#racing

[n0vazsq]

Pretty Boy | LN4 x Reader

pairing . . . lando norris x gf!artist!reader

summary . . . While you're sketching a drawing of Lando, you notice that something's off with him. Then, you remind him that he's much more than what people think of him

request . . . no!

word count . . . 759

warnings . . . none! just one use of 'damn'

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . first lando fic!!! a bit short but i hope you guys like it <33

. . . The room smelled like salted caramel and the leather of the couch you were currently sitting on. Lando sat across from you, sat on the arm of the chair, one leg bouncing restlessly. The glow from his phone lit up his face every few seconds, softening the sharpness of his jawline, but it didn’t hold his attention for long. He set it down after scrolling aimlessly, leaning back with a sigh.

"You know," you started, stretching out your legs, "you really need to learn how to sit still. You’re stressing me out."

He flashed you that damn grin, the one he knew you hated for how effortlessly it made you forgive him for everything. "You sound like my engineer," he laughed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"Maybe I should be," you shot back, holding up the sketchpad in your lap. "You’re not exactly making this easy for me."

His eyes flicked to the page, and he tilted his head, squinting slightly. "That’s me?"

"Who else do you think I’ve been sketching this whole time? Your mum?"

Lando grinned, leaning in closer to get a better look. His hair was slightly messy, still damp from the shower he’d taken earlier, and you could smell the faint trace of his shampoo as he hovered over your shoulder. "Not bad," he said with mock seriousness, tapping his chin. "You almost got my nose right."

You turned your head, glaring playfully. "Almost? You’re lucky I even attempted that ski slope you call a nose."

He pretended to be offended, leaning back dramatically, a hand on his chest. "Ski slope? That’s rich coming from someone who-" He cut himself off, laughing at your raised eyebrow.

"Go on," you urged, smirking now.

"Nah," he said, still laughing as he settled back into the chair. "You’re not worth the fight."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Lando had this way of lighting up a room without even trying, of making you feel like the only person who mattered when he turned that adorable charm your way. It was infuriating, really.

But tonight, something about him seemed quieter. The usual spark in his eyes was dimmer, and the edges of his grin didn’t reach as far.

"What’s going on with you?" you asked, setting the sketchpad aside.

He shrugged, looking down at his hands, which were fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"About....?"

He hesitated, chewing on the inside of his cheek before finally meeting your gaze. "You ever feel like… I don’t know. Like people only see what they want to see when they look at you?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Where’s this coming from?"

He shrugged again, more defensively this time. "It’s just… I don’t know. Everyone’s always saying stuff, you know? About me. Pretty boy this, golden boy that. Like that’s all I am."

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. "You know that’s not true, right?"

"Isn’t it?" he countered, his voice softer now, more uncertain.

"My beloved Lando." You said his name like it was the answer to a question he didn’t want to ask. "You’re so much more than what people say. You’re brilliant, and kind, and funny, annoyingly so, actuall. You care about the people around you more than you probably should."

He didn’t say anything, just stared at you with this look that made your chest tighten.

"I don’t see some ‘pretty boy,’" you continued. "I see you. The real you. And if other people don’t, that’s their loss. But just saying, you are pretty."

The corner of his mouth twitched, and he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "You’re too good at this whole therapy talk thing, you know that?"

You smirked, leaning back against the couch again. "Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep your ego contained."

He laughed then, the sound breaking through the tension like sunlight through a cloud. And when he looked back at you, the spark in his eyes was there again, faint but unmistakable.

"Thanks," he said simply.

"For what?"

"For being here. For being… ," He took a deep breath, arms raising and falling, like he was trying to cut the air. "You.”

Your smile softened, and you shrugged. "Someone’s gotta put up with you."

He laughed again, shaking his head. "Lucky me, huh?"

And in the glow of the room, with the soft hum of the music in the background, you thought maybe you were the lucky one.

[laptime-deleted]

logan sargeant is the perfect example of the fact that just because something is considered to be "the best", it does not mean that it is "the best thing for you".

maybe at a later point it will be, but right now, logan is where he needs to be <3

what matters is that he's happy. that he has his spark back again.

[jokingluna]

[coimbrabertone]

A Postmortem on the Competitive Era of MotoGP

Okay, that is a very dramatic title, and hopefully, a year from now I'll be able to look at this and say I was wrong, but...I think MotoGP's competitive era is over.

First let me explain what I mean by competitive era.

Grand Prix motorcycle racing, more so than other forms of motorsport, I think, is prone to eras of complete dominance. Agostini in the 60s and 70s, Doohan in the 90s, Rossi in the 2000s, and Marc Marquez in the 2010s. Marc Marquez's run of dominance, however, came to an abrupt end at the 2020 Spanish Grand Prix.

Here, Marquez crashed riding maniacally to make his way to the lead. Marc broke his right arm and started a multi-year struggle with injury that would impact his 2020, 2021, 2022, and 2023 seasons. This would also ultimately end Marc's relationship with Honda, as at the end of 2023, he decided to move to a Gresini Ducati.

In the meantime, MotoGP was wide open.

Joan Mir on a Suzuki won the 2020 championship on consistency over the Petronas Yamaha of Franco Morbidelli, with teammate Alex Rins in third.

Fabio Quartararo on a factory Yamaha won 2021 over the raw speed of Ducati's Pecco Bagnaia and Suzuki's Joan Mir.

Pecco Bagnaia got the upper hand over Fabio Quartararo in 2022, with additional challenges from the Gresini Ducati of Enea Bastianini and the Aprilia of Aleix Espargaro.

Bagnaia won again in 2023, but it was a new cast of characters around him. Instead of being pressured from outside, he was being pressured from within as the Pramac Ducati of Jorge Martin and the VR46 Ducati of Marco Bezzecchi challenged him for the championship.

2024, however, is when things started getting stale. Jorge Martin won the championship over Pecco Bagnaia - the same top two from last year, just in a different order - whilst Marc Marquez on the Gresini Ducati was third, and Enea Bastianini on the factory Ducati was in fourth.

Five years with four different champions.

Suzuki riders, Yamaha riders, factory Ducati riders, and satellite Ducati riders.

It was variety, it was amazing.

However...it was already getting stale this year.

Ducati has been the strongest for a few years now, I admit that even as someone who initially was in favor of Ducati dominance - my logic being that Honda and Yamaha have dominated MotoGP for so long that it was nice to see a European bike take a turn on top - and they've really mastered it this year.

KTM didn't win anything this year.

Aprilia only won two sprints and a single race.

The entire winning constructor column on Wikipedia is a sea of Italian flags without interruption.

And I fear it's only going to get worse for 2025, because Marc Marquez will be on a factory Ducati. After four years of being broken and one year of being on year old machinery, I fear that we may be seeing the Marquez revenge tour for the next few years.

Now, I'm sure for Marquez fans, they'll have a lot of fun.

But...I'm not a Marquez fan.

I'm a Ducati fan, I suppose, but even then, I'm more of a competition fan. The last few years I've found myself turning away from Ducati and becoming an Aprilia fan. The problem with Aprilia, however, is that Aleix Espargaro and Maverick Vinales are good riders, sure, but they're not the kind of riders Aprilia needs to take the fight to the Bolognese.

So Aprilia has made a change for 2025.

Jorge Martin and Marco Bezzecchi.

I think this is a good change. I don't like Martin, his personality rubs me the wrong way and I've spent the last two years rooting against him, but hey, it's Aprilia nabbing the reigning champion, so I understand why they'd want that.

Marco Bezzecchi I'm more excited about. I like him more as a rider, and while I expect Martin to be faster, I hope Marco gets some success too, because then I could at least enjoy some of Aprilia's successes.

Assuming, of course, that Marquez doesn't go and win everything next year.

Will KTM be able to provide any resistance? Maybe. Pedro Acosta is impressive, and Brad Binder has put on some performances at the end of this year to finish ahead of Acosta in the standings, but neither of them have finished any higher than second, so...what they can do depends on where the 2025 KTM is.

The same goes for the new Tech3 KTM lineup of Maverick Vinales and Enea Bastianini, two riders I like - I was glad to see Vinales succeed at the USGP, while Enea has been the rider I've rooted for in MotoGP ever since I became an active fan - they're both moody riders. On their day, they're invincible, problem is that their day doesn't come around nearly often enough to mark a consistent challenge.

And to add insult to injury, Pierer Mobility Group is suffering poor sales globally.

This is why Tech3 is going to be a KTM team instead of a GasGas team, because Pierer is refocusing their marketing on their core brand to try and regain stock value.

So...maybe they can challenge, but I'm not particularly optimistic.

Yamaha? They're gonna need a hell of a lot more speed if they want to challenge.

Honda? Look, yesterday at the Solidarity GP, Joan Mir crashed on the Honda and Neil Hodgson went "oh it's Mir time" so...the less said about Honda right now, the better.

Especially with Repsol gone.

How about the rest of Ducati?

Well, Bagnaia still won eleven races this year, so he's certainly still a force, but is he capable of beating Marc Marquez on equal machinery? I hope so, but given that Bagnaia just got beat by Jorge Martin on equal machinery, I'm not sure if I'm optimistic.

There is also only going to be one more factory-spec Ducati in 2024. Pramac has gone over to Yamaha, while Ducati has given a single GP25 to VR46, putting it in the hands of Fabio Di Giannantonio.

I think Digia will be good on the GP25 this year, and maybe he'll win a couple of races, but I expect him to finish somewhere between third and fifth. Third if no one else can challenge Ducati, fourth or fifth if the likes of Aprilia or KTM can start to pressure the Ducatis.

So overall, I think most races next year will finish with Marquez and Bagnaia in the top two slots, and everyone else fighting for third. The bright side for everyone else, I suppose, is that both Marc and Pecco can be crash prone, so maybe that's where all the other wins will come from.

Will that be good?

We'll see.

Was this competitive era good?

Yes.

Hearing about 2020 and 2021 and paying attention to the very end of the 2022 season is what made me want to become a MotoGP fan. I watched the entire 2023 season on janky streams, I was relieved as hell to see the 2024 season come onto Max so that I could watch MotoGP legally and safely - and share it with my racing friends - so for me, this competitive era has been great.

The entire reason I'm writing this blogpost is because I'm scared that MotoGP is turning for the worse just as I've become a fan.

So what era do I think is most comparable to this competitive era?

The early 2000s. Let's say 1999-2003 for instance.

1999, Mick Doohan gets injured and suddenly the best 500cc GP rider is out of the picture. Alex Crivillé on a Repsol Honda and Kenny Roberts Jr. on a Suzuki battled for the title, with occasional appearances by the other two Repsol Hondas of Tadayuki Odaka and Sete Gibernau, as well as Max Biaggi who was dragging that Marlboro Yamaha forward.

2000 continued the trends, with Kenny Roberts Jr. winning on the Suzuki, Valentino Rossi pressuring him on a Nastro Azzurro Honda run by Mick Doohan's former crew. Max Biaggi on the Marlboro Yamaha was third, with a huge variety of satellite riders involving themselves as well. The Emerson Hondas of Alex Barros and Loris Capirossi, the Red Bull and Antena3 Yamahas of Garry McCoy and Norifumi Abe, Carlos Checa on the other Marlboro Yamaha, and Alex Crivillé struggling on the overpowered - no literally, it had too much power - Repsol Honda, only taking one win in his title defense.

2001 was a turn towards dominance with Valentino Rossi on that Nastro Azzurro Honda, but we still saw wins from Max Biaggi on the Yamaha. We saw the Pons team - now West Honda - continue to pressure the front with Capirossi and Barros, and Sete Gibernau won a single race on the Suzuki. Interesting how that happened twice in a row. In 1999, Crivillé on the Repsol Honda won the title just to win a single race in 2000, while in 2000, Roberts on the Suzuki won just for Suzuki to only take a single win in 2001 with Sete Gibernau at Valencia.

2002 I think lines up with 2022. Valentino Rossi, now brought into Repsol Honda, wins the first 990cc title over Max Biaggi on the Marlboro Yamaha. Tohru Ukawa on the Repsol Honda and Alex Barros on that West Honda also challenge for wins on the same bike as the champion, playing that Enea Bastianini role.

2003 then, is the Honda show much like 2024 was the Ducati show. Valentino Rossi on the Repsol Honda, Sete Gibernau on the Telefonica Gresini Honda, and Max Biaggi, now on the Camel Honda - Pons with a new title sponsor - with Loris Capirossi at Catalunya playing that Maverick Vinales at COTA role as the sole win for a different manufacturer.

2004, however, marked the end of that era. Valentino Rossi went to Yamaha and still won the title in dominant fashion. Five Hondas in the top six but it was Rossi on top with nine wins on a bike that hadn't won since 2002. That shattered the idea that Valentino Rossi was simply the best of the Hondas, instead, he was the best in the world, perhaps the best ever.

And maybe on an optimistic note, in 2025, his protege, Pecco Bagnaia, will prove that he is more than just the Ducati champion. Perhaps Bagnaia will weather the storm of Marc Marquez as his teammate and win the championship anyway.

MotoGP seems to be in a bad way, with Ducati dominant, Bagnaia having been beat by Martin, and Marc Marquez coming into Ducati and threatening to dominate.

But in 2003, everyone swore up and down that the 990cc five-cylinder Honda was the best bike in the world, only for Rossi to go onto the Yamaha and win anyway.

Honda seemed invincible in 2003, but Yamaha beat them in 2004.

Marquez seems inevitable in 2024, but maybe someone can stop him in 2025.

Maybe Pecco, maybe Martin on the Aprilia, or maybe the Japanese will shock everyone and somehow bounce back.

It's unlikely, but...maybe there's still hope.

[videogamepolls]

Requested by anon

[tackless]

Hawthorne Race Course

spring 2024

[rowanmeierotto]

Fury Road sketch dump

[n0vazsq]

Prank Wars | CS55 x Reader

pairing . . . carlos sainz x gf!reader

summary . . . In the midst of your prank war with Carlos, you notice that your favourite handbag has gone missing

request . . . no!

word count . . . 813

warnings . . . none!

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . got this idea in the car and HAD to write it!! hope you guys enjoy <33

. . . The sun was beginning to dip, painting the poolside in hues of gold and orange as you strolled back from the coffee shop. Your favourite drink in hand, you felt the familiar dread of the ongoing prank war you and Carlos had been engrossed in. You’d only stepped away for twenty minutes tops to grab your drink and take a break from the relentless back and forth of your pranks. But as you returned to your lounge chair, a sinking feeling set in.

Your towel was still neatly folded on the chair, your shoes exactly where you’d left them. But your handbag, the one you adored, the one that had survived countless trips, spills, and memories, was gone.

You glanced around, your mind immediately jumping to the prime suspect.

"Carlos!" you shouted, spinning in a slow circle to catch sight of him. Nothing.

Your suspicion only deepened when you remembered the way he’d been acting earlier: too innocent, too calm. That man had 'up to something' written all over him, and now your favorite bag had mysteriously disappeared.

Marching toward the house, you pushed open the sliding door. "Carlos!"

"In here!" His voice spoke from the courtyard, overly casual, overly cheerful.

You rounded the corner and found him leaning against the counter, scrolling through his phone like he didn’t have a care in the world. When he glanced up at you, his expression was so innocent it was downright incriminating.

"Hey, hermosa," he greeted cheerfully. "You look a little tense. Everything okay?"

"Don’t you dare," you warned, pointing a finger at him. “Where is it?”

"Where’s what?" he asked, his voice dripping with fakke confusion.

"My bag, Carlos. My favorite bag. Don’t play dumb, you’re bad at it."

He shrugged, the faintest smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I have no idea what you’re talking about. Did you lose it?"

You stared at him, eyes narrowing. "You are the worst liar I’ve ever met."

He shrugged again, his smirk growing wider, and you spun on your heels, storming back toward the pool area. If he wasn’t going to confess, you’d find the evidence yourself.

As you scanned the area, something caught your eye. Floating peacefully in the pool, bobbing along the gentle waves, was your handbag.

"Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me," you muttered under your breath, your blood starting to boil.

"Carlos!" you yelled, turning to face him. He had followed you outside, and the second your eyes met, he burst into laughter.

"Okay, okay, listen to me!" he said between fits of laughter, holding up his hands in surrender.

"Carlos Sainz," you said through gritted teeth, "if you think this is funny-"

"It’s not like that, hermosa! I swear!" He stepped closer, his grin still plastered across his face. "Just wait a second, okay?"

You crossed your arms, glaring at him. He jogged over to a lounge chair on the other side of the pool and picked up a beautiful shopping bag with an unmistakable designer logo.

"What is that?" you asked suspiciously as he approached you.

"Well," he started, looking a little shy as he handed you the bag, "I thought your handbag was looking a little… tired, and a bit old. So, I got you a new one."

You blinked, staring at him and then at the shopping bag in your hands. Pulling out the tissue paper, your jaw dropped as you revealed the stunning, elegant handbag inside. The very one you’d been eyeing for months but never had the heart to buy. Or never had the heart to replace your old bag with.

"Carlos…" Your voice softened, the annoyance melting away.

"Do you like it?" he asked, his grin turning a bit sheepish.

You glanced back at the pool, where your old bag was still floating like some abandoned pool float, and then back at him. "Carlos, you dunked my bag in the pool!"

"I’ll take it out!" he promised quickly, holding his hands up again. "But come on, admit it, you love this one."

You bit back a smile, running your fingers over the expensive leather of the new bag. As much as you hated to admit it, he was right. It was perfect.

"You’re lucky you’re hot," you muttered, shaking your head.

He laughed, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around you. "You know, hermosa, if this is how I win the prank war, I think I deserve bonus points."

You shoved him lightly, but your grin betrayed you. "This isn’t over, Carlos."

"Not until I get your bag out of the pool," he teased, kissing your lips gently.

And as you stood there, new handbag in hand and his arms wrapped around you, you realized that no matter how ridiculous his pranks got, you’d always let him win in the end.

How couldn't you when he made all your dreams come true?

[robinfrinjs]

Abbi Pulling became the first female race winner in British F4 today

📸: Alice Powell

[pseudonymjones]

the Goose started walking in January, and right now she’s all about races

[boanerges20]

Motolove

[adventuringblind]

He Must Be Lucky!

Max Verstappen x Reader

Genre: fluff and crack

Summary: Max gets wasted and can't remember that the reader is his wife. It's endearing how much he simps bith sober and drunk.

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, a wild party (at least for Max), Max being down bad

Notes: This one is for @amajixi! I hope you like it! Does anybody wanna send me asks and talk about drivers with me? Give me your most feral thoughts because I'm genuinely curious... please >_< (I even turned my anonymous asks back on please just send me things).

Side note: my fics haven't been getting much traction as they usually do. Is it something on my end? Have y'all disappeared on me? I know I shouldn't care, but y'all are the only ones that validate my writing T_T

Masterlist // Request Form // My Website // buy me a Ko-Fi

Max has a track record of partying hard. It's who he is, and she lives him for it. There isn't any kind of gripe of hang-up, just Max having fun and doing dumb shit that makes her laugh.

Lando is throwing a - well - a party. There was an excuse for it in the invitation, but she's too buzzed to remember it.

The echoing sound of Max's laughter ricochets off the walls. Daniel is with him, probably getting them into more trouble, but she knows Daniel will look after him. At least until he's trashed and can't get off the floor.

Alex brings her another shot glass. She has no idea what's in it, but Alex is letting loose, and she'll be damned if she doesn't partake.

He raises the shot glass in a toast. "To whatever this party is!" He cheers. They clink their glasses together and down the shots. She gags at whatever was in it.

"The fuck was that, Alex?!" She sputters.

He gives her a blank look. Really thinking hard about what he gave her. "I've got no idea."

The hours seem to tick by. The people are slowly dissipating, leaving the safety of this weird little bubble they've created.

She's lightly buzzed still, having danced off the majority of the shots Alex had her doing. The couch is her new best friend, and Lando had brought her a blanket at some point in the last twenty minutes.

A weight on the other end of the sofa catches her attention. Max, with complete adoration in his blue eyes, is staring at her. "Wow," he slurs. "You are the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen."

She laughs at his drunken thoughts. "You're not too bad looking yourself, babe."

The smile on his face is almost childish. It's big enough to almost fall off. His cheeks tinged a darker red with the blush adding to the alcohol flush.

"Go on a date with me? Please?" He tries to pout, but it ends up looking awkward mixed with the grin.

She flashes the ring at him. "Sorry, I'm spoken for." Alex and Lando are giggling from where they are watching this interaction unfold.

Max looks like a wounded puppy. Eye's glossing over like her might cry. "He must be such a lucky guy. You're just so perfect!"

"Awe, love, you wanna know a secret?" She leans in to whisper into Max's ear. "You married me."

If Max could hand you the world on a silver platter, he might have tried in this moment. The Dutch is vibrating in pure, unadulterated joy. Like a child who just got the ice-cream they were so desperately craving.

"Holy shit! I'm the lucky guy!"

Max smothers himself against your body. Eventually falling asleep, mumbling about how she's so amazing, and how he loves her so much. It's endearing to here his drunk affections laid bare for everyone to see.

It's the lullaby that calms her to a restful state. Fingers tangling with the softness of his hair. "You're not the only one who's lucky. I guess I'm pretty lucky, too."

[pretty-sparkle-bomb]

You are now reading Part 1 of my series!

Part 2 Part 3

At the starting line, Bakugo sat poised behind the wheel of his sleek, customized racer, his eyes fixed on the flag girl standing just a few feet ahead. You wore a vibrant blue crop top and a miniskirt to match. It's too tight, Bakugo thinks but enjoys the view nonetheless. You looked tempting, the red flag in your hand ready to unleash the roaring beasts lined up behind you. Kirishima rolls down his window, catching the blonde's attention. Bakugo turned his head to the right. "Pretty, isn't she? She's new." Katsuki hummed in agreement. You really were a sight to behold. Sero suddenly spoke up. "Let's make a bet, between the three of us. Winner gets to take her out. Or are you guys too scared I'll beat ya to it?" Bakugo scoffed. They had nothing on him. He was the star of the show, his car was second to none. Who was tapehands to tell him what to do? He could beat those extras with his eyes closed.

Neon signs bled into the slick asphalt, blurring as Bakugo scanned the starting line. Headlights cut through the night like hungry eyes, illuminating the customized beasts straining at the bit. Deku's souped-up Toyota, a sleeper in disguise, sat innocent-looking next to Todoroki's sleek, ice-themed Subaru. Even Sero's Nissan Silvia seemed hungry for the win. "Bet." he smirked, rolling up his windows. His eyes snapped back to the front. He wondered what your name was. Mina sure knew good people to recruit.

A wry smile played on your lips. You raised the flag, parting your glossy pink lips to signal the racers.

"Ready?" He knew the city like the back of his hand, every hidden pothole, every blind curve.

Even though you were a newbie, damn you knew how to control the crowd. They were screeching your name, chanting it continuously and Bakugo struggled to make it out between all the screams. "Set." You grinned, placing a hand on your waist as the engines of the cars roared to life, loud and energetic. Gosh, you lived for the adrenaline. The crowd was silent, awaiting your signal so that the racers could just go already. Your vibrant outfit practically glowed under the harsh streetlights, hugging every curve. You winked at Bakugo, a sly smile playing on your lips. He scoffed internally. Trying to distract him, were you? Not a chance.

The crowd buzzed with anticipation, their bets already placed. A million yen on Bakugo, whispers claimed. You leaned closer to the microphone, your voice amplified across the silent street. "Gentlemen," you purred, your words dripping with a thrill, "tonight, we race for glory, for bragging rights, and…" you paused, letting the tension build, "for a night out with yours truly, and a hefty sum of cash!"

The other racers revved their engines impatiently, their eyes hungry. Now this was a prize to die for. You snickered and dropped the flag swiftly. "Go!" All of the cars sped off, dusting the black Nissan 350Z that stayed there. Its engine purred slightly. You were confused. He had to be messing with you. Did he not see the flag drop? You groaned and with a sigh that might've been more theatrical than necessary, you raised the flag, ready to signal the start again.

A throaty roar shattered the air. Then, with a suddenness that caught you off guard, Bakugo's car rolled forward slowly. His window slid down smoothly, revealing a pair of ruby eyes that raked down your body as he gave you a wink. Your face heated up. He looked so attractive. Bakugo passed you a piece of paper. "What's yer name?" he asked, voice husky.

You whispered it to him, as you leaned on his door, purposefully smushing your chest together to get a rise out of him. He, however, maintained eye contact and then plastered a cocky grin on his face. "Bakugo Katsuki. I'll be the one winnin' this race tonight."

You scoffed and pushed off of his car, leaving behind the scent of your vanilla perfume to haunt his senses. As if. He was already way too far behind.

His car shot forward, surging past the starting line as if the previous seconds hadn't even happened. The crowd roared, initial confusion quickly swallowed by the spectacle of the race.

You opened the paper to read it. Scrawled across the page in his messy handwriting was a single line and a string of numbers: "Winner deserves a prize, yea?"

You looked at the cameras. Bakugo raced like a man possessed. Every corner drift was a smooth display of aggression, every straightaway a blur of crimson fury. The other racers were no slouches, but they were simply outmatched by this carmine-eyed blonde.

She watched as Deku, ever the strategist, used the initial chaos to his advantage, weaving through the pack and closing the gap on Bakugo's tail. Todoroki followed closely behind, his car being pushed to the max already.

Sero, ever the underdog, wasn't giving up either. He was strategically sticking close to Todoroki, perhaps hoping to use his quirk – a giant spool of industrial tape – to his advantage later on.

The race unfolded like a high-octane ballet on asphalt. Headlights sliced through the night, engines screamed their defiance, and the smell of burning rubber filled the air. You watched, heart pounding with the rhythm of the race, as Bakugo pushed his car to its limits, taking calculated risks through back alleys you knew well.

Deku, however, wasn't far behind. It seemed like he didn't know the route and desperately tried to keep behind Bakugo, in a lousy attempt to perhaps catch the finish line.

"Fucker doesn't know what he's doin." Bakugo snickered as he activated his nitro, a little something that he hoped would catch your attention.

As the finish line neared, your grip tightened on the checkered flag, a knot of anticipation twisting in your gut. You found yourself rooting for him, fingers crossed in hope. He had made quite the impression on you.

With a triumphant roar, Bakugo crossed the line, his car smoking slightly from the aggressive maneuvers. You waved your flag again, shouting into the microphone, "We have a winner, Katsuki Bakugo! Four minutes and 12 seconds!"

The other cars took a few moments to file in, Sero having come last seeing as Bakugo had braced his car to a wall, causing him to pull behind.

Mina and Jiro called you up to hand off the prize to tonights winner. They assured you that it would be fine.

"Bakugo might be an egocentric ass but he's not a misogynist." Jiro waved you goodbye as she ran up to Denki and pulled him in for a kiss.

Bakugo sauntered over. He towered over you, looking even more imposing after the adrenaline rush of the race. You couldn't help but admire his confidence, even if it bordered on arrogance. There was a huge crowd of people surrounding you, shouting Bakugo's name and asking for an autograph.

"Here ya go," Mina said, shoving a hefty duffel bag of cash into Bakugo's arms. "Winner's spoils."

"Thought I was promised more." he rasped, looking over to you. Jiro came back, handing you a two-tier coloumn trophy and she whipped out a camera.

You stood next to Bakugo as he wrapped a muscular arm around your waist. Tiptoeing, you placed a manicured hand under his chin and planted a sticky kiss on his cheek, your lipgloss smudgeing on his face and leaving a shiny print. The crowd went wild, many phone flashes going off as they took pictures and recorded videos.

Jiro probably took over a hundred photos, the last one was you and him gazing into each others eyes with smiles on your faces.

Suddenly, the blaring of sirens echoed through the streets.

Panic surged through you, a cold dread replacing the exhilaration of the race's finish. The sirens grew louder, drawing closer, and the celebratory shouts of the crowd died down, replaced by nervous murmurs.

Bakugo, momentarily stunned by your kiss, finally reacted to the sirens. He ripped his gaze from yours and scanned the street, his eyes narrowing.

"Stupid fuckin cops," he muttered, the words laced with annoyance.

Of course. You should have known illegal street racing wouldn't go unnoticed forever. Now, everyone – the racers, the spectators, even you – were in trouble.

Mina, ever resourceful, grabbed the microphone you'd been using. "Scatter!" she shouted, her voice amplified. "Everyone go, before they get here!"

The crowd erupted in a flurry of movement. People scrambled to disappear into the maze of back alleys that surrounded the makeshift racetrack. Racers jumped into their cars, tires squealing as they peeled away into the night.

You froze for a moment, unsure what to do. Bakugo, however, seemed to have a plan. He grabbed your arm, his grip surprisingly strong, and pulled you towards his car.

"Get in," he barked, putting you into the passenger seat, throwing the money and trophy at your feet. He hopped in and mashed the accelarator. Never had you ever been in a racers car before.

You peeked back through the rear window as you sped away. The police car was giving chase, but Bakugo knew these alleys better than they did and he was gonna show you just how fun speeding away from cops can be.

"Buckle up, princess."

All works are original and belong to @pretty-sparkle-bomb

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