course. He was always keen to help a stranger, but you? He knew he couldn't leave you, just quite yet.

So yes, he had told you there was an issue when there truly wasn't- but could you blame him? How else was he supposed to take care of you the way you so desperately deserved?

Jason could tell as soon as he saw the quiver of your lip and the anxious fidgeting with the hem of your dress that you had needed this- needed him for a while. And he was more than happy to oblige to your needs.

He watched as your legs started to quiver from pleasure, like a little newborn fawns. His little deer.

A thin line of spit trailed his fingers as he pulled them away, letting your whines and moans get louder. You clawed at his biceps, gripping them tight as his pace refused to falter.

Daddy daddy ohhh- Was all you could muster out, and he wanted to keep it that way.

“Yeahhh sweetheart just like that. Grippin me so tight- s’like you were made for me hm? You needed someone to take care of you baby? To split this lil cunt in half like she deserves?”

You nodded absentmindedly as you let the pleasure wash over you- holding onto him as if he were your savour.

He was- your savior. And he’d be damned if he’d let you forget it.

“Gonna cum please daddy can I-”

“Can you? Oh look at you, using your manners without me even reminding you. You’re such a good girl baby, go ahead n cream around this cock lil fawn.”

You cried, wails bouncing off the walls- sounding like sweet music to his ears, as if it was coming from his old radio in the corner he’d whistle a tune to while he worked.

But your sounds were much, much better. So sweet and delicate- your face all contorted in pleasure, nose scrunched, eyes clenched shut as you let go around him.

All he could do was coo at you, his sweet little girl, planting soft kisses to your face. You were so soft and gentle to him on the ride over, thanking him endlessly, clenching your thighs as he dared to slip a hand down to rest on your thigh.

Swooning over him, like a love sick puppy.

He didn't miss the way you stared at him when you thought he wasn't looking. And maybe it was wrong, for him wanting to corrupt such a sweet angel like you, so innocent and eager to do right by him for a simple gesture of kindness.

But he couldn't help himself.

And this? Peering down at the bulge in your stomach from where his cock rearranged your insides?

This was payment, and then some. 

[kingofthecotas]

more like a relapse | ao3

aka the bmw sex fic (e) | 3.2k

inspired by this post and its tags everyone say thank u @certainstarfishllama

——

In Valentino’s defence, he’d told them it was too much. 

——

They unveil the car in Jerez with him there, and they’ve done a good job, he has to admit: deep midnight blue, and only the trim, the wheel spokes, the threads of the interior, carry his yellow. The art of subtlety seems to have been lost, however, when it came to stencilling his number over the rear doors. A horrible reminder of his age, more than his racing.

Whatever. It’s a good-looking car. 

They’d insisted, all of them, BMW and WRT and MotoGP, now that he’s as close to a BMW factory driver as he can get. They’d insisted, and he may be Valentino Rossi but even he is not always able to escape the demands on his time, attention, and commercial indulgence. 

He saves his gripes for Uccio, both of them hiding in the blessed privacy of his motorhome with cups of the only decent coffee to be found at the circuit.

“It’s, ah, ostentatious,” he says over his second espresso. It’s mostly a complaint. Partly a boast. 

“It could have been yellow,” Uccio retorts. “I suppose they have to make sure that whoever wins it actually wants it.”

“Yes, probably.” A sip. “Who do you think will?”

Uccio lets out a snort. “The way he is going? Márquez, probably.”

And—oh. Valentino hadn’t even—well, he’s considering it now: Marc settling into the leather seat, framed in yellow, Vale’s yellow, victorious and satisfied; his big hands curled around the wheel, yellow stitching beneath his palms—

Uccio snaps his fingers. Valentino blinks. 

“Don’t,” his friend warns. “He only ever wanted to fuck you, and then fuck you over. Both of which he managed, by the way.” 

“Mm.” And Marc had been very good at fucking him. Just a little too good at fucking him over, too. 

——

Marc doesn’t get pole in Jerez.

It’s a good lap by Fabio. Even Marc thinks so, from the crinkle in the corner of his eyes; he’s always known Fabio is better than what his bike allows him to be.

Marc doesn’t get pole in Le Mans, and it—Vale looks sideways at that one, but Fabio is at home, on form, on a bike that seems to be coming to him, and again, it was a good fucking lap.��

Silverstone makes it three, and Valentino shouldn’t care this much, he shouldn’t, and Pecco has been complaining constantly about the fucking front end, and he has to take it seriously now because Diggia is saying the same. He shouldn’t care this much, but it chafes.

He doesn’t mention it to Uccio. It wouldn’t be the first time he accused Marc of doing something on purpose.

——

They give him the keys in Mugello for a couple of media laps, and it’s too easy to slip them into his pocket afterwards, solid and warm through his shorts. Suzi is laughing—good, he likes Suzi—swiping hair away from her face and the cameras follow that instead of the quick movement of his hand. The producer has another set, will be able to drive it back to its spot in the paddock; he might even get away with it, which sends a mischievous thrill up his spine. If not—ah, well, an easy mistake to make. He’s sure he will be forgiven. 

——

Pecco gets pole on Saturday; his first of the year, impossibly, and not entirely unexpected, but it rubs something raw in Vale when Marc pulls in behind the second-place board. It’s ridiculous, this hurt that’s pistoning in his chest, but it’s there all the same, so. Nothing to do but muscle through it, Márquez-style, and pretend it isn’t entirely self-inflicted. 

Catching Marc in the midday light, between motorhome shadows, is a little too easy, and Marc waits for him. He waits, head tilted with that terrible arrogance as he waits for Valentino to speak.

There was a time Marc made him nothing but angry. Not so much, anymore: time and age and a different kind of heat that curls his chest into a breathless knot. 

“You are slipping, eh?” He tries for familiar, light, teasing. Familiarity breeds contempt, however, because Marc snorts, dangerous like a bull. 

“Perhaps you do not believe in Pecco as much as you pretend to.” Straight for the jugular, then. 

“Ah.” Vale manages to laugh. “It is the bike, we both know this. He likes it here. Maybe you will even let him win tomorrow.”

“Let,” Marc echoes, an old Spanish slant to the words that Vale had thought he’d lost. “I do not let anybody win.” And that really was the problem, in the end. 

“No,” Vale agrees. The car keys burn like a brand in his pocket. “You might let someone else get pole, though.” 

And Marc smiles, flat. Ivory blade on a knife edge. “Why would I do that?” 

He looks good in red; it deepens the tan in his skin, and teases his eyes into something a little less black. Es tu color, Valentino doesn’t say. He does shrug though, unbothered, and flash a lazy smile before turning his back. 

Marc’s gaze scorches into him every step he takes. 

——

Marc does not let Pecco win. It’s close, though, closer than Qatar, but that’s no consolation when second place is second place, and five points is five points. Perhaps it’s a good thing Vale won’t be in Assen, a country and a twenty-four-hour race away.

Just like Saturday, Vale has no trouble finding Marc, this time in the seldom-trespassed space between the garages and the service road that passes under the track on the run to Arrabbiata. The producer had left the car here on Thursday, on display, not far from the motorhomes.

“See, I said,” Marc says—initiating now, and Vale wonders when they got here, how they got here, “I said I do not let anybody win.”

“Just pole position, then.”

Marc shrugs, self-assured again and easy with it. “No points for pole.”

“Ah, but look.” Vale reaches into his pocket, finds what he’s been carrying since Thursday afternoon. “At the end of the year, you would get a car.” He dangles the keys between two fingers, noting the hypnotic way Marc’s gaze follows it.

“I have enough cars.”

“Maybe you would like a test drive?”

“No.” But Marc is closer than when they started talking, a step or so; Vale catalogues it greedily. That, and the most words they’ve exchanged in a decade. 

“I am a professional racing driver, you know. Might be fun.” 

Head angled, and another step forward. He has Marc on a string here, and Marc has him too. Neither of them could turn and leave if they tried. “What, you are giving me a sales pitch?”

“If you want.” And Vale wants. He wants.

“Show me, then.” Haughty, like he’s doing Valentino a favour. 

So Vale does, beckoning with a hand outstretched, letting Marc follow him around the corner to the car, already unlocked. The blue seems darker now, less vibrant next to Marc’s red as he opens the driver’s door and slips in, every movement a carefully calculated execution of muscle and sinew. Aim, set, fire. 

Marc traces a finger over the neon yellow stitching on the seat, the leather steering wheel. “Tasteful.”

“I didn’t design it.”

“No?” Marc says. “You would have had more yellow?”

“Maybe,” Vale says, horribly delighted at this strange game they’ve found themselves playing; Marc leans across the driver’s seat, one leg pulled up to his chest, to inspect the gearstick.  

Vale wants him so badly his tongue is sticking to the roof of his mouth. Marc knows this, of course he does, so he lets his other leg hang out of the open door, smooth skin paler than usual in the dark, shorts riding up his thigh. 

Silence. Valentino waits. 

“How does it drive?” Marc says eventually, just a glance over his shoulder.  

Vale lets himself smile. 

——

Valentino knows Mugello well enough, a second, third, fourth home, and the roads around it are second nature. He’s a lazy driver too, left hand on the wheel, right elbow on the centre console, taking the curves in the road easy. 

“This is how you drive your racecars?” Marc asks, almost this side of mean, and Vale pushes down a gear just to make the engine growl, just so Marc’s sharp cut of teeth slides into something more satisfied. 

He had allowed himself to imagine, sometimes, Marc in a passenger seat beside him. If not for the gearstick being something for his right hand to hold—well, Marc looks at him with those almost-black eyes that shouldn’t carry as much feeling as they do—and normally they don’t, not if Marc doesn’t want them to. Vale’s fingers twitch. 

One swing of the wheel, and they’re on a dirt road that leads to nowhere, too fast, tyres crunching loose stone as he pulls to a sharp stop. 

Marc huffs out a sharp laugh. “I thought we were driving.” And before Valentino can fire back, he’s out of the door, cool air ballooning into the space where he had been. He’s getting better at doing that, taking Vale by surprise, as if he’s practised the willing twenty-one-year-old out of himself.

His lip curls, despite himself, and Vale can’t decide if it’s humour or scorn, so he presses the ignition into silence and opens his own door, praying that the evening breeze brings some sense with it.

It doesn’t. Marc has slipped into the backseat, door wide open, inspecting something that doesn’t seem as important as catching Valentino’s eye in the rearview mirror, and it hasn’t been so long spent apart that they don’t understand each other in their silences—no amount of time would be long enough, Vale thinks, for that—so he’s pulled on a string out of his seat, drifting, marionette, around the front of the car and to the open rear door, his own number a dull shadow. Marc shuffles further in; Vale braces himself on the doorframe, a familiar heat simmering low in his stomach. 

It’s been a long time, ten bloody years of dug-in trench warfare between now and the last time they meant this. Not so long that Vale isn’t already half-hard. Not so long that Marc has to do anything more than tilt his head in invitation, and Valentino crawls into the backseat.

“Very graceful,” he mutters, a protective wall of self-deprecation, but Marc’s answering laugh isn’t mean—or Vale doesn’t think so, at least. It’s been a long time.

One hand finds itself on Marc’s ankle, his leg crooked just so. The other lands on the inside of his smooth thigh, gentle thumb drawing a circle. 

Marc swallows; his throat clicks, loud in the silence. Those same dark eyes, now carefully shuttered, wait for Vale to make his next move, and at least if it’s away then his shields are up. No perceived sunk cost. 

How like Marc to shrink into his own defences now, like he can’t—like he doesn’t know—

“Yes?” Valentino asks, unable to get anything more coherent out, but Jesus Christ, it’s important.

“Yes,” Marc hisses, headstrong and demanding and everything Vale taught himself to hate. Wanting, too: a crack in the shield wall, so he presses his advantage, sliding one hand under Ducati-red armour just to feel Marc’s skin again. 

Trainers shaken off, rolled somewhere beneath the front seat, Vale tries to keep hold of Marc—a desperate greedy thing, really, and one he can’t explain to himself; his free hand struggles with the button on his shorts, and then pulling them down without bumping his head against the glass roof. Marc, leopard-lithe, has no such problems, his own shorts kicked free and discarded. Shirts, too, a black-and-red pool of them to be distilled apart later, a reversible reaction. 

Marc gets there first, counter-strike, and gets his whole hand around Valentino’s dick, hot through his boxers. He’s hard too, beneath his red underwear. Superstitious idiot. Vale makes a noise he hasn’t for years, arousal cut through with ungainly humour. 

As if that was a personal challenge—and it probably was—Marc slips the same hand, right hand, past Vale’s waistband, light enough to tease down the length of him but unbearably scorching, so it seems only fair to return the favour. Marc is heavy in his palm when Vale works it free, and he shudders, sliding further down until he’s beneath Vale’s chest.

It’s uncomfortable, even on the wide seats, and Vale has to readjust, then shift again, before realising, “I don’t have any—”

“Side door compartment,” Marc says, and smirks. Jesus. Vale had cameras in this car on Thursday. 

Valentino could decide he’s been engineered here, manoeuvred to Marc’s whims instead of the other way around. He decides he’s enjoying it. Decides that Marc wanted this too. 

He reaches past Marc’s head as directed, muscle-stretch burning his shoulders, and pinches a packet between two fingers, imagines Marc carrying them around with him, slipping them into the car when no one was looking. He nearly slices the pad of his thumb on the sharp foil edge trying to get the lube on his fingers. 

“Easier in a bed,” he says, mostly to see if Marc will laugh again, and he does, bright and loud, shifting so Vale can get between his legs.

He does, pushing a finger in, leaning down close to Marc as he does, feeling more than hearing the hitched breath, and presses in, reining himself back because—careful, careful. Marc is squirming now, demanding more, but Marc is never careful, not with himself. 

“Come on,” hissed somewhere in Vale’s neck, fang-sharp.

“So impatient,” Vale purrs, and it is a purr despite the desperate want clawing at his throat. 

“You have been—fuck.” Marc throws his head back, skin taut in his jaw. Still got it, then. “You have been staring at me since Jerez.”

Maybe. Maybe Vale had been staring for longer than that, and Jerez was when Marc began to look back. 

Second finger in, and gentle is an effort now, but age has taught Vale that some things are worth the wait. 

Another short breath. Marc tilts his head up, catching Vale’s earring with his teeth. Vale wonders for a moment if he might rip it out, but Marc moans hot against his earlobe instead. Ten minutes ago, Vale would have chalked that little victory towards his total. Now, the giddy triumph is a silver thread drawing him in closer, closer. Third finger. 

Marc whines this time, releasing the earring with a final tug, his hands reaching down until they find the back of Valentino’s bent legs—what are they doing, Vale wonders hysterically, crouched and tangled in the backseat of a car like a couple of teenagers. If teenagers’ knees protested when they did this, that is. 

“Please,” Marc pants when Vale twists his fingers, spreading just to be sure. “It’s—I can—”

“Yeah—yeah.” 

“Vale—”

“Yes,” Vale soothes, and pulls his hand away to wrap it around his dick. A long time, since Marc has said his name like that, since he’s been inside Marc like this. 

One smooth movement, and he groans through it, Marc’s satisfied noise catching behind his teeth. Then he twitches, a breath before Vale gets all the way in, and clenches—Vale has to throw one hand out to brace himself, hits the window with a dull thud that makes them both jump. His fingers leave an unmistakably sweaty mark.

“Ah—shit,” Marc says, and laughs without restraint. Vale watches, motionless, warmed to the very root of him. 

Then he moves. 

Marc gasps, his eyes going wide, mouth open in a way Valentino hasn’t seen in a long time—normally so tight, jaw set, cheeks stiff unless he has to smile, but this—

This is all Vale’s. 

One knee slips towards the edge of the seat when he tries to drive in further, a swoop that sends him closer to Marc’s slack mouth, only their breath between them. He finds purchase somewhere in the footwell and when he readjusts, slants his hips up, he swallows Marc’s filthy answering moan down his own throat. 

Hands clutch him, only hesitating for a second before settling just where Valentino likes them, back of his ribcage, big and warm against his skin. Tip of a nail pressed into the divot of his spine. 

Vale follows the pressure, curls his torso down, cobra-like, thrusts again. Marc pants scalding against him, and everything in Valentino’s awareness is Marc, Marc, Marc: skin, breath, their bodies. 

It’s easy to forget, like this. When they’re like this. 

Everything is hot with Marc, scorching, a cacophony of red and orange and the heat of him against Vale’s skin, around his cock. They’ll burn out, though, they always do, and not with a gentle fizzle, not in embers. Supernovas. Heat death.

Not for the first time, Vale wishes—

But they are. They are. They couldn’t be anybody else. 

Marc tilts his hips, breath coming ragged now, and Vale meets him there, their rhythm broken, frantic; white-knuckling, both of them searching for leverage to push impossibly closer. 

“Marc,” is all he can say, “Marc—” and he’s lost every other word in every language he knows. 

Marc gasps, forces out, “Fuck—Vale—” before he buries his face in the crook of Valentino’s elbow as he comes, and that’s all Vale needs to follow him, arms shaking, pelvis twitching. 

He pants hard and ugly through his mouth. Stares. Lucidity is an unwelcome companion, everything cool and sticky now, the breeze brushing his bare legs like gentle fingers. Marc turns his head, loose, sated, but closed away again, guarded, as Vale pulls out. 

The thing with Marc is—he’s excellent at evaluating the danger after the crash. It’s how he is, riding past the limit to find it, looking back to pinpoint where he could have avoided it all, if he’d been a little more careful. If he hadn’t charged headfirst towards the highside. 

“Sorry,” Marc says, then before Valentino’s stomach can truly start churning, “You will have to pay for someone to deep clean it, I think.”

The fucking car. “Or you could make sure that you win it.” 

“It is, ah, growing on me.” 

“Oh, yes?” Vale asks, light, as if it matters nothing. Inconsequential. 

“Yes, I think so.” 

“It will remind you of me, a little bit.”

“Of this?” And Marc’s smile is impish; Vale can’t help but give him one back.

This—this is what he hates about Marc: how good they are together, and what a wrench it is when they inevitably end. Because they can’t—they don’t work. 

“We should…” Valentino sighs through his nose; reluctance tugs at his tongue. “We should get this back, I think.” He goes to reach for his shorts, the keys; stopped by a tentative hand on his wrist.

Marc’s eyes glint, sparks of the dashboard lights. “This is still your car, no? For now?

“It is,” Vale agrees, slow. Understanding is swift, when it’s Marc looking at him like that. “Ah, well, I suppose they will not miss it for a while longer.” 

A flash of teeth. In the dark, inching down his palm, Marc’s fingers lace with his.

[no-144444]

꩜summary: you don't need gifts, just him.

꩜pairing: paul aron x fem! reader

You weren’t into the lovey-dovey shit, it just wasn’t what you needed. Maybe that would change with age, maybe it was just something that was hard-wired into you. But you just weren’t interested in gifts or flowers, you just wanted to spend time with Paul. Your love language was definitely spending time together, and his seemed to be anything but.  

He didn’t seem to understand that. Yes, you appreciated the small gifts he sent you, you thought the flowers were sweet, you recognised how nice it was to receive little love notes. All you really wanted was to spend time with him. So you wrapped up at work and flew to Barcelona, just wanting some time with your boyfriend.

Paul walked into his hotel room, exhausted from his day of reserve driver duties. He pulled off his team kit polo and walked into the bathroom, starting up the shower as he brushed his teeth. He was exhausted. It was good practice for whenever he’d get a seat, but the F1 calendar was packed. Going from timezone to timezone felt exhausting, and he wasn’t even driving. It’s not like he wasn’t used to it, he just… needed a break. He wanted to see you. He wanted you to hug him and kiss him and tell him everything was alright. Tell him he was alright. Tell him he was doing a good job. 

Just as he was thinking about you, you appeared in the doorway, one of his hoodies on and some tiny sleep shorts. He could’ve sworn he was seeing things, then you walked into the bathroom and wrapped your arms around him, hugging him tightly. “Missed you,” you mumbled against his chest.

His hands finally sprung into motion and wrapped around you. “Holy shit,” he chuckled in disbelief, toothbrush still in his mouth. He quickly pulled it out and cleaned it, then ducked his head and kissed you. It was perfect, the kind of tension-releasing kiss. You noticed how his shoulder relaxed, how he felt a lot more fluid in his movements, how he smiled. It just made you want to kiss him harder. You did. You leaned into it, wrapping your arms around his neck and surging forwards, just wanting one thing. Yeah, maybe you’d been sexually frustrated while away, and maybe it was because nothing could make you cum as hard as he could. 

“I need to shower-” he started, but you just kissed him harder, your hands finding his hair and pulling. He groaned into your mouth and all he could think about was you. 

“Me too,” you whispered as you pulled back. You quickly pulled off your hoodie and shorts, revealing everything. He swore he’d never been happier to be sweaty. He wrapped his arms around your waist as you pulled his shorts and boxers down, pushing him into the shower. 

Still as he kissed you, he thought back. “Did you get the flowers?” he asked as you began your assault on his neck. It’d be bruised tomorrow, and he couldn’t bring it upon himself to care. He grabbed at your waist, very much soaking in the moment. 

You didn’t stop kissing him. “I don’t,” a kiss to his jaw. “Give a fuck,” a kiss to his lips. “About flowers,” you were hungry for it, and he could tell. He knew what you wanted, and he planned on delivering, even if he left slightly offended by what you’d just said. You grabbed his hands and placed them on your ass yourself. “Touch me.”

After you two cleaned yourself off in the shower, wrapped yourselves up in comfy pyjamas, and collapsed into bed. There was a moment of quiet comfort. A small insecurity crept into Paul's mind. What if you hated the gifts? What if they annoyed you? What if it was too desperate? You were only meant to be hooking up anyway.

“What did you mean?” he questioned, turning to face you. As much as he enjoyed what happened in the shower, he still felt a bit… unappreciated. He liked giving you things. 

“What?” you questioned. “What did I say?” 

“You said you didn’t care about flowers,” he shrugged, fixing a strand of hair behind your ear. “I send you flowers all the time.” 

You saw the deflated look in his eyes and felt something pull at your heartstrings. “Paul, I love that you want to send me flowers, and it’s really sweet. You’re really sweet. But I meant what I said,” you saw the panic and disappointment in his eyes, and quickly finished your sentence. “I just want you near me. I don’t need the gifts.”

His visible panic ceased and he smiled. “You’re sure? It doesn’t annoy you or anything?”

“You could never annoy me,” you chuckled, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he wrapped his arms around you and drug his head into your neck. “I just want you here.”

He nodded against your neck, smiling. “That, and my dick-”

“Paul!” you scolded, playfully slapping his hand away, but he just squeezed you harder.

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[lucy90712]

pedri x f1!reader and she raved in her home GP in Spain and he’s there in the garage with his family just some cute fluff

A/N: Sorry this took so long move really been struggling for motivation recently

Racing in f1 is a big deal but racing in your home country is an even bigger deal. I've raced in Spain many times before in the other classes but this is my first time racing here in f1. Being Spanish and being the only female driver on the grid has meant I've been very busy all week with different media outlets doing interviews and filming videos. We haven't even been out on track yet and I already feel like I've done a whole race. It's worth it though because I'm living the life I dreamed of living since I was a little kid. 

This weekend couldn't have come at a better time as the football season is over and international break hasn't started yet so my boyfriend Pedri can be with me all weekend to support me. With us both doing professional sports we don't always get to spend a lot of time celebrating each others achievements, because while I'm not racing he's playing and while he's not playing I'm still racing. Our schedules always seem to be complete opposites which is why he hasn't made it to any of my races this season which he's been upset about as it's my first year in f1, but that doesn't matter now because he'll be here first the most important race of the season for me. 

Yesterday was media day so I had endless interviews and then a press conference so I told Pedri not to come or he'd just be sat on his own hearing me repeat myself all day. Today he was up before me because he was so excited and he wanted to make sure he looked good for as he called it our grand entrance to the track. Watching him take his role as the supportive boyfriend so seriously made me so happy because usually the attention is always on him but he wants this weekend to be about me and he's trying his hardest to make that happen. 

"Looks like you're ready for your new role as a wag" I joked thinking it would bother him 

"Absolutely I am and I'll be the best wag there" he replied grabbing one of my Mclaren hats 

"You've got the look down" I laughed 

"I'm not joking this weekend is all about you I'm just here to support you I'm not going to do any interviews about football I'm there for you so if anyone wants to talk to me I won't stop talking about you" he said seriously 

"Thank you I really appreciate you trying to make this weekend about me" I said 

"You don't need to thank me its the right thing to do I'm there for you and no one else" he said coming over to give me a kiss 

While I got ready he made breakfast for both of us and he even laid out my team gear that I have to wear. We ate together then he grabbed his car keys and said he was driving because I have to drive for my job so I shouldn't have to drive outside of work. It was quite nice being the passenger princess for once, I got to relax and think about practice today and what I want to get out of it. Pedri left me to think until we arrived at the track then he got out and opened my door for me like a true gentleman and offered me his hand so we could walk in together. Of course every camera was on us as soon as we walked in but I didn't care I just laughed at a joke Pedri told to make me less nervous. 

My day was very busy with practice and endless meetings to go over data and strategy for the weekend but Pedri was so patient. He followed me round the whole day making sure I had every I needed like an assistant which earned him lots of kisses. He even refused to answer questions about football from anyone that approached him he would only talk about me just like he promised he would. Most of the time I'm treated as just a wag even during race weekends but Pedri is making sure that doesn't happen at my home race. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Saturday was just as chaotic as Friday with practice and the all important qualifying which went really well as I qualified second to Oscar by a very slim margin. I've had better race pace than him so I'm hopeful of a good result but of course anything could happen and it would be just my luck for my strategy to go wrong. When I woke up I was quite nervous about the race but Pedri soon changed that as he got me up and making breakfast with him as a distraction. He also managed to make me laugh by being dressed head to toe in McLaren merch which he said he got from Oscar. Yet again we walked into the paddock hand in hand while Pedri had a big proud smile on his face as he showed off his outfit. Every person who asked him a question got the same response that he would be beyond proud however I did but that I was definitely going to win. 

I got separated from Pedri very quickly as I had to be in meetings pretty much from the minute I made it to the track. Once I was finally done I headed straight to my drivers room to get ready and I texted Pedri to meet me there because I had no idea where he was. He didn't answer or read my message for ages so I was just left alone to stew in my own nerves which is never a good thing. I alway get nervous before a race but it is always worse before big races like when I was in the verge of winning the f2 championship I nearly had a breakdown in the car before the start of the race. All of the expectations were really starting to weigh on me but just in time there was a knock on my drivers room door.

When I opened it I saw Pedri stood on the other side but it wasn't just Pedri my parents and his family were all stood there too. Earlier in the week my parents told me they wouldn't be able to make it and Pedri said his parents weren't able to make it to Barcelona in time but here they all are stood right in front of me. 

"How are you all here?" I asked in complete shock 

"I thought you'd like a surprise I know you get nervous before races so I was hoping this would make you less nervous" Pedri explained 

"I definitely wasn't expecting this but thank you I needed this" I said 

I caught up with everyone and they all told me that I'll do great which meant a lot especially coming from my dad as he's always been my toughest critic to keep me motivated. Clearly he thinks I don't need that anymore which must mean I've made it. They all wished my luck one last time before I took the car to the grid apart from Pedri who had grid access so he could be the last person I talk to before getting in the car. 

"You got this amor just remember you've been round this track a million times you know you can do the lap times the team will handle the rest as long as you do your best I'll be proud of you and so will everyone else" Pedri said kissing my helmet just before I got in the car 

The race was crazy with crashes, bad overtakes and safety cars but luckily everything seemed to go in my favour. The team were spot on with my strategy and my pit stops were near perfection it was as if the stars aligned for me. I knew it would be a good race when I managed to take the lead from the first corner but I never imagined how it would feel to cross the line as the winner of the Spanish Grand Prix. My race engineer congratulated me over the radio but I couldn't get out more than just a thank you between the tears of pure joy. There was orange flares filling the entire track as I drove back round to the pit lane and I could hear the crowd cheering even with my helmet on. The whole thing was so surreal but I really felt like I was on top of the world. 

In parc ferme the team were all cheering my name and they threw me in the air after I climbed over the barriers. I got my congratulations from Pedri's family then my own parents. My mum had tears in her eyes which only made me cry more and yet again my dad told me he was proud of me over and over which is all I've ever wanted to hear from him. Then I got to see Pedri who also had tears in his eyes and I could see the pride in his eyes as he looked at me. Straight away he picked me up and pulled me close enough to be able to kiss him. We usually don't like to kiss in public or anywhere we can be filmed but I didn't care that there was probably hundreds of cameras on us. 

Our moment didn't last long enough for me but I couldn't stay with him as I had to do my interview then do the podium celebration before doing the rest of my media. Oscar and Charles covered me in champagne on the podium so every inch of me was sticky but I couldn't care less. I enjoyed drinking in all the praise from the media even the overly negative outlets had nothing bad to say about my race but all I really wanted was to get back to Pedri. After a few more interviews and a quick shower I was finally able to see Pedri who was waiting in my drivers room sitting next to my trophy. 

"I hope you are ready for me to take a million pictures of you with this thing because I won't take no for an answer" he laughed 

"I'm fine with that but I want a few with you in them too to have as my phone background" I said 

"I like the way you think" he said 

"Where are we going to put this you've won too many trophies we need a new shelf" I said 

"It's taking pride of place somewhere you can always see it this trophy is a testament to all the hard work you've put in and to how good of a driver you are" he said 

"Thank you for always believing in me even when I didn't believe in myself I wouldn't have won that trophy without you" I said 

"I didn't do anything it's all you I'm just here to make you realise that you can do it" he said 

"Well you do a good job at that" I said 

"Come on let's get out of here and celebrate because you deserve to be celebrated tonight" he said

[gotwcird]

nadim shrugs. "i think it's a shame that more people don't realize it, but i'll be selfish and have you to myself then." and that's a truth he's not afraid to admit to. thinks that people are crazy for not seeing what he sees, but is glad too because then only he has bambi. can already feel that itching of possession that he doesn't want to show, but knows. "more very good kisses for me too." his grin grows, teasing and warm, looks at her and her alone. feels like she's the only person in the world right now. the only one that matters. "a whole weekend? now that's dangerous information you just offered up." knows he's going heavy on the flirting now, but can't help it. wants to ravage her, almost unapologetically. nadim only snaps back to reality when bambi starts to stand up, helping her up as much as possible. "of course. we can always come back here, have another not-casual date." figures they'll want to do something else for more dates, but isn't opposed to making another stop here.

when they're both stood, he takes her hand and guides her out, throwing the bag of their finished food away as they exit the park. tugs her close as they walk towards the car — takes all the time and yet no time at all for them to find their way back to his car. again, it should be a real indicator to how much he wants her because he almost pushes her against the car, in the middle of the london sidewalk, but he stops himself. instead, he opens the door for her and ushers her in before making his way to the driver's seat. "lets hope i find a good spot to park again."

"i-- will endeavour to be..catchable." she nudges his shoulder gently, seeks a little more contact. she prays he won't mind it, who she is when she's not caught up in the rush of this. but then again, he knows her, enough that the fear softens a little bit. "you might be the only person who's ever thought of me as sweet--" or hot-- for that matter. she knows she can be a little eccentric, talk a little too much, or not enough when the moment stuns her to silence. the way he looks at her though, makes her more curious about what he sees-- makes her believe it a little too. "very good at kissing?" she murmurs softly, an easy wide smile on her lips. "oh-- you--" she nods once, twice, her mind spinning. "i want to go, but i don't want to leave." she glances at the water, at the last dredges of sunlight. she almost wishes she'd taken a picture of him like that, lit up by the london sun looking at her like she was--something. "we can go back--tempest is...out for the weekend so--" the insinuation is heavy, but at this point she's beyond making excuses for how much she wants to kiss him, how much--she wants to touch. "it was really pretty. a very cute not-casual, casual date." she gives him a wide, easy smile and reluctantly gets to her feet. "thank you for showing me your spot."

[lewisinho]

kinda insane how people still cite ‘british bias’ in relation to lewis, like how blind do you have to be to completely ignore the abuse thrown his way all these years from the british press, the remarks and digs made by sky journos, their fucking incessant need to prop up the next big british white boy in motorsport so can they finally support ‘one of their own’, jeez keep peddling your agendas but please do not go there

[hyacinthsdiamonds]

I'm sorry but James Vowles criticising how Red Bull has treated their drivers in the past, only to go and then treat Logan far worse while pulling the exact same shit Red Bull did, ie the exact behaviour he criticised and called them out for, is so freaking infuriating like the sheer hypocrisy -

[redbean-nom]

din djarin, age 10: clone wars refugee child

boba fett, age 11: in federal prison for destroying an entire venator while trying to kill mace windu

[rickybaby]

Genuine question as I am curious — I know it’s pretty obvious with his expressions/ body language that Daniel seemed shy/insecure(?) about having his braces, but has he ever outright said anything about feeling that way with them? Just out of curiosity as I am new around here!

“I feel very different in terms of looks. Fortunately, experience also bought me better looks. I’m not really too fond of showing people photos of me when I was younger”

[charles-leclerc-official]

Waiting for more info, but be serious if he were looking to leave the last place he's going is Red Bull.

[skitskatdacat63]

2009 Singapore Grand Prix - Fernando Alonso

[25points]

theyre going to kill my goat 💔

[buildoblivion]

four to doomsday is a funny serial because it’s objectively kinda dull but it’s so SO good at showing us what makes fivey and his friends tick

[valyrfia]

i understand why charles signed the mega contract with ferrari and why it's important to him to stay and win with ferrari but dammit lestappen rbr would've given us some of the best racing in recent memory