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munsonify · 1 month ago

Text

tipsy and touchy

pairing. steve harrington x fem!reader

summary. steve finds himself a bit drunk and uncomfortably horny with you in his lap, and you decide to help him out when your friends leave

content warnings. smut 18+ mdni, alcohol consumption on both ends, intoxicated sexual acts (consensual), oral (m!receiving, sloppy head), brief handjob, alludes to fingering (f!receiving), praise, steve being needy and whiny, finger sucking, slight oral fixation (i can’t help myself), probably way too much spit, established relationship, pet names (honey, babygirl), r in a skirt

word count. 2731

a/n. not proofread cause when is my work ever. also the first few paragraphs have been sitting in my drafts for like a year or two now so it’s finally seeing the light

———

low music played inside of steve’s house, his radio on the first station he’d tuned into that sounded half decent. a bottle of wine and whiskey were open on the island in his parents kitchen, glasses out with it. it’s weird that his house parties turned into this over the years - low music, very few friends, minimal mess, and just enough alcohol to get everyone where they wanted to be. 3 years ago, steve would’ve never hosted something like this.

it never took long for him to feel a buzz rattling inside of his brain, making the alcohol running through his body known. he was sat comfortably in his armchair, his legs spread in his slightly too tight jeans. it was a perfect fit for you.

with a slight stumble in your walk, you gently slid into the chair with him, perfectly rested against him. with a strong arm wrapped around your waist protectively, the smell of his cologne engulfed you, a slight scent of whiskey mixing with it. his body was warm, and his touch was firm.

steve’s stubbly chin brushes against your neck, lips attaching to your skin there for a gentle kiss. in his tipsy haze, he finds his hand wandering up the side of your shirt. his fingertips brushed against your bare skin, sending chills down your spine. he was slow with the way he dragged his lips up the column of your throat, leaving slightly-too-wet kisses in its wake.

it wasn’t until his lips kissed underneath your jaw that you realized steve was in search of your lips. your hand was quick to find the back of his head, fingers threading through his hair on instinct, guiding the man’s face to yours.

“jesus christ get a room!” robin exclaimed, groaning as she walks past the two of you cozied up in the recliner. your boyfriend let out a little huff as he releases the desperate kiss. steve’s hand lingered on your skin for a few moments, before reluctantly moving it, smoothing your shirt back down in place. his soft lips found his way back to yours briefly, gently kissing away the cute little pout you grew.

you decided it was best for you to get up, wiggling slightly in your place as you grasp steve’s toned bicep for leverage. one of his large hands caught your hip before you could pull away, eyes wide as he stares up at you. he drags you down into his lap again without a word, safely securing you back into place. you kept your hand firmly placed on his bicep while your eyebrows knit together at him. all steve did was adjust you a little, letting your thigh brush against his aching, half hard cock through his jeans.

your eyes wandered down at the feeling, catching glimpse of his prominent bulge pressed against you. it was difficult for him to contain when he wasn’t hard, let alone when he was. his fitted blue jeans never leave anything for the imagination. it was no use trying to contain your giggles, the cute noise slipping from your lips without meaning to.

“poor baby,” you teased in whisper, a small, playful pout on your lips as you look back up into his eyes. steve’s grip on your hip tightens for a few moments, a daring glint in his eyes. your fingers comb through his hair, feeling him readjust beneath you again. you lean in to his ear, placing a warm, slow kiss beneath it before you briefly continued your teasing. “so worked up.”

you placed another warm, chaste kiss below his ear, pulling away the moment you heard robin come back out into the living room. steve’s eyelids were a little hooded now, fluttering down at you as he thinks. another shift of his hips tells you that your teasing is working, his heavy erection pressing against your thigh again. it was a friction he was so desperate for, yet didn’t mean to find. you watched as he swallowed thickly, adam’s apple bobbing with it.

“only cause you’re a tease,” steve whispered back, a slight desperation clinging to his voice. if he wasn’t hosting your friends, he’d take you right then and there. “can’t help myself around you.”

you cooed at his words, the hand at his steadying at the back of his neck, fingers toying with the baby hairs as you lean in close. your soft, gentle lips press against his in another kiss, this time a lot shorter. steve would complain if he knew robin wouldn’t make a sly comment again. instead, he settled on smoothing his hand up a little to your waist, fingertips tracing small patterns over your shirt.

neither of you seemed to notice how late it’d gotten until jonathan started shuffling around the living room in search of nancy’s shoes, who seemed not at all bothered by finding them. instead, she had her face in her palms, body a little slack from the alcohol. robin was fumbling with her own shoes, somehow managing them on.

“we’re gonna head out, man,” jonathan spoke, breaking steve’s trance on you. he handed nancy her shoes before he slipped on his own. “nance needs to lie down and i think robin might throw up if she has to looks at you guys for any longer.”

robin started to grumble as she pushes herself off of the couch, balancing upright the best she could manage, before pointing at the two of you. “you two are a bunch of horndogs. not to mention i was having a great conversation with y/n before you went and stole her.”

she was swaying in place a little as she spoke, putting extra emphasis on her words to get her point across. steve, however, couldn’t pretend to care even if he tried. he just shrugged robin off, hand swatting her away, even though she was across the room. jonathan helped nancy to her feet, letting the girl lean against him just slightly as they started to walk towards the door, all three waving goodbye.

“thanks for having us!” nancy said, smiling proudly as the other two follow suit in agreeing. you gave them a small wave and a grin, still perched up on steve’s lap cheerfully.

“‘course,” steve told them, watching as they stumble through the door. he pointed at jonathan with a fake sternness. “get them home safe.”

that was the last of the conversation before the front door clicked shut. all steve did was mumble a small ‘thank god’ before his mouth was on your neck again, kissing at it in a wet desperation for your warmth. the hand that wasn’t cradling the back of steve’s head found its way to his broad chest, shifting yourself slightly, facing towards him a little better now that you weren’t attempting to hide his bulge.

“baby,” you whisper, drawing him away from your neck to speak to him. he let you guide him, faces inches apart as you spoke to the boy. steve was always eager for you, though it was much was when he was drunk. he clung to you tighter, searched for your warmth a lot more. “let me take care of you.”

steve nodded quickly at your words, eyebrows knitted together as he tries to figure out his next move. while his mind went to your small skirt and what was hidden underneath, your mind went elsewhere. before he could do or say anything, you slowly slide off his lap, finding your place on the floor, knees pressed against the hardwood as you wedged your way between his still parted legs.

your hands found his thighs quickly in attempts to steady yourself, a little more drunk than you thought you were. your hands were slow and more precise with their next move, sliding gently up towards his large bulge. your fingers found it first, tracing his length, feeling him twitch beneath your touch. next was your palm, solid and warm as you rub against him. steve let out a choked gasp at your movements, hands gripping the armrests to ground himself.

he was so zoned in to the moment, into the warmth of your hands, that it took him a long few seconds to notice you fumbling with his belt. you had that cute little pout on your face again as you struggle slightly, eventually figuring it out on your own. one of steve’s hands found yours, gripping them both and steadying them. your eyes went wide the moment he stopped you, head snapping up to look at him. before you could overthink it or ask if you’d done something wrong, steve spoke instead.

“you sure, honey?” he croaked, looking down at you for reassurance. you were quick to nod.

“yeah, so sure,” you hummed, grasping at the hand he had down at yours. you brought his knuckles to your lips, pressing slightly sloppy kisses to his skin, staring up at him through your eyelashes. you pressed one firm kiss on his palm before your focus returned to his blue jeans, tugging them and his boxers down just enough for his aching cock to release and sit comfortably.

a pleased hum rumbled in your chest at the sight of his leaky cock, spit dribbling from your lips right after, falling into your palm. all steve could do was stare down at you admiringly, hand reaching to the side of your face, cupping your cheek as you get to work. you were as precise with your movements as you could be, hand finding its way to his tip, gripping slightly, before slowly dragging your hand down his length. your hand settled at the base of his cock, gripping a little tighter now, giving yourself time to admire how pretty it looked covered in your spit and his precum.

you used your other hand to push up the hem of his shirt slightly, revealing his soft tummy and the perfect happy trail. you watched as his stomach tensed slightly, cock twitching in your hand right along with it. you finally began stroking him properly, a little sloppy, still slow. steve’s lips had a permanent part to them as you felt him, low gasps and whimpers pushing past them at every perfect upwards flick of your wrist. his drink was long forgotten on the side table next to the chair, all of his focus still on you.

he watched you lean in further, your hand steadying its pace, mouth hovering just barely over the tip of his cock. steve couldn’t help but drag his hand to the back of your head, gently cradling it in anticipation. when your soft lips finally met his tip he couldn’t stop a small gasp from exiting his mouth. you left gentle kisses down the underside of his heavy shaft, staring up at him the entire time. you licked your way back up with a flat tongue, slowly finding your back to his leaky tip, swirling around it teasingly.

as much as steve wanted your mouth on him, to rest inside of your warm, wet mouth, he still waited, as patient as ever. you were gorgeous on your knees like this, having your fun with him. who would he to be to ruin this perfect sight?

his patience paid off quickly. you took his tip into your mouth with a breathy moan, lips wrapped around him all pretty. a gentle suck was all it took to make steve moan, thighs tensing underneath of you. he was always sensitive for you, more so now that he was intoxicated. he couldn’t help but feel everything you generously gave him intensely.

you took his cock down your throat little by little, wrapping more of his length into your warm mouth. it took everything in him not to thrust up into you, to force you to take more. you seemed to notice that as you take the rest of his cock, nose brushing against his pubic hair, scent in bulging you. your soft hands found his hips, both to steady yourself and to keep him in place. to show that you truly wanted to take care of your man, a silent way to tell him to sit back and relax.

small whimpers begin to erupt from steve’s mouth as you slowly start to bob your head against the length of his cock. you never fully released him, simply stopping at his tip, before dropping back down again, slow. his large hand was gentle with guiding you - while he let you go at your own pace, your rhythm was uncharacteristically off, something your slightly drunk haze cursed you with -, helping you find a somehow steady rhythm. your mouth was a drooling mess as you started to speed up, spit spilling slightly from the corners of your mouth, helping you take his cock much better. this would normally embarrass you, cause you to ease up a little. tonight, however, you couldn’t care less. and, lucky for you, your boyfriend seemed to love it.

“so good honey,” steve whimpered out, head thrown back against the chair. he couldn’t bear to look at you. if he did, he’d risk blowing his load too soon, something he had a feeling was going to happen regardless. it was evident in his voice and his slumped figure that he was sensitive, needy for you. “so fucking good, so messy, oh god-“

steve’s rambles were cut short by more whines and whimpers slipping from his mouth, a quick jerk of his hips fighting passed your grip. you didn’t mind at all, throat closing slightly at the feeling, only causing more pretty noises from him. his eyes squeeze shut in attempts to ground himself, a hand desperately gripping the armrest of the chair he was sat in. you started hollowing out your cheeks, a soft, wet slurping sound becoming audible to him.

the moment one of your hands found its way to his lower stomach, fingers scratching so gently at the patch of hair there, steve was a goner. he forced his eyes open and his head up, finally looking back down at the sight of you, mouth full of him, ready to take his cum. how could he deny you that?

“right there, honey, shit,” steve whined, a noise that had your pussy fluttering and pulsing. his hips rocked slightly into you as he came, eyes dead set on yours as you took every last drop you could manage, a few white, pearly streaks falling out of your mouth and down your chin. both of his hands found their way to your cheeks as you finished working him through his orgasm, careful with the way he pulls you off of his cock, slightly overstimulated.

“y’so perfect,” steve murmured out as he caught his breath, watching your round, teary eyes stare up at him as he praises you. your thighs press together on instinct, a small pout playing on your lips at the loss of him in your mouth. “always so good f’me.”

he was careful with the way he helped you up off the ground, guiding you back to his lap. this time, you were straddling him, soft thighs on either side of his. with one hand on your hip, steve brought his other up to your chin before you could clean it up yourself, scooping what escaped onto his middle and ring finger. and, as if on instinct, your jaw went slack again expectantly, waiting just as patiently for him as he did for you. he gave you what you wanted, pushing his fingers into your mouth gently, resting them right against your tongue, firm.

your lips were quick to wrap around his him right at his knuckles, tongue swirling his thick fingers eagerly, taking back the cum that got away from you. you hummed out a low moan as you sucked at his fingers, finally letting yourself find friction against his body. your skirt was flared around you, letting you grind down slightly against his slightly softened dick with only your soaked panties in the way.

“i know,” steve cooed at you, slipping his spit soaked fingers out of your mouth. you would’ve protested if they hadn’t immediately found their way down to your cunt, slipping right past the waistband of your panties. “gonna pay you back the favor, babygirl, promise, gonna give you exactly what you need.”

and that he did.

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1K notes · View notes

harrysfolklore · 2 months ago

Text

red - cs55

summary: carlos is dating a singer who's 9 years younger than him, and it's all good until it isn't

folkie radio: okay guys i know that summary is so bad but this is basically inspired by red by taylor and i hope you like it 😭

MASTERLIST | PATREON

liked by gracieabrams, carlossainz55 and 2,937,499 others

yourinstagram mi corazon ❤️ @/carlossainz55

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username1 HELLO??

username2 WHATS GOING ON

popbase BREAKING: Pop sensation YN (20) confirms relationship with Formula 1 driver Carlos Sainz (29)

carlossainz55 Mi vida 🤍 Finally sharing you with the world

oliviarodrigo this is so cute! happy for you lovie 🥺❤️

username3 the ferrari jacket while recording SHES INSANE FOR THAT

lando about time you two went public! was tired of pretending i didn't know 😂

username4 her new boyfriend is an F1 driver??? THE POWER THIS HOLDS

sabrinacarpenter the way you've been glowing lately makes so much sense now 😍

username5 Carlos Sainz and YN?? We're living in a simulation 😭

username6 age gap discussion incoming in 3...2...1...

charles_leclerc Finally! No more hiding in Monaco 😂

username7 nine year age gap... thoughts? 🤔

taylorswift This makes me so happy! ❤️ Can't wait for you both to come over again!

username8 isn’t he a bit old for her?

username9 young popstar dating an older guy? i think i’ve seen this film before

username10 I LOVE THIS

username11 THE THIRD PIC HAS SUCH AURA

username12 this could be the ultimate power couple or a complete mess

liked by username1, username2 and 28,936 others

f1gossip🚨 Pop star YN supporting boyfriend Carlos Sainz at the Spanish GP! This marks her first public appearance in the paddock since confirming their relationship last week.

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username1 I LOVE THIS SO MUCH

username2 Carlos is literally 29 dating a 20 year old. I'm sorry but that's weird 🚩

username3 they look so happy! she fits right in with the ferrari family

username4 the way charles and alex have basically adopted her already

username4 not sure how I feel about this... she's barely out of her teens and he's almost 30?

username5 IM LIVING FOR THIS

username6 here's why this relationship is problematic: [thread]

username7 can we talk about how she's handling herself so professionally despite all the hate? queen behavior

username8 she's an adult who can make her own choices. stop infantilizing successful women.

username9 the paddock dynamics about to get interesting 👀

username10 BEST WAG ALREADY

username11 not trying to hate but 9 years is a big gap at that age...

username12 charles treating her like a little sister is everything

username13 age gap discourse aside, they actually look really good together

username14 anyone else notice how all the drivers seem to already know her? must've been dating longer than we thought

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popbase 🎤 F1 driver Carlos Sainz supporting girlfriend YN at her sold-out Madrid concert! She even changed some lyrics to reference their relationship 👀

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username1 carlos in boyfriend era is everything we needed

username2 not charles and alex being the ultimate supportive friends 🥺

username3 the security had to stop fans from taking photos of Carlos instead of watching the show 💀

username4 LOOK AT HIM BEING SO PROUD OF HER

username5 YN’s "Spanish nights" lyric change already trending on TikTok

username6 still weird seeing a 20yo performing for her 29yo boyfriend but go off I guess

username7 first she comes to his races, now he's at her concerts. COUPLE OF THE CENTURY

username8 "And all my Spanish nights are better with you" HELLO??? THE LYRICS???

username9 he looks at her like she hung the moon and stars 😭

username10 the age gap comments getting real old. they're obviously happy together

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liked by selenagomez, charles_leclerc and 1,879,022 others

yourinstagram 21 🤍 thank you for all the birthday wishes x

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username1 BIRTHDAY ICON

popbase YN celebrates 21st birthday with star-studded party in London. Notable absence: boyfriend Carlos Sainz.

username2 sometimes i forget that she’s still so young

alexandrasaintmleux You looked beautiful birthday girl ❤️ Love you x

username3 carlos was posting from madrid while yn celebrated in london... trouble in paradise?

username4 something's off... she usually writes longer captions

charles_leclerc Happy birthday pequeña! You deserve the world

username5 he was having dinner with friends in Madrid instead of being at his girlfriend's birthday??? 🚩🚩🚩

oliviarodrigo ily birthday girl! your 21st year is gonna be amazing 🤍

madisonbeer HAPPY BIRTHDAY GORGEOUS 🥹

username6 please tell me they didn't break up

username7 maybe he had commitments in madrid? stop assuming things

username8 age gap strikes again? 👀

username9 no carlos, no "te quiero" caption, no couple photos... something definitely happened

username10 CARLOS WTF DID YOU DO

username11 we knew this relationship was not going to last tbh

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TMZ EXCLUSIVE: F1 Star Carlos Sainz Missing from Girlfriend's 21st Birthday - Full Story

TROUBLE IN PARADISE? F1 STAR CARLOS SAINZ SKIPS GIRLFRIEND YN'S 21ST BIRTHDAY FOR BOYS' NIGHT

Pop sensation YN's star-studded 21st birthday celebration in London had everything - except her boyfriend. Formula 1 star Carlos Sainz (29) was noticeably absent from the festivities, instead posting Instagram stories of a dinner with friends in Madrid.

Multiple sources tell TMZ that Sainz COMPLETELY FORGOT about his girlfriend's birthday, leading to what insiders describe as a "major relationship crisis."

"He was posting stories and having fun in Madrid while YN was literally crying at her own party," reveals a source close to the singer. "Everyone was asking where he was, and she kept making excuses until she couldn't anymore."

The party, held at an exclusive London venue, was attended by music industry heavyweights and even several F1 drivers, including Sainz's teammate Charles Leclerc and his girlfriend Alexandra Saint Mleux, making the Ferrari driver's absence even more conspicuous.

Another source tells us that Sainz realized his mistake late in the evening when he saw social media posts about the party. "He immediately tried to damage control, but the damage was done. YN was devastated."

The 9-year age gap between the couple, which has been a topic of discussion since they went public with their relationship, is now being scrutinized again. "This is exactly what everyone was worried about," says our insider. "She's turning 21, and he's out there forgetting her birthday completely."

YN's team has not responded to our request for comment. A representative for Sainz said they "do not comment on personal matters."

Got a story or a tip for us? Email [email protected]

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carlossainz55 Sometimes the biggest mistakes lead to the strongest promises. Te quiero más que nada en este mundo, mi vida. Forever making it up to you. ❤️

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username1 I CANT DO THIS

yourinstagram i love you more 🤍

username2 this is so..

alexandrasaintmleux My heart 🥺

lando back to being disgustingly cute I see

username3 THE WAY I CAN BREATHE AGAIN

username4 they're good y'all

username5 Carlos Sainz redemption arc starting strong

username6 not me crying over that caption

username7 well that was a quick resolution

username8 I'm still mad at him but this is cute

username9 NOT THE DAMAGE CONTROL POST OMFGGGGG

username10 this is gold

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gossiphub🚨 DRAMA ALERT: YN and Carlos Sainz in heated argument outside Mayfair club. Sources say tension arose after Carlos "got too protective" over other guys approaching YN inside. 👀

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username1 the way she stormed off... this isn't just about tonight

username2 he looks jealous af... carlos baby what are you doing

username3 anyone else notice this is the same club where her ex was spotted earlier? 👀

paddockgossip YN seen arriving at her apartment alone. Carlos reportedly went to Charles' place

username4 this man rly thought he could control a 21yo in her party era 💀

username5 age gap issues showing... she wants to party, he's in his settled era

username6 y'all don't know the full story, stop assuming

username7 she's literally crying... carlos better have a good explanation

username8 not me remembering all those "controlling boyfriend" blind items...

username9 WHAT IS HAPPENING

username10 this is why drivers usually date within the F1 bubble tbh

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liked by theweeknd, carlossainz55 and 2,796,554 others

yourinstagram singapore lights hit different when they're shining on you @/carlossainz55 ❤️ so proud of you mi amor. p.s. champagne is not good for silk dresses but worth it x

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username1 MY HEART

carlossainz55 The best lucky charm. Te quiero mi vida ❤️

charles_leclerc Get a room you two 🙄

lando mate was more excited to see you than the trophy

username2 THEY MEAN SO MUCH TO ME

lewishamilton Beautiful moment you two ❤️

username3 remember when we thought they were breaking up after the club incident? now look at them 🥺

username4 The Valentino dress with Ferrari red heels >>>>>

tmz YN and Carlos Sainz silence breakup rumors with stunning Singapore display

username5 he way the whole team loves them together

username6 AND YALL THOUGHT THEY WERE OVER

username7 age gap will always be a red flag

username8 THE FERRARI QUEEN

username9 CARLOS REALLY DID THAT

username10 ahhh im so happy she was there for his win

liked by landonorris, yourinstagram and 1,766,380 others

carlossainz55 Ending the year exactly where I want to be. Starting the new one exactly who I want to be with. 2024 ya estamos aquí mi vida @/yourintagram ❤️

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username1 I LOVE ONE COUPLE

yourinstagram forever mi amor ❤️

username2 YN choosing family dinner in Madrid over Hollywood NYE parties... we love this growth

username3 they could never make me hate them

scuderiaferarri 🤍

username4 carlos is turning 30 this wear which makes the age gap weirder

username5 YN3 is going to be full of love songs

username6 HES SO IN LOVE

landonorris My parents

username7 the way yn is literally younger than lando😭

username8 cuteee

username9 THEY'RE NOT BREAKING UP WE WON

username10 this is my family

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replies:

username1 THE RELIEF I JUST FELT

username2 y'all really had us scared for a minute 😭

username3 deuxmoi being wrong again what's new

username4 but what about the suitcases? 👀

username5 she's moving in with him besties, those weren't breakup suitcases

username6 idk something feels off... remember how she denied the club fight?

username7 the way she always defends him... giving Stockholm syndrome

usernamd8 she's literally trauma bonded, we saw how he acts in public

username9 STOP projecting your issues onto them omg

username10 Carlos: *breathes*

Y'all: RED FLAG RED FLAG

username11 notice how she didn't deny the "trouble in paradise" part 🤔

username12 defending toxic behavior again... girl we're trying to help you

username13 some of y'all need therapy instead of projecting onto celebs fr

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yourinstagram some of my favorite memories will always be in red ❤️ but it's not the color i fell in love with, it's you @/carlossainz55. so proud of everything you've achieved and everything that's coming next. you'll always be my champion, no matter the suit 🤍 ps: i'm keeping the jacket.

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username1 IM CRYING

username2 i can’t believe carlos is leaving ferrari

carlossainz55 Mi vida, siempre ❤️ (and that's MY jacket 😤)

scuderiaferarri Once Ferrari Family, always Ferrari Family ❤️

alexandrasaintmleux the way I'm crying rn

username3 SOBBING. THE MEMORIES. THE JACKET. THE EVERYTHING.

username4 "not the color i fell in love with" STOP I'M CRYING

username5 CANT BELIEVE YN WONT BE A FERRARI WAG ANYMORE

username6 imagine yn in mercedes fits tho

username7 AND SOME OF YALL SAID THEY WERE BREAKING UP

username8 she’ll always be THEE ferrari girl

username9 this caption is so beautiful

username10 THIS COUPLE IS MY LIFE

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replies:

username1 the way he JUST posted about their anniversary two weeks ago???

username2 remember when he said "age is just a number when you find your soulmate" in that ferrari interview... aged like milk

username3 let's not jump to conclusions maybe-

username4 he fumbled THE BAG. she literally moved countries for him???

username5 imagine throwing away 2 years because you're having a midlife crisis

username6 I DONT BELIEVE THIS

username7 nah this is fake

username8 how many times people have said that they're over but turns out they're not tho

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liked by username1, username2 and 17,027 others

tmz YN steps out for the first time since breakup with Carlos Sainz news broke

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username1 LEAVE HER ALONE

username2 disgusting how they chased her down just to get pics of her crying. she can't even process her breakup in peace

username3 if you're sharing those photos you're getting blocked. respect her privacy

username4 my heart breaks for her. these 'photographers' are vultures.

lando Proper shameful this. Let her be.

username1 OMFG LANDO

username5 maybe if carlos hadn't dumped her by TEXT she wouldn't be crying in parking lots

username6 she doesn't deserve this. no one does.

username7 To any media outlets - we will report and block any accounts sharing these photos.

username8 yall SUCK

username9 i hope you're ready for that lawsuit

liked by oliviarodrigo, charles_leclerc and 2,836,944 others

yourinstagram healing sounds different for everyone. for me, it's always been putting pain into poetry and turning heartbreak into harmony. taking some time away to write my truth into existence. thank you for understanding 🤍

p.s. no, none of them are "nice" songs

[comments turned off]

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dailymail SPOTTED: Carlos Sainz with Scottish model Rebecca Donaldson. Sources say they've been "quietly seeing each other" for a month. Apparently met through mutual friends... 👀

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username1 a MODEL?? this man really said "you're too young" to yn and then- i can't.

username2 respectfully deleting my carlos fan account. yn deserved better.

username3 "i need time to focus on racing" yeah focusing real hard i see

username4 the way he's trying to recreate his old relationship but with a "socially acceptable" age gap... embarrassing

username5 LEAVE HIM ALONE

username6 man poor yn

username7 he’s innocent idc

username8 OH CARLOS SAINZ GET READY FOR THOSE BREAKUP SONGS

username9 i always knew he was trash

username10 IM ON HIS SIDE IDC

liked by harrystyles, arianagrande and 3,749,886 others

yourinstagram RED.

13 tracks of what happens when you love someone scarlet and they leave you burgundy.

october 22.

produced by @/jackantonoff

available for pre-save now.

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username1 OMFG

username2 SHES COMING

charles_leclerc track 9 🎹🖤

↳ username1 IF CHARLES PLAYS THE PIANO I’LL DIE

oliviarodrigo screaming crying throwing up this is gonna be INSANE

lewishamilton Already pre-saved 🙏🏾

username3 CURRENTLY SHAKING AND CRYING IN MY LIVING ROOM

username4 charles really said "let me help end this man's whole career" with track 9

username5 not me calculating that track 5 is 10 MINUTES LONG... carlos better move countries

username6 she’s coming for BLOOD

username7 RED??? FERRARI RED

username8 NOT EVEN CARLOS’ FRIENDS ARE ON HIS SIDE

username9 album of the year already

username10 red bc carlos is a red flag so true

username11 this cover EATS

───────── ౨ৎ ─────────

liked by charles_leclerc, arianagrande and 2,947,922 others

yourinstagram RED. out now everywhere.

thank you for every tear that became a lyric, every memory that became a melody, and every heartbreak that became healing. special thanks to CL for the late night studio sessions, ASM for being the best friend ever and all of my collaborators for helping me bring this to life

and to the person who said i was too young to handle this life - watch me.

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username1 IM CRYNG

username2 CHARLES AND ALEX?

charles_leclerc proud of you piccolina ❤️ (track 9 was therapeutic)

alexandrasaintmleux i love you so much 💘

oliviarodrigo THE BRIDGE OF ALL TOO WELL???? actual perfection

username3 "you said if we had been closer in age maybe it would’ve been fine" ACTUAL CHILLS

username4 "i’ll get older but your lovers stay my age" SOMEBODY CHECK ON HIM

username5 charles playing piano while she sings about his best friend's betrayal... the LAYERS

spotify "All Too Well" breaks single-day streaming record

username6 THE SONG ABOUY HER 21ST BDAY HELLO??

georgerussell63 Amazing songs. You're incredible

username7 the way she ended a man's whole career while staying classy... queen behavior

username8 CHARLES PLAYING THE PIANO WAS BEAUTIFUL

username9 this is the album of the century

username10 BREAKUP ALBUM OF THE CENTURY CARLOS SAINZ YOU'RE SO OVER

liked by username1, username2 and 13,928 others

f1updates Carlos Sainz addresses YN's album 'RED' for the first time:

"Look, everyone has their version of the truth. The album is her art, her perspective. But let me be clear - I never cheated, I was honest about needing space. The age gap was a real concern. Meeting Rebecca happened after. That's my truth."

view all comments

username1 WELL

username2 not him lying AGAIN when track 11 has literal timestamps 💀

username3 this is getting uglier by the second

username4 LEAVE HIM ALONE

username5 stream red

username6 don’t care we’re all on yn’s side

username7 GASLIGHTER

username8 does he ever shut up

username9 they should be asking him questions about RACING not his ex gf

username10 this is just ridiculous

liked by oliviarodrigo, landonorris and 2,874,378 others

yourinstagram one month of RED. one month of healing. one month of turning heartbreak into history.

thank you for every scream-sing to track 5, every tweet decode, every dm sharing your own story🤍

p.s. someone asked if i regret being "too honest" in the lyrics. no. some people give you their truth in press conferences, i gave mine in verses.

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username1 IM CRYING

taylorswift Proud of you ❤️ welcome to the better off club

username2 IM SO PROUD OF HER

username3 "some people give you their truth in press conferences, i gave mine in verses" HELP WHY IS SHE SO ICONIC

username4 not a single skip on this album... even carlos' new gf had to private her spotify

sabrinacarpenter watching you heal has been the best part ❤️

charles_leclerc So proud of you !

username5 SHE KEEPS COMING FOR BLOOD

username6 are you ready to die carlos sainz

alexandrasaintmleux MY FAVORITE GIRL! couldn't be prouder

username7 i think about the lyric "said i was too young i was too soft can't take a joke can't get you off" every single day

username8 SO DAMN PROUD OF HER

georgerussell63 ❤️

username9 someday she'll be everything to somebody else why carlos ages horribly

username10 SHE MEANS SO MUCH TO ME

liked by username1, username2 and 489,278 others

williamsracing We're excited to announce Carlos Sainz will be joining Williams Racing for the 2025 season onwards. Welcome to the team, @/carlossainz55 🤝

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username1 OH MY LORD

username2 THIS IS WILD

username3 WAIT. "losing him was blue like i'd never known" FROM RED... SHE KNEW

username4 going from ferrari red to williams blue... she wrote this in the album TWO MONTHS AGO

username5 remember when everyone thought the "blue" references were about sadness? Girlie was dropping CONTRACT INFO

username6 LEAVE CARLOS ALONE

username7 she really buried the contract news in a breakup album... queen behavior

username8 loving him was RED (ferrari) and losing him was BLUE (williams) i can’t do this

username9 YN YOU SICK HUMAN BEING.....

username10 none of this comments are congratulating him we're all dissecting lyrics LMAO

liked by username1, username2 and 39,878 others

gossiphub SPOTTED: YN having dinner at Monaco's Hotel de Paris with mystery man. Sources say they spent 3 hours talking and left together in his car.

view all comments

username1 THE WAY HE'S HOLDING HER HAND UNDER THE TABLE I'M-

username2 MERCEDES BOY? 👀

username3 not me zooming in on the reflection in the window... that's definitely a british accent in the video snippet

username4 THIS IS GOOD KARMA

username5 carlos unfollowed [redacted] on insta... he knows something

username6 carlos sainz was found crying

username7 IS THAT SOMEONE FROM THE PADDOCK???

username8 streets say that's another driver...

username9 she's moving on already? wow

username10 THIS IS ABOUT TO GET INTERESTING

liked by georgerussell63, sabrinacarpenter and 2,827,299

yourinstagram but on a wednesday in a cafe i watched it begin again🤍

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2K notes · View notes

no-144444 · 11 months ago

Text

my girl- (o.piastri no.81)

---------------------

summary: fans made an edit of oscar and you being in love since your prema days.

pairing: oscar piastri (no.81) x fem! driver! reader (no.28)

---------------------

Oscar Piastri being in love with Y/n Y/l/n for 15 minutes straight, and vice versa (F2 -> F1)

---------------------

Clip 1: Prema video

Bahrain Airport, F2 season beginning, March.

“And here we have the 3 year reigning champion of the Indycar Junior series, making her F2 pivot, Y/n Y/l/n!” Rob cheered as he woke you from your nap on the plane.

“Shut up,” you groaned, pushing the camera away with a chuckle. “I'm tired, leave me be.”

“The plane is landing, idiot!”

“Hush!” you laughed. “That means ages until we get off, get your camera away Rob!”

Rob and you had gotten the same flight from London, and you’d become fast friends. He was eccentric and overtop, but a good laugh. You were sure you looked crazy. 6 hour flights do that to a person. You and Rob chatted to the camera about the weekend, and you introduced yourself to the Prema fans. Not many people gave a shit about Indycar, and even less cared about Indycar junior.

As you disembarked the plane and got through security, people stopped you and Rob for photos and whatnot, then you finally got out of the airport. Angelina was standing there with a camera and a big ‘welcome’ sign, and another two very tired teenage boys beside her.

“Y/n!” she cheered, pulling you both into a hug. “Rob!”

Little did you know, Rob’s camera was pointed at Oscar, who turned to Fred with a shocked expression and whispered: “She’s gorgeous.”

Beside him, Fred chuckled. “Go for her.”

“No way I have any chance with her, I-”

“I can hear you, y’know?” you cut in, coming over to introduce yourself.

He went redder than a tomato, and you all just laughed.

---------------------

Clip 2: Sky Sports channel

Bahrain International Circuit, 27th of March

“And it’s No. 28 who sees the chequered flag first, the rookie, and the only girl on the grid, Y/n Y/l/n! Pole position in her first race!”

“That’s P1 Y/n, congratulations,” your race engineer, Pedro, beamed as you crossed the finish line.

“Motherfuck Guanyu is fast mate, we need to watch out for him- oh, and the other Alpine boy that was trying to flirt with me, what’s his name?” you answered. The Prema garage was full of laughter as you outed Oscar.

“Oscar Piastri? No.2,” Pedro chuckled. “He failed to flirt with you?”

“Well, bless him, he tried to,” you chuckled as you parked the car. “He’s cute though.”

---------------------

“That’s P6 Oscar, and just to let you know, Y/n Y/l/n has outed you on the radio and on live television saying that you tried and failed to flirt with her,” his race engineer said.

Oscar laughed, finding the situation funny. “My mum’s going to tweet about that.”

“She also called you ‘cute’, if that helps with any bruised ego?”

Oscar’s face lit up under his helmet. “It definitely does,” he chuckled. “Thanks mate.”

“I’d wingman you any time,” he chuckled.

---------------------

Clip 3: Prema video

Prema Headquarters, Grisignano di Zocco, Italy, April.

“Hello everyone,” Robert smiled at the camera. “Today we will be going for a drive, I’d better call Oscar in.”

Oscar sat in the passenger seat and did his belt as they caught up and told the viewers what they’d be watching.

“So, today, you will be joining us for a drive around the Italian countryside,” Rob smiled. “And we will be answering your questions.”

“Let the questions begin,” Oscar added. He pulled one out of the bowl and read it aloud. “Who’s your favourite Prema team member?”

Rob smiled. “That’s hard, I love the whole Prema team so much, but… yeah, that’s hard. Maybe my race engineer, Fred? I get along quite well with him,” Rob giggled as Oscar nodded.

“What?” Oscar laughed.

“I know your favourite,” Rob smirked.

Oscar looked at him with a raised eyebrow. “Who?”

“La tua ragazza,” Rob chuckled as Oscar rolled his eyes. “What? It is true! You love her!” (La tua ragazza = your girl in Italian)

“I’ve met her once, mate!” Oscar laughed.

“So you don’t like her? I can ask her out?” Rob deadpanned.

“Well, no, you can't-” Oscar was cut off by Rob’s laughter and he decided to stop trying to fight him about it. Everyone on the team knew that Oscar Piastri was infatuated with you.

---------------------

Clip 4: Georgie O’Hara’s deleted youtube video.

Haileybury and Imperial Service College, England.

“Ok, that’s an awful idea!” Oscar yelled over his friends. “They already know you’re the ones doing it!”

“It’s fine! It’ll be fine!” Elijah, a good friend of his, smiled. They wanted to set off the fire alarms again, for the third time that week. Deodorant and stupid teenage boys did not mix, especially when they refused to put it on themselves and waste it on fire drills instead.

Georgie turned to his phone, addressing the viewers "Oscar's a goody-two-shoes, if you couldn't tell."

Suddenly his phone rang from an unknown number, and before he could leave it ring, Anthony (another friend of his) answered. “Oscar Piastri, incoming F2 champion’s phone, how may I help you?”

Oscar laughed, but suddenly stopped when he heard you.

“Not if I have anything to do with it,” you chuckled at his friend. “Anyways, can you just ask him to ask Elijah not to do the fire alarm thing between 11pm and 2am? The girls in my room and I are sneaking downstairs to watch a film and we don’t really want to get caught.”

Oscar covered his face and groaned, then took the phone off Georgie. “Hey-hi, Y/n. Yes, of course, we won’t do the fire alarm thing, ever again. Sorry.”

He turned his back as his friends made kissing noises and certain gestures at him.

“All good, thanks Osc,” you smiled. “You and your friends are welcome to join us if you want.”

Oscar could’ve sworn his heart stopped beating. “I’ll ask them,” he smiled. He turned to his friends. “Y/n’s inviting us all to a movie, we’re sneaking out tonight,” he informed them.

“I don’t want to-” Anthony started, but Georgie silenced him with a kick to the shin.

“Mate, this is Oscar’s one fucking chance with his girl, shut up,” He scoffed.

“Is that a yes?” You asked over the phone.

“Yes!” they all answered.

---------------------

As the night went on, you found yourself getting more and more tired. Oscar was beside you and you could tell how he was trying to play it cool, but failing miserably. You could practically see the way his heart leapt out of his chest when you held his hand. As ‘The Empire Strikes Back’ ended, you squeezed his hand before getting up and letting go.

“Alright, I’ll clean up, everyone else go back upstairs before you get caught,” you whispered. The ‘movie room’ as the students called it (it was technically the staff room but no one really cared) was a mess. Blankets, cups, wrappers and pillows were everywhere. The group slowly shuffled out as you were left with only Oscar. Georgie had forgotten about his camera and it was still recording where he’d put it down to get some shots of everyone watching the film.

“I can help,” Oscar whispered.

You shook your head. “Seriously, you go ahead. They already hate me at this school anyways,” you chuckled.

“Please let me help?” he asked again. You couldn’t exactly say ‘no’ to his puppy dog eyes, could you?

“Fine,” you smiled.

You two chatted quietly as you cleaned up the room, and finally met at the door to leave.

“I really enjoyed tonight-” You started, but you were cut off by Oscar kissing you. His arms wrapped around your waist and your arms wrapped around his neck once the initial shock wore off. You both pulled away after a few seconds. You stared up at him as his usually-blank face turned to one of panic.

“Sorry if that was forward, or-or weird- or-” He started, but now it was your turn to cut him off with a kiss.

He pulled back smiling, and he didn’t move his hands, or try to move away from you. There was a moment of silence. “Can I take you on a date?”

You chuckled. “Yes.”

Oscar was elated.

---------------------

Clip 5: Sky sports channel and Prema footage

Circuit de Monaco, Monaco, Monaco, May 22nd.

You were excited as you stepped onto the podium, victorious. It had been a difficult few laps at the end, Guanyu overtaking, then you overtaking, and over and over, but you got the chequered flag first. You were breaking records, breaking barriers as a woman in motorsports. You’d won Monaco, your first time racing there. In the Sprint, and the feature race. You were on top of the world. As you raised your trophy, the crowd cheered and Oscar was cheering the loudest.

You looked to your left, him standing on the podium for the first time this season, and you smiled.

“Feels good, huh?” you smirked.

“Feels great, but I’ll be coming for your step next,” he smirked.

“You wish Piastri,” you scoffed, then uncorked your champagne bottle and sprayed it on him and Zhou.

---------------------

Clip 6: Sky Sports channel, Prema footage

Autodromo Nazionale di Monza, Monza, 17th of July, Sprint Race.

“And it’s Y/n Y/l/n into the wall in a bad collision with Liam Lawson, only 2 laps till the end!”

Everything was in slow motion, one second you were in control, the next you were flipping into the wall.

“Red flag, red flag Oscar, huge crash in sector 3, come in, come in,” his race engineer said.

“Who was it?” He asked, slowing his pace.

“Y/l/n and Lawson, straight into the wall.”

“Is she ok? Is she out of the car?” he asked calmly.

“Not yet,” he answered grimly. The Prema garage was eerily silent as they watched the stewards struggle to get you out of the car.

As he came up on sector 3, he saw you. The car was upside down leaning against the barrier, they were putting out the fire. Shit. Shit. Shit.

You and Oscar had been dating for a few months now, and he really liked you. He passed by in horror as he saw that you weren’t out of the car yet. He was getting more and more nervous as the moments went on. He caught sight of Liam. He was out of the car. He beckoned Oscar over and he obliged, letting him hitch a ride back to the pitlane with him as he drove slowly. As they got back to the pitlane, they both jumped out as the race was finally deemed as cancelled, and the boys walked off, waiting for news.

“What happened?” he asked.

“It was a total mistake, my car had mad fucking oversteer and I just hit the throttle too hard, and then she was in the wall,” he answered. “She’s not even out yet.”

“She’ll be ok,” Oscar said, trying to convince himself as well as Liam. “She’s strong.”

Liam nodded, and went off to the RedBull garage with his head held low. Oscar walked into the Prema garage and his mom immediately pulled him in for a hug. Beside her was your parents, looking terrified.

“You’re ok, thank god,” she whispered. She didn’t care about the multiple cameras pointing at them, her son was alright.

“Is there any news yet?”

“They’ve pulled her out of the car,” your dad answered, eyes glued to the screen.

“Is she responsive?” Nicole asked.

“Yes!” You race engineer answered, happy that you were alive. There was a collective sigh of relief throughout the garage. “Complaining about lower back and leg pain, as well as a definite broken arm. She won’t be racing for a while,” he added, his tone becoming more and more sombre. Oscar watched as your mother broke down in your father’s arms, and he felt like throwing up. You wouldn’t be racing, you wouldn’t get to do the thing you loved.

---------------------

Clip 6: Prema video

ASST Brianza - Vimercate Hospital, 18th of July.

You woke up in blinding pain a few hours earlier. Everyone had worked so hard to make everything ok, to make you comfortable, but all night all you did was sob. The pain was unbearable in the car, you thought you were going to die, you thought you weren’t getting out of the car. 5 fractured vertebrae, 3 broken ribs, a fractured hip bone, and a broken arm apparently wasn’t a joke. No racing for the rest of the year. Your life was over.

“Fuck,” you whispered as you sat up and pain shot up your back.

“Hey,” Oscar’s soft voice brought you out of your upset, and back into the room. He took your hand. You felt bad, he’d been there the entire time, and honestly, he should probably be at the track already, ahead of today’s race. You’d tried to shoo him but he wasn’t having it, much more in favour of being with you and cluing you in on how your parents reacted to him being your boyfriend. Awkward. “Take your time.”

You nodded, grateful that he was there, then turned your attention to the camera Angelina had brought with her and set up to take a ‘statement’ video. “Hi Prema fans, and my fans. Yesterday was pretty rough, and with a heavy heart I have to tell you that I won’t be able to continue this season in F2. My back was badly damaged yesterday in my collision with Liam, which was a complete accident and not anyone's fault, and I definitely don’t blame Liam. I love racing, and I’ll still be at the majority of the races to support my teammates, and my boyfriend. This is just a very unfortunate event that pulls me out of the game for a while, but I’ll be back. I hope you miss me on track, and just know that I’m alright. Thank you for the support, bye for now, Prema family.”

Oscar wrapped his arms around you and smiled. “I’m the boyfriend,” he added, making you laugh.

---------------------

Clip 7: Prema footage

Jeddah Corniche Circuit, Jeddah, Saudi Arabia, 4th of December

“And Oscar Piastri sees the chequered flag first! Winning a sprint race and the feature race this weekend!”

You jumped up and down beside Chris, his father, as he came into the pitlane. He was the lead of the championship. He was going to win F2. No doubt about it.

The past 5 months had been difficult. You’d been back at school for a while, only now cleared to travel again, but you were happy to be back at the tracks. It felt good to watch Oscar win in person.

Chris wrapped his arms around you as you both celebrated. Oscar’s radio came on.

“God guys, good drive. Looks like Y/n is my lucky charm,” he laughed over the radio. The last races hadn’t gone so well for him, but he was straight back to winning with you here.

You were smiling the whole way to the barricade, but that ended when about 50 people were against your back, pushing violently. Chris and Mark were trying desperately to get them to back off, but they couldn’t stop them. You promised them you’d be ok, but the pain was getting unbearable, and Oscar hadn’t come over yet.

“Guys, move back!” He shouted as he ran over, just finished taking off his helmet. “Make some space!” The team obliged, but he still decided to be dramatic and lift you over the barrier. “You alright?” he asked, but you just wrapped your arms around him.

“You’re incredible Osc,” you smiled. “I love you so much.”

And there it was, out in the open for the first time. Too bad you forgot you both had microphones on.

He smiled wider than you ever thought possible for his face. “I love you too. So much baby,” he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “You should be up here with me,” he added and you nodded, it still being a sore subject. “And you will be. Next year.”

You nodded, grateful for the hope and support he offered you. “Go! Go to your team!” you laughed, pushing him on. Before he let you out of his grasp, he grabbed your waist and stole a sweet, quick kiss.

---------------------

Clip 8: Prema footage

Yas Marina Circuit, Abu Dhabi, 12th of December

He’d done it. He was the F2 champion. Sadly next year he would only get to be the Alpine F1 reserve driver, which meant no consistent racing, but that was still incredible.

You waited by the barricade as he came in, and he went straight over to you. He pulled his helmet off, then his bandana, and pulled you in for a kiss. The rest of the team ‘ohh’ed and ‘aww’ed but neither of you cared at all. He’d won.

“Congratulations F2 winner,” you smirked, pulling away.

“Thanks baby,” he smiled.

---------------------

Post-race interview

“So, how does this feel, Oscar?” she asked.

“It feels amazing, y’know, we’ve all worked so hard at this for the whole year and it’s just really special to have everyone here, especially my girlfriend Y/n. I’m missing her on track, so it’s good to still at least have her in the paddock,” he smiled, and the camera cut to you, beaming up at him.

---------------------

Clip 9: Prema footage and Sky Sports channel

Bahrain International Circuit, Sakhir, 19th of March, Sprint 1.

“We’re in the Prema garage,” Oscar explained to the camera in front of him. He was in full Alpine gear, being a reserve driver meant being a marketing machine, but this wasn’t for Alpine, this was for you. “And my girlfriend is about to go and do her first race back since the accident last season. Let’s go interview her about it!” He walked through the garage, searching for you, and finally found you. “Y/n! Any time for an interview?”

You turned to him and smiled. “I always have time for you,” you wrapped your arms around him, hugging him close. His grip on you was tight but you didn’t mind. You pulled away and turned to the camera.

“So, how does it feel to be back?” He asked.

“Amazing. I thought my life was over when I was told I wasn’t allowed to race for half a year.”

“And who helped nurse you back to health?” He smirked, batting his eyelashes at you.

“Your mom mostly,” you chuckled. You’d spent the entire off-season in Australia with Oscar and his family, and Nicole had been so considerate and careful about your healing injuries.

Oscar rolled his eyes. “Yeah… that’s probably true,” he chuckled. “How do you feel being on Pole?”

“It feels good. We just have to stay quick this season. I didn’t rush my healing just to lose,” you smiled then pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ve to get in the car now, love you,” you smiled. He wrapped an arm around your waist and pressed his lips to yours with a ‘good luck’, then let you go.

---------------------

“And can she do it? Yes she can! Y/n Y/l/n is coming in with a bang! A Sprint Pole and a Sprint win! That is a statement, ‘I never left’!”

“That’s P1 Y/n, well done!” Pedro called over the radio as the Prema garage went crazy.

“Thanks for everything guys, great car, great drive-”

“Great driver,” he added.

You pulled into the pitlane and got out of the car, celebrating as they got the photo of you on the car. You ran over to Oscar at the barricade as you pulled off your helmet and balaclava.

“That’s my girl!” he cheered as you pulled him in for a hug. “See? Nothing's changed.”

You pressed your lips to his. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he smiled and pressed his lips to your cheek. “I’m loving this WAG lifestyle,” he chuckled.

You laughed. “It suits you.”

He chuckled. “Alright, you’re being called for the interview. Love you,” he smiled as you walked off, giving your hand a squeeze. You blew him a kiss back.

---------------------

Clip 10: Prema video

Prema Headquarters, Grisignano di Zocco, Italy.

You were laughing with Logan, doing a ‘Who knows who best’ challenge and both of you were failing miserably.

You put the headphones on and the music started, making it impossible to hear him. You watched as the room erupted in laughter, then Logan nudged you to take the headphones off.

“What is the most annoying thing about you?” He asked, holding back giggles.

“I know what you’d say,” you chuckled. “Me and Oscar.”

The room erupted in laughter as he nodded. “Exactly!”

“You’re just jealous,” you chuckled.

“Why? ‘Cause I don’t have a girlfriend?”

“No, because I have Oscar and you don’t,” you shot back, and everyone started laughing again.

---------------------

Clip 11: Sky Sports Channel

Yas Marina Circuit, Abu Dhabi, 20th of November

“And after a season of domination from the woman in red, Y/n Y/l/n sees the chequered flag first with a staggering 425 points! This F2 season will go down in history!”

You’d done it. You’d done it. You were an F2 champion, and next season you’d be in an F1 car fulltime, racing alongside Oscar, Logan, and Nick. You’d made it.

You jumped out of the car, amazed at your season. It’d been win after win, fastest lap after fastest lap, pole position after pole position. You’d worked so hard.

“You did it baby!” Oscar shouted as you ran over. You jumped into his arms, and let him hold you up. He looked at you like you held the sky up, like you were the greatest thing on the planet. “You’re incredible.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” you smiled. “ I love you so much.”

“I love you so much more,” he pressed kisses to any inch of skin he could, more than proud to be yours.

You chuckled as he tickled you with his kisses, before you realised that you needed to go fulfil your duties. He put you down, but before you could leave, he grabbed your waist again. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Osc.”

---------------------

Clip 12: Sky Sports channel, McLaren footage, and RedBull footage

Bahrain International Circuit, Sakhir, 2023.

“A disappointing result for Oscar Piastri, but an incredible run for Y/n Y/l/n, P1 in her first race! I’m sure he’ll be pleased with that for his long-time girlfriend!”

Oscar was pissed off, but his mood was lifted by your result. You were incredible. He cheered in his own garage, happy for your win. You’d won your first race. Who else did that? The first woman to ever do so.

He was in awe of you.

He exited his garage, ready to see you after your win. He saw you getting out of the car and running straight into the arms of your team and he smiled. He finally caught your eye after some time, and you ran over, wrapping your arms around him.

“I’m so sorry,” were the first words out of your mouth. “If I could trade our cars, I would Osc, I really would,” you sighed.

“Don’t even joke about that. Don’t make your first win about me. This is about you, my brilliant, incredible, winner,” he pressed his lips to yours in a short, victory kiss. “I love you, yeah?” “I love you too,” you smiled.

“You were amazing out there,” he smiled.

---------------------

Clip 13: McLaren video

Jeddah Corniche Circuit, Jeddah, Saudi Arabia

“Who is your teammate's favourite person?” Lando asked, then looked at the camera and rolled his eyes. “Oscar’s is Y/n because he’s a traitor.”

Oscar burst into laughter and looked at Lando. “That’s not fair! We started dating as teammates!”

“Oh sure Osc!” Lando sighed, playing up the drama. “That’s what they all say.”

“But it’s the truth!”

“Anyways, moving on from Oscar and his traitor girlfriend, who’s my favourite person Oscar?”

“Max Fewtrell?”

Lando thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “Him or my parents or siblings.”

Oscar took another question out of the bowl and chuckled. “What’s the other person’s red flag?”

Little did he know, you’d come in to visit him and were actively sneaking up behind him.

“Yours is your refusal to ever use a hairbrush,” you answered for Lando, and Oscar jumped, making everyone laugh, especially Lando, who fell off his chair. You chuckled and wrapped your arms around Oscar's neck from behind, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “Came to say hi,” you smiled, kissing his cheek.

“Came to air out my business online?” He questioned, laughing. He took your hands and led you around his chair, sitting you on his lap. “When did you get in?” he asked, resting his head on your shoulder as Lando tried to compose himself.

“Just now, came straight from the airport,” you nodded, leaning back against him.

“Bad flight?”

“Nah, I was on Max’s jet. He’s offered me to ask you two if you want to go back to Monaco after this weekend with him. I am,” you answered. He nodded, gently playing with your hands as he listened to you.

“Sounds good to me,” he smiled. “Tell him ‘thanks’, yeah?”

You nodded. “‘Course,” you got up to leave but he pulled you down by the arm and pressed your lips together quickly, then let you go. “Love you,” you called after yourself.

“Love you too,” he called back, ready to get back to the interview.

“Can we keep that in?” Ellie, their marketing manager asked.

He shrugged. “Sure, why not.”

---------------------

Clip 14: Hattie Piastri’s tiktok vlog

Piastri residence, Melbourne, 2023

“Y/n’s over there with Oscar, and Addie is with May and mum and dad are with Tim over there,” she explained to the camera pointing everything out. In the video you and Oscar were laying on the grass in the setting sun, utterly exhausted from your weekend of racing where you’d gotten p2 and Oscar had gotten p8. His arms were wrapped around you as you lay on top of him, smiling.

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Clip 15: Sky Sports channel, RedBull footage and Nicole Piastri’s instagram

Circuit Zandvoort, Zandvoort, Holland

“And can she do it? Yes she can! Y/n Y/l/n beats teammate Max Verstappen to first place, and she sees the chequered flag first! What an incredible season this has been for the rookie!”

As you crossed the finish line, you almost felt sick. You’d beaten Max, giving you a lead in the Driver’s Championship. He’d been 10 points ahead. Now, you were 15 points ahead of him.

“That’s P1, P1 Y/n congratulations,” Pedro smiled.

“Thanks Pedro, and thanks everyone, really well done. Car is perfect, thank you all so much!”

“And Oscar’s P9, if you're wondering.”

“When I get my fucking hands on Zak Brown I will rip his fake fucking toupée off for giving him such a shit car,” You groaned. “Great drive guys, thanks.”

---------------------

You walked into the paddock as they all cheered both you and Max on. Max had gotten P2, unhappy with not winning, but not mad that you’d won. He saw what you were doing for motorsports all around the world, how much pressure you were under as the first female driver in a long time, and how hard you were working. He wasn’t going to make your life harder by being an asshole off the track too. He gave you a celebratory hug and moved onto his driver’s room, as you stayed out with the engineers, chatting and celebrating with them.

---------------------

Nicole Piatri’s instagram live

“Hi everyone, Osc and I are right now, trying to sneak into the RedBull garage to see Y/n,” Nicole explained and behind her, Oscar smiled and put both thumbs up.

“I’m going to be told off for this by Zak, so, sorry Zak. I want to see my girlfriend, my bad,” he chuckled, his apology only half-assed.

Nicole and him continued faffing around the paddock for a while, until Nicole caught your eye through the window. You ran over to the door beside them and let them in, pulling Nicole in for a huge hug as Oscar waited behind her with a wide smile.

He spoke to the live. “Apparently my girlfriend likes my mum better than me-"

You cut him off with a kiss as you laughed at his antics. “Shut the fuck up,” you chuckled. “You’re such a baby.”

“I missed seeing you in the conference,” he shrugged, holding you close as his mum took the phone and documented this moment between the two of you. “I love you,” he smiled.

“I love you too,” you chuckled, kissing his cheek. “P9? Not bad.”

He rolled his eyes and smiled. “P1? Not bad,” he lifted you into his arms making you squeal.

“Osc! Put me down!” You squealed.

“Let me win next time,” he chuckled. “Then I’ll put you down.”

“What do you want me to do? Switch our cars?”

“Ideally,” he chuckled, kissing your cheek and putting you down. “But I guess I’ll settle for watching you be gorgeous on the podium every week.”

“The fans are loving this!” Christian joked as he watched over Nicole’s shoulder, seeing how the chat was going crazy.

You both turned to Nicole with confused faces.

“You’re still filming mum?!”

This live has now been ended by the host.

---------------------

Clip 16: Sky sports channel

Lusail International Circuit, Lusail, Qatar

“Oscar Piastri has done the job brilliantly, the Australian driver will see the chequered flag first! Oscar Piastri wins the sprint to take McLaren to the top step once again!”

“That’s P2 Y/n, Oscar P1,” Pedro announced.

“WOOOOO!” You screamed, elated for him. “Fucking legend!”

“I said P2 for you,” he reminded.

“Shut up and be happy for him, just once,” you chuckled, pulling into the pit lane to park. You watched as Oscar got out of the car as you got out of your own car. Immediately, he ran over to you, wrapping you up in his arms as you celebrated together.

“You did it!” You shouted, jumped around in each other's arms. “You’re fucking incredible.”

“You put up a good fucking fight,” he chuckled, smiling like a kid.

“You’re going to look so sexy at the top of the podium,” you smirked and he blushed hard.

“I wish you wouldn’t say stuff like that in public,” he chuckled, then hid his face in your neck as you laughed.

---------------------

Post-sprint conference

“So, this is a question for Y/n and Oscar,” an interviewer started. Both of you looked up, exhausted from the late night race. “Does your relationship prohibit you from racing to your full potential? I believe Y/n, you could’ve caught up. Did you give him this win?”

You scoffed, appalled that anyone would have the audacity to ask such a thing. “For fuck’s sake,” you sighed. “No. I couldn’t have. You know how you know that? Because I would’ve if I could’ve. I love Oscar, and I’ve loved him since I was about 14 years old, but that doesn’t mean that I let him win. He’s a ridiculously talented driver, and a fucking genius with strategy. His car is great too. But out there today? That was pure talent. I can love him, and wholeheartedly race him too,” you answered, getting annoyed at the comments like these you two constantly got. “And another thing, I’m getting really fucking sick of the questions about our relationship. Do you really think we’d be together if we couldn’t race each other and not come back to each other and be proud of each other? Seriously? Where is your critical thinking?”

The room was full of whispered conversation as you dropped the last diss, and beside you Oscar was looking at you with huge heart eyes. Anyone could see it from a mile away, he loved you. He chuckled, wanting to add his two cents as well. “Yeah, exactly. The only thing she lets me win in is chess, right?” He looked at you with a smirk and you rolled your eyes.

“You won once, asshole,” you chuckled, pushing his hand off your thigh.

“Then we stopped playing,” he shrugged, a cocky smirk very-present on his face.

“We ran out of time,” you shrugged, feigning innocence.

He cocked an eyebrow. “Sure.”

The tension in the room had been dissolved in the comedic moment, and you were thankful for Oscar’s calm exterior. You moved closer to him on the couch, and he wrapped an arm around you, smiling wide as you pressed a kiss to his hand, the one closest to your face.

---------------------

Clip 17: Drive to Survive

Yas Marina Circuit, Abu Dhabi

“How are you feeling?” Oscar asked, sitting in your driver’s room with you before the race. He knew how worried you were, how much you wanted this. You had to win. You and Max were neck and neck. You just had to get more points than him, starting from P2.

You sighed, standing between his legs and messing with his hair, favouring trying not to think about it rather than talking about it. He grabbed ahold of your waist and pressed his face into your torso, pressing kisses to wherever he could reach, trying to make you laugh.

You chuckled and pushed him away, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’m alright, I promise. Just stressed.”

“You won’t be stressed in a week,” he smiled. “We’ll be in Melbourne.”

You smiled, and kissed him again. “We will. Waves and relaxing. Nothing else.”

“Well, and Logan,” he chuckled. “So… ‘Merica and all that,” he smiled as you laughed at his bad joke. He got you down to his lap and he pressed a kiss to your cheek. “You’ve got this, don’t worry.”

“Wow, anxiety cured,” you replied sarcastically, making him laugh.

---------------------

Clip 18: Sky Sports Channel

Yas Marina Circuit, Abu Dhabi

“And it is an incredible season for the first female in modern F1, Y/n Y/l/n sees the chequered flag first, with a Driver’s Championship 1-2 with her teammate Max Verstappen! This makes her the first female ever to win the F1 Driver’s Championship title! What an inspiration!”

You’d done it. You won your rookie season. You were World Champion. You were a legend.

“WOOOOO!” You screamed as tears rolled down beneath your hemet. “We did it! We did it!”

“We did it!” Pedro screamed. You knew the entire RedBull garage was going crazy right now. “You did it Y/n!”

“Thank you, everyone! This would’ve been impossible without you all! Amazing year! Incredible work!” you beamed.

---------------------

“That’s P6, P6 Oscar,” his race engineer announced.

“Did Y/n get it? Did she win?”

“Yes, your girl is a World Champion,” he smiled.

“YES! YES! THAT’S MY FUCKING GIRL!” he screamed, elated at the news. He knew you could do it. He’d always known you could do it.

He rushed to get to the pit lane, ready to celebrate with you. He jumped out of the car and pulled off his helmet as fast as he could, watching as you ran over to him.

“You did it!” He cheered. “My fucking girl.”

“I did it!” You cried, over the moon. “I couldn’t have done it without you,” you smiled.

His eyes filled with tears as his heart swelled with pride. “You’re amazing. I love you so much Y/n.”

Neither of you cared about the cameras around you as you went in for a kiss. You didn’t care about how sweaty and gross you both were, you didn’t care about the grief that the pr team would give you, you didn’t care.

You were a World Champion. He was your everything. You were his everything.

---------------------

navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

#f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula one imagine #oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x you #formula one x reader #formula 1 #formula one #mclaren #oscar piastri x fem!reader #f1 fluff

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teaboot · 8 months ago

Note

Acab applies to security guards too.

Okay, so there's two basic kinds of security: public and private

Public security is for government employees like police

Private security is stuff like security guards, bodyguards, and bouncers

As a security guard, you need to pass different licensing exams for different privileges. Someone who might handcuff people needs a license to carry handcuffs- someone who might need to carry a weapon needs a license for that weapon.

I passed my BST exam something like five years ago and stopped there, so I am allowed to carry: A radio

And as private security, again, there are two basic kinds: in-house and contract

Contract security means a company or a person or a location like a park can pay my boss' boss money to send powerless scarecrows in uniforms to walk around and provide what is called "visible presence"

which is, essentially, a life-size cardboard cutout of a guy wearing the classic Spirit Halloween costume, "Black Slacks Law Professional" in size L

So if the entire chain of authority, from a toddler at the mall food court all the way up to whoever happens to have access to the majority of the planet's nukes at this time, you should know that someone like me currently ranks somewhere very slightly above Janitor, but still definitely below Cinnabon Assistant Manager

Which means that if I chose to go rogue and use my powers for evil TOMORROW, I would maybe manage to punch a Cinnabon employee and shoplift half a dozen chocolate bars from the gift shop before I am fired and in jail being sued off my ass with my licenses revoked for life, unable to leave the country or apply for a job at Walmart with my new shiny criminal record

Security guards and mall cops ain't police. We're dressed like police so you don't try and do something illegal in the area, but the vast majority of us can't actually do anything.

Calm down

#Teablart #Ahhhh oh no the venomous corn snake #That's what you sound like #I'm sorry I'm getting cranky but good lord we've gone over this #Do your research #I don't give half a wood nickel about our criminal justice system just keep your pants on till you're off the property

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dksfml · 9 months ago

Text

LOVE 119 [PART I]

part of my paramedic!jungwon series. masterlist.

pairing: paramedic!jungwon x doctor!reader genre: workplace tension, constant bickering, fluff (trust me) word count: 2.7k summary: jungwon and you made it a habit to constantly be at each other's throats, especially in the emergency room. while he barked orders, you fired back just as fiercely. but once the doors closed, the tension shifted into a warm intimacy that only you two knew. author's note: self-indulgent fic because i've seen no one writing this trope

The late afternoon sun was just beginning to dip behind the skyline when the call came in—an emergency at a construction site on the outskirts of the city.

Jungwon barely had time to glance at his watch before he was in motion, his team falling in line behind him as the sirens wailed and the ambulance tore through the city streets.

Arriving at the site, chaos greeted them. Workers were clustered around a man lying motionless on the ground, his hard hat cracked and discarded nearby, dust and debris littering the air. Jungwon’s jaw tightened, taking in the scene in a flash. This wasn’t good.

“Let’s move,” he barked, his tone sharp but calm, his team already spreading out as they grabbed the necessary equipment from the ambulance.

He strode forward with an authoritative air, his well-built frame and broad shoulders drawing more than a few eyes from the construction workers, some of whom were openly staring at him, their faces filled with a mix of concern and awe.

“Step back, please,” Jungwon said firmly but politely, the workers quickly making way as he knelt down beside the injured man.

His dark hair, just a bit tousled from the rush, caught the light, and the sharp angles of his jawline seemed even more pronounced against the backdrop of the gritty site. His team watched him with admiration; Jungwon always exuded this calm, confident charm that somehow made even the most panicked scenes feel manageable.

Jungwon quickly assessed the man’s condition. The patient was unconscious, his breathing shallow. One of his teammates handed over the stethoscope, and Jungwon listened intently to the faint sounds of the man’s breathing. His brow furrowed.

“Possible head trauma. We’ve got low oxygen saturation,” he muttered under his breath, signaling for the oxygen mask as his hands moved swiftly yet delicately over the man’s body, checking for fractures and injuries.

His every move was precise, commanding attention—not just because of his skill but the way he carried himself. Even in the face of an emergency, he looked collected, like he was born to handle the pressure.

"Jungwon," his teammate called from the side, holding the patient's chart. "No significant external bleeding. We’ve got a weak pulse though, around 130, BP's borderline. We need to get him out of here fast."

Jungwon’s eyes narrowed as he nodded, quickly making a decision. “Let’s secure his airway first and immobilize his spine. We can’t risk any movement.” He made the call as he smoothly slid the oxygen mask onto the patient’s face, adjusting it with a gentleness that contrasted the urgency of the situation. His fingers brushed over the man’s wrist, checking his pulse again. A slight frown creased his forehead.

With practiced ease, his team set up a backboard to stabilize the patient, while Jungwon prepared to radio the hospital. His deep voice echoed through the dust-laden air, crisp and calm. “We’re looking at a possible internal bleed or brain injury—trauma to the head, decreased GCS. Get Y/N on standby. She’ll want to know.”

He tapped his earpiece, dialing straight into the hospital, his tone switching effortlessly into that of a strict professional.

“Y/N,” he started, his voice filled with authority as he spoke into the receiver, “we’ve got a situation here. Male, late twenties, unconscious after a fall from height—GCS is 4. We’ve administered oxygen and immobilized his spine, but he’s unresponsive. Internal injuries are likely.”

There was a brief pause on the other end, before your voice came through, crisp and all business. “Vitals?”

Jungwon rattled off the numbers, his tone growing sharper as he outlined the gravity of the situation. “BP’s dropping fast, pulse is weak, pupils uneven—one’s blown. It’s not looking good.”

“Get him here as fast as you can,” you replied, your voice steady. “We’ll be ready when you arrive. I need him in trauma two for imaging, and you better give me a detailed report when you get here.”

Jungwon rolled his eyes subtly, though no one else could hear his exasperation. “Of course, Doctor. Just make sure the room’s prepped.” His sarcasm was impossible to miss, but before you could retort, he was already motioning for his team to get the stretcher ready.

“Let’s get moving,” he said, standing up in one fluid motion, his wide shoulders casting a shadow over the patient as he signaled for the transfer. His team lifted the man onto the gurney, Jungwon guiding them every step of the way. Despite the intensity of the moment, there was something about the way he commanded the situation—his deep voice, his piercing gaze, the way he moved like a force of nature—that made even a frantic scene seem a little calmer.

Jungwon was the kind of guy people listened to, the kind of guy people looked up to. Even with the weight of the situation hanging over him, he held his head high, taking charge like it was second nature. His team moved quickly, securing the patient in the ambulance as Jungwon gave one last glance to the scene before climbing in.

“Let’s go,” he said firmly, and with the wail of sirens, they sped off toward the hospital.

Jungwon stormed through the emergency room doors with a sense of purpose, his jaw clenched as he guided the gurney toward the trauma bay. “28-year-old male, head trauma, GCS of 4, possible internal bleeding. Move it!” His voice boomed with authority, eyes scanning the room as the ER team sprang into action.

The chaos of the emergency room was nothing new, but today it seemed more charged than usual. The tension was thick as the nurses hurried to get the trauma room prepped, doctors barking orders as they readied themselves. And at the center of it all was you—focused, sharp-eyed, already gloved up and waiting.

The moment Jungwon and his team wheeled the patient in, your eyes met his, a silent exchange of understanding mixed with the tension that always crackled between them in moments like this. Not that anyone would’ve noticed—your constant bickering was practically a feature of every shift.

You stepped forward, your voice cutting through the noise of the room. “Trauma two is open. Let’s get him in fast!”

The team followed your lead, transferring the patient from the gurney to the hospital bed with swift efficiency. Jungwon stayed close, hands still gripping the rails of the stretcher as if he was unwilling to relinquish control.

“You took too long with the vitals report,” you said, throwing him a sharp glance. “We could’ve been in there five minutes ago.”

Jungwon’s eyes narrowed. “We did take the vitals. Maybe if you paid attention, you’d know that.”

“Excuse me?” you shot back, your gaze never leaving the patient as you worked to stabilize him. “I don’t need a paramedic trying to tell me how to do my job. We had a plan, and your delay didn’t help.”

Jungwon glared, his voice low and clipped. “Maybe if your plan didn’t waste time on unnecessary scans, we wouldn’t have needed a second round of intubation last time.”

Your hands froze for a split second before you caught yourself. You threw him a withering look. “This again? You think you can waltz in here and play doctor, Jungwon?”

“I’m not playing doctor. I’m trying to make sure you don’t screw it up.” His tone was biting, but professional, and the tension in the room rose instantly.

One of the nurses stepped back, shaking her head. “Here they go again.”

You didn’t back down, leaning closer as you adjusted the IV line. “How about you leave the doctoring to me, and I’ll leave the paramedic work to you? We’ll see how long that lasts.”

Jungwon took a breath, his expression unreadable for a moment, his frustration barely contained. “Fine. Just don’t mess it up.”

“Same to you,” you retorted, not missing a beat.

Before Jungwon could respond, one of the nurses interrupted. “Dr. Y/N, patient’s BP is dropping.”

Instantly, you refocused, the banter dropped as quickly as it had escalated. “Let’s get the trauma panel done. We need to stabilize him before moving for imaging. Prep the fluids.”

Jungwon watched you work, his arms still crossed, but he didn’t say another word. Despite the constant arguing, there was no denying that you are incredible at your job. Even in the most high-pressure situations, you were in complete control.

You worked together in tense silence, the only sounds in the room now the soft beeps of the monitors and the quiet shuffling of the medical team around them. Jungwon’s team lingered just outside, waiting for their next call, though they couldn’t help but glance back inside the room occasionally, accustomed to the combative exchanges between Jungwon and you.

As the patient’s vitals finally stabilized, you took a step back, letting out a quiet breath. “We’re clear to take him to imaging now. Good work, everyone,” you called to the team, your voice steady once more.

Jungwon uncrossed his arms, walking past you toward the door. “You’re welcome,” he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear.

You narrowed your eyes at his back but said nothing. You didn’t need to. Your argument had run its course for now.

Thirty minutes later, with the patient stable and prepped for surgery, you stepped out of the trauma room, pulling off your gloves. Jungwon was waiting in the hallway, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, that same tight-lipped look on his face.

“Everything go okay, or did I miss something else?” he asked, his voice loaded with sarcasm.

You glared at him. “Yeah, we managed just fine without your commentary, thanks.”

“Good,” Jungwon muttered, pushing himself off the wall and adjusting his jacket. “Maybe next time you won’t waste so much time arguing.”

“Maybe next time you’ll do your job and get out of my way,” you shot back, your voice sharp.

“You love being in control, don’t you?” Jungwon’s eyes glinted, his voice dropping low as he stepped closer. “Can’t handle someone else calling the shots, huh?”

You crossed your arms, your gaze unyielding. “I don’t need to handle anything, least of all you.”

“Trust me, I’m not asking for much,” he replied with a smirk, his voice oozing with challenge.

You scoffed, brushing past him. “Try asking for less.”

Jungwon shook his head with an exasperated sigh as he watched you walk away, but his lips twitched ever so slightly. The others on their teams didn’t even blink. This was just how the both of you were. They were used to it by now—the biting remarks, the challenges, the constant back-and-forth. Every time Jungwon’s ambulance showed up, it was only a matter of time before you and him were at each other’s throats again.

Hours later, the hospital had quieted down. The rush of the afternoon was over, and most of the staff had gone home. You and Jungwon had managed to avoid each other for the rest of your shifts, though your earlier argument still hung in the air like static.

You finally peeled off your gloves after your last appointment and scrubbed your hands clean, your mind replaying the events of the day. You were tired, drained even, but there was something about that last spat with Jungwon that wouldn’t stop gnawing at you. Maybe it was the way he always had a smug retort ready or how he never backed down from your challenges.

Shaking your head, you let out a sigh. “Annoying paramedic,” you muttered under your breath, grabbing your coat and heading out of the ER.

Your apartment wasn’t far from the hospital, a quiet space tucked away from the noise of the city. By the time you have arrived, your exhaustion had fully settled in, your body craving rest.

You pushed open the door and was greeted by the sound of faint rustling from the kitchen.

“Rough day?” a familiar voice asked, soft and warm.

You smiled, the tension from earlier melting away. There, standing in the kitchen in the same paramedic uniform that had driven you crazy just hours ago, was Jungwon. His hair was a little disheveled now, his expression soft and boyish, the strict leader of the paramedic team completely gone.

“You have no idea,” you murmured, walking over to him, your eyes catching on his broad shoulders, still defined under the crisp lines of his uniform. Jungwon turned around, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart skip a beat when you see his easy smile, so different from the sharp tone he used at work.

Without another word, Jungwon wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. The scent of antiseptic still clung to his uniform, mixed with the faintest hint of his cologne. You closed your eyes and let yourself melt against him, the weight of the day slipping away. You buried your face into his shoulder, feeling the strong muscles beneath the fabric, and sighed softly.

“You’re lucky I put up with you,” he teased, reaching for your hand and pulling your close. “Even after you yelled at me for no reason.”

“I didn’t yell for no reason,” you protested, but your voice had lost all its sharpness, softened by the warmth of being home. You leaned against his chest, letting out a deep breath. “Okay, maybe I did. But only because you deserved it.”

Jungwon chuckled, his arms wrapping around you more tightly. “Sure, I deserved it. You really hate me that much, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no heat behind it as you melted into his embrace. “The worst,” you muttered, though your fingers played with the collar of his uniform.

Jungwon smirked, resting his chin on top of your head. “Good thing we’ve got the whole night to make up for it, then.”

“You’re still in your uniform,” you mumbled, trying to sound nonchalant. But inside, your mind was in chaos. His broad shoulders. The way he held you. The authority he exuded at work seemed to linger here, too, but only just enough to make your heart race.

Jungwon chuckled, his hand moving up to cup the back of your head. “I thought you liked me in uniform.”

You groaned, your cheeks flushing. “Stop it. I’m tired.”

“Liar,” he teased, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His own softened as he took in your face, the familiar tenderness filling his gaze. “You love it.”

And he wasn’t wrong. As strict and commanding as you could be at work, here with him, you couldn’t help but feel weak in his arms. You were whipped for him in every sense of the word, even if you would never admit it out loud.

Jungwon kissed the top of your head, his earlier bravado fading into a gentle affection. “Come on. Let’s get you out of these scrubs and cuddle.”

You let out a soft laugh, the kind that only he ever got to hear. “You’re the one who’s going to change first. That uniform’s distracting.”

“I knew it,” he grinned, but without missing a beat, he started peeling off his jacket, revealing the tight black undershirt beneath that highlighted his lean muscles. You had to look away before you lost yourself completely.

As you settled onto the couch, your limbs tangled together in the quiet of their apartment, the world outside felt a million miles away. In here, there were no patients to save, no colleagues to impress, no reputations to uphold. It was just the both of you.

Jungwon nuzzled into the crook of your neck, his earlier strictness replaced by a cuteness that only you got to see. “You’re such a pain at work, you know that?”

You smiled, running your fingers through his hair. “You’re not so easy yourself.”

And just like that, the bickering, the tension, all of it faded away. Because here, in your shared apartment, away from the chaos of the ER and the expectations of their coworkers, you were just you and Jungwon—no titles, no arguments. Just two people who loved each other, even if you never let anyone else know.

masterlist.

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norrisradio · 4 months ago

Text

D.N.F (DO NOT FLIRT)

⚡︎ PAIRING: lando norris x motoGP! reader | ⚡︎ WC: 4.5K ⚡︎ GENRE: fluff, suggestive ⚡︎ RECOMMENDED LISTENING: loverboy, young friend ● best you had, don toliver ● why'd you only call me when you're high?, arctic monkeys ● west side, ariana grande ● friends, chase atlantic ● lust, kendrick lamar ● reminder, the weeknd ● bad behavior, take van ● nasty, ariana grande ⚡︎ INCOMING RADIO: had to do the "only one bed" trope... it was calling me. // not beta read!

⚡︎ SUMMARY: Lando flirts with everyone but you. It’s safer that way. You both agreed, without ever actually agreeing, that whatever is between you is worth more than a handful of mistakes.

Lando has always been a flirt. Just not with you.

It’s an unspoken rule between the two of you—born out of self-preservation, probably. Your friendship is too good to risk on late-night teasing and lingering looks. He saves that charm for grid girls and interviewers, and you keep your composure intact. No mixed signals. No blurred lines. It’s simple.

Until it isn’t.

You’ve known him forever, or at least it feels that way. Two kids chasing speed—him in a kart, you on a bike—burning through tracks with reckless abandon, collecting podiums and scraped knees in equal measure. There are entire stretches of your childhood that smell like hot asphalt and engine grease, like podium champagne neither of you were old enough to drink but celebrated with anyway.

There are memories, too, ones you don’t let yourself think about often. Late nights in hotel rooms, the hum of a city outside, his stupid socks half-kicked off at the edge of the bed while you argue about who got the better lap in free practice. Lando’s laugh, easy and unguarded, curling into the space between you like it belongs there.

Then there’s that night.

You were eighteen, both fresh off a win, high on adrenaline and whatever cheap drinks you could sneak past security. His smile was loose, drowsy, eyes a little too soft when they landed on you. You don’t remember who moved first—maybe it was him, maybe it was you—but his lips were warm, the taste of something sweet and alcoholic lingering on his tongue, and for a second—

For a second, it felt like something.

Then you pulled away. Too fast. Too sharp. He had blinked at you, startled, and you had laughed—too loud, too forced—tossing out some half-hearted joke before disappearing into the crowd.

You never talked about it.

Neither of you have crossed that line since.

And Lando? Lando flirts with everyone but you. It’s safer that way. You both agreed, without ever actually agreeing, that whatever is between you is worth more than a handful of mistakes.

It works.

Until now.

Because somehow, in the mess of post-championship chaos and a booking mishap, there’s only one room left at the hotel. And of course, it’s yours and Lando’s names on the list, the receptionist looking utterly unimpressed as she hands over the key.

(You know this is partially his fault. The only reason you’re even here in the first place is him.

You had been content to watch from a distance, keeping your weekends for your own races, your own podiums. But Lando had been relentless—nagging, bribing, guilt-tripping, doing everything short of physically dragging you here himself.

"You have to be there," he had said, pacing in your motorhome two weeks ago, his voice pitched with something almost desperate. "It won’t feel right if you’re not there."

"You’ll win it whether I’m there or not," you had replied, rolling your eyes, but the look he gave you—half a pout, half something raw and open—had stuck with you longer than it should have.

But watching him throw his arms around his engineers, watching his face crack open with unfiltered joy, you realized—

You wouldn’t have missed this for anything.)

“Perfect,” you mutter, rubbing your temples. “Couldn’t have given me, like, Pierre?”

Lando gasps, placing a hand over his heart. “Wow. First of all, rude. Second of all, you’re acting like sharing a room with me is some kind of nightmare.”

“You are a nightmare,” you deadpan, swiping the key from the counter. “And I don’t trust you.”

“Oh, come on.” He slings an arm around your shoulders as you walk toward the elevators, voice dropping to something lower, smoother. “You think I can’t behave myself?”

“That’s exactly what I think.”

The rule still stands. No flirting.

But the problem is, now that you’re both trying not to flirt, it’s all you can think about.

The hotel room is nice—too nice. A single king bed, pristine white sheets, and absolutely no couch in sight. You and Lando stand in the doorway for a second, both staring at the unfortunate reality of your situation.

“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he offers.

You snort. “Please. Your back would never recover.”

“Okay, then you sleep on the floor.”

“Not a chance.”

It’s a standoff. You’re both stubborn, both too proud to be the first to crack. So instead, you wordlessly agree to split the bed like two normal, mature adults.

Or at least, that’s the plan.

But it’s hard to ignore him when he’s right there, his curls still damp from his post-race shower, his arm draped over his stomach like he’s completely unbothered by how close you are.

You’re hyperaware of everything. The way his breathing slows as he starts to fall asleep. The rise and fall of his chest under the duvet. The ridiculous, dangerous thought that it would be so easy to roll over and—

No. Absolutely not.

The silence stretches. You roll onto your side, facing away from him.

Then—

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

His voice is thick with amusement, and that’s it. You whip your head around, narrowing your eyes. “Thinking about what?”

“You know.” He’s smirking now, eyes glinting in the dim light. “Breaking the rule.”

Your stomach flips, but you refuse to give him the satisfaction. “You’re delusional.”

“Oh, I definitely am.” He shifts closer—just barely. “But you’re not denying it.”

You scoff, forcing yourself to look anywhere but at his mouth. “You’re the one who brought it up.”

“Because I knew you’d react like this.” He grins, propping himself up on one elbow. “All tense, trying not to look at me. You’re so bad at this.”

“At what?”

“Not flirting.”

Your breath catches. He’s too close now, the heat of him sinking into your skin, and you suddenly, dangerously, don’t care about the stupid rule anymore.

“Bet you break first,” he murmurs.

And you hate that he’s right.

There’s a moment—barely a heartbeat—where you think you can still win this. Where you can laugh it off, roll back over, and pretend you didn’t hear the challenge laced in his voice.

But then he tilts his head, all slow and lazy, like he already knows the outcome. Like he’s waiting for you to slip up.

And that does it.

Your hand moves before you can stop it, shoving at his shoulder, but he barely budges—just lets out a low chuckle as he catches your wrist, fingers curling warm around yours.

“Too easy,” he murmurs.

You should pull away. You should shove him harder. You should do anything but let him run his thumb over the inside of your wrist, slow and deliberate.

Instead, you breathe out, “You’re insufferable.”

Lando hums, considering. “Probably.” His grip is loose enough that you could move if you wanted to, but you don’t. “But you love it.”

Your pulse betrays you, jumping under his touch. He notices. Of course he does. The corner of his mouth twitches, his gaze flickering between yours and the space—barely a few inches—that separates you.

The air is thick, charged, the silence stretching, stretching, stretching—

And then his hand slips away.

Not fast. Not reluctant. Just slow enough that you still feel the heat of him, even when he pulls back. He shifts onto his back again, eyes flicking up to the ceiling, a smirk playing at his lips.

“Goodnight, then,” he says, voice light, easy, like nothing just happened.

Your stomach twists. “Goodnight.”

You roll over, facing the opposite direction, but sleep doesn’t come easy. Not when your wrist still burns where he touched it. Not when you can hear his breathing evening out behind you.

Not when you know, deep down, that you lost.

The night stretches long. Sleep stays just out of reach.

You listen to the steady rhythm of his breathing, the occasional rustle of sheets as he shifts. Every brush of fabric against skin feels too loud in the quiet of the room. The warmth of him lingers beside you, a reminder, a temptation.

Then, in the hush of the dark, his voice comes—low, lazy, like he’s already halfway to dreaming.

“D’you reckon I would’ve been good in a frat?”

Your brows pull together. “What?”

Lando exhales a soft, sleepy laugh,one that makes your stomach turn to mush. “In another life. If I went to uni. In the States or something. I think I’d join a frat.”

You scoff, rolling onto your back to glance at him. The dim light from the window catches the curve of his jaw, the way his lashes flutter against his skin. He’s staring up at the ceiling, looking oddly thoughtful for someone who just said something so ridiculous.

“You’d be insufferable,” you say, and he grins.

“Yeah,” he agrees. “I’d be, like, social chair or something. Organizing parties. Making people do stupid initiation dares.”

You snort. “You already do that.”

“True.” He pauses. “But imagine me in one of those dumb frat hoodies, playing beer pong like my life depends on it.”

You do. You imagine Lando with a backward cap, shouting across a packed house party, cocky smirk in place as he sinks shot after shot. It’s not even hard to picture—beer-sticky floors, music thrumming through the walls, the way he’d lean against the kitchen counter, fingers curling around a red Solo cup, looking at you like—

Like he does now.

You shift, suddenly too warm under the blankets. “You’d be unbearable.”

He laughs, quiet but warm. “You’d still like me.”

The words land soft, but something about them makes your breath hitch.

You roll your head to the side, catching the way he’s watching you now—eyes dark in the low light, mouth curved just slightly. Not teasing. Not smug. Just waiting.

Your throat feels tight. “Would you have liked me?”

His gaze flickers, searching yours. Then—

“Yeah.” A beat. “I think I’d be obsessed with you, actually.”

The room is too quiet. The bed is too small.

You don’t know if you should laugh or shove him or do something dangerous, like let him keep talking. Because you believe him. Because suddenly you’re imagining Lando at some American university, cocky and charming, flirting over cheap beer and plastic cups, but it’s not just any girl he’s got cornered at a party—it’s you.

You imagine his hands on your waist, his breath warm against your ear, whispering things he has no business saying in public. You imagine what it would’ve been like if, in another life, there were no unspoken rules, no self-preservation, no friendship to protect.

Your stomach twists.

Then he exhales, turning onto his side, facing away.

“Anyway,” he murmurs, voice already softer, sleepier. “Just a thought.”

You stare at the back of his head, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Just a thought.

Right.

You don’t sleep. Not really.

You close your eyes, steady your breathing, try to match the quiet rise and fall of his beside you. But the words keep looping in your head, tangling, sticking—I think I’d be obsessed with you, actually.

Stupid. Stupid, reckless, Lando.

The room is dark, but not dark enough. The city hums beyond the window, casting faint streaks of light across the ceiling. You stare at them, tracing each one, willing your heart to slow.

Behind you, Lando shifts, exhaling slow. You don’t move, but you feel it—his warmth rolling closer, the space between you shrinking, shrinking—

Then, barely there, his voice again. “You’re still awake.”

It’s not a question.

You open your eyes, staring at the ceiling. “So are you.”

There’s a pause. You swear you hear him smile.

“Yeah.” His voice is quieter this time, almost careful. “Wonder why.”

Your pulse stumbles.

You could ignore him. You could pretend you’ve already drifted off, that your mind hasn’t been spinning for the last hour, replaying every too-casual glance, every shift in his voice, every inch of space that’s disappeared between you.

Or—

“Lando.” Your voice comes out quieter than you expect. He hums in response, waiting.

You turn your head, just enough to see him. He’s closer now, cheek pressed against the pillow, hair a mess of curls and shadows. His eyes find yours in the dim light, steady, unreadable.

Your throat is dry. You swallow. “Why’d you say that?”

He doesn’t ask what you mean. He just watches you for a second, the ghost of a smirk pulling at his lips, but not quite landing.

Then, simply—

“Because it’s true.”

The words settle deep, curling warm in your chest.

You should say something. Push him away, tease him, roll over and let the moment slip through your fingers. That’s how it’s always worked between you—almosts that never turn into anything more.

But his gaze is heavier than before, his voice lower, and for once, you don’t think you want to let it go.

Instead, you shift, rolling to face him fully. The sheets rustle between you, the space closing, and his eyes flicker down—quick, instinctive—before snapping back up.

It’s silent. The city hums.

Then—his breath, warm against your lips.

“You gonna break the rule now?” he murmurs.

Your fingers twitch in the sheets. You could. You should.

But instead, you tip forward, just enough for your lips to graze his, just enough to feel his inhale—sharp, surprised, expectant—

Then you pull back. Barely.

“Bet you break first,” you whisper.

For a second, nothing happens.

Just the space between you, thin as thread. His breath fans warm against your mouth, lips parted like he’s caught between a reaction and restraint. You see the shift in his eyes—sharp, aware, dark with something unreadable.

Then, slow as a fuse burning, his hand moves.

Not dramatic. Not rushed. Just a careful drag of his fingers over the sheets, brushing yours. Testing. Waiting.

You don’t pull away.

His fingertips graze the inside of your wrist, just like before, except this time, he doesn’t let go. His touch lingers, pressing just enough to send heat curling through your skin.

“You’re such a menace,” he murmurs, voice lower now, rougher.

You should smirk, tease him for caving first. But the words get lost somewhere between his eyes flickering to your lips and the way his fingers curl properly around your wrist, anchoring.

Then—finally, finally—he moves.

Not much, just enough to close the last of the distance. His lips brush yours, light, careful, barely even a kiss—just testing the shape of it, like he’s waiting for you to stop him.

You don’t.

Instead, you chase it, shifting closer, pressing into the warmth of his mouth. He exhales, something caught between relief and satisfaction, and then his other hand is in your hair, pulling you deeper.

The sheets shift as he moves, rolling just enough to pin you under him, weight sinking against you, grounding. His fingers trail down your side, slow, deliberate, pressing warmth into your skin even through the fabric of your shirt.

The kiss deepens—still unhurried, still testing, but heavier now, like he’s realizing something in real time. Like he’s been waiting for this longer than he’ll admit.

You barely register that you’re smiling until he pulls back just enough to mirror it, forehead tipping against yours. His breath is uneven, warm against your cheek.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, thumb brushing your jaw. “Told you I’d be obsessed.”

Your laugh gets swallowed by the next kiss.

He kisses you like he’s got all the time in the world, slow and steady, like he’s learning the shape of your mouth, the way you respond to him. Like he’s memorizing it.

His hand skims down your side, fingertips dragging just enough to make your breath hitch. He hums against your lips, pleased, like he notices, like he’s already cataloging what gets a reaction out of you.

Then, deliberately, he pulls back—just far enough to watch you.

The air between you is thick, charged, something unspoken hanging heavy in the dim light. His thumb brushes over your cheek, gaze flickering over your face like he’s waiting for you to stop him.

You don’t.

So he moves again, lips tracing a slow path down, over your jaw, to the curve of your neck. His breath is warm against your skin, teasing. His nose skims along your pulse point, lingering, like he’s considering something—

Then, with zero warning, he bites.

Not hard. Just a quick, sharp graze of teeth before his lips follow, soothing over the spot, and the sound that escapes you is humiliating.

He grins against your skin.

“Knew it,” he mutters, voice thick with amusement.

You barely register your own reaction—palms sliding under his shirt, fingers curling against his spine—before he shifts again, pressing more of his weight against you, forcing your back into the mattress.

And maybe you should stop him. Maybe you should pull back, tell him to slow down, that you weren’t supposed to end up here.

But then he’s kissing you again, deep and sure and intentional, and all logic burns to static.

Maybe he was right. Maybe he is obsessed.

Or maybe—

Maybe you are, too.

The thought barely has time to settle before he moves again, pressing closer, deeper, like he’s already decided there’s no space left between you.

His hands—warm, steady—skim under your shirt, fingertips tracing slow, mindless patterns against your ribs. Not asking. Not rushing. Just there, grounding, like he’s memorizing every inch of you.

You exhale against his mouth, dizzy from the heat of him, from the way he kisses you like he’s savoring it, like he’s been thinking about this for longer than either of you are willing to admit.

And then—

He laughs.

Low and quiet, almost like he doesn’t mean to, but you feel it against your lips, the way his body shakes slightly against yours, the warmth of it sinking into your skin.

You blink up at him, breathless. “What?”

Lando grins, nose brushing yours. “Nothing,” he murmurs, but he’s still laughing, biting his lip like he’s trying to hold it back.

You shove at his shoulder. “Lando.”

He catches your wrist—again, like it’s a game, like he likes it—and presses a quick kiss to your palm before dropping it. “It’s just—” His eyes flicker down, like he’s just now registering the mess you’ve made of each other, how your shirt is half pushed up, how his is twisted in your grip. He grins wider. “You’re really bad at pretending you don’t want me.”

Heat flares up your neck. You groan, pushing at his chest. “Oh, shut up—”

He laughs properly this time, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, shaking against you. His arms curl tighter around you, keeping you close even as he cackles like this is all some massive joke.

You glare at the ceiling. “I actually hate you.”

His breath is still uneven, still warm against your skin as he exhales. “Yeah,” he agrees, lips brushing your collarbone. “That’s why you’re holding onto me right now, huh?”

You realize—too late—that you are.

Your fingers are still twisted in his shirt, still holding him close like he might disappear if you let go. His skin is warm, solid, beneath your touch, and even as your brain screams at you to shove him off, you don’t.

You sigh, tipping your head back against the pillow. “You really should’ve joined a frat.”

He grins against your shoulder. “Told you.”

Lando doesn’t move. He stays there, forehead resting against your shoulder, breath warm against your skin. His weight presses into you, not heavy, just there, anchoring.

You could push him off. You probably should. But your fingers are still tangled in his shirt, and you don’t want to let go, not yet.

He shifts, just slightly, and you feel the lazy curve of his smile against your collarbone. “Admit it.”

You roll your eyes, fingers finally loosening their grip. “Admit what?”

“That you like me,” he murmurs, lips brushing over your skin as he speaks. His hands are still resting against your ribs, warm and unmoving, like he’s settled in. Like he’s already made up his mind about this. About you.

Your pulse kicks up, traitorous. “You’re so full of yourself.”

He hums, amusement curling in his voice. “So that’s a no?”

You hesitate—just for a second—but it’s enough for him to hear it, to feel the way your breath stutters before you can stop it.

And then, infuriatingly, he laughs again.

“Wow,” he drawls, shifting so his lips hover just over your jaw, his grin practically audible. “You really are bad at pretending.”

You make a noise in protest—somewhere between a groan and a weak threat—but before you can shove him away, his mouth is on your neck again, pressing slow, deliberate kisses to the same spot he bit earlier.

Your breath catches.

He feels it.

And just like that, the teasing fades into something quieter, heavier. His lips move slower this time, like he’s tasting the way you react, how your pulse jumps beneath him.

The air shifts. The room feels smaller.

His nose skims against your skin, his fingers curl just slightly against your ribs, and—

“You’re thinking too much,” he murmurs.

Your breath shudders. He’s right.

You always think too much.

But then his teeth graze your pulse again, just enough to make your stomach twist, and every coherent thought blinks out of existence.

You turn your head—instinct, impulse—and suddenly his mouth is on yours again, warm, insistent, like he knew you’d do it before you did.

He exhales through his nose, satisfied, and then you’re moving together, pushing, pulling, getting tangled up in each other like it’s the easiest thing in the world.

And maybe it is.

Maybe it always has been.

The room feels warmer now, the air thick with something neither of you have named yet.

Lando moves like he has nowhere else to be, nowhere else he’d rather be. His lips trace paths that make your head spin, hands mapping every inch of skin they can reach, and it’s all too much and not enough at the same time.

At some point, your back meets the mattress, and he’s over you, around you, everywhere. His weight presses down, solid and grounding, but his touch is light, deliberate. Like he’s still savoring, still teasing, still learning you.

You lose track of time. Of space. Of everything except the way he feels, the way he wants you—so obvious in the way he pulls you closer, in the way he breathes out your name like a prayer.

And then—

Sometime later, when your heart is still racing but your breath has evened out, you blink up at the ceiling, suddenly too aware of everything all at once.

Your brain is catching up.

Shit.

Lando is still beside you, propped up on one elbow, watching you with that easy, knowing expression that makes you want to launch yourself into the sun.

You swallow, throat suddenly dry. “This—” You gesture vaguely between the two of you, at the warmth of him still lingering against your skin. “This doesn’t mean anything, right?”

It comes out rushed, like you’re already trying to outrun the answer, and Lando’s expression flickers, just for a second.

Then, to your horror, he laughs.

Not in a cruel way. Not in a dismissive way. Just—like he expected this.

Like he knows you too well.

You sit up, pulling the sheets up with you like they’ll protect you from the way your heart is currently imploding. “I mean, we’re still friends, right?”

Lando exhales through his nose, like he’s biting back another laugh. He shifts closer, slow and deliberate, until his arm is slung over your waist again, until you feel the warmth of him all along your side. “I don’t want to be friends.”

Your brain stalls. Your stomach plummets. “What?”

He watches you, expression unreadable. “I don’t want to be friends,” he repeats, quieter this time. Then, when he sees the sheer panic in your eyes, the way you freeze like he just said the scariest thing imaginable, he sighs and tugs you closer.

You barely have time to react before he’s right there, forehead pressed to yours, voice steady when he says, “Because you’re the one for me.”

Your breath catches.

Your brain short-circuits.

Lando smiles, tilting his head to nose at your cheek, like he’s trying to soften the impact of what he just said. “I don’t do casual, you know that,” he murmurs. “I don’t do things I don’t mean.”

Your fingers tighten around the sheets, like they might hold you together, like they might stop your heart from caving in under the weight of his words.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, gaze steady, unshaken.

“You know that,” he says again, softer.

And, yeah.

You do.

Lando is still looking at you, waiting. His forehead is resting against yours, like he’s afraid to move too far away, like he’s giving you space but not enough to slip through his fingers.

Your chest is tight. Your brain is screaming at you to think, to analyze, to map out every possible consequence of this, but then Lando exhales, a slow, steady breath against your lips, and suddenly, thinking is impossible.

Instead, you feel.

The warmth of him, the weight of his arm slung around you like it belongs there. The way his thumb is tracing absentminded circles against your hip, like he’s settling in.

Like he has no plans to go anywhere.

And maybe—maybe that’s what makes something in you snap.

Your fingers move before your brain can stop them, sliding up to tangle in his curls, and you feel the way he shivers at the touch, the way his breath hitches—like he hadn’t expected that, like you’re capable of surprising him.

You don’t know what to say. You never know what to say.

But maybe you don’t have to.

Lando makes a small, pleased noise in the back of his throat, something warm and content, and suddenly, you’re the one laughing, breathless and a little overwhelmed.

“What?” he asks, lips brushing against yours, grinning now, like he’s won something.

You shake your head, cheeks burning. “You’re—” You sigh, pressing your forehead into his shoulder, trying to will your heart into calming down. “You’re just so annoying.”

Lando huffs a laugh, smug, before rolling you onto your back and caging you beneath him again, all lazy affection and dimpled grins. “Oh, I’m annoying?” he echoes, and his hands are on your waist again, fingers skimming the edge of the sheets like he’s thinking about distracting you. “You’re the one making me work for this.”

You groan, shoving at his chest, but he just laughs, dropping his weight on top of you like some kind of human-sized blanket.

The air shifts again, but this time it’s light, playful. His nose nudges yours, and then he’s kissing you again—slower, softer, like he has all the time in the world. Like he’s making a promise without words.

He pulls back just enough to murmur, “You’re stuck with me now, you know that, right?”

And maybe you should freak out at that. Maybe you should be terrified.

But all you can do is roll your eyes, tugging him down for another kiss before whispering, “Yeah. I know.”

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peascribbles · 20 days ago

Text

sylus x gn!reader, menstruating reader, domestic fluff, sfw

Operation: defend your ice cream stash from Sylus begins today.

You've had enough of finding a barren desert in the freezer, devoid of sweet treats. He always leaves the evidence of his crimes for you to uncover. Bowl and spoon in the sink, slick with the melting remnants. Discarded tub peeking out the trash bin. The occasional note with a devilish winky face on the countertop. Each a cruel twist of the knife.

Your grief is doubly felt when he deprives you of life's one joy during your period. No, it doesn't matter that he always restocks the freezer til it struggles to close right after. It's the principle of the robbery in the first place that incenses you.

Luke and Kieran sneak in a clandestine package under the cover of morning, while he's still asleep. Inside is a world class, custom built, state-of-the-art safe you've commissioned for this express purpose; constructed using antimatter coated steel to dissuade him from blasting it open with his Evol.

You have no doubts about his ability to break into things the normal way, so you've designed the safe to have multiple doors which protect its contents.

For appearances only, the outer door is a mundane dial lock. He'll crack it in maybe two seconds flat. What it should do is ping your phone and alert you to the imminent break in attempt. Behind it are a series of increasingly difficult cryptographic puzzles that must be solved within a minute to proceed.

The safe's final bulwark is a stroke of genius, if you say so yourself; a singing test with an inbuilt microphone where he must stay reasonably in pitch. An assuredly insurmountable trial for him, and therefore, an impenetrable defense for your precious desserts from his bottomless gluttony.

With the twins' help, you manoeuvre the safe into the freezer. You place your last tub of ice cream into it and perform the necessary double- and triple checks. Bolts are secured. Puzzles are set and ready to go. Microphone tested to ensure it's functional.

You leave for work daring to hope for the best.

—

Hours teetering on the edge of your seat. Paranoia mounting with the radio silence. You should be happy. It could be he's decided to leave your treat alone, but it can't be that easy. You're well aware of just how tenacious and greedy he can be.

Your phone pings during your lunch break.

Determined to catch Sylus red handed, you leap into action, pulling it out of your pocket. Your finger is a millimetre away from pressing the speed dial when you notice that the notification isn't from the safe's alarm system.

It's a message from him.

The food you just ate lurches in your stomach. That can't be good. You tap to view it, the stirrings of trepidation and resignation joining your barely-digested meal.

He's sent an image of the safe. The dial lock is busted open, all the cryptographic puzzles solved. Both outcomes within the realm of possibilities you considered. Your piece de resistance, the singing challenge, is still intact, so why..?

Ah. A perfect circle has been cut into the side of the safe. Its contents empty. You spot the tub in the foreground, also empty.

Cut off in the corner of the picture is a perplexing device you don't quite recognise. From what you can tell, it looks like a gun without a barrel or a trigger.

His accompanying voice message plays.

Nice try, sweetie. He sounds breathless, as if he's been laughing too hard. The mirth that brightens his voice is infectious, and though you want to be mad right now, a pleasant warmth and the beginnings of a smile tugs at your cheeks. I do wonder where you found a manufacturer willing to do antimatter coating for a... personal project such as this. Flipping through his business contacts while he was away, of course. That thing is a gold mine.

Ringing sharp through your speaker, two solid objects clink together. Teeth against a spoon. However, the microphone you installed must not be working. No matter how well I performed, it never let me in. A pleased noise from the back of his throat. This flavour's delicious, by the way.

How shameless of him to eat your ice cream while he recorded this—this declaration of victory, you realise. He's gloating. Feasting on his bounty. Oh, when you get home, you're going to—

Before you plan your revenge, let me propose a moratorium, his voice message continues, reading your mind. Why does he always do that? I've seen your sincere efforts to protect what's valuable to you. So, I won't touch your ice cream for a month. Use it to refine your defenses.

I'll give you a few hints to start: find better quality antimatter next time. And you did forget about the extensive tools in the workshop.

You finally recognise the object on the counter.

The freezer's already been refilled. See you at home, sweetie. The message ends with an indulgent chuckle.

His words don't register for a solid minute. You're reeling from this latest revelation. Just to steal your ice cream—

He used a fucking laser gun to cut a hole in the safe?

If a puny laser was able to penetrate the coating, then his Evol would have torn it like paper. Which means he went out of his way to go to the basement workshop, retrieve the laser gun, and cut a hole in it, because he could.

You're doing two things when you get home.

One, send a complaint to the manufacturer for a shoddy product.

And two, have some of that ice cream when he's not looking.

This operation has been a failure of unimaginable proportion, but no matter; you have a month to plot and plan. You'll come back stronger than ever.

go read @blessdunrest's continuation here!

#sylus #sylus x reader #lads sylus #lnds sylus #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace #sylus x you #sylus fluff #pea.snax #inspired by the iconic lockpicking lawyer vs wife's ben & jerry's video #was thinking about how she completely bulldozed through the lock he put on it and lightbulb dinged with how utterly sylus coded that is #very quickly and loosely written

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totalswag · 9 months ago

Text

outer banks premiere and surprises — DREW STARKEY

authors note the new season is so good!!! watching part two trailer makes me even more excited. what do you guys think of it?

taglist ⤕ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set.

summary surprising drew at the outer banks premiere for season four. he thinks you are on tour but you made time to support him.

warnings cursing, mentions of flashing lights, kissing, and celebrating season four of outer banks.

You carefully walked out the car with your hand holding one side of your dress so you don’t fall. You thanked the driver with a kind smile before walking towards the red carpet with your manager. The sound of fans could be heard the closer you got.

The season four premiere of Outer Banks is tonight, and you plan to surprise your boyfriend, Drew Starkey, on the carpet. Except for Jonas and Drew's father, no one is aware of your impending arrival.

You recently started touring for your newest album― it's been an absolute blast. This night is very important to Drew and you are glad your next show is two hours away so it was perfect to surprise him and see his reaction.

You were glad to fit this surprise last minute.

When you get closer to the crowd of people butterflies form in the pit of your stomach— more so excitement and enthusiasm. Security led you through the entrance where everyone stood for pictures and fans waiting to interact with the cast.

Drew was in the middle of taking pictures in front of cameras and fans behind them— he looked so good in his suit. Few fans turned their heads when they heard security taking on the radio and their faces lit up seeing you.

Oh my gosh is that Y/N?

She’s here to surprise him watch

My parents are finally together in front of me

Drew turned his head in your direction where all the commotion was— he was in disbelief seeing you walking over to him looking stunning from head to toe. Smile forming in the corner of his lips, opening his arms for you.

"Hi baby!" You squeal softly, looking at him with affection and joy. You stand on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek— he smells wonderful with the new cologne you bought him.

"I'm so glad you are here," he says with a grin, clutching you closely to his chest.

As you two walk away, you turn around to face Drew's father, hugging him and asking how things are doing. You approached his father first about the surprise, and he was all for it.

Paparazzi wanted to capture a few shots of Drew and you together. You two couldn't take your gaze away from one other the entire time. The butterflies in your stomach had not faded the moment you arrived.

Drew and you approached fans and took pictures, signed autographs, made films, and so forth. You stayed by Drew's side the entire time rather than being the focus of attention— this is about him and his cast members. Tonight is all about him and the cast.

"I love your new album Y/N, and I'm going to your next show in two days," one fan exclaimed, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes as she looked around sixteen. "Aw, thank you so much, gorgeous—I can't wait for you to be out there," you say softly, leaning in for a big hug.

"Y/N I can't believe you are here!" Madelyn gasps in surprise, pausing in her tracks and placing her palm on her chest— jaw dropped.

You look over your shoulder, squealing with delight. "Surprise, Missy," you say aloud, raising your arms.

The rest of the cast followed, engulfing you in a frenzy of hugs and enthusiastic conversations. Drew couldn't stop smiling, and his arm never left your waist while you socialized with friends. Conversations went smoothly, with laughter resonating in the air.

"When I saw you with Drew, I was like no way that's Y/N" Chase explained as he re-created his initial reaction seeing you.

You laughed as he told you, "The only people who knew were our managers and Drew's dad." You pointed to your's and Drew's managers, then Drew's father talking to Madison.

It was great to see everyone again and catch up on things that hadn't been mentioned. It felt like it had been years since you last saw one other.

"You look so good tonight, baby," you nudge Drew with a quiet whisper, "too good, I might add." You smirk nonchalantly, which immediately draws his attention—dragging his hand down your back, drawing you closer to him.

"May I just say the same thing about you because I think I need an inhaler?" he asks with a flirty grin.

Inside the auditorium, they watched the first half of the show, your hand interlaced with Drew's. You could feel his joy and pleasure in the work they had all done for the new season. And he could feel your steadfast support, your presence anchored him.

Drew's performance throughout the show was incredible—he was always giving it his all and keeping in character without breaking. Rafe's character development is much more obvious this season than it was in the first. Throughout the show, you would lean into his ear— sending chills down his spine. You whispered encouraging things to him.

Shortly after the first part of the show, an announcement was made about an after-party to which everyone was invited. Obviously, everyone was looking forward to attending and celebrating.

Everyone had access to food, desserts, and drinks at the after party. Music was played while everyone sang along to the songs. This was one night to remember. Drew and the cast were ecstatic to celebrate yet another outstanding season.

You found a calm spot with Drew. He wrapped his arms around you, bringing you closer. "Thank you for being here," he whispered quietly, his eyes brimming with love. "It means everything to me."

You grinned and leaned in to kiss him gently. "There's nowhere else I'd rather be," you said quietly.

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cheftsunoda · 2 months ago

Text

heal your heart—cl16

part two (very very long and wordy)

smau + real life

carlos sainz x !sister singer reader

charles leclerc x sainz reader

catalina sainz has it all— she is a successful grammy award winning artist, her brother is a well known formula 1 driver, she has an amazing family and wonderful friends. she was also blessed with a fiance and a beautiful baby boy.. she had everything.. until she didn't. her fiance disappears and takes her son with him. catalina watches as her world crumbles...who will be there to help pick up the pieces?

fc : kali uchis

⚠️ATTENTION : TRIGGER WARNING! MENTIONS OF DEPRESSION AND ABUSE. ⚠️

part one here

part three here

part four here

—

f1gossipgirls

liked by 475,943 people.

f1gossipgirls : Catalina Sainz has made a paddock appearance shortly after Carlos Sainz announced he would still be driving in the Japanese GP. This is the first time Catalina has been seen since the rumors started circulating that her son was taken by her fiance who has disappeared without a trace. Her son was not seen anywhere near the paddock and Catalina was only seen by press and paps for a few moments before Williams team members swooped her into hospitality. She was later spotted in the paddock cuddled up with Rebecca Donaldson, Carlos' partner, who seemed to be comforting her in this time of need. Carlos seemed to be agitated and quiet with the press. Let us know what you all think about Catalina's appearance.

username2 : her relationship with rebecca has always been so special..idc if y'all don't like rebecca due to her past- she is always there for our girl

liked by author

username5 : the silence, the matching sunglasses, the fact they are not speaking to anyone… something WENT DOWN and they’re coming back in blood pact formation

username7 : okay but imagine your brother is a world-famous driver and you just quietly vanish across international borders and he SHOWS UP TO FIND YOU IN THE MOUNTAINS?? this family is cinematic

username8: If this ends in Carlos winning the GP and dedicating it to her with a whispered “para mi hermana” on the radio, I will lose ALL composure...

username10 : before you all start shitting on her for making a public appearance in this state... she has always been very very supportive of carlos' career and she probably begged him to not fully drop out and she came with so she didn't have to be alone again.

liked by author

username20 : and she did not really even make an appearance...you can tell they were trying to sneak her in and the paps and press were just being absolutely RELENTLESS

liked by author

username15 : You can tell she didn’t sleep. You can tell he hasn’t smiled in days. You can tell someone’s getting sued.

username17 : Carlos showing up like her personal security, emotional support brother, AND legal representative 😭 I’m in love..

username9 : mother is mothering again...i feel like i haven't seen her flip off paps in like 2 years (it's been 2 months)

liked by author

usernameee : not to be dramatic but if this was 1830 he’d have challenged someone to a duel by now

username2 : BYEEE

username0 : Ok but did anyone notice the way she didn’t make eye contact with a single camera?? She’s been media trained for this moment.

—

twitter!

@/williamsracing : Carlos Sainz is present at the Japanese Grand Prix and will be participating in the weekend as scheduled. At this time, he will not be making any personal statements. We kindly ask that media respect his and his family’s privacy.

view comments

username : I saw Carlos' PR officer physically block a tabloid guy from asking about Catalina. She body-checked him. Things are tense.

username0 : what a queen give her a raise

username4 : Carlos racing with THIS on his mind is terrifying. He’s either gonna win by 30 seconds or drive straight into the garage and file for custody mid-race.

username00 : If your brother doesn’t fly across the world mid-race week to rescue you from a life-shattering betrayal, is he even a brother???

username5 : They said no comment. I said no problem, I’ll make up the entire timeline myself.

—

I woke up early, the light just creeping into the room. The soft hum of Carlos pacing in the next room is the only thing that lets me know he’s still here. His presence is steady, a constant. But right now, he’s not just my brother, he’s the man trying to fix everything, trying to be everything for me when I don’t have the energy to pretend anymore. The last few weeks feel like a blur...like I’ve been running on autopilot and suddenly, the ground has dropped from under me. I want to tell him everything, that I’m not okay, that I feel lost, but I can’t. I can’t because I don’t want to break him too. But this morning, the room is still quiet, the soft morning light casting long shadows on the floor. I hear Carlos on the phone, his voice low and urgent, but the words aren’t clear. Lawyers. Calls to his manager. Something about custody arrangements. I can’t listen. I don’t want to listen. But I can’t let him drop everything for me. I can’t be the reason he cancels a race weekend. He’s worked too hard, come too far. I won’t be the reason he fails.

I take a deep breath, pushing myself up from the bed. I’m still wearing the same clothes from yesterday. My head hurts, but I ignore it. I have to. When I walk into the room, Carlos is at the desk, holding his phone in his hand, his eyes glued to the screen. He doesn’t see me at first. His face is a mask of concentration, but underneath, there’s something else. Worry. Fear.

“Carlos…” I whisper, my voice cracking as I say his name. He looks up at me immediately, the relief flooding his face the second he sees me.

“Cat.” He doesn’t even stand up. His eyes, though—they’re softer now, less angry. But still, I see that question in them. That question I don’t know how to answer. "How are you?"

I nod, even though I’m not. “I’m fine.” It’s a lie, but it’s all I’ve got.

Carlos sets the phone down slowly, his fingers brushing against the edge of the desk as if he’s about to grab it again. “I’m not letting you do this alone again, Catalina. I have been on the phone with several lawyers and some officials in Spain. You’re not handling this alone. You can’t handle this alone.”

“I don’t want to,” I say quickly, almost desperately. I can’t stand the idea of him being that worried. “But I don’t want you to cancel your race. I can’t let you do that for me. I watched you build this career piece by piece, Los. I am not going to let you ruin it for me."

His eyes flash with something I can’t quite place. “You’re not in any state to be alone right now, Catalina. You’re not okay, and I can see it. You’re…” His voice cracks, and I hate that I’m the reason for it. “You’re slipping.”

"I can't stand the thought of losing you too." His words hit me like a truck.

“Carlos, I’ll be fine. You can’t cancel your race for me. Please. I’ll be okay,” I plead, but it doesn’t feel real even as the words leave my mouth. I don’t know if I’ll ever be okay again. But he can’t see that.

He’s silent for a moment, his gaze never leaving mine. I feel the weight of his stare, the pressure in the air thickening as he contemplates everything.

“I’m not racing without you,” he finally says, his voice soft but firm. “I’m not going to leave you alone with all of this, not after what happened.” He runs a hand through his hair, frustration flashing in his eyes. “You’re coming with me. You’re going to the race with me. I won’t do this without you.”

“I—” I begin, but I can’t finish the sentence. I don’t have the strength to fight him on this. I don’t want to fight him on this. I need him, too.

“I’ll race, but only if you’re with me,” he adds, his voice quiet but resolute. “You’re coming with me. We’ll go together. I’ll be there with you, every step. I’m not leaving you in this place, Catalina. Not after everything.”

"I can't race if I am worried about you the whole time. I will take care of everything, I will shield you from the press, Rebecca will be there to be with you. Please. Just let me take care of you."

I don’t say anything for a moment. I feel like I’m suffocating, but there’s something about the way he says it that calms me, just a little. Maybe because I know he’s not going to leave me.

Finally, I nod, swallowing back the lump in my throat. “Okay,” I whisper. “Okay. I’ll go with you. But only because you’re sure. I don’t want you to drop everything for me. You need to race. You need to keep going.”

His eyes soften. “We’ll keep going together, Cat. Always.”

I nod again, unable to say anything more, my chest heavy with the weight of his words. With the weight of everything.

—

TW! This section discusses abuse.

The jet hums beneath us as we fly through the thick cloud cover, heading toward the race. The only thing I can hear clearly is the steady rhythm of my own heart, and the thoughts swirling in my mind, too tangled to untangle. I’m here. I’m on my way to a race weekend, but I don’t feel like I’m really here. My body is on the plane, but my mind is somewhere else entirely. Somewhere dark. I should feel relief, maybe even some semblance of peace. I have Carlos with me. He’s here, sitting across from me, his eyes on the window, his jaw tense. But inside, I feel like I’m falling apart. I want to say something. Anything. The truth. But the words are lodged in my throat, thick and suffocating. I don’t want to break in front of him, not again. I’ve already put him through too much. But Carlos isn’t going to let me stay silent. He never does.

“Cariño” his voice is low, but it cuts through the quiet of the cabin like a knife. “I need you to talk to Mama y Papa. They have seen the press and they know where I am. They do not want you feeling alone in this.”

I can’t look at him right now. I keep my gaze trained on the floor, focusing on the way the carpet fibers shift beneath my feet with every slight movement of the jet. His words, though, they hit me like a punch to the gut.

“I can’t,” I whisper, the refusal almost automatic. “I can’t tell them.”

Carlos sighs, his voice softer now, but still filled with that quiet urgency. “Cat, they need to know. They deserve to know what’s happening. You can’t keep hiding this from them. They’ll understand. You don’t have to carry it all on your own.”

I close my eyes and lean my head back against the plush seat, trying to steady myself, but it feels like the world is spinning. Why am I so scared? I’m not scared of telling them...I’m scared of what it means. I’m scared of how they’ll look at me once they know everything. Scared of how they'll feel about me, about what I allowed to happen.

“I’m scared of what they’ll think of me,” I confess, my voice cracking. “I… I’m scared they’ll think I was weak. I let him in again. I let him hurt me. And I should’ve known better.”

Carlos is quiet for a moment. I can feel his gaze on me now, even though I’m not looking at him. The weight of it presses on me, but there’s something gentle in it, something I can’t quite put into words. His next words come slow, deliberate.

“You’re not weak, Catalina. You never were. He made you believe that. He made you believe that you were the problem when you weren’t. He was the problem. What happened to you, what he did to you, none of it is your fault. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

I can feel the walls I’ve spent so long building around myself crack, the cold walls I put up to protect myself from feeling anything. But the cracks don’t stop. They break open, and suddenly, I’m not so sure I’m ready to face the storm that’s going to come.

“Carlos, you don’t understand.” I shake my head, my chest tightening with every word I say. “It wasn’t just… it wasn’t just the controlling stuff. The gaslighting. The manipulation. It was the… the times when I would tell him I didn’t want to do something, and he would ignore me. He would make me feel like I was being unreasonable. And then, when I’d try to leave, when I thought I could leave, he would beg me to stay, and I’d… I’d believe him. Every time. Every damn time.”

My voice falters. “And then it turned physical. I never wanted to say that, but it did. There were times when I’d say no, but he didn’t stop. And I’d... I’d freeze, Carlos. I didn’t know how to say no anymore. I didn’t know how to stop him.”

The words are raw, bleeding from me before I even realize it. The shame burns like fire inside me, but I can’t stop talking now. It feels like I’m finally releasing everything I’ve been holding inside, even though I know I can never take it back.

“I didn’t know how to get out. I thought if I left, he’d destroy me. If I told anyone, they wouldn’t believe me. They’d think I was just being dramatic. And I didn’t want to be the girl who let that happen. I didn’t want anyone to know.”

"I thought he'd take my son from me which clearly that assumption was not far off." I choked out.

Carlos doesn’t interrupt me, doesn’t say anything. But I can feel his hand, reaching for mine. Gently, but with a strength that tells me he’s here. And he’s not going anywhere.

“I finally left him. I did. But I... I let him back in. And I thought it would be different, that things would go back to the way they were. But they didn’t. And I couldn’t leave again. I didn’t have the strength. And I thought I could handle it.” I swallow hard. “I was wrong. I was so wrong, Carlos. And now I’m... I’m just broken. I don’t know how to fix this.”

His hand tightens around mine, his grip firm and comforting, as if he’s holding me together when I can’t. His voice is quieter now, but it’s thick with emotion, more raw than I’ve ever heard it before. He comes over and sits beside me and I lean into him- needing him more than ever.

“You’re not broken. You never were. And you’re not alone, Catalina. I’ll never let you be alone in this.” He whispers as he leaves two kisses on the top of my head and then rests his chin there.

I’m shaking, my tears finally coming as I lean against the seat, squeezing my eyes shut. “I don’t know how to fix this, Carlos,” I whisper again, almost pleading. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You don’t have to fix it all at once. Just take it one step at a time. But you can’t carry this on your own anymore, okay? Let us help you. Let me help you.”

The jet rocks slightly, turbulence lifting us a little before settling. But even as the world outside shifts, I feel something inside me begin to settle too. Carlos is right there, beside me. And for the first time, I feel like maybe—just maybe—I don’t have to carry this alone anymore.

I look up at him, my voice barely a whisper, but my heart full of something I’ve been afraid to feel for so long. “I’ll talk to them. I’ll tell them what happened. I won’t do this alone anymore.”

He doesn’t say anything, but his eyes soften. He’s not angry, not frustrated. Just... there. He’s with me. And for the first time in so long, I feel like maybe I can breathe again.

—

The paddock is a blur of flashing cameras, murmuring press, and engine rumbles. I step off that jet and straight into the chaos with Carlos by my side, his hand firm on my back like a silent promise, I’ve got you. He’s in protective mode—shoulders squared, jaw tight, sunglasses shielding his eyes even in the cloudy morning light. He doesn’t say much as we walk, but he doesn’t need to. I can feel the heat of the stares, the way heads turn as whispers ripple through the crowd. He has a soft but protective grip on my hand. I hear my name. His name. Questions I can’t make out.

"Catalina, are you okay?" "Where have you been?" "Is it true—?"

Carlos steps in front of me, shielding me with his body, and one of the team PR reps steps up to intercept the worst of it. I keep my head down. My hands tremble, stuffed into the pockets of the oversized jacket I borrowed from Carlos on the plane. I’m only here because I didn’t want him to race alone. Because he wouldn’t leave me behind.

"Ignore them," Carlos mutters under his breath. "Just a few steps more. Becs is waiting for you."

And she is—right at the garage entrance, her arms crossed and eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk. The moment she sees me, her whole face softens. She walks toward me, brushing past a reporter with her usual cool grace, and without asking, she wraps me in a hug and presses a light kiss to my cheek. I tense for a second as I'm not used to this kind of softness lately but then I sink into her. Her hold is warm, grounded. She smells like lavender and leather and something clean.

“Hey,” she says softly, brushing my hair back as she pulls away. “You don’t have to say anything. Just breathe. I’ve got you, okay?”

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. Rebecca’s not overly emotional, she’s steady, patient, and completely unfazed by the circus around us. I don’t know how she does it, but in this moment, I’m grateful she’s here.

“Come with me,” she says, her hand on my arm. “I’ve set you up with a quiet space in the back of the hospitality suite. No cameras, no questions.”

I glance at Carlos, who’s already being pulled aside by engineers. He gives me a look...a question and a reassurance all at once. I nod. I’ll be okay. Rebecca leads me away, shielding me with her presence like armor. As we step inside the garage area, I spot a familiar mop of curls down the corridor.

“Lando?” I ask as my voice cracks.

He perks up instantly and makes a beeline for me, his face lit up with a mix of worry and relief. “There you are. I came down here to check on you, princess."

Before I can react, he pulls me into a hug...his hugs are always a little too tight, a little too long, but never unwelcome.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he says, his voice muffled by my hair. “Carlos wouldn't speak and I saw all of the bullshit in the press and you didn't answer my calls."

“I’m okay,” I lie, a practiced reflex. But he pulls back, studies me.

“You don’t have to be,” he says gently and rubs a stray tear from my cheek. “You just have to let us be here.”

I feel the tears prick again, unexpected and inconvenient. I blink them back and smile, just barely. “Thanks, Lando.”

"I got you always, bug. Remember that. I got a race to work on but I love you. Stay strong for us, okay?" He says and I nod.

"Love you, Lan. Work your magic out there." I said and he lightly chuckled.

He nods, then glances at Rebecca. “Take care of my girl, yeah?"

Rebecca nods and grabs my hand. "Always."

—

The room Rebecca set me up in smells faintly of fresh linen and citrus. It’s quiet—soundproofed, probably—and the lighting is soft and warm. There’s a cozy armchair in the corner, a tray of snacks and water on the table beside it, and a small diffuser puffing lavender into the air. It’s a strange kind of peace, the sort that feels like it doesn’t belong to me. I haven’t moved much in the past hour. My limbs feel heavy, my chest hollow. Rebecca laid right next to me, our legs intertwined. We had sat in a comfortable silence.

Eventually, I speak. “You don’t have to stay. I’m fine.”

She tilts her head. “You’re not.”

I look down into my tea. “No. I’m not.”

"And I stay because I love you, you are like my sister and I cannot stand seeing you in this kind of pain." She said and I felt my heart ache.

There’s another beat of silence, and then she says gently, “Carlos told me some of it. Not all. Just enough to know you’ve been holding the weight of a lot for a long time.”

The lump rises in my throat again, the one I keep swallowing like it might stay down if I’m disciplined enough. I nod slowly, not trusting myself to speak.

Rebecca leans forward a little. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.”

“Did you think you wouldn’t be believed?”

I look up. That question cuts deep, and it’s honest, not cruel. There’s no pity in her eyes—just curiosity, concern. Empathy.

“I didn’t think anyone would believe me,” I say quietly. “He was... polished. So charming. Good with people. He said all the right things in public. And I thought if I told someone what happened behind closed doors, they’d just... think I was being dramatic. Emotional. Jealous. Difficult.”

Rebecca nods slowly. “That’s what they count on, people like that. They build the perfect illusion and then isolate you inside it.”

I blink at her. “You say that like you’ve known someone like him.”

She doesn’t flinch. “I have.”

It’s the first time I see something shift behind her calm, composed exterior. Not pain, exactly—but understanding that’s been lived.

“I’m not going to pretend I know exactly what you went through,” she says, her voice even, “but I do know what it’s like to lose yourself. To have your reality twisted until you can’t tell what’s real anymore. To feel like leaving means you’ll lose everything...even if staying is what is destroying you.”

I feel the tears now. Hot, quiet, just slipping down my cheeks. I nod again, the relief of being seen cracking something open. She held my hand, rubbing circles on my knuckles with her thumb.

“I stayed longer than I should have,” I whisper. “I thought I was protecting my son. But I was just... too scared to see what it was doing to both of us.”

“You were surviving,” Rebecca says, her voice firm now. “You don’t owe anyone an apology for that.”

I breathe out a shaky breath. “It’s like... I don’t know how to come back from this. I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

Rebecca leans back, sipping her tea. “Then start small. You don’t have to find all the pieces at once. Just... start with the ones in front of you. The ones that feel like yours.”

I look at her for a long moment. “Is it weird that you’re the one comforting me? I mean, you’re dating my brother.”

She laughs softly. “It’s not weird. He’s kind of an emotional hurricane sometimes. I’ve got plenty of practice in disaster management.”

That actually makes me smile, for real this time.

Rebecca looks directly at me with a softness in her eyes. “You’re not alone anymore, Catalina. Not even close. We’re in your corner. All of us.”

I nod, and for the first time in weeks, I believe it.

—

The race is over. The paddock is slowly emptying...journalists clearing out, team members packing down, drivers giving tired, sweaty interviews. I’m tucked in the corner of the Williams Hospitality where I had been since the beginning of FP1, legs curled under me on a quiet sofa. Carlos had actually finished P1, and for a moment, I felt like maybe things were okay. Or at least survivable. But as the adrenaline fades, the weight returns—an ache at the center of my chest that nothing really eases. I hear the door open, soft footsteps. I glance up.

Charles.

His suit is half-unzipped, fireproof top tied at his waist, a towel slung around his neck. His curls are damp with sweat, his jawline sharp, but there’s something new in his eyes. Something unreadable. And focused entirely on me.

“Hey,” he says gently.

“Hey.”

He glances around, then walks toward me, slow and deliberate. “Can I sit?”

I nod, suddenly very aware of how quiet it is.

He doesn’t sit across from me. He sits beside me, not too close—but not far, either. His presence fills the room in that effortless way he has, but it’s softer now.

“I heard what happened,” he says after a moment. His voice is low, steady. “Not everything. Just... enough.”

I flinch, even though I’d known this moment was inevitable. Word spreads fast in this world.

“Carlos didn’t mean to—” I start, but Charles shakes his head.

“He didn’t tell me. I heard pieces from Lando. And... the press and I could tell. Something in your face this weekend. The way Carlos hasn’t left your side.”

I don’t say anything. I don’t trust my voice.

Charles looks down at his hands, then back at me. “I keep thinking about how many times I saw you, these last few years. Smiling. Showing up for everyone. And I never noticed.”

“It wasn’t your job to notice,” I say softly.

“I still should’ve,” he says, voice tightening. “I thought you were just private. Quiet. But now...” He cuts off, jaw clenching. “He took your son. Left you like that. I swear to god, if I ever see him—”

His voice breaks a little, and I blink. I wasn’t expecting this kind of fury. Not from him.

My voice is barely audible. “You’re angry?”

He turns his head toward me, eyes burning now. “I’m furious. For you. For your son. I can’t even imagine what you’re feeling, but I want to. I want to understand. If you’ll let me.”

Something in me crumbles, then steadies. I didn’t come here for this. I didn’t expect him. But here he is—intense, protective, kind. The same Charles I’ve always known, and also... something more. Charles and I have always been extremely close since him and Carlos' time as teammates but I had never seen this side of him...even after a bad race or horrible Ferrari strategy. There was something different behind those eyes...something different brewing from within him.

“Everyone keeps asking if I’m okay,” I say. “But you—you’re the first person who’s just sat beside me and let me be not okay.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he says, quietly but with unmistakable weight. “And for what it’s worth, I think you’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.”

I look at him. Really look. And for a flicker of a second, I wonder what it would be like to let someone see me like this—not because I’m broken, but because they want to see me whole again.

His hand brushes mine. Not fully holding it—just a quiet, lingering connection. I don’t pull away. Neither does he.

He’s quiet for a moment. “You don’t have to talk, but… if you want to. I’m here.”

The offer is so simple. Not pressure. Not pity. Just space.

And maybe it’s the night, or the exhaustion, or the unbearable silence I’ve been carrying around—but this time, I speak.

“It wasn’t always bad,” I begin, my voice hoarse. “He wasn’t always… like that. There were good months. Good memories. That’s the part that makes you stay too long. You start believing the kindness is who he really is—and the cruelty is just a phase.”

Charles doesn’t interrupt. His hand still rests atop mine, his body turned slightly toward me, like he’s giving me all his attention but none of his weight.

“He hated when I worked. When I traveled. He said it made me selfish. That I should want to be home, with our son. That I was choosing my ambition over motherhood.” My throat tightens. “I started to believe him.”

I look down at my hands. “He told me I was nothing without him. That no one would believe me if I left. That I’d be alone. And… I was.”

A pause. I feel the sting in my eyes.

“But Carlos came. I didn’t even ask. He just came. And now I’m here. And I don’t know who I am anymore.”

I expect silence. Or awkwardness. But Charles exhales slowly, then says, Cat, you are so very strong, and brave, and brilliant. You love fiercely, even when it hurts. You’re not broken. You’re healing. That takes time.”

I turn to look at him.

His gaze is steady. And kind. And something else—something undeniable sparking beneath the calm.

“I wish I’d known,” he says. “I would’ve said something. Done something.”

“You couldn’t have fixed it.”

“No,” he agrees. “But I would’ve stood beside you anyway.”

And there’s something in his voice that cuts through me. That sees me.

I nod, slowly. “Thank you. For this. For... not trying to fix me. Just sitting here.”

“I don’t want to fix you,” he says quietly. “I just want you to know you’re not alone anymore.”

And then, silence again. But it’s different now. Not empty. Full of something fragile, and new, and quietly powerful. His hand brushes mine again—and this time, I take his. Just for a moment. But that moment feels like the start of something I might one day be brave enough to hold onto.

—

celebgossiproom

2,468,473 likes.

celebgossiproom : Carlos Sainz just dedicated his win to his sister (Catalina Sainz) and then said “I will find him” before walking off the stage. The air left the paddock. Absolutely wild. Sources say Lando Norris and Charles Leclerc were seen talking quietly with Carlos post-race. Some say the three are planning something… off-track. #F1 #JapaneseGP

username : carlos sainz saying “i will find him” with that dead calm voice after dedicating the race to catalina??? i’m unwell. this is becoming a netflix-level drama.

username0 : everyone at home: yay carlos!! carlos on live international television: threatens a man with god and vengeance this season is unhinged.

username5 : not even joking if i was the ex i would go into witness protection TONIGHT. you don’t mess with a sainz sibling and live to tell the tale

username7 : if you don’t think charles and lando are already behind carlos with ski masks and an unmarked van you don’t know this paddock. #protectcatalina

username14 : not carlos sainz turning into a real life telenovela brother. i need this scripted for tv IMMEDIATELY.

username1 : no bc imagine being THAT man. carlos sainz just threatened your entire bloodline in front of the global motorsport community and FIA can’t even penalize it. art.

username00 : lando: “carlos i don’t think we can actually murder someone” charles, loading a slides presentation : “speak for yourself”

username15 : what’s the FIA gonna do? black flag him for emotional terrorism? he already WON. he already ASCENDED.

username20 : he didn’t say “i will find him” in anger. he said it like a promise. calm. cold. terrifying...oh this man is on a mission.

—

carlos pov

The paddock is still buzzing, even hours after the race. People are celebrating. Reporters are still trying to get quotes. Cameras are still pointed in my direction. But all I hear is the ringing in my ears from those words I said into the mic.

“This one’s for my sister. I will find him.”

I meant it.

I’m still in my race suit, sweat drying uncomfortably against my skin, when my phone buzzes in my hand.

Private Line – Alberto (Legal)

I answer on the first ring. “Tell me something. Good."

Alberto doesn’t waste time. “One of our private investigators traced a withdrawal from a secondary bank account—one Catalina didn’t know existed. The transaction happened two days ago, from a small town outside Geneva.”

My heart kicks into a different rhythm.

“That’s his hideout?”

“Looks like it. There’s more—we got eyes on a vehicle rented under an alias he used in the past. The location matches the bank activity. We're triangulating exact coordinates now.”

I press a hand to my temple. “And Mateo? Was he seen?”

There’s a beat of hesitation. “Not confirmed. But there’s a credible sighting of a child matching his age at a pharmacy nearby. The store’s owner remembered the boy had a small stuffed monkey with him."

I close my eyes. His favorite toy. He takes it everywhere. That’s him. That’s my nephew.

I grip the edge of the table, breathing hard through my nose. “How long until we know for sure?”

“We’ve already got a team flying out. 24 to 36 hours max. If it’s him, we’ll get a court order in place and local authorities involved immediately.”

I open my eyes and stare at my reflection in the dark window. There’s no victory glow. No pride in this win. Just fire in my chest and the dull ache of rage behind my ribs.

“Good,” I say. “Get me on that plane."

“And Carlos…” Alberto lowers his voice. “He’s scared. That’s why he’s moving. He knows what’s coming. He could possibly move again. We are lucky we even got this lead."

“He should be scared,” I murmur. “Because I’m coming.”

I hang up. The celebration around me fades into static. I move through hospitality like a ghost until I reach the back room, where Catalina’s curled up on the couch, half asleep with Charles sat next to her. Eyes locked on her. She looks up at me with red-rimmed eyes.

“Did you find something?” she whispers.

I nod once. “We are close."

She just nods, voice shaking. “Get him back. Get my boy back. Please.”

I kneel in front of her, my hand gripping hers tightly. “I will. I am going to be gone for a few days. Charles and I already discussed you would stay with him. I trust him and I know you trust him."

She nods gently looking to Charles for reassurance and he gives her a light smile and rubs her back.

—

f1gossipgirls

410,493 likes.

f1gossipgirls : Catalina Sainz left the Paddock after the Japan GP hand in hand with Charles Leclerc whilst Carlos Sainz seems to have made a break for his Private Jet and argued with the press. I am not even sure what to think at this point.

username00 : oh so catalina and charles are giving “trauma bond turned slow burn romance” while carlos is giving “i will fly this plane myself if you keep asking questions”

username1 : carlos probably has 0 patience left and 14 lawyers on speed dial. i do not blame him one bit.

username0 : not charles holding her hand while her brother is out here threatening to dismantle the press one by one 😭😭😭 the whiplash

username5 : idc what anyone says. carlos is stressed about his nephew. the press needs to back OFF. and also… charles? take care of our girl

username7 : if we get a soft charles x catalina photo drop and a grainy carlos yelling “NO COMMENT” video in the same week?? i’m never recovering

usernameee : no bc catalina walking out with charles after the week she’s had?? and not just walking. hand in hand?? i’m throwing myself into the sea

username15 : carlos probably hasn’t slept in 3 days, got a lead on the guy who took his nephew, and now some rando asked “if this win was strategic”...i too would swing carlos

username17 : i want whatever love potion charles brewed. bc that soft hand-hold in PUBLIC while the world burns?? that’s ride or die energy.

username20 : the moment carlos turned around, fist ready and said “back the fuck off” to that reporter, i grew wings and ascended. captain. legend. king.

username22 : soft boy charles x shattered girl catalina x feral brother carlos = the holy trinity of paddock energy right now

username11 : i need one (1) blurry pap photo of charles putting her in his passenger seat and carlos speed-walking to his jet like he’s about to raid a compound

—

The silence in the car was gentle, not heavy. He didn’t press. He didn’t ask. His hand just rested, palm up between us, waiting. I held it the entire ride. Now we’re in his hotel room... it is quiet, dim, impossibly still after the noise of the paddock. He shuts the door behind us with a soft click, then pauses like he’s afraid to move too fast. Like he’s afraid I might shatter if he breathes too hard. I’m still holding it together by a thread.

"You know you don't need to watch over me. I won't shatter."

"I know you won't, you are incredibly strong but I want to be here so you don't have to be strong...put some of the hurt...some of the weight on me."

He nods, his eyes dark and warm, full of something I can’t name but feel down to my bones. “You don’t have to be okay with me. You don't have to put up that wall. You just have to be honest.”

I look down at my hands, still shaking slightly. “It’s hard to breathe sometimes. Like my ribs forgot how to move without fear lodged between them.”

He steps forward slowly, close enough that I can smell the faint salt of sweat, the lingering edge of cologne. “Can I hold you?”

The question undoes me.

I nod, and he pulls me into him, not with rush, not with urgency, just… shelter. His arms wrap around my shoulders, one hand cradling the back of my head as I fold into him. I press my forehead against his chest and try not to cry again. He gently lies us both down on the bed.

“He took my baby, Charles. The one thing left that he knew brought me joy. I never knew someone could want to see another person suffer so much.” I murmured into his chest.

“I know, Mon cœur. I know. We will get him back to you. If it’s the last thing I do, I will make sure you have your son.” He said and began to rub my back. I feel myself start to cry harder. There was a long pause of silence.

“You’re safe,” he says softly. “You’re not alone.”

My fingers grip the fabric of his shirt. “I didn’t even realize how bad it had gotten. I kept telling myself it was normal. That I could handle it. That if I was strong enough, I could make him love me again.”

Charles pulls back just enough to look at me, his eyes shining, his voice barely audible. “You didn’t fail. He did.”

I exhale a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding, my throat tight. “I don’t even know how to start over.”

He leans his forehead against mine, tender and grounding. “One moment at a time. You’re already doing it.”

I feel the tears come again, not from pain this time, but relief. Relief that someone sees me. That someone cares without asking me to shrink, or smile, or explain.

I whisper, “Thank you.”

Charles brushes his thumb against my cheek, catching a tear. “I’ve got you, Catalina. As long as you want me to.”

And I believe him. Every word he said.

—

p2 complete:) thank u all sm for the great response on the first part, im glad you all enjoy it. this chapter was definitely a little heavy for me…as someone who has went through something similar to catalina it was a rough write but also sort of healing in a way. hope you all enjoyed this part. as always requests are welcome and I am always open to suggestions!

my messages are always open if you need someone 💋

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fluentmoviequoter · 5 months ago

Text

Last Day to Live

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!SWAT!reader

Summary: You take a shot meant for someone else, and your boyfriend Tim Bradford has conflicting thoughts about your actions.

Warnings: brief angst, r is shot, Tim yells a lot, fluff at the end, canon typical warnings (suicide by cop attempt, domestic violence call)

Word Count: 2.0k+ words

A/N: I chose to make r a member of 20-David Squad (29-David) and envisioned this being the same reader/Tim dynamic as People Like Us, but it can be read alone!

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info

“There is absolutely no way that’s true,” Street states, shaking his head. “Tell the truth or I’m telling Deacon.”

“Telling Deacon what?” you question with a smile. “That I hurt your feelings?”

“Don’t make me separate you two again,” Deacon says as he enters the situation room.

“She started it,” Street grumbles.

“Sure she did,” Deacon replies, glancing at you.

“29-David!” Hondo calls. “Mid-Wilshire is requesting assistance in your neighborhood. Domestic call went sideways and the husband barricaded himself and his wife in the house. Want to go?”

“Yes, sir,” you answer. “All hands?”

Hondo shakes his head, and Deacon offers, “I’ll go with.”

“Wait- if I go, will you buy me lunch?” Street interjects.

You stop at the door, then say, “Thanks, Deac. I’ll drive.”

“What’s going on?” you ask as you approach a patrol car.

“Neighbor called to report a domestic dispute,” Officer John Nolan explains. “Couple was in the yard when we arrived. Husband opened fire on us, then led his wife back into the house and barricaded the door.”

“Anybody made contact?” Deacon inquires.

“No, sir.”

“Where’s your backup?” you ask.

“Chen and Bradford are trying to find a way in,” Nolan’s rookie Celina answers. “The neighbor said one of their windows was broken and accessible from the ground.”

You look over the top of the patrol car to survey the house. Deacon nods beside you, then tells you to stay with him as he approaches the door. With your helmets on, you move carefully along the fence to reach the front porch.

“Psst,” someone hisses.

Deacon raises his fist over his shoulder, then gestures forward twice. You step to the side and see two familiar LAPD officers ducked beneath a window.

“The wife’s in this room,” Tim whispers. “Interior door’s closed.”

“Eyes on the husband?” Deacon asks.

Lucy shakes her head, and Deacon points you toward the window. You circle Deacon and kneel beside Tim before sending Deacon a thumbs up. He nods, then moves toward the door.

“Can I get a hand up?” you ask Tim.

He moves onto one knee before lowering his hands. You lift your foot onto his thigh and secure your gun on your back before reaching for the windowsill.

Deacon knocks loudly and calls, “LAPD SWAT! Come to the door and open it slowly with both hands visible!”

With his cue, you push off Tim’s leg and pull yourself up as he lifts your leg to help you inside.

“Shh,” you direct when the injured woman looks up. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

“He’s coming back,” she warns you.

Looking between her and the door, you raise your hand to your radio to communicate, “Three.”

If her husband is at the door by Deacon, he shouldn’t know what your alert means: that you're taking his wife out the three-side of the house. You help the woman up and move her to the window quietly. She stops when she sees Tim outside, so you say, “He’s going to help you. I promise. I trust him, and you can too.”

She nods, then lets you lift her up into the opening before taking Tim’s hands and holding onto him as he lowers her gently to the ground. You turn away from the window after you're sure she's okay and move toward the bedroom door.

“Rabbit! He’s heading toward the back door,” Deacon radios.

You attempt to calculate his steps, then kick the door open and step into the hallway with your gun raised. Your timing is good enough that the suspect nearly runs into you.

“LAPD SWAT,” you introduce. “Drop your weapon. You don’t want to piss me off any more, I guarantee that.”

Deacon enters the hallway from the other end, and the man tenses his jaw in a silent admission of defeat before dropping his gun and lifting his hands above his head.

“Not bad,” you muse as you approach Tim’s shop.

“Say thanks, Tim,” Lucy urges.

“Thanks for the assist,” Tim says.

“If you think you can handle it from here, I’ll see you tonight.”

Tim nods, and you smile at him before you return to Deacon’s side. Lucy watches you get in the grey Charger before she asks Tim, “Why weren’t you nicer? Showing affection isn’t a bad thing, you know.”

“This is work, Chen,” Tim reminds her. “When it’s not, I’ll act like it’s not.”

A week later, you sit in Black Betty as Luca rushes toward a Code 99 call from Mid-Wilshire. You know an officer is in grave danger, but you don’t know who. Taking deep, measured breaths, you focus on doing your job.

“Hicks texted,” Hondo says. You open your eyes to see he’s looking directly at you before he says, “It’s not Bradford.”

“Who is it?” you ask.

“He didn’t say. Just that half their division is there and they haven’t had any communication with the officer since he sent out the call for help. Can you do this?”

“Yes,” you reply. “It’s a police officer in danger. Regardless of who it is, I’m here, Hondo.”

“I’m here too,” Street interjects. “If you were curious.”

"We weren't," Tan assures him.

“15 seconds,” Luca alerts.

“Sergeant Grey’s waiting for us at mobile command,” Deacon says. “A cop’s life is at stake. Let’s do this right.”

You feel Street’s hand against your shoulder before you tap Deacon. He moves around the corner and leads you into the backyard of the suspect’s home. The homeowner called 911 and begged for help, then, when the responding officer arrived, he lured him inside and shot an innumerable amount of AR-15 rounds into his shop. The officer radioed a Code 99 nearly twenty minutes ago but hasn’t been heard from since, Wade explained before you moved onto the property.

“Any sign of our caller or brother in blue?” Hondo asks in your earpiece.

“Back door is wide open,” Deacon replies lowly. “No sound or movement from the three side.”

“Limited penetration entry?” you ask.

“Back door is open,” Deacon repeats. “Hondo, should we flash bang and move in?”

“Negative,” Hondo replies. “He’s heavily armed and has an officer hostage. Let’s not scare him.”

“We have to do something,” Street interjects.

“Who’s out there?” someone yells from inside.

You look at Deacon and raise your brows. Street moves to your side and holds his gun on the door.

“LAPD SWAT!” Deacon replies. “C’mon out and we can end this before it gets worse.”

“Worse?” the man repeats before laughing. “This is worse.”

“Keep him talking,” Luca requests. “We’ve got a way in.”

Deacon takes a measured step forward, but before he continues speaking, the police officer stumbles out of the door and sprawls out in the grass, unmoving. You jerk your hand forward to stop Street as the shooter exits the door with an AR-15 in one hand and a .357 Magnum on his hip.

“Go ahead,” he says, spreading his arms as he moves toward you. “Shoot me.”

“Sir, drop the weapon,” Deacon demands.

He smiles and lowers the AR as he takes another step. Deacon moves his elbow toward the injured officer, and you cover Street as he prepares to render first aid.

“I said shoot me,” the man repeats. “You know you want to.”

“I want you to drop the gun and put your hands up,” Deacon says. “This doesn’t have to end with you in a body bag.”

The man clicks his tongue, then raises the .357, flipping it in his hand as he looks at it. “Everybody dies.”

“20 squad,” Wade radios. “Bradford, Chen, and Nolan are heading toward you.”

“Drop the gun!” Luca demands as he enters the backyard from the other side of the house.

You watch the armed suspect closely, keeping an eye on which direction his shoulders are moving. Street whispers behind you, urging the officer to hold on, and you're going to make sure he gets a chance to do just that.

“What do you want me to do?” the man asks. “Let you get this officer some help? The way you helped my brother, when you put him in prison and he was killed?”

“Sir, you don’t have to go out like he did,” Hondo points out. “There’s a better way to make a difference.”

“There sure is.”

The man glances toward the injured officer, and he moves slightly, twisting his shoulders in your direction - in Street's direction. You don’t hesitate to drop your gun and shove Street flat onto the grass. A single, crisp firing sound fills your ears as you fall toward him.

You hear Tim yell as a scuffle ensues behind you. Handcuffs clip less than twenty seconds later, and you groan in response.

Two sets of hands land on you, one on your legs and the other on your shoulders. A familiar palm presses against the side of your neck in a desperate search for your pulse.

You cough as your eyes open, your chest tight and burning. Above you, Tim’s shoulders drop in relief, and he shifts to sit flat beside you.

“Don’t ever shove me out of the way like that again,” Street demands, pushing your legs and then looking at your face to ensure you’re okay.

Tim’s expression shifts from concern to something like disappointment. He removes his hand from you as Deacon calls for a medic.

“I’m okay,” you assure as you fail to sit up.

Your team smiles in collective relief, but you can’t crack a joke before Tim’s mood shifts again. This time to anger.

“What is it about this job that makes you so willing to treat each day like it’s the last day to live?” he demands, standing as his chest heaves.

“Tim, I-“

“No!” he snaps. “You put yourself in danger constantly. I understand that this job isn’t easy, that there are risks, but you don’t care. You rush toward moments like this, move into the line of fire on purpose knowing that people care about you! I need you to come home!”

“I’m trying to get everyone home,” you defend weakly, looking up at him as you clutch your side.

“By sacrificing yourself?” he yells.

You look at Street, who is still sitting beside you, then at the rest of your team. They neither argue nor agree with him.

“I didn’t think I’d have to spell this out for you,” Tim continues loudly. “But I hate when you do this. I’m sick of expecting a call telling me you aren’t coming back.”

“It scares me too,” you point out. “Of course I want to come home to you.”

“You don’t act like it!”

Tim looks away from you, his mind racing. “You could have died not knowing how much you mean to me - how much I love you! I can’t go home alone and see my sock drawer, why can’t you understand that?” He doesn’t mean to mention the drawer where the velvet ring box is hidden, but he’s scared and angry and wishes you understood why it kills him to see you rush into danger as you do.

“Tim,” you call softly.

He looks at you, slumped in the grass with your hand pressed to your side and your teammate unharmed beside you.

“I’m sorry,” you begin, pushing your hands against the ground as you fold one leg beneath yourself.

“Stop,” he murmurs, moving to kneel beside you. “The medic’s here. Just- just wait.”

You nod and apologize again as he lays his hand over yours.

“I’m really sorry,” you apologize, resting on Tim’s couch with Kojo’s head in your lap. “I get where you were coming from earlier. I want to come back to you, always. But they’re my family, and I want to keep them safe, too. Losing them scares me.”

“I get it,” Tim assures, rubbing circles on your shoulder where his hand rests, far from the painful, darkening bruise against your ribs. “Could you - maybe, from now on - try to think a little more about the outcome before you act?”

“I promise,” you agree before you kiss Tim’s hand. “I guess I could have just body slammed Street into the dirt and we both would’ve been okay.”

“See? Much better plan.”

“You just want me to mess with Street.”

“Maybe.”

Tim smiles and pulls you closer carefully, glad to have you home and on the mend. You weren’t gravely injured, but he didn’t know, and that was worse, he thinks.

“Hey, why’d you mention your sock drawer earlier?” you ask. “Afraid you’ll have to do your own laundry again if I’m gone?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

You purse your lips and wait for his attention to ask, “What does that mean?”

Tim kisses you rather than answering, knowing your promise is meant. You’ll always return to him, even if you have to crawl.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x you #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford fic #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford #tim bradford oneshot #the rookie x reader #tim bradford fluff #the rookie abc #fem!reader #requests #hanna writes✯

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pitlanepeach · 3 months ago

Text

Radio Silence | Chapter Two

Lando Norris x Amelia Brown (OFC)

Series Masterlist

Summary — Order is everything. Her habits aren't quirks, they're survival techniques. And only three people in the world have permission to touch her: Mom, Dad, Fernando.

Then Lando Norris happens.

One moment. One line crossed. No going back.

Warnings — Autistic!OFC, mentions of an autistic meltdown, Lando being horrendously down-bad.

Notes — I love to ramble with ya’ll about my fics, so send me as many asks as you want!

Want to be added to the taglist? Let me know! - Peach x

2018

Amelia liked it when the pit garages were like this. Tools neatly racked, screens idle but ready, the scent of fresh tire rubber still hanging in the air — not yet burnt.

Fernando sat on a workbench, sipping his espresso.

She was perched on the same tire she always chose, butter-yellow water bottle in hand. There was enough ice inside to keep her drink cold all day, even under the Abu Dhabi sun. She wore a white cotton dress that would probably be stained with oil by the end of the day — she didn’t care.

"You are thinking too much," he said eventually, voice low, words shaped by the curl of his accent. "I can hear them.”

She turned the bottle slowly between her hands, listening to the ice crash against the insulated metal. “You can’t hear thinking.” She told him.

"I can when it is this loud," he replied. She frowned, staring at one of the stickers on her water bottle. Either there was a language barrier — or Fernando was some kind of mind reader. “You are worried about the new boys, yes?”

She rounded her shoulders up to her ears in response.

He shifted slightly, the sound of his espresso cup touching down on the metal bench. “You worry they will not like you. Or not understand you. That they will say stupid things.”

“I don’t care if they like me,” she said automatically, but her voice was too tight around the words. “I just… I don’t want to make them uncomfortable. Because I don’t act the way they will expect, since I’m their boss’ daughter. Or because I don’t always know how to—”

He cut her off with a short sound — not quite interrupting, just catching the sentence before it turned into something more self-deprecating than necessary. “Mi niña,” he said. “You are not responsible for the comfort of two boys. Especially not ones who still trip over their own feet getting into the car.”

She didn’t smile, but the edges of her thoughts softened.

“They come into your garage. You were here first. You are a very helpful addition.” He paused. “And you are never unkind. This is more than most.”

She tightened her grip on her water bottle. “I make people uncomfortable sometimes.”

“Sometimes,” he agreed, and his honesty was nice. People always tried to lie to her in a silly attempt to make her feel more normal. “But only the ones who do not listen properly to what you say.” He picked up his espresso again, then added, “And if they do not listen, I will teach them.”

Amelia glanced toward the open garage, where footsteps passed in rapid beats and voices moved in bursts. It was the last race of the 2018 season. Lewis had already secured the Drivers’ Championship. She’d sent a big cake to his house with Well Done for Being Fast written on it. He’d posted a picture on his Instagram, which meant he’d appreciated the gesture.

She glanced at her phone and started chewing on her bottom lip.

Thinking about Lewis only reminded her of the email — unread, unacknowledged — sitting in her meticulously organised inbox.

Toto Wolff had taken it upon himself to email her. From his personal address, not his work one — no “Mercedes” anywhere in sight.

She’d taken one look at the subject line (Unconditional Job Offer / Employment Opportunity) and promptly launched her phone across the room. Miraculously, the screen had survived.

Lewis had warned her more than once that his team principal was interested in her talents. She’d assumed it was flattery. Apparently not.

If her dad ever found out about the email, he’d have a full-blown meltdown — the kind usually reserved for her. A rival team trying to poach his daughter wasn’t just a personal affront; it was a declaration of war.

“Amelia,” Fernando said.

She didn’t look up right away.

"Yes?” She asked.

"Do not worry so much,” he said, tapping the side of his cup. "It ruins the coffee."

—

The MTC was half-empty, lit with the flat grey light of a British winter morning. Most people were still on holiday. Lando wasn’t most people anymore.

He tugged at the sleeves of his new team jacket as he walked the corridor past engineering, sneakers squeaking just slightly with each step. It still felt surreal; being here. Not as a junior, not as a maybe, but as a full-time McLaren Formula One driver.

He was so wrapped up in the thrill of it that he nearly walked right past her.

Amelia Brown was crouched beside a cart of sorted telemetry tablets, scanning each one like she was decoding a puzzle, eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed unhappily. Her white trainers were smudged, her dark hair pulled back loosely, and her signature butter-yellow water bottle was sat beside her on the floor.

Lando stopped.

“Hey,” he said, a little too loud for how quiet the corridor was.

She looked up, blinked once, then gave a small nod. “Hello.”

Not cold. Not warm either. Just… Amelia.

“I, uh… I set two alarms now,” he blurted, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “So I’m never late anymore. Not even accidentally, you know?”

She turned her attention back to the tablets. “Okay.” She mumbled, hardly eligible.

He waited.

Right. That was it.

Just okay.

“You know,” he tried to remind her, smiling because he wasn’t sure what else to do with his face, “because you said I lacked discipline and wouldn’t get the promotion if I kept being late.”

“I did say that,” she said, tapping on one of the screens and letting out an almost silent sigh when the screen remained black. “It was a problem.”

Still nothing. No smile. No teasing.

Lando cleared his throat. “Right. Well. It’s not a problem now.”

“Good,” she said.

A pause stretched between them.

Lando rocked back on his heels. “Cool. Alright. I’ll just— I’ll see you around?”

Still, she didn’t look up. “Highly likely.”

He gave a quick nod and turned to go, cheeks warm.

He’d always thought of himself as pretty likeable. People laughed when he wanted them to. He was decent at reading a room — usually. But clearly, none of that meant anything to Amelia Brown.

As he walked off, he glanced back without thinking. And, like an absolute idiot, he stumbled a little when he saw her absolutely beam at one of the tablets as it flickered to life, screen lighting up her face like something out of a bloody PC World advert.

Jesus Christ. She was fucking pretty.

Not in a flashy, look-at-me way. Just… quietly, properly pretty. The kind of pretty that made his stomach do something proper dodgy. He dragged a hand through his hair, muttering to himself. “Yeah. Sick. Nice one, mate. You’ve got no chance.”

—

iMessage – Tuesday, 19:47

Lando mate she’s well fit

Max F. bro 💀

Lando can’t stop staring at her she probably thinks im a right creep

Max F. yeah probably who are you even talking abt

Lando zak’s daughter

Max F.

are you actually brain dead?

you can’t fancy your boss’s daughter, mate

Lando she smiled today not at me but i saw it

Max F. get a grip

Lando shut up you don’t get it

Max F. it’s a miracle you’ve still got a job

Lando is this a safe space or what??

Max F. absolutely not you’re delusional, mate she’s so off-limits it’s not even funny

Lando

🖕

—

The Browns didn’t really do Christmas — not in the traditional sense. No matching pyjamas, no big family gathering, no chaos in the kitchen over a turkey no one actually wanted. They kept it simple: jazz music, good coffee, and her dad’s usual schtick — “I forgot to buy you anything this year.”

Which was a lie. Obviously.

She found it parked just outside on the driveway. A muted grey, weather-worn 1974 BMW 2002.

Amelia stood and stared at it for a long time. Long enough that the cold bite of English winter started to seep in through her socks, and the tips of her fingers began to sting.

“Don’t just stand there,” her dad called from the doorway, hands tucked into his dressing gown pockets. “Take a proper look. She’s all yours.”

She took a slow step forward, then another. The car was old, but solid — just the way she liked things. A little rust, some scuffed chrome. It was beautiful. She crouched next to the front fender and ran her hand along the edge, careful, reverent.

“You hate shopping,” she said, still staring at it.

“I didn’t shop,” her dad replied. “I emailed a man named Clive and paid way too much to have him do all the work for me.”

There was a long silence.

She stood, glanced at him, tried — really tried — to meet his eyes. “Thank you,” she said.

He gave a small nod. “You’ll need new tires. And probably a carburettor.”

Her fingers curled tighter around the edge of her sleeves, but this time it wasn’t nerves — it was barely-contained energy. Her thoughts were already whirring; parts lists, toolkits, diagrams, weekends in the garage with grease on her hands and her favourite playlist playing on repeat.

“I— I can order those online,” she said, already calculating delivery times in her head. “And the belts. And the spark plugs. And—” She stopped herself.

He didn’t say anything. Just smiled into his coffee mug that said ‘Worlds Best Dad’ and stepped back inside, leaving her alone with her new car and barely contained excitement.

Her hands started moving at her sides — flapping, stimming, too fast to stop once they began. She shoved them into her pockets, fists clenched tight against the fabric. Closed her eyes.

She took a breath. Let it out slowly.

Old habits died hard. Years at school had taught her to mask her reactions — even the harmless ones — because they made her stand out. Because they made her weird.

She hadn’t just been ignored. She’d been mocked. Not always loudly, but enough to stick. The way she flapped her hands. The way she didn’t make eye contact. The way she talked too much about one thing and not enough about everything else.

There was a reason she’d chosen not to go to university, even though she loved learning. Even though engineering made perfect sense to her in ways people often didn’t.

She could get a degree. She’d probably be good at it.

But it would drain her — the social minefields, the unspoken rules, the overwhelming noise of lecture halls and shared spaces and trying to be something she wasn’t just to fit in.

She’d spent so long trying to pass as normal. To not stim in public. To not talk too much. To not be too much.

Once, a girl in her class had said, in a tone that Amelia guessed was meant to be kind, “At least you’re pretty. You wouldn’t be able to tell that you’ve got, you know… issues.”

She still thought about that sometimes.

How it was supposed to be a compliment.

How it hadn’t felt like one at all.

—

2019

The lights were off in her dad’s office. Just the soft hum of the monitor on standby, the gentle click of the old wall clock, and the warm, familiar scent of coffee baked into the furniture. She curled up on the old leather couch, knees tucked close to her chest, head resting against the arm. She had her weighted blanket on. Her yellow water bottle was beside her, half-full. The room felt like a safe haven.

After yesterday, that was all she wanted.

The meltdown had come on fast — she’d been too hot, the lights too bright, someone had changed the layout of the front-desk without warning her, and it had all just spiralled. She hated how quickly she lost herself in the emotions. Hated the looks people gave her when she couldn’t hold it all together.

She’d apologised more than she should have. Her dad told her that she never needed to apologise for being who she was.

The office door opened.

She didn’t move, but her eyes flicked toward the sound. Her dad stepped in first, deep in conversation, and behind him were Carlos and Lando.

“I told you, she’s probably curled up somewhere charging like a phone,” her dad said lightly, then saw her. His voice softened. “Ah. There she is. Amelia — this is Lando. And this is Carlos.”

She blinked. Sat up a little. “I already know Lando.”

Lando almost tripped over his own feet. “Yeah! Yeah, we’ve, uh— run into each other a few times. Around. Just, like—hallways. And stuff.”

He scratched the back of his neck. His face went bright pink.

Amelia stared at him for a moment before she turned her attention to Carlos. “Hello.”

He gave her a small smile. “Hola,” he said. “Nice to meet you.”

There was a small pause.

Her dad cleared his throat, cheerful as ever.

“Carlos is one of the good ones,” he said. “No nonsense. I like that in a driver.”

Amelia nodded once. That made sense. She respected no-nonsense people, too.

She tucked her knees back under her chin. “Okay,” she said quietly.

Carlos smiled again, just a little wider this time. Still cautious, but less unsure.

Amelia didn’t return the smile — not because she didn’t want to, but because she didn’t always remember that she had to. Instead, she reached for her water bottle and unscrewed the lid.

“You retired in Australia,” she said.

Carlos blinked, then gave a small laugh. “Yeah. Not the best start to the season.”

“It was the power unit,” she shrugged. “Renault engine. Unreliable. It wasn’t your fault.”

Her dad gave a low chuckle. “She doesn’t miss much. Reads through race data like it’s the morning newspaper.”

Carlos tilted his head slightly. “You work with the engineers?” He asked her.

“I don’t work anywhere,” Amelia said. “But I sometimes sit in on meetings. And I fix things when they’re wrong. Fernando used to let me be in his garage. He said I was very useful.”

“You are useful,” her dad said automatically, from across the room.

She didn’t respond. Compliments were difficult — they always made her feel like she was meant to do something with them, and she never quite knew what.

She looked at Lando. He was already watching her.

She blinked. His eyes widened a little.

She let out a quiet sigh through her nose. She hated not knowing what expressions meant — what came next, what was expected.

“Well, I’ll take all the help I can get,” Carlos said, breaking the silence.

Amelia took another sip of water. The right words settled on her tongue this time.

“You overshot Turn Nine,” she said, turning back to Lando.

He coughed. “I—Yeah. I know.”

“You let off the brake too early. You always do that when you’re nervous.”

Carlos let out a small, choked sound.

She frowned at him.

Lando shifted. “I don’t always do that.”

“Yes, you do,” she said, turning her attention back to him. “You did it at Monza in 2018.”

“Okay.” He said. His neck was going red.

“But you’re getting better,” she added. “You were twelfth. That’s good, considering the partial engine fault.”

He looked at her for a second too long. She didn’t know why. Then he said, “…Thanks.”

She nodded once, and then tugged at her blanket.

There was a quiet pause — the kind Amelia usually didn’t mind. Lando shuffled his feet. Carlos glanced toward the door, then back to her.

“Right then! I’ll come find you later,” her dad said to her. “We’ll get something nice for lunch.”

“Okay.” She agreed.

Carlos gave her one last polite nod. “See you around, Amelia.”

She didn’t say goodbye, just looked at him, then at Lando. “You should eat more complex carbohydrates before qualifying sessions,” she told him. “You looked quite pale.”

Lando stared at her. “I—yeah. Alright.” He paused, then added quickly, “It was, uh, nice seeing you again.”

She didn’t answer, but her lips pressed together in a way that, for her, was close to a smile.

—

iMessage – Thursday, 10:51

Lando i’m fucked like properly fucked

Max F. bro come on

Lando she’s unreal and actually insanely smart

Max F. mate this is such a catastrophically bad idea

Lando she remembered i locked up into turn 9 in monza like three years ago i think i’m in love

Max F. you’re not in love you’re having a breakdown

Lando can’t it be both

Max F. lando i’m staging an intervention where’s jon⁉️ does he know you’re acting like this

Lando jon just keeps saying i should be stretching more he doesn’t care about my emotional wellbeing

Max F. he’d start to care if he found out you were thirsting after zak browns daughter

Lando gonna make her my wifey 😏

Max F. fucksake lando

—

Amelia stood behind the screens at the back of the McLaren pit garages, fingers looped through the sleeves of her jacket. She’d already organised the weekend’s tyre allocation list by compound, colour-coded the data feed to match, and adjusted the ride height figures twice. Not because she needed to — just because she could.

It was her first race of the year.

The first time back since before the winter break.

The new chassis looked better in person than it had in the renders. She liked the way the papaya paint caught the light.

“Amelia,” someone said softly.

She turned her head slightly. One of the engineers — Greg? Grant? She still hadn’t learned his name. She was terrible at remembering names.

“Telemetry’s live when you’re ready.” He told her.

She nodded once and moved closer, careful to avoid the cables that trailed across the floor like snakes.

The numbers lit up on the screen in front of her. Speed. G-force. Delta times.

She exhaled, long and slow.

“Morning.”

She looked up. Lando.

He was already in his race suit, helmet tucked under one arm, hair a mess and half-damp. He hadn’t had time to dry it properly after his shower.

“Hello,” she responded.

“You’re here,” he said, smiling. Then quickly added, “I mean — yeah, obviously. It’s only the third race. But still.”

She tilted her head. “Yes. I’m here.”

A pause. His mouth opened like he was going to say something else, then closed again.

“Okay, cool,” he said finally. “Sick. Um. Good luck out there.”

“I’m not driving,” she frowned at him.

“Right.” He turned and walked straight into a support beam.

Amelia blinked, then returned her attention to the screen.

Lando’s throttle trace was spiky again. She’d make a note of that.

—

The garage was quieter now. Not silent though. It was never fully silent. Engineers were keeping their voices low. Tools clinked still, but in a less urgent rhythm. Some of the pit crew were already sweeping up debris from the floor. Wiping away a mess that no one wanted to talk about.

Amelia stayed where she always did, behind the screens, legs crossed on the floor like it helped anchor her in place. Her yellow water bottle sat by her knee, half-empty and warm now. She hadn’t drunk much since the race started.

DNFs always left a strange taste in the air. Bitter. Like metal.

She hadn’t seen the full replay yet, but she didn’t need to. Lando’s car had made it twenty-eight laps before something failed; she’d seen the warning signs creeping into the data before the radio call was made. His voice had been clipped. Tired.

The flap of the garage partition opening made her flinch. She didn’t look up. She didn’t need to.

It was obviously Lando. His helmet was gone, race suit peeled halfway down, sweat-damp fireproofs clinging to his arms. He stopped just beside her.

“I’m fine,” he said. His voice cracked a little. “In case anyone’s, you know. Wondering.”

Amelia didn’t respond.

He hovered.

She tapped the edge of her tablet. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Kind of was.” He dropped onto the floor beside her with a groan, back against the wall. “Clipped the kerb weird coming out of six. Probably jarred something.”

“No,” she said. “You were nursing a power unit issue from lap seventeen. You did what you were supposed to.”

He looked at her, then away again, picking at the velcro on his gloves.

She watched him for a second. Tried to decide if she was supposed to say something else. If there was something people usually said in moments like this.

Nothing came.

So she offered the only thing she could give. Facts. “You did better than the data predicted.”

Lando glanced at her. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”

She squinted at him. Hadn’t that been obvious? “Yes.”

He smiled a little. Just with the corner of his mouth. “Cheers.”

They sat there in silence for a while. A few people came over to touch Lando’s shoulder and offer him sympathy. His jaw got tighter every time.

Eventually, she picked up her tablet and started rewatching his onboard. Then she angled it toward him.

“You’re going to tell me exactly what I did wrong, aren’t you?” he asked.

She nodded.

He let his head thump back against the wall. “Brilliant.”

—

The motorhome had quieted after media duties and the two-hour race debrief. Lando sat slouched on the drivers' lounge sofa, phone in hand, aimlessly scrolling. Carlos was across from him, arms folded, watching with a look Lando had come to recognise: the I know something you don’t want me to know look.

“I need to ask you something,” Carlos said, tone casual. But the accent gave it weight — Som-theeng.

Lando didn’t look up. “No.”

Carlos chuckled. “You don’t even know what I’m gonna say, coño.”

“I do.” Lando groaned. “And the answer is still no.”

Carlos leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. “You like her.”

“What? No, I—” Lando paused, brow furrowed. “Like who?”

Carlos tilted his head. “Come on. Don’t play dumb, amigo. Amelia. You like Amelia Brown.”

Lando scoffed, shaking his head. “Nah. We’ve barely talked.”

Even he could hear the lie in his own voice.

Carlos raised a silent eyebrow.

“I’m just being respectful!” Lando snapped. “She’s—she’s McLaren royalty, basically. And she knows more about my car than I do half the time.”

Carlos shrugged, eyes sharp. “Sí, she’s smart. And I like her. But...” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “You need to be careful, cabrón.”

Lando’s jaw tensed. “Why? Do you like her? Is that what this is?” The words came out sharper than he intended, something hot and ugly twisting in his gut. Jealousy. Stupid, immediate, and impossible to hide.

Carlos blinked. “Ay, no. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Lando didn’t say anything, but the look on his face said he wasn’t convinced.

Carlos sat back, arms folding again. “She’s not a paddock flirt, okay? She’s not like the grid girls or the influencers who want a selfie and a race pass. She is your boss’ daughter. You screw that up, it’s not just her you lose — it’s your job, your reputation, and the respect of thr whole damn garage. If you haven’t already lost your seat.”

Lando looked away, jaw tight. “Why does everyone act like I’m some... idiot teenager with zero self-control?”

Carlos held his gaze. “Because you are a teenager with zero self-control.”

“I’m nineteen!” He argued.

“Exactly.” Carlos exhaled through his nose. “So, listen to me. If you’re serious? Fine. But don’t start something you’re not ready to finish.”

Lando looked away, jaw tight. “I’m not a total dickhead, y’know.”

Carlos gave him a long look, then nodded. “Bueno. Just remember what I said.”

Lando muttered under his breath, “Still worth it.”

Carlos groaned, grabbing a cushion off the sofa and chucking it at him. “Ay dios mío. You are so getting yourself fired.”

—

Amelia was sat on the low wall outside the McLaren hospitality unit, sipping from her water bottle, tablet balanced on her knees.

She heard him before she saw him — Lewis never really moved quietly. Valtteri was beside him.

“Morning, little genius,” Lewis said, slowing to a stop.

She looked up, blinked once. “Good morning.”

Valtteri gave a small nod. “You’re looking well.”

“I’m fine,” she said, glancing back down at her tablet.

There was a pause.

She sighed softly before looking up at them both. “You can tell Toto thank you,” she said, tone even. “For the offer. I appreciate it, but I’m not interested.”

Lewis blinked. “Offer?”

“Yes. The job.” She paused. “I assumed he’d told you.”

Valtteri and Lewis exchanged a glance; surprised, a little caught off guard.

“He didn’t,” Valtteri said slowly.

Lewis folded his arms. “He reached out to you directly?”

She nodded. “From his personal email. Not the Mercedes one.” That felt important.

Lewis let out a low whistle. “Damn. That sneaky bastard.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Amelia went on. “And I’m staying with my team. With my dad. Loyalty is important to me.”

Valtteri raised his brows. Lewis looked at her for a moment longer, then gave a slow nod. “Well, he’ll be disappointed,” he said, voice lighter now.

Amelia shrugged. “He’ll be fine.”

“Guess we’ll just have to beat you on track then,” Valtteri added, grinning.

She frowned down at her tablet screen. “You have a significantly better car than us.”

Lewis laughed. “Yeah. Guess we do.”

—

“Miss Brown, I’d like a word.”

She turned, blinked, and then frowned.

The team principal for Renault smiled at her, a little too wide — it was off-putting.

“I’ll just jump straight to it. I think you could be a great asset to our team. We’d love to have someone with your brain power. I could offer you a very generous employment package.” He said.

She blinked at him. She’d been getting these exact kinds of propositions ever since the season started. Every team, it seemed, was suddenly interested in her ‘brain power’. She wasn’t sure what had changed. Maybe they had followed her on Twitter.

“I am happy where I am,” she said flatly. “Thank you.”

The man was still smiling, though it was starting to fade just a little. “Are you sure? We’d be willing to work out a very appealing arrangement for you. It could be a great opportunity.”

She wasn’t interested. She didn’t need to be polite. It didn’t take a lot of effort to walk away from the conversation. She took a step back, her fingers clenching around her yellow water bottle.

As she moved past him, she heard him call after her, but she didn’t stop.

Gosh, she thought to herself, as she made her way back to McLaren motorhome. Could none of them find anyone better than a 19-year-old without a degree?

NEXT CHAPTER

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