#their teams and cars failed them today

[hyacinthsdiamonds]

Max and Charles low-key saving each other's race today, god please just give them decent cars and decent strategies and let them race each other and have a proper championship battle I'm begging -

[rose24207]

hey! Can you make one which reader used to date Lando, but the broke up because Lando cheated on her, but the thing is that reader is Oscar's Piastri sister, and now in Aus the things are weird between them

Leave her alone

Summary: At the Australian Grand Prix, you’re forced to face Lando Norris—the ex who cheated on you and broke your heart—while trying to keep the peace as Oscar Piastri’s sister around the paddock

ex!Lando x Piastri!reader

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The Australian Grand Prix always felt like home. The air smelled like eucalyptus and hot tarmac, the sea breeze cutting through the dry heat, and the roar of the engines just beyond the paddock felt comforting in a way that nothing else did. Except this year, everything was different.

Because he was here.

You adjusted your McLaren pass and walked through the motorhome like you hadn’t spent a year trying to avoid this moment. The moment where you’d have to share the same air as Lando Norris again.

He was leaning against the espresso machine in the hospitality lounge, laughing with one of the engineers, and when his eyes met yours, the smile died mid-sentence.

Oscar wasn’t far behind you, practically bouncing after a great qualifying. He looked between the two of you and exhaled quietly through his nose.

“You okay?” he asked under his breath, leaning in so no one else could hear.

You offered a tight smile. “Peachy.”

Oscar gave Lando a sharp look, the kind that said I’m watching you. There was a time when your brother and Lando were like two peas in a pod—bonded by years of karting, junior formulas, and team banter. But after what happened last year, Oscar picked a side. And it wasn’t Lando’s.

“How’s the car feeling?” you asked Oscar, forcing a casual tone.

“Pretty good. Still getting some understeer in sector two, but we’ll sort it,” he said, then paused. “You sure you’re good to stick around today?”

You swallowed. “I can handle it.”

Oscar hesitated, then gave you a nod before heading off toward the engineering room.

The second he disappeared, you turned to walk away. But Lando stepped into your path, blocking your exit.

“Can we talk?” he asked softly.

You stared at him for a beat. “What’s there left to say?”

“I didn’t—” He lowered his voice. “It didn’t mean anything.”

You let out a short, bitter laugh. “Oh, that makes it better.”

He flinched. “It was a mistake.”

“You’re right,” you said coldly. “I was the mistake.”

Lando opened his mouth to protest, but you stepped around him before he could.

Later that evening, the drivers gathered for a press event by the harbor. Cameras flashed, fans screamed, and you kept your distance, standing off to the side near the McLaren PR team. Lando tried not to glance your way, but failed. Every time.

Oscar saw it too. He cornered Lando after the interviews, voice low and dangerous. “I told you to leave her alone.”

“I wasn’t trying to upset her,” Lando muttered.

“You already did that. Last year. When you went behind her back with some random girl in Monaco."

“I regret that—”

“Doesn’t matter if you do. She doesn’t owe you anything, and you don’t get to come here— our home—and stir things up.”

Lando’s jaw clenched, and he nodded once. “Got it.”

That night, you stepped outside the hotel for air, and found Lando sitting alone on the bench outside. The street was quiet, the city lights twinkling across the bay. He looked up when he saw you, startled.

“I can go,” he said quickly, standing up.

“Don’t,” you said tiredly. “I’m too tired to keep avoiding you.”

You both sat in silence for a minute before he finally said, “You look good.”

You laughed dryly. “I look tired.”

“You always looked good when you were tired. After long flights, or late races. I miss those days.”

You turned your head to look at him. “Why did you do it, Lando?”

He blinked. “I don’t know. I was stupid. I freaked out. Things were going so fast between us, and I thought… I don’t know. That I didn’t deserve it.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “So you sabotaged it?”

“I didn’t think I was enough for you. You were Oscar’s sister, the team loved you, he trusted me. And I blew all of it.”

You didn’t say anything for a while. Then: “You know what hurt the most? Not that you cheated. Not even the lying. It’s that you didn’t fight for me after. You let me walk away.”

Lando’s voice was hoarse. “I thought I lost the right to.”

You looked at him, really looked at him, for the first time in months. His eyes were sad, tired, and heavy with guilt. “Yeah. Maybe you did.”

You stood up, brushing your hands on your jacket. “But I’m still proud of you. I watched every race. Hated myself for it, but I did.”

Lando’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “I never stopped thinking about you.”

You didn’t respond. You just walked back inside, leaving him with his regrets and the sound of the ocean.

It’s race day. You stood in the garage, headset on, as Oscar lined up on the grid. Lando’s car wasn’t far behind. The tension was palpable.

After the race—a chaotic, tire-chewing drama with both McLarens in the top five—you met Oscar in the paddock, arms wide. He swept you into a sweaty hug.

“Top four, baby!” he yelled.

You grinned and ruffled his curls. “Killing it out there.”

Lando appeared nearby, eyes flicking between you and Oscar. This time, he didn’t come over.

Oscar leaned down. “You don’t have to forgive him, you know.”

“I know,” you said softly. “But maybe someday… I’ll stop hating him.”

Oscar smiled slightly. “That’s a start.”

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane

[captain-huggy-bear]

The Puck-cident

Pairing: Clayton Keller x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Blood, vomit, injury, hurt/comfort

Summary: You are the unfortunate soul that takes a puck to the face during one of Utah's games, Clayton sees the whole thing and demands to be let off the ice.

Notes: By popular demand I have finally gotten around to this fic ☺️This turned out to be like 5.5k so...enjoy?

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

Everyone always knows there's a risk involved with sitting in the audience at an ice hockey game. The announcers at every game never fail to remind people that pucks can travel at well over 80mph and can go into the audience. Always reminding people to keep their eyes on the puck. But, no one actually ever thinks it'll hit them. You've seen your fair share of pucks caught in the crowds, you've never seen someone get injured.

You've been to so many ice hockey games that maybe you've been lulled into a false sense of security, a sense that nothing bad could possible happen to you, not when you're sat in the stands to watch your boyfriend play. Not when you're wearing his jersey, Keller plastered across the back, number 9 bold and clear. Not when you feel so at home in that space, so secure. Turns out you're terribly wrong.

Normally Clayton's eyes wouldn't have followed the puck as it went out of bounds, normally he'd have sighed and moved to the new faceoff circle, caring very little for what fan had managed to catch it. Normally, he'd be more concerned with the fact that they were in a two goal deficit. But, something made him stop on the ice today, something made him follow the puck with his eyes to its end destination. Eyes widening in horror as the scene started to play in slow motion while he was utterly helpless on the ice, stood there with his grip slacking on his stick.

Clayton never imagined that it would be dangerous for you to come to one of his games because fans getting hit by pucks? Getting genuinely hurt? That seemed like such a fluke incident and you'd never been hurt before, not in all the years you'd been coming to his games. Even before you were with him you'd gone to ice hockey games, not once had you had an issue. But, it sinks in, the reality of it, that it does happen and can happen to you. That it's happening to you right now and he can't do anything to stop it.

The piece of vulcanised rubber that had flown off the stick of the opposing team flies over the glass into the stands and he watches like some sort car crash, a sick slow motion view as the puck finds you, like your name was written on it. It's hard to tell from this distance how hurt you are, or where you were hit, but he can see the crowd writhing around you, the panicked yells telling him enough.

Enough that Clayton's skating towards the bench as fast as he can, shrugging off teammates and referees who try to insist he stays, who keep asking him what's wrong and where he's going. His coach tries the same, stepping in his path, confused as to where Clay's off to in the middle of a game as the captain of the team.

"Keller, what do you think you're doing?"

"Respectfully, Bear, my girlfriend just got hit by a puck going nearly 90mph. I'm going to see if she's alright." His tone is short, clipped, trying to be respectful of his coach, a man he does respect and admire. But he's made up his mind and nothing and no one is going to stop him from going to you right now. He'd sooner quit hockey entirely than play a whole game unsure if you're alright after being injured.

"Keller, the game..."

"Fuck the game, you've got enough players. I need to see her, coach." Maybe it's the wild look in his eyes, the way panic stands out stark and clear. Maybe it's the tense set of his shoulders or the fact that his stick creaks so hard under his grip that it sounds like it may crack. Whatever it is, he isn't yelled at like he expects, no one tells him to go back out on the ice.

Instead Tourigny steps aside letting him past as Clayton storms down the tunnel, passing his stick off to someone. He's barely aware of the fact he takes off his skates, shoving them in someone's arms before he's running out towards the entrance to the stands in just his socks, the only thought on his mind being you and whether you were okay right now.

It's hard to describe what goes through your head when you see the puck coming straight for you, a blind sort of panic that has you freezing in your seat, not that you had anywhere to go to avoid it, not at the speed it had come at you. You're in such shock that you don't really feel much after the initial impact, head buzzing and dazed, neck hurting from the snap of your head backwards, ears ringing as people around you start fussing over you. Someone has you up out of your seat, your arm around their shoulders helping you out of the stands. The feeling of wetness glides down your temple and you raise a hand to your face that comes away red, noticing almost numbly that you're bleeding, blood running down the side of your face, upset because it starts to drip on Clay's jersey, the white one he'd lent you. The fabric being stained, ruined.

"Keller has left the ice, rather abruptly, we're unsure if it's related to the fan in the crowd who's taken a puck to the head or not." Someone has the game station on, clearly enjoying having the commentators speak during the game, the crowd is so loud as you're all but hauled up the stairs to the exit of the stands. You have just enough awareness to wonder if Clayton had seen you get hit or whether he'd been hurt on the ice himself or wasn't feeling well.

You feel like you're going to be sick as you're helped into the main entrance of the arena, lights blinding you, head pounding, the numbness starting to fade in favour of such blistering, aching pain in your head that you can't help but start crying. You feel pathetic, scared, panicked and in pain. You just want Clayton but he should be playing a game right now and the realisation that you couldn't have him with you only makes you cry harder.

It turned into full on sobs when your dizzy, double vision locks on to Clay who's running in just a pair of socks towards you, frantic, helmet being tossed behind him to someone. There's two of him, your vision going in and out but you're so happy to see him that it doesn't matter. So happy that he's here that you can almost ignore the pain, the nausea, and the blood.

He's got you in his arms before you can even comprehend reaching for him, whoever had helped you this far taking a step back to let him take over. He's petrified, you look horrific, blood coating the side of your face and neck, red clotting around your temple. Your eyes unfocused, the white of his jersey bloodstained, tears streaming down your face and he knows someone's calling the first aid team, but it doesn't reassure him when you look like that.

Clay's hands cup the sides your face, your blood is sticky against his palm and he knows he shouldn't be, knows its not anyone's real fault, but he's irrationally angry. Angry at the other team for sending the puck off into the stands, angry at you for always insisting you sit like a normal fan rather than in the box for family and friends, angry at himself for not insisting, angry at Tourigny for trying to stop him from coming to find you, angry that he wasn't with you when it happened. Angry because the alternative is fear and he's not sure he's ready to feel that right now, not sure he can, needing to keep it together for you because you're still crying, clutching onto him like he's the only thing that can bring you comfort right now. He can't help the way he grips you back tightly, trying to reassure himself that you're okay, even as blood keeps flowing from the split skin of your temple.

"You're going to be okay, baby, I've got you...It's okay." It's not, fuck, it's not, but he's trying to stay calm for you, a blank mask on his face rather than blind panic as he watches a stretcher be wheeled towards you. Runs his fingers through your hair in an attempt to soothe you and himself at the same time, he knows his hands are shaking so fucking badly and he hopes you don't notice, hope you feel reassured by him, feel like he's steady, stable.

"We need her on the stretcher, Keller, so we can have a look at her." Clay's attention goes to the first aiders behind you, the stretcher pulled close enough that all you have to do is step back and jump up.

"It hurts, Clay..." You're sniffling into his shoulder, blood getting on the jersey he's wearing, not that he cares. The equipment team are used to getting blood out of things. Two bloody jerseys is nothing in the grand scheme of things.

"I know, baby, oh, I know...I'm just going to give you a little boost up, okay? We're going to get you sat up here, okay?" He talks you through each step as his hands find your waist, helping you jump up onto the stretcher. The movement makes you dizzy, nausea filling you to the point where you know you're going to be sick, desperately trying to keep it in, being unable to. You can't help it when you're sick...all over Clay, head leaning forward between your legs as you vomit over his legs, whimpering as you do so.

"I'm sorry...I've got blood on your jersey and now..." You're crying harder now, embarrassment and shame added to the whole issue because you've just vomited over your boyfriend's expensive hockey gear after bleeding over 2 different jerseys. But, Clay doesn't flinch, hands stroking your hair as you lean forward to quell the dizziness. Is it gross? Oh, totally, does he actually care? Not really. It's testament to how much he loves you that the grossness doesn't matter, he'd let you vomit on him a million times so long as he can look after you in the process.

"It's okay, baby, I need you to lay back, okay? They're going to check on your head..." His hands are gentle on your shoulders, pushing you back while helping you swing your legs straight on the stretcher. Clay's fingers brush back your hair as he looks down at your hazy gaze, "I need to go change real quick and I'll be right back, sweet girl."

When he goes to step back you're grabbing his hand with the precision of a star goalie, even with the double vision and haziness you manage to find his hand. The grip you have on him is so tight, scared for him to leave you, scared you'll be alone like this. Even as you know he's covered in blood and vomit and needs to change, deserves to change.

He's right back to stroking your cheek, backs of his fingers gentle on your skin like he's afraid you might break, "I'll be right back, you're not going anywhere without me."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

He tells the medical staff not to go anywhere with you without him. The fear of coming back to find you gone roiling in his stomach, not really wanting to leave you alone but knowing he can't stand here covered in sick. He's so quick, running down the corridors to the locker room to limit how long he's gone. The speed with which he takes off the vomit soaked clothes and sweat stained uniform is probably record breaking and despite the smell of sick he doesn't even contemplate a shower, just throws on some old sweats and a t-shirt, shoving his feet into a pair of sneakers before bolting back to where he left you. He can take a shower later, once he knows you're okay, once you're both back home.

You're lying back on the stretcher with one of the first aiders, Clay thinks his name is John, leaning over you, shining a torch in your eyes to check for a concussion when Clay returns. He can tell already that you have one between the dizziness, vomiting and the way you seem to wince at any and all light. It doesn't take a genius to realise the puck to the face has rocked your brain a little too hard.

The middle age first aid looks up at Clayton as he finishes checking you over, Clay coming up on your other side to grab your hand again. The way you look at him, so trusting, so happy to just have him back makes his heart skip a little even as it breaks at how tired and in pain you look.

"She has a concussion and needs stitches, we're not allowed to do them here as she's a member of the public, she needs to go to hospital. It might also be a good idea to get an x-ray, make sure she's not got a fracture or anything like that." John turns to Clayton, pocketing the flashlight. It's not what he wants to hear, Clay would rather hear that you're perfectly fine, but it's obvious you're not. Still panic closes his throat at the thought that you might have something even more seriously like a fracture or worse.

"Does she need an ambulance or can I drive her?" Either way Clayton's coming with you, whether in the back of an ambulance or in the driver's seat of his car. He'll deal with the aftermath of leaving the game later, but right now? You're his priority and he's not leaving you.

"Probably quicker for you to take her yourself, Keller. I can help you wheel her to your car?"

"Thanks, that'd be great, John."

"No problem."

Clay has your hand in his, walking alongside the stretcher as John wheels it down to the parking lot. You're dazed and slightly giddy, laughing at each bump despite the pain and that's more concerning to Clay than the crying. A cloth has been put to your head, held there by your free hand, knuckles tight like you're working off instinct just to keep it there. He's not sure you'd be able to release it with how tight your grip is. He knows head wounds bleed a lot, but that doesn't make seeing the cloth already red with blood, any easier or less worrying.

Clayton's decided he has a new appreciation for how you feel whenever he gets injured on the ice. It's...God, it might be one of the worst things he's ever had to go through.

He's proven right, that you can't seem to let that cloth go when he helps you down from the stretcher and to his car, your hand doesn't move, cloth pressed to stem the flow of blood even when you stumble. He has you in the passenger seat and buckled in as quickly as possible and maybe he breaks a few traffic laws on the way to the hospital, but anyone would. The way you're barely there next to him, so dazed that he's worried the concussion might be something more has him pressing a little harder on the accelerator.

The blood is enough in the emergency room for you to be fast tracked to a doctor and a bed, struggling to sit upright he makes the decision to get up on the bed with you. You rest between his legs, leaning back on him heavily, Clayton the only thing keep you sat upright as the doctor, Dr Pandya, pries the cloth from your hand and assesses the wound.

You shy back into him when the doctor wipes away at the large cut with antiseptic to clean away the blood, only for more to come spilling forth. Clay's arms wrapping tight around your waist, linking your hands with his to give you something to grip onto.

"You need stitches, it's not going to close on its own."

"Okay..." He can tell you're trying to be brave, breathing suddenly heavier, fingers tightening around his until his own start to go numb, but he doesn't complain. Just lets you lean on him, seek support from him.

You're brave throughout the 14 stitches it takes to close up the cut on your temple, more stitches than you've ever had to have in your life. But, you don't complain, don't ask to stop, don't hiss, just let it happen as you grip onto Clay with everything you have. The warmth of his back behind you, his chin resting on your shoulder, pressing kisses to your neck, helps. Having him with you helps.

"All done. You have a concussion and need to rest for at least 2 days before you do anything. Avoid bright lights, loud areas. Keep those stitches dry for at least a day, so no washing your hair just yet unfortunately. If it starts to bruise, ice it."

The doctors turns to Clay this time, "If she starts to seem confused, keeps vomiting or just doesn't seem to be getting any better then bring her back in. But she should be tired for the next few days but start to feel better soon."

"Thank you," You're quiet but polite, not wanting to be rude when someone has taken the time to help you even if it is the doctor's job to do so.

"Thanks, Doc."

There's a quick sort of turn around in which Clay fills out the necessary paper work, financial details, insurance and the like before he's helping you up and out of emergency room.

All you want is to sleep, curl up in bed with Clayton and hide from the pounding in your head, the bright lights and loud sounds of the outside world only making it worse.

He's calmer on the drive home, no more traffic laws being broken even if he grips the steering wheel a little tight and keeps glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, assessing. Some of the panic has eased, but not all. You're still hurt. Concussed, stitched up, definitely going to bruise and swell, and in need of rest. Rest he can't be there for the entire time because of his job. He might have gotten away with leaving the game tonight, but he knows he'll be expected at practice tomorrow, knows he'll be expected at the home game the day after and that means hours of time in which you're alone. He hates the idea of it, already running through a mental list of people he could call.

"I got blood on your jersey..." You're sniffling again when he pulls the car into the driveway, putting it in park. He turns in his seat, leaning an arm on the headrest to watch you. You're staring at the blood stains on the jersey you're wearing, tears dripping down your cheeks and it's...it's so silly and so sweet that some of that panic eases further.

"It's okay, baby, the equipment guys can get the blood out."

"Really?" You look at him so hopefully, so innocently happy. He hates that your reaction is like that because of your injury, at the same time finding it amusing, a small smile reaching his lips for the first time since he saw you take a puck to the face.

"Yeah, baby, they're great at that..."

"Oh..."

There's a beat of silence where you just blink at him, sighing out each breath like even that's too tiring right now. There's blood crusted around your stitches that he knows you're going to get annoyed with while you can't get water near them, bruising starting to pop up around that side of your face, swelling beginning to show and make you look a little lopsided.

"Let's get you inside and into some comfy clothes, yeah? You tired?"

"Really tired..." You blink all slow at him, eyelids feeling supremely heavy and he knows you're going to be out like a light the moment he gets you into the bed. That's reassuring in a way, that you'll find it easy to rest, at least tonight, before the aches fully settle in.

He's tries to be quick getting round to your side of the car but he's starting to feel just as tired. A combination of playing half a game of pro-hockey, the anxiety, panic and worry over your wellbeing, being thrown up on, going all the way to hospital and back, all working to make Clayton feel like dropping where he stands. But, like always you're his priority.

His hands reach for yours, tugging gently to pull you from the car, "Okay, out you get, baby." You go willingly, letting him guide you from the car and through the house. Letting your brain shut off because he's got you. You trust him to guide you around obstacles, through doorways, a level of trust that Clayton can't help but feel honoured by as you let him sit you on the edge of your shared bed.

You blink up at him all slow and sleepy, shoulders slumping and he's certain if you laid down you'd be out in seconds.

"Arms up, baby." You don't question him, don't hesitate, arms straight in the air with the sort of sluggishness that tells him even doing that feels hard right now.

Clay's careful of your hair and your stitches as he pulls the bloodstained jersey over your head, throwing it in a corner to take back to the rink to salvage. You leave your hands up as he helps you out of your undershirt and replaces it with one of your favourite big comfy t-shirts. You don't drop your arms until he tells you to, the sort of obedience you fall into around him because he takes care of you so well that you trust him more than you trust yourself.

"Wanna shower..."

"You can't get your stitches wet yet, sweet girl, tomorrow night I'll help you shower, but not tonight, okay?"

"Okay..." He knows you hate it, your routine is like clockwork. Every evening you shower, washing the dirt and grime of the day away, and breaking that is upsetting to you. But, you trust him. You listen without protest and let him lay you back so he can wriggle your jeans down over your hips and off your ankles, socks coming with.

"Up for me, baby." You reach for him from the first word, arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his chains as he lifts you to your feet, keeping an arm wrapped around your waist as he pulls the covers back.

He settles you in against your pillow, swinging your legs up and pulling the covers up to your waist as you cling to him. Your fingers don't detach from his chains, holding tight to him so that he can't pull away, hovering over you.

He's so handsome, maybe it's the concussion talking, but he's always so handsome. Your free hand reaches for his cheek, tracing the skin beneath his eyes and he can't help but smile at you, at the soft way you're gazing up at him. Still dazed, but oh so loving.

"You okay, baby?" He huffs a laugh down at you, teeth peeking out and you love that smile, god it makes him so pretty. So, so pretty. Even prettier when one of his hands cups your cheek like that, long finger stroking the skin gently where your cheek lifts from grinning up at him all dozy.

"Mmm, you're really pretty."

"I think that's your concussion talking, sweet girl." His fingers graze the swollen skin by your stitches lightly, not hard enough to hurt or sting, but a reminder to himself that you've got 14 stitches right now. That right now you're brain is a little scrambled.

"Nuh uh...you're always pretty...I got really lucky." You might be concussed but you know it's true. Clayton's so handsome you spend half your time wondering how you managed to bag him because he could have any woman he wanted and instead he chose you. This handsome, beautiful, kind, caring man, a pro-athlete, and he chose you. Normal, little old you.

"Wrong way around, I'm the lucky one. You took a puck to the face for me, that's pretty hardcore, baby." The blood around your stitches is dry and flaky, proof that today wasn't just a dream or imaginary. Proof that his girlfriend had taken a puck to the face, survived and only vomited once, pretty hardcore.

"Didn't mean to..."

"I know...it worried me though, just glad you're okay."

His fingers caress your skin as silence over takes the two of you, just gazing at each other as each of you feel the other under your fingers. To feel the way you graze the tip of his nose, how you tug a little on his chains to bring him just an inch closer. It's grounding to have you in his hands like that, to feel your warmth, to know you're going to be fine even if he'd been scared today. The whole thing has just solidified in his mind how much he loves you, how much he'd be willing to do for you, to give up for you. That you're it for him whether you realise that or not.

You take a shuddering breath, eyes shifting away from his like you're embarrassed by what you're going to say next even as your fingers tighten around his chains and keep him close. His blue eyes fixed on you, attention unwavering and loyal.

"I was...I was scared I'd be alone...just wanted you..." Your head isn't quite as fuzzy as earlier, but you can remember it clearly. Feeling the panic at the thought that you wanted Clay but he wouldn't be there...then the joy at seeing him, the relief as he ran out in full gear except skates, socks only on his feet.

"You thought I wouldn't be there?"

"You had a game...a-and I didn't know if you'd seen it happen...thought you'd still be playing." It's like you're ashamed for thinking he wouldn't be there, and while he hates that you did, he understands why. There was no guarantee he'd have even know you were hurt, it was just by some fluke of luck, by sheer chance that he'd actually watched the puck fly into the crowd for once. Even then, in some arenas would he have even been able to tell it was you?

"They'd have had to chain me to Schmaltz to keep me on the ice, baby. Always going to be there for you, no matter what. You first. Hockey second." He means it. Hockey has been his life since he could put on a pair of skates, and he'd worked hard for it, always having to do 10 times what the bigger guys did and do it 10 times better. But, you? You're it for him you'll be it for him when he retires from hockey, when he can no longer play and that? That's worth more than a game, even a game he loves. It's practically a proposal in itself, a promise to you because he never wants you to think he'd pick the game over you, especially not when you're hurt.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." The smile you give him is blinding, so full of love that he wants to bottle it, memorise it to keep for those bad days. For the days when they've lost a game, for the times when he needs a reminder to keep pushing, to keep going.

"Come to bed?" You try to tug him again by his chains but he unfurls your fingers gentle, one by one, smoothing over your knuckles in reassurance.

"I've got to shower, baby, but I don't want to leave you alone..." The idea of taking his eyes off you, of not being able to see that you're okay for even a minute makes him feel sick.

"You smell like vomit..." You wrinkle up your nose, scrunching your face like you've only just realise that he smells. Your hands pushing on his shoulders a little, moving him away rather than closer and he can't say he blames you. Even he's over the smell now.

"That's your fault, baby."

"'m sorry..." You mumble, warmth flooding your face at the memory of throwing up on him, his hockey gear taking the brunt of it rather than the floor.

"It's okay, I'll go shower, but you'll okay if I leave you for a few minutes?"

You nod your head gently, carefully because nodding too much hurts right now. Clayton presses a quick kiss to your forehead, avoiding the swollen areas of your face before leaving you.

He's no nonsense about it all, washing with a precision and speed that would make the army consider recruiting him. He's thorough, however, skin scrubbed down until he smells like your vanilla body wash and not vomit.

Clay doesn't faff with clothes, just shoves a pair of boxers on and curls up next to you, you're already asleep, mouth open slightly, the tiniest hint of drool at the corners. Endearing. He wraps an arm around your waist, dragging you gently closer until he can curl around you like that might keep you safe from any further puck based incidents.

Clay doesn't sleep...not well at least. He spends half the night just watching you breathe, scared that if he closes his eyes something might happen. A total of 3 hours is all he gets, so when the doorbell rings shrill and loud at 7am all he can do is groan loudly and burrow his face into your shoulder.

The doorbell rings again and he's swearing under his breath because if it's a sales person or a cold caller he might actually commit a crime. All he wants is to stay curled up with you, maybe get some more sleep now you seem a little perkier, eyes blinking open and more coherent than they were yesterday.

"Clay...the door." It's your worry about ignoring it that has him groaning, stretching and shoulders popping as he stumbles out of bed.

"I know, baby...stay here."

He doesn't even bother putting on clothes, just walks to the door in his boxers. Your head might still be fuzzy but you can't help the way your eyes trail over his back, the way his arse looks in his boxes, the thick set of his thighs. You're almost certain he puts an extra little saunter in his step because you're watching.

He kind of hopes whoever has disturbed his rest with his injured girlfriend gets the shock of their life seeing him open the door in just his boxers. Unfortunately, it's just Kesselring, who has seen him in his boxers more times than he can count, completely unphased.

"What're you doing here, Kess?"

"Came to check on Mrs Keller and brought a gift," The taller man holds up a little gift bag and as much as Clayton wants to slam the door in his face he doesn't, just stepping aside to let Kess in.

He leads him to you, where you're wrapped up in all the bed blankets, making yourself a little cocoon and your face brightens at seeing one of your favourite members of his team. Kess is only your favourite because he lets you go round to see the cats whenever you want, whether he's there or not. Or that's what Clayton says to ease any of that ugly little jealous side he has that occasionally rears it's head. Even knowing that Kess treats you more like a sister than anything else.

"For you Mrs Keller," Kess hands you the gift bag even as you swat at him weakly. He'd been calling you that ever since Clayton announced you were dating...the alternative wasn't much better, referring to you as the team mom because Clayton was the team dad.

"Thank you, Michael," You pull out a wad of tissue paper, unfurling it to reveal the last thing Clayton ever wanted to see.

"You brought the thing that nearly killed my girlfriend into the house?" He's actually irrationally angry at the rubber. The black has been cleaned, not a speak of your blood on it and the edge has been covered in white stick tape. In black sharpie, 'the puck-cident March 2025' has been written in Kess' chicken scratch handwriting.

"Kells, it's a puck."

"It nearly killed my girlfriend. It's evil." He sneers at the inanimate object in your hands.

"Clay," you're laughing at him, giggling at the way he glares at a piece of rubber, "It's sweet...Michael, it's very sweet." You turn to the taller man, smiling up at him because it is thoughtful in a weird sort of hockey logic way. To bring you the puck that gave you 14 stitches, like it was some gaming winning puck you scored with.

"Well, figured you might want a souvenir from your puck-cident," Kess grins at both you, the pun so bad that Clayton and yourself are both groaning at him.

Clayton pointing to the door, this time with humour in voice, head shaking, "Out! That was so fucking bad, man!"

"I'm going, cap, Jesus! A guy can't do anything nice these days! What a pucking crime!"

"Kess!"

[kiwriteswords]

I was listening to Diet Pepsi by Addison Rae (it gives me so much Hotch vibes for some reason??? I love it) and I thought it would be the perfect occasion to make a request for your Thirsty Thursday 👀 I don't have much idea but I guess something in the car, maybe a younger reader so we have a lovely age gap and maybe something that goes with the lyrics "I write my name with lipstick on your chest I leave a mark so you know I'm the best" (don't need to be the name writing of course ahah but I love the idea of lipstick stains on his chest)

You're the absolute best and congrats on your 2k btw!! you deserve thousand more 🫶

Fog up the windows in the parking lot [Aaron Hotchner x Age-Gap!Reader] **

Ki2k Masterlist||MainMasterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 3k|| AN: Hii! Thank you so much for this request--I still can't believe I was listening to this song when you sent this, haha. Great minds think alike!! I hope you like this (I can't write smut to save my life, but here i am doing a smut day.)

Tags/Warnings: female reader, porn without plot honestly, smut, mdni, unprotected sex, car sex, I am bad at writing smut sorry, horny hotch, sorta brat tamer hotch, age gap, you're hotch's controversially young gf, not specified if reader is BAU (so up to your imagination).

Summary: The one where Aaron Hotchner realizes he goes weak in the knees when he sees how tight his much younger girlfriend's jeans are.

Hotch couldn't help himself today, and it was all because of those jeans you decided to wear. Each time you bent over to grab something off the lower shelves at the grocery store, his heart skipped a beat, his mind filled with thoughts that had no place in the brightly lit aisles of their local market. You were oblivious to the effect you were having on him, focused on checking items off the grocery list, your hips swaying naturally as you moved down the aisles.

It wasn’t just the bending or the swaying; it was every little thing you did. Each time you reached up to grab something from a higher shelf, the way your back arched slightly, Hotch felt a pull deep inside him, a stirring of feelings he hadn't expected to be so strong.

When you both loaded the groceries into the car and then reached into the backseat to grab your purse, your jeans hugging you perfectly, Hotch found his eyes lingering. He was usually more composed than this, more in control, but today, those jeans had him teetering on the edge.

Driving home, he kept stealing glances your way, each look like adding fuel to a fire he was struggling to contain. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and tinged with a hint of warning and desire mingled together. "You have no idea what those jeans are doing to me," he confessed, trying to keep his focus on the road but failing miserably.

You turned to look at him, a mischievous sparkle in your eye, fully aware now of the turmoil you were causing. His words, so out of character for the usually stoic and controlled man, only brought a playful smile to your lips.

Hotch knew he was treading uncharted waters, not just with his emotions but with how openly he was expressing them. Despite the teasing from the team, who noticed how much younger you were, and their offhand jokes about him being like a lovestruck teenager, it didn't matter. You brought out a side of him he never knew existed. A side that felt alive, vibrant, and yes, even a bit reckless.

You sighed, looking in your purse for something beside Hotch in the passenger seat. He then all about lost it when you unbuckled your seat belt in the passenger seat and twisted to the back. Your ass was now level with his head, practically drawing him in. He had to keep his eyes on the road--but god dammit. 

The car shifted slightly as he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening from the tension. "You're doing this on purpose now," he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with a mix of exasperation and barely contained desire.

Playing coy, you didn't respond immediately. Instead, you found your lipstick and settled back into your seat, taking your time to apply it carefully, glancing at him to gauge his reaction. His eyes flicked, catching yours, and you saw a flash of something intense in his gaze.

Hotch stepped on the gas a bit harder than necessary, the slight surge forward a clear indication of his growing impatience and agitation. You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction, teasing him further. "You know, you're really sexy when you're all hot and bothered," you pointed out, your tone playful yet sincere.

The remark seemed to hit a nerve, and Hotch took a deep breath, trying to refocus his attention on the road. But it was clear you had effectively distracted him, his mind racing with thoughts he usually kept well under wraps. This side of Hotch, the one that struggled between his composed exterior and the mounting desire you elicited, intrigued you. It was a side of him that came out rarely, and you relished the moments when you could draw it out, loving the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't watching.

You leaned back in your seat, a mischievous glint in your eye, and teased him, "I have a good idea."

Hotch's response was immediate and a little strained, his voice tight as he focused on the road. "The only idea I have right now is getting home and taking a cold shower." He was half-joking, but the undertone of his voice betrayed his growing frustration and need.

You laughed lightly, enjoying the effect you had on him, but decided to push the envelope a little further. "You know," you started casually as if the thought had just occurred to you, "I've always wanted to have sex in the car."

Hotch paused at that, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He glanced at you briefly, his expression a mix of surprise and contemplation. The rational side of him kicked in almost immediately, listing several reasons why that was not a good idea—safety, legality, the potential for discomfort. But before he could voice any of those thoughts, he felt your hand on his thigh.

Your fingers started caressing him, inching dangerously close to his groin. Each touch sent a jolt through him, scattering his thoughts and straining his control. His grip on the steering wheel tightened again, and he drew in a sharp breath, trying to concentrate on the road while battling the surge of desire your bold move had ignited.

He half sighed, half groaned your name, his voice strained as he tried to concentrate on the road. "That's not—"

But he didn't finish his sentence. The sensation of your fingers, the way you leaned closer to him, your breath on his neck as you whispered just how much you wanted this—all of it was overwhelming. Hotch gripped the steering wheel even tighter, the car speeding along as he battled the surge of desire that you sparked with your daring touch.

He took a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of control, but the more he thought about your suggestion, the more appealing it seemed. Here he was, a man always in control, always calculated, yet at this moment, driven to the edge by the simple act of your hand on his leg.

"We should... we should at least pull over," he finally conceded, his voice a mix of reluctance and desire, realizing that resisting you completely was a battle he might not want to win today. As he scanned for a secluded spot to park, the thrill of the impending escapade with you sent a jolt of anticipation through him. 

Hotch pulled the car over, the tires crunching softly on the gravel as he turned off into a secluded spot shielded by trees. Without a word, he reached over the console, his movements deliberate, and captured your lips in a rough, hungry kiss. You moaned into his mouth, your lipstick leaving a taste of cherries against his lips, igniting a fire within him that he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years.

His hands roamed over your body with a sense of urgency and ownership, finally reaching across the console to trace down your legs to those tight jeans that had been torturing him all day. His touch sent shivers up your spine, and you pulled back breathless, meeting his gaze which had darkened with raw desire.

"You’re gonna need to help me peel these off," you suggested with a playful yet sultry tone, motioning towards the backseat, "Maybe back there would be better?"

The idea sent a thrill through Hotch, the tightness in his own jeans growing at the thought. His brain buzzed with a cascade of 'what ifs' — what if we get caught? What if someone sees? Yet, the logical side of him was quickly overridden by the sheer desire to be closer to you, to explore this daring side of your relationship.

Hotch's decision was made the moment you suggested moving to the backseat, but as he surveyed the space, he realized there was enough room if he pushed the driver's seat all the way back. The SUV, similar to the one he drove for the FBI, was spacious, but even then, the two of you fit just barely.

You began to wiggle out of your jeans in the passenger seat, and Hotch reached for his belt with urgency. Typically, your intimate moments were full of foreplay, and you both took your time, savoring each other. But today was different—there was a sense of rush, an urgency in the air as he pulled himself from his jeans, his eyes never leaving you.

"Come here," he said in a low, commanding tone that sent a shiver down your spine. It was a direct, uncharacteristically blunt invitation, but it carried all the intensity of your mutual desire. He adjusted himself, making space for you, anticipation etching every line of his face as he awaited you to straddle his lap.

Your eyes went from his to his hand as he began stroking himself with a semi-achingly slow pace that made your eyes widen. He watched you slide your panties down your legs, kicking them to the floor of the car with your jeans and shoes.

The rush, the spontaneity—it all contributed to a thrilling urgency neither of you could deny. As you moved towards him, leaving the constraints of your jeans behind, the tight confines of the SUV seemed to close in, enveloping you both in a private world where only your intertwined desires mattered.

You slid from the passenger seat, the fabric of the car seats whispering beneath you as you maneuvered yourself toward Hotch. The confined space of the SUV made every movement more deliberate, more charged with an electrifying tension. Your heart raced as you reached him; his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that mirrored the pounding of your pulse.

Carefully, you straddled him, positioning yourself over his lap. Hotch's hands immediately found your hips, his grip firm and sure, anchoring you securely against him. The close quarters of the SUV enveloped you both, creating a cocoon of intimacy that amplified each breath, each subtle shift in movement.

His hand moved from your hip to between your legs, spreading you and finding the wetness that waited for him there. He groaned, feeling it; he threw his head back, opening his neck for you to nip at and kiss. You began unbuttoning his button-up, glad he went without the tie today and just the button-up and jeans--a casual look you loved. 

You reached between the two of you and positioned him before swiftly sinking down with a shared groan filling the walls between the two of you. You felt the pads of his fingertips grip your hips again as you began to rock into him, subconsciously clenching around him. 

His hands caressed the curve of your ass, guiding your hips to rock against him. The way he pressed you so firmly down against his hips had the right amount of pressure on your clit, causing you to roll your eyes in pleasure. 

His hands spread up your sides on your still-clothed top. Through your shirt, he grabbed at your breasts roughly before returning to your ass. 

Hotch got a little rougher, meeting your hips rand ocking against his with a thrust beneath you. You could feel him deep within you. Caught in your throat was a moan, but the pleasure was too immense--too good. 

“You have no idea what you were doing to me today in those jeans,” Hotch panted, his lips finding the crook between your shoulder and your neck as he began to meet you thrust for thrust--so deep, so good--so much. 

“Oh,” You squeaked, “I have an idea.” You laughed, breathlessly. 

“Fucking,” Thrust, “Brat.” The sound of your hips smacking. Your thighs sweaty now against him, and your wetness now audible. 

“You love it,” You breathed, your lips going down to his chest now, kissing him and leaving marks of your lips from your lipstick, stained across his chest. 

“Yes,” He thrusted again, sharper now, but the rhythm beginning to falter. “You better hurry up and come,” he said breathlessly. You clenched around him with a glint in your eyes, “I’m serious.” 

Reaching between the two of you, you began working your clit with a circular rhythm that was old faithful in any situation. Hotch’s eyes squeezed shut then open, continuing to meet you. There was a found tempo from the way your fingers circled your clit and the way his hips met yours.

You felt the coil begin to tighten as your orgasm approached. Your thighs began to shake and you threw your head back. Hotch’s fingers bruising your hips continued with each deep thrust. Over and over and over. Just right. 

You came with a gasp, which was then covered by Hotch’s lips kissing you. His hips beginning to lose control as his own orgasm left him. You felt him empty within you, only adding to the sensitivity you felt deep within you. His hips stuttered against you, resting, but your thighs still shaking against him. As if to hold you into place, his hand rested at the small of your back, settleing you. 

A groan left his lips into your mouth, and the two of you slowed with lethargy. As the intensity of the moment ebbed, Hotch's hands gently caressed your skin, soothing and tender in their touch. The two of you were left sweaty and breathless, the aftermath of your passion palpable in the close, humid air of the SUV. His hands moved slowly, tracing patterns across your back and shoulders, each stroke helping to ground you both as you came down from your highs.

The small space of the car, which just moments ago had felt electrifying and exhilarating, now seemed overly warm and confining. As you both caught your breath, the reality of the situation gently settled in—a mixture of amusement and affection hanging between you.

"We definitely need a shower," Hotch murmured, a slight grin playing on his lips as he acknowledged the state both of you were in. The thought of continuing this intimacy in the shower brought a soft smile to your face.

"And maybe a detail for the car," you added, laughing softly, the sound mixing with the faint hum of the idling engine. The humor of the situation wasn't lost on you, and Hotch's responding chuckle told you he felt the same.

"So, I take it you liked the jeans?" you asked, a playful note in your voice.

Hotch glanced at you, a smirk playing on his lips. His eyes held a glint of mischief mixed with undeniable affection. "I loved them," he admitted, his voice low and enticing. "But for the sake of productivity, maybe never wear them again around me if we actually want to get anything done."

His witty response made you laugh, the sound light and carefree. It was moments like these that deepened your connection, mixing playful banter with the intense chemistry you shared. 

Your fingers trace the outline of your lips marked all along his neck and chest from the now-smeared lipstick you had applied moments before. A mischievous smile spread across your face as you pointed them out. "You know, this might be my favorite look on you now," you said, the playful tone in your voice tinged with a hint of satisfaction.

Hotch raised his eyebrows, a slight blush coloring his cheeks as he reached up to feel the marks, his fingers brushing over the spots you indicated. The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile, appreciative of your boldness and the memory of the moments that led to such disarray.

"Is that so?" he replied, his voice laced with humor and a warmth that reached his eyes. "I suppose it's a good thing we're heading home then. I might need to wear it more often if it gets that kind of approval."

As you watched the fading lipstick marks on his skin, you leaned closer, a teasing gleam in your eyes. "I like marking what's mine," you murmured, tracing a finger lightly over one of the marks, emphasizing your words.

Hotch looked at you, his expression softening into one of deep affection, the playful retort ready on his lips turning into something far more tender. "Sweetheart, you don't need marks to know I am," he replied, his voice gentle yet firm, filled with a sincerity that warmed you through.

You kissed him tenderly there before he patted your bare hip. You smiled against his lips, knowing the two of you had to leave this little intimate cocoon now. “I know, I know,” you sighed against his lips before whimpering, slowly moving off of him, trying not to make an entire mess of his already dirtied car. Hotch groaned, feeling you leave his lap. 

Despite the age gap between you, something about being with you made Hotch feel as though he was losing his innocence all over again; each moment tinged with a freshness and excitement that he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. It was a rediscovery, a rejuvenation of spirit in the best way possible, with every laugh, touch, and shared secret making him feel both wonderfully vulnerable and profoundly alive.

He sure hoped you wore those jeans again. 

[randominchident]

slim pickins! (part 2)

max verstappen x popstar!reader -> social media au

max has been a silent fan of popstar!reader for years, it's a running joke in the fandom at this point. a chance meeting changes everything and he doesn't intended to let her down like past guys have... it's time for y/n to come to a race. (part one)

-> fc: sabrina carpenter (other pinterest finds when necessary)

private message with max verstappen

redbullracing has made a post

liked by y/n.chronicles, 🎀user and more

Tom Holland. Neymar Jr. A last-minute chart-topping surprise. The only thing more packed than the grandstands is the garage guest list 👀🔥 #RedBullGarageThings #SilverstoneGP

comments

user7 Y/N IN MAX'S MERCH? OH WE'VE WON.

speedandceleb the VIP list was longer than the straight at Baku 😩

champagneandchoruses she’s writing “pole position” as we speak

↪ taylorinturn1 when he wins the race and she drops a love song next week? poetic cinema.

toomanyplaylists TRYING TO STAY CALM AND FAILING

↪ betterbest they really thought they could casually post y/n as if we haven't spent the past week freaking out over her and max

y/nuseryeah soft launch? hard laugh? IDK BUT IM AM LAUNCHING MYSELF INTO THE SUN IF WE DON'T GET A PHOTO OF THEM TOGETHER TODAY. 4K QUALITY. IN EACH OTHERS ARMS

↪ betterbest hey redbullracing admin this is our hour of need. you know what must be done.

newuser don’t play with me… is that Y/N?! AT SILVERSTONE?? speediest hard launch ever???

y/n.chronicles caught in 4K huh

↪ redbullracing our candid queen

comment liked by max.verstappen

↪ y/nfanatic OMG MAX LIKED

↪ deluluera SIR get off instagram and get into YOUR CAR.

↪ lunalove he's got his priorities straight. his girl > his car

comment liked by y/n.chronicles and max.verstappen

user5 the way the comments only care about y/n being there 😭✌️

charles.leclerc y/n.chronicles come visit ferrari next!

↪ max.verstappen she's fine here, thanks.

↪ y/nfanatic he really said "no❤️" 😭

max.verstappen has made a post

liked by y/n.chronicles, 🎀user and more

Simply lovely 👊 Great to get some points for the team and had some extra motivation this week to end up on top.

comments

user1 "extra motivation" man is whipped.

y/n.chronicles i was cheering the loudest. probably.

↪ max.verstappen confirmed. heard you over the engine. ❤️

↪ f1teaqueen oh we’re LOUD-launching now huh

↪ readingwriting yeah ok max you win. you always win but like YOU WIN

pensburner THE KISS.

↪ readingwriting wait WHAT KISS.

↪ pensburner he got out of the car and ran straight to her! jumped the fucking barricade and lifted her up! and KISSED. its all over tiktok rn

↪ pensburner completely ignored his team but i don't think they cared because they were the ones cheering and clapping the hardest at the kiss... like i think they've heard max talk about y/n for a while...

↪ redbullracing we have.

↪ readingwriting GIGGLING AND KICKING MY FEET FR OMG. I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS IS REAL.

↪ y/n.chronicles yeah honestly neither girl

↪ readingwriting 📸 Y/N. 📸

hotgirlupdates saw a tweet of someone who bumped into y/n in the paddock and got a photo, apparently she was wearing one of the max merch hats and laughed about max giving it to her so he's with her throughout the whole race GOD I'VE SEEN WHAT YOU'VE DONE FOR OTHERS.

y/n.chronicles has posted to her story

max.verstappen yours ❤️

↪ y/n.chronicles ☺️💋

max.verstappen has posted to his story

y/n.news has made a post

liked by f1fangirl, 🎀user and more

congrats to y/n's boyfriend (?) for driving fast! yay! (sorry guys I don't know anything about f1 I'm just trying to be supportive but I’m so lost!)

comments

y/nfansunite i just spat out my tea reading this 😭 the fucking photo choices 😭😭😭 not a single photo from the win

user31 so glad we are all collectively going insane this weekend cause that is the only explaination for this post

max.verstappen thanks

↪ y/n.news UM YOURE WELCOME???

user1 didn't realise liking someones music would lead me to having to learn how a car sport works. but here we are.

y/nstan two weeks ago we were clowning max for liking y/n's posts and never saying anything. now he's going home with her and commenting on her fan account posts. lets this be a lesson to never give up on your dreams ig

private message with max verstappen

y/n.chronicles has made a post

liked by max.verstappen, 🎀user and more

london you have my heart 💌 thanks for all the shared tears and all the love you gave me. sad to leave but excited for what's to come 💋

comments

lunalove GUYS THE PIANO. Y/N ONLY EVER POSTS WITH THE PIANO BEFORE NEW MUSIC COMES OUT. "excited for what's to come 💋" MAX ALBUM INCOMING!

comment liked by y/n.chronicles

hope you enjoyed <3 comments are loved <3

(ps. the story photo max posted is one y/n sent him pre show… it’s his lockscreen now)

[fastandcarlos]

Stuck With Me : ̗̀➛ Jack Doohan

summary: as jack signs his contract with alpine, you soon realise that actually you’re pretty happy to be stuck with him on the team for a little while longer

pairing: jack x f1academy!reader

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by olliebearman, pierregasly and 179,503 others

jackdoohan: always fun spending race weekend in the garage and learning, thank you as always alpine for having me, plenty learnt to take with me moving forwards 🏎️💙

27,052 comments

username1: I wish it was you we got to see in that car instead 😭

estebanocon: awesome to see you, good luck for the rest of the season ☺️

username2: buzzing to see you back in the garage again jack!!

liam.lawson: sweet talk them some more and you might just get a seat 😉

jackdoohan: @/liam.lawson saw right through me huh 😂

username3: wishing that alpine saw how talented you really are and signed you up 💔

ynusername: nice to see you, and maybe show you a thing or two too 😂

jackdoohan: @/ynusername I’m always learning from you 😊

username4: alpine are so damn lucky to have you 🥺

username5: not long until you’ll be behind the wheel jack 🤞🏻

pierregasly: thanks for all your help on the car this weekend!

username6: please make sure you’re at the rest of the races this year, you’re my favourite face on the screen

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by estebanocon, racerbia and 36,068 others

ynusername: another race, another win!! so proud to have got the win here in zandvoort and get plenty of momentum behind me moving forwards as we look to finish off the season strong 💪🏻🏆

4,947 comments

username7: you were amazing out there today 👏🏻

racerbia: can you save some race wins for the rest of us??? 😘

username8: so proud of you yn, controlled that race from start to finish!!

jackdoohan: who knew you were so talented 🤯

ynusername: @/jackdoohan my parents always believed in me thank you very much 😭

username9: formula 1 academy world title pending…⏳

pierregasly: good job out there, glad I got to watch you race again ☺️

username10: can’t believe I finally got to watch you race today, you were electric ⚡️

dorianepin: congrats yn, I’ll get ya next time 😂

username11: you never fail to make your fans so proud 🥺

olliebearman: that race was awesome, you gotta show me how you handled turn 2 like that for next year!!

ynusername: @/olliebearman gimme a time and date and I’m there 😂

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by liam.lawson, oscarpiastri and 58,401 others

jackdoohan: a week off means getting plenty of recovery in and getting back of the waves. amazing to spend it with my favourite person too 🫶🏻

7,052 comments

username12: I’m sorry since when were you a taken man???

oscarpiastri: I’m just going to pretend that middle photo doesn’t exist 😭

username13: you can’t just throw something like this at us jack wtf!

arthur_leclerc: I thought I was the only lover in your life 😭

jackdoohan: @/arthur_leclerc you’re my one true love, this is just a fling bby

username14: you mean to say our fictional relationship can’t come true now 😭

liam.lawson: there’s a whole chapter we seem to have missed out here my friend…

jackdoohan: @/liam.lawson I’ll fill you in at the paddock 😘

username15: have I ever told you how much I hate soft launchers!?

danielricciardo: proud of ya kiddo 😉😉

username16: I want to say congrats but inside my heart is breaking 💔

ynusername: that’s some pretty cool waves you’ve got yourself there 🏖️

jackdoohan: @/ynusername waves aren’t the only thing I’m riding this holiday 🙃

username17: not me more focused on how incredible that body looks in a swimsuit 😂

kimi.antonelli: are we just going to pretend that this middle photo doesn’t exist??

username18: as long as you’re happy jack, most of us fan girls are happy for you too 🥺

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by pierregasly, ynusername and 73,038 others

jackdoohan: such a proud day for me and my family to share that i have officially signed to drive with the alpine f1 team next year. thank you to my team, family and friends for constantly supporting me through the years 🏎️💙

16,968 comments

olliebearman: can’t wait to enter my rookie era with you 😘

jackdoohan: @/olliebearman wouldn’t have it any other way sweetie 😘

username19: there’s never been anyone more deserving of a contract than you!

pierregasly: can’t wait to drive alongside you next year - it’s gonna be awesome!!

username20: can’t wait to see you out on the grid next year 🤩

oscarpiastri: congratulations future formula 1 driver 🤝

username21: you and pierre are gonna be the dream team i can already tell 🤩

ynusername: congratulations ✨ can’t wait to have you officially as part of the team!

jackdoohan: @/ynusername guess you’re officially stuck with me now 😂

username22: can’t wait to be your biggest fan for all the races next year 🥹

username23: future world champion for sure!!!

danielricciardo: another aussie on the grid 🇦🇺🦘

username24: we’re all so proud of you jack, you’re gonna smash it 💪🏻

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by dorianepin, jackdoohan and 23,950 others

ynusername: end of the season and new adventures on their way. looking forward to the next four weeks with my favourite human being 🥺

7,403 comments

username25: wait since when has this been a thing!? 🤯

racerbia: really out here living your best life ain’t ya? 👑

username26: have i woken up from sort of dream to see this 🤔

jackdoohan: what sorta boyfriend would take you out on a zip line like that? 🤔

ynusername: @/jackdoohan definitely one cooler than you 💆🏻‍♀️

jackdoohan: @/ynusername good job I’ve got my own girlfriend to explore with then 🥺

username27: so glad to see you enjoying your break so good yn 🥺

username28: what is it with drivers and teasing us about their partners 😭

landonorris: since you won the championship you’ve really gone for that aesthetic blog look eh!? 👏🏻

username29: as impressive as that last photo is, my eyes can’t look away from the middle 👀

hausmann.tina: idk what your secrets are but I need to know them asap 😂

username30: favourite human…who is this favourite human you speak of???

pierregasly: please do not break a bone on holiday or alpine will lose their minds 😁

username31: all I want is to know who the lucky guy is…

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by pierregasly, oscarpiastri and 22,859 others

ynusername: starting off the season strong with pierre, whenever you fancy showing your face around here @/jackdoohan that would be lovely 😂

4,859 comments

username32: not jack already being thrown under the bus by his fellow drivers 😂

olliebearman: nothing like impressing the bosses on the first day jack 🤦🏻‍♂️

username33: anyone else think jack and yn seem to be suspiciously close to each other 🤔

pierregasly: at least I can rely on you to be on time yn 😂

ynusername: @/pierregasly 🫡🫡🫡

username34: why do I get the feeling pierre and yn are gonna gang up on jack this year 😂

kimi.antonelli: you get used to his poor time keeping I promise you yn ⏳

username35: it really is pick on the rookie season rn!

jackdoohan: some of us wanted to take the time to make sure we look presentable rather than like we just rolled out of bed ☺️

ynusername: @/jackdoohan that’s a harsh thing to say about pierre 😂

username36: I am OBSESSED with the interactions between these two!!!

username37: you know when someone pretends to be mean to distract from something…I wonder 🤔

estebanocon: sure you’re not missing me yet???

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by olliebearman, kimi.antonelli and 59,301 others

ynusername: i guess i can’t keep him a secret forever 🥺💞

12,067 comments

username38: how did no one actually figure this out 🤦🏻‍♀️

olliebearman: at least I don’t need to ask you how your summer break was anymore…

pierregasly: everyone please pray for me having to work alongside these two 🙏🏻

username39: okay but it’s undeniable that these two look incredible together

jackdoohan: I loved being your little secret, but I love being your boyfriend to the whole world more 💕

username40: I thought they hated each other, turns out they love each other 😂

dorianepin: breathing through the pain of knowing you didn’t tell me about this 💔

ynusername: @/dorianepin I’m sorry just didn’t want to risk anything 🥹

liam.lawson: thank god I don’t don’t have to keep my mouth shut anymore 🤐

username41: they really managed to fool us all…

oscarpiastri: wow you two did not hang around did you 😂

username42: imagine having to be the poor head of pr at alpine right now 😬

danielricciardo: ik I joked that f1 was good for the ladies jack but this isn’t what I expected 😂

jackdoohan: @/danielricciardo what can I say, when you know, you know 💞

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

liked by danielricciardo, landonorris and 97,402 others

jackdoohan: an f1 contract wasn’t the only prize I managed to bag myself last season ❤️🌊

24,958 comments

username43: not jack coming at us with the cheesiest caption known to man 😂

arthur_leclerc: I don’t even recognise you anymore 😂

ynusername: turns out you signing for alpine was a pretty cool moment for both of us 🥺

username44: damn he really is a man in love!

username45: already obsessed with this duo and what they’re gonna do on the track this year

pierregasly: fyi there’s a clause in your contract that bans pda in the paddock (definitely didn’t just make this up!)

username46: we need a ship name asap 🛳️

landonorris: the real question though is which prize was better? 😉

jackdoohan: @/landonorris you don’t even need to ask 💕💕

username47: how did none of the grid manage to figure this out!?

username48: this is certainly one way to make sure everyone knows your name 😂

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[paucubarsisimp]

7 days of requests!

thank you so much to everybody that left a request today 🩷🩷 requests are now offically closed until tuesday, 13 may!

i’ve made a schedule so you all know what’s coming up (these are requests i’ve gotten from my tumblr and wattpad)

monday, 5th may

mason mount x reader - thin walls part 2

dean huijsen x short!reader - in which dean teases you about your short height

mason mount x reader - in which you and mason have a teenager

hector fort x reader - in which you and hector have a nice night in

ana pelayo x reader x pablo gavi - what they would be like as your boyfriend and girlfriend

tuesday, 6th may

lamine yamal x reader - in which you go to coachella with him and the other barca boys

guille fernandez x reader - in which you’re secretly dating guille and your friends start ignoring you for their boyfriends

pedri x reader - in which you try and teach pedri how to do the salsa

f1 grid x reader - in which you make lego f1 cars together

pedri x reader - in which you meet pedri for the first time and instantly fall in love

wednesday, 7th may

barça boys x reader - in which you and your boyfriend dance to your favourite songs together

ferran torres x reader - in which you are obsessed with ferran’s muscles

alejandro balde x reader - in which you come home insanely drunk and alejandro takes care of you

ferran torres x reader - in which you try to teach ferran the bachata

alejandro balde x reader - in which you fail your finals and alejandro is there to comfort you

thursday, 8th may

pedri x reader - in which your son’s first words are… unexpected

alejandro balde x reader - in which your boyfriend wins against your favourite team in the copa del try final

jan virgili x reader - in which jan eats your cravings and you get super mad

marc bernal x reader - in which you and marc go on a trip together

alejandro balde x reader - in which you start comparing yourself to other wags and models

friday, 9th may

mason mount x reader - in which you fart for the first time in front of your boyfriend

pau cubarsi x reader - in which your hands and feet are always cold and you love torturing pau by freezing him to death by touching him with them

barca boys x reader - in which you and your boyfriend celebrate after the copa del rey win

barca boys x reader - in which you do the “a man” trend with your boyfriend

pablo torre x reader - in which you call his friends and family to see if they would cover for him if he cheats

saturday, 10th may

eric garcia x short!reader - in which eric teases you for being so short

alejandro balde x reader - in which you get the flu and alejandro takes care of you

lando norris x reader - what lando would be like as a boyfriend

pau cubarsi x reader - in which you feel as if he prioritises everything else before you

lucas bergvall x reader - in which you and lucas share a cozy morning together

sunday, 11th may

break (catching up on missing ones)

monday, 12th may

pedri x reader - in which pedri proposes to you after the copa del rey final

pablo torre x reader - in which pablo thinks he’s not good enough for you

ferran torres x reader - in which ferran gets jealous

pedri x reader - in which a girl flirts with pedri but he’s not interested and he’s loyal and you know that

pedri x reader - in which you are a famous singer and you so pedris celebration at one of your concerts so everyone knows you belong to him

tuesday, 12th may

jude bellingham x reader - in which hector cheats on you and you find comfort in jude

xavi espart x reader - in which you fall in love at first sight

hector fort x reader - in which you and hector have a fight and he goes to his mom only to find her comforting you

kylian mbappe x reader - in which your job is to fight and kylian is your wag

vini jr x reader - in which you and vini meet at a party and start to like each other

have a great day loves <333

[23victoria]

six thrity

pairings: carlos sainz x fem!reader

word count: 3.3k

warnings: cussing, rude reporter, sexual innuendos, lil angsty, fluff, semi-complicated relationship

authors note: i’m so sorry if this is bad, i’m trying to finish up this 1k celebration cause i def made it too long but that’s my fault lol, also i’m almost at 2k…you guys are insane wtf, thank you, bedsides that ignore any typos, any feedback, comments, reblogs, are appreciated and i hope you enjoy!!

wanna be apart of my taglist?! CLICK HERE!

f1 masterlist 1k celebration

The sun was high in the sky, casting a warm, golden glow over the bustling paddock at Circuit de Barcelona-Catalunya. It was Carlos Sainz's home race, and the atmosphere was electric. Fans waved flags adorned with his number, and the air buzzed with excitement and anticipation. You watched from a distance as Carlos navigated his way through the media zone, his expression a mix of focus and polite detachment.

It was media day, and Carlos was in his element, handling the questions with the ease of a seasoned driver. You stood near the paddock's edge, trying to blend in with the sea of team members, engineers, and journalists, not wanting to draw any attention to yourself. Despite the numerous interviews he had done over the past few days, Carlos never failed to flash that charming smile that had you falling for him in the first place. Today, however, there was an edge to his demeanor, something just beneath the surface that only you, someone who knew him so intimately, could detect.

From your spot, you could hear bits and pieces of the questions being thrown at him. They started as the usual race-related queries about tire strategies, car performance, and his thoughts on the competition. Carlos answered them with the poise of a driver who had been through this routine countless times.

But then, the questions shifted. The reporter in front of him, a man you recognized from a particularly notorious tabloid, changed his tone, his voice taking on an almost casual disregard that immediately put you on edge.

"Carlos, you've had an impressive season so far," the reporter began, and you could see Carlos nodding along, a polite smile on his face. "But let's talk about something a bit more personal, shall we? There have been some rumors floating around about your relationship with Y/N. Everyone knows you come from a well-off family and have a successful career ahead of you. But don’t you think Y/N, with her background, might not really fit into this world? Some people are saying she's with you for the status, that she might be out of her depth here. How do you respond to that?"

Your heart sank, the words hitting you like a punch to the gut. The reporter’s tone was dripping with condescension as if he were speaking about something trivial, not your life, your relationship. You felt your cheeks burn with a mix of humiliation and anger, every fiber of your being wanting to rush over there and demand he take it back. But before you could even move, you saw Carlos’s posture stiffen, the polite smile on his face faltering as the question fully registered.

For a moment, the paddock seemed to fall silent, the world narrowing down to just the two of you and that reporter. Carlos’s eyes darkened, his jaw clenching in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. His smile faltered, confusion clouding his expression. His brows furrowed as the full weight of the question settled on him. It wasn’t about racing anymore; it was an attack on the woman he loved.

"Perdón, ¿qué dijiste?" Carlos's voice was low, measured, but there was a dangerous edge to it that you had never heard before. It was the kind of tone that warned of a storm brewing beneath the surface.

The reporter, clearly not expecting the reaction, stammered, "I-I was just asking if—"

Carlos didn’t let him finish. "No, no. Who do you think you are to disrespect my girlfriend like that? Do you think you can speak about her like she’s some kind of accessory or fling?" 

Carlos straightened in his posture, his gaze turning steely as he locked eyes with the reporter. "Are you serious right now?" he began, his voice calm but carrying an undercurrent of anger. "I think you’re gravely mistaken if you believe Y/N is with me for any reason other than love."

The journalist opened his mouth to interject, but Carlos held up a hand, cutting him off. The room was utterly silent now, every eye fixed on Carlos as he continued.

"Let me tell you something about Y/N," he said, his voice firm. "She is one of the most intelligent, driven, and compassionate people I’ve ever met. She doesn’t need me or anyone else to define her worth. In fact, I’m the lucky one in this relationship, not her. I wake up every day grateful that she chose to let me be a part of her life."

Carlos’s eyes blazed with intensity as he spoke, his words carrying the weight of his conviction. "Y/N isn’t just some accessory to me or anyone else in this world. She’s built her life on her own terms, with her own strength and brilliance. She’s accomplished so much without the privileges that others might take for granted, and she’s done it all with integrity and grace."

The reporter shifted uncomfortably in his seat, but Carlos wasn’t done. His voice grew more impassioned as he continued, "Y/N doesn’t need me to validate her existence. She’s fiercely independent, and she’s made it clear that she stands on her own two feet. But she chose to be with me, and that’s something I never take for granted. Every day I am humbled by her presence in my life. She inspires me to be a better man, and I strive to be worthy of her love."

Carlos leaned forward slightly, his gaze never wavering from the reporter’s. "So, to suggest that she’s with me for status or that she doesn’t belong in this world is not only disrespectful to her but also profoundly ignorant. Y/N belongs wherever she chooses to be, and if you can’t see that, then that’s your problem, not hers."

The silence that followed was deafening. Carlos’s words hung in the air, heavy with meaning and emotion. The journalist who had asked the question looked visibly shaken, clearly taken aback by the intensity of Carlos’s response.

But Carlos wasn’t finished. Switching to Spanish, his tone softened slightly, but the edge of protectiveness remained. "No tienes ni idea de quién es ella," he said, his voice low but firm. "Ella es la mujer más increíble que he conocido. Mi madre siempre me enseñó a valorar a las personas por quienes son, no por lo que tienen, y Y/N es el mejor ejemplo de eso. Ella es amable, fuerte, y mucho más inteligente de lo que puedes imaginar. No necesitas mi vida para brillar, ya lo hace por su cuenta. Yo soy el afortunado aquí, no ella."

Carlos’s gaze swept across the room, making sure his words were fully absorbed by everyone present. He then fixed his eyes on the reporter once more. "And as for your question about her ‘fitting in,’" he added, now back in English, "Y/N doesn’t have to fit into anyone’s expectations. She’s too extraordinary for that. So let me make this clear: If anyone should be worried about ‘fitting in,’ it’s not her—it’s anyone who doesn’t see her value."

You watched, stunned, as Carlos ripped into the reporter with a ferocity that left no room for doubt. The entire paddock seemed to hold its breath, everyone frozen as they witnessed Carlos’s fierce defense of you. But he wasn’t done. Switching to rapid Spanish, he unleashed a tirade that had the reporter shrinking back in fear.

"Eres una vergüenza. No tienes ningún respeto. Claramente, tu madre no te crió bien, porque si lo hubiera hecho, sabrías cómo tratar a las personas con dignidad. Eres un pedazo de mierda por hablar así de mi novia."

("You're a disgrace. You have no respect. Clearly your mother didn't raise you right, because if she had, you'd know how to treat people with dignity. You're a piece of shit for talking about my girlfriend like that.")

You understood enough Spanish to catch the general gist of his words, but the intensity with which he delivered them left you reeling. The Carlos you knew was calm, composed, always in control. But here he was, publicly tearing apart a journalist who had dared to insult you, and doing so with a passion that made your heart race.

As Carlos’s assistant finally intervened, gently pulling him away from the confrontation, you noticed that Carlos didn’t hesitate for a second before turning and striding toward you. The fury in his eyes softened the moment they met yours, and without a word, he reached for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours as if anchoring himself to you.

He led you away from the paddock, away from the prying eyes and whispering voices, his grip on your hand firm yet comforting. You barely registered where he was taking you, too lost in the whirlwind of emotions that had been stirred up by the encounter. It wasn’t until you found yourself in the quiet sanctuary of Carlos’s private motorhome, the door closing behind you, that reality finally caught up.

Carlos turned to you, his expression filled with concern as he cupped your face in his hands, his thumb gently brushing over your cheek. "Cariño, are you okay? I’m so sorry you had to hear that. I should have protected you better."

You blinked up at him, still trying to process everything that had just happened. "I… I didn’t know you felt that way about me."

Carlos frowned, confusion flickering across his face. "What do you mean?"

You took a deep breath, your voice trembling as you spoke. "I know we’ve been together for a year, but with you always traveling and everything, we’ve probably only seen each other for half of that time. And with everything… sometimes I wonder if you’re going to stay with me at all. I thought eventually you’d get tired of me, maybe decide you wanted to be with someone else, someone more like you. Someone who understands your world better."

Your words hung in the air, heavy and raw, the weight of your insecurities finally laid bare. You had never wanted to confront these fears, had always pushed them aside, but now, in the wake of Carlos’s fierce defense, they came spilling out uncontrollably.

Carlos’s eyes widened in shock, his hands trembling slightly as he moved them to your shoulders, grounding himself in your presence. "No, mi amor, no. I had no idea I was making you feel that way. I didn’t realize I was making you doubt how much I love you." His voice was thick with regret, his eyes searching yours as if trying to understand how he could have missed this.

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you quickly looked away, ashamed of the vulnerability you were exposing. "It’s just… I know I can be a lot sometimes. I get jealous easily, and I know that’s not fair to you. You have so many people around you, beautiful women who are more your type, who are part of your world. And I’m just… me. Sometimes it feels like I’m just a distraction for you, someone you’ll eventually outgrow."

Carlos’s heart broke at your words, the self-doubt that had been gnawing at you for months finally coming to light. He gently tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze, his expression filled with nothing but love and adoration.

"Listen to me, cariño," he began, his voice steady but laced with emotion. "You are not just ‘you.’ You are the woman I love, the woman I want to spend the rest of my life with. I don’t care where you come from, what your background is, or what anyone else thinks. You are the most important person in my life. No one else compares to you. Not models, not actresses, no one. I want you, and only you."

You stared at him, your breath hitching as you tried to comprehend the depth of his words. "But… what about all the times you were away? All the events and races where I wasn’t with you? Didn’t you ever feel like… like I was holding you back?"

Carlos shook his head, his grip on you tightening as if to physically reassure you of his feelings. "Never. Every time I’m away from you, all I think about is getting back to you. Every race, every event, I wish you were there with me. You’re not holding me back; you’re the reason I push forward. Because I want to build a future with you, a life where we’re always together. I’ve been a fool not to realize how my absence was affecting you, and for that, I’m so sorry, Y/N."

Tears finally spilled down your cheeks, but they were tears of relief, of finally hearing the words you had longed to hear for so long. "I just… I didn’t want to lose you. I was so scared that one day you’d wake up and realize I wasn’t enough."

Carlos’s eyes softened, his thumb wiping away your tears as he leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your lips. "You are more than enough, mi amor. You are everything. And I promise you, I’m going to spend every day showing you just how much you mean to me. I’ll make more time for us, for you. This summer break, I’m going to show you how much I love you, how much I’m in love with you."

A small smile tugged at your lips as you sniffled, the tension in your chest slowly unraveling. "Even if I want to do silly things?" you asked softly, your voice trembling slightly as you tried to keep the emotions in check. You felt vulnerable, laying your insecurities bare, but there was also a strange sense of relief in finally speaking them aloud.

Carlos smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. He gently stroked your hair, his touch soothing. "Yes, cariño. Even if you want to do silly things."

You bit your lip, feeling a little more confident as you continued. "Even if I want to play video games at 2 a.m. or cook some food in the middle of the night because I woke up hungry?"

Carlos chuckled softly, his voice filled with warmth and affection. "Especially that. I’ll be right there with you, heating up the stove or grabbing the controller. Whatever makes you happy, I’m in."

You felt your heart swell with his words, but there was still a small, nagging doubt that you couldn’t quite shake. "And what if I want to go to the beach at 6:30 in the morning to watch the sunrise? Or even go during the sunset to… you know…maybe have beach sex" You trailed off, your cheeks flushing with a mix of embarrassment and excitement at the idea you were about to suggest.

Carlos’s smile grew wider, his eyes twinkling mischievously. He gently pulled you closer by the waist, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "Especially for that. Beach sex sounds like the perfect way to start or end the day."

You couldn’t help but laugh, the sound light and full of relief. "So, you’re really okay with all my crazy ideas?"

Carlos pulled back slightly, his expression turning serious as he cupped your face in his hands once more. "Y/N, I love everything about you. Your quirks, your spontaneity, the way you think about the little things that make life more fun. I wouldn’t change a single thing about you. You make my life better in every way, and I want to be a part of all your crazy ideas. As long as we’re together, I’m happy."

His words wrapped around your heart, soothing every lingering fear and doubt that had been gnawing at you. The tears that had welled up earlier now flowed freely, but this time, they were tears of happiness, of gratitude, of love.

"I love you so much, Carlos," you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

Carlos leaned in, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss that spoke of all the love he had for you. His hands moved to your back, pulling you flush against him as if he couldn’t bear the thought of even an inch of space between you. You melted into his embrace, your arms wrapping around his neck as you kissed him back with equal fervor.

When you finally pulled away, both of you were breathless, your foreheads resting against each other as you shared a quiet moment of intimacy.

"I love you too, Y/N," Carlos murmured, his voice low and full of sincerity. "More than you’ll ever know."

You smiled softly, your heart feeling lighter than it had in months. "Thank you for standing up for me back there. I’ve never seen you like that before."

Carlos sighed, his expression darkening slightly as he remembered the confrontation with the reporter. "I’m sorry you had to hear that. I hate that people talk about you like that, as if you’re not the most important person in my life. I won’t let anyone disrespect you like that ever again."

You gently placed a hand on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm. "It’s okay, Carlos. You don’t have to fight every battle for me. I’m stronger than I look."

Carlos chuckled, the sound deep and comforting. "I know you are, cariño. But I’ll still protect you whenever I can. That’s what a man does for the woman he loves."

You looked into his eyes, seeing the depth of his feelings reflected in them. This was the man you had fallen in love with, the man who would go to the ends of the earth to make you happy. And in that moment, all your fears and insecurities seemed to fade away, replaced by a profound sense of peace and contentment.

"Do you really mean it?" you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "When you said I’m your future wife?"

Carlos’s expression softened, and he gently brushed a strand of hair away from your face. "Yes, mi amor. I meant every word. I see a future with you, a life where we’re together, where we build something beautiful. I want to marry you, have a family with you, grow old with you. You’re it for me, Y/N."

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the sincerity in his voice making you believe that everything he said was true. A tear slipped down your cheek, and Carlos quickly wiped it away with his thumb, his gaze never leaving yours.

"I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear that," you admitted, your voice shaking slightly. "I’ve been so scared, Carlos. Scared that you’d wake up one day and realize I’m not enough for you."

Carlos shook his head, his eyes filled with love and determination. "No, cariño. You are more than enough. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and more. I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner how my actions were making you feel. But I promise you, from now on, I’ll make sure you never have to doubt my love for you again."

You smiled through your tears, feeling a warmth spread through your chest at his words. "Thank you, Carlos. Thank you for loving me."

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Always, mi amor. Always."

You leaned into his embrace, feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest as he held you close. The doubts that had plagued you for so long seemed to dissipate, replaced by a sense of certainty that you hadn’t felt before. Carlos loved you, truly and deeply, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to fully believe it.

After a few moments of silence, Carlos pulled back slightly, a playful glint in his eyes. "So, about that beach idea…"

You laughed, feeling a sense of lightness return to the conversation. "You really want to do that?"

Carlos grinned, his expression mischievous. "With you? Absolutely. I’m down for anything you want, cariño. Especially if it means spending more time with you."

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. "I love you, Carlos."

He smiled against your lips, his hands gently caressing your back. "And I love you, Y/N. More than anything in this world."

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ taglist: @ham1lton @ietss @animeandf1lover @nelly187 @heartsfromtaeyong @bloodyymaryyy @nor-4 @zacian117 @mel164 @uhhvictoria @hadidsworld @zabwlky1999 @sya-skies @lillysbigwilly @avengers-assemble123456 @santanasaintmendes @km-23mr @hookhausenschips @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ronpho @minekarina @aeongism @formula1-motogpfa @slagclarens @aleexvqa @f1updates4you @booksandflowrs @chaostudee @winkev1 @strawblueberrys @tellybearryyyy @magixpracticality @eoduuung @danieldaviddarren33 @flowerpetalk @goldenroutledge

[lostintransist]

Secrets Are For Grown Ups | Part 2

Shout out to the fabulous @xbirdiex for letting me hit them up in their DM's to beta for this. 😘

CW: Limb Loss, suicide mentioned in passing, thoughts of murder, Emotions™

What does one do when confronted with their unknown sins?

Follow them home of course.

Johnny had lost his left leg at knee due to a bomb going off at a job and Simon had been discharged after repeatedly failing mental health evals. They were both given pensions and discharged with honors. Roach and Gaz had been kept together when moved to a new team and Price had been ‘gifted’ a higher position by command that left him chained to a desk.

The only confirmation they had that your leaving had been somehow their fault was the face down picture on the table. Price had called them to check on you as you had a family emergency. You had been firmly ensconced in a hard airport seat when they reached your flat. If they shared a speaking look about the photo before Johnny slid it from it’s frame and folded into his pocket, they never discussed it.

The discharges were how they finally ended up together. Simon needed something, someone, to care for to keep from eating a bullet and Johnny fighting him tooth and nail to stay alive was the right project. The physical therapists loved seeing Johnny rolled in by Simon because they knew he wouldn’t fight them on exercises today. He would snarl at his “L.T.” and actually work. They had to be careful to not let him overwork himself lest he be unable to work at the next day’s appointment.

Their first kiss had been when Johnny had been fed up with Simon’s sass about physical therapy. He had only been legless for a month and barely started trying to relearn how to balance.

Simon carried him from the car to their shared flat.

“I’m not going back.”

“Mmm, what a surprise it will be when I drag your ass to PT tomorrow then.”

Being carried bridal style rankled somewhere deep in Johnny. He wanted to take a bite of out Simon’s neck and keep ripping but that would have left him stranded in the hall with a dead body and only one working foot.

The look Simon sent him, one of cool acknowledgment and smugness had Johnny gripping both halves of Simon’s face and planting a kiss on him.

That would show the bastard.

Showed him something alright. All Simon could see the remaining few steps to the flat was the subtle shift in Johnny’s gym shorts and rising heat in his cheeks. Simon hadn’t said anything about it. Dinner had been a simple soup. Night fell. When Simon helped Johnny to bed that night, he inserted himself next to the man.

Johnny didn’t question it. Frankly he was relieved. He had flirted for years in front of the man he didn’t think he would ever catch. The press of his dry lips and light fingers had ignited the combustible fumes that swirled between them. Those fumes choked out any hope of anything healthy with anyone else.

When Johnny had ‘graduated’ from therapy and could walk with almost no limp Simon invited Johnny to move with him. They found a medium sized city in a place neither of them had been to but could reach several national parks and an airport relatively quickly. Housing costs were rising but they found an older neighborhood with a good amount of trees in the yards and a little space in the back to grow plants. They could see the mountains when they stood on the second story porch.

The previous owner had mentioned that the school pick-up and drop off point happened at their house for the junior high and the elementary schools. Kids would wait on the corner of their yard away from the cars. That is why the two owners prior had installed the stone benches that sat so close to the sidewalk. Simon had planned on taking them out until he heard that piece of information.

One day, during mid-spring where the mornings were chilled enough to need a jacket but the afternoons would leave you sweating, Johnny saw something that gave him pause. He was in the process of moving bags of clothes into the car to drop off at the shelter when the bus delivered a load of kids. He waved with the bus driver and slammed the trunk of the crossover.

The squeal particular to children had Johnny snapping his back to a pair of children who walked past his parked car.

“Don’t do that Mac!”

A glare he had only ever seen on Simon’s face painted itself across the face of a child who couldn’t be any older than seven. Johnny felt the bottom drop out of his stomach and fall into his ass.

“Don’t yell at me stupid!”

“Mom says you can’t call me stupid! Stupid!”

Stepping into the sidewalk Johnny watches the the children, one with long hair and the other short, bicker until they reached a house five doors up and disappeared behind the front door.

Stumbling into the garage Johnny attempts to call for Simon. All that escapes is a croak. After a hard shake of his head and clearing his throat it works.

“Simon!”

The shout must have had an edge of panic because Simon appears with a hand gun pointed at the floor and the his Ghost eyes staring out. Upon seeing Johnny, unharmed and alarmed Simon tucked his work face and his gun away.

“What happened? Why are you sweating? Are you sick?”

Johnny swatted away that hands that reached for his face.

“I saw a fecking child with your face Si. Kid got off the bus and was arguing with his sister. I need you to come with me.”

Simon blinked at his beloved a few times. The fuck did he say?

“Why would a child in the states have my face? You know it is possible for unrelated people to look alike right? It’s important to me that you know that.”

“Listen to me Simon!” Johnny stumbled back, prosthetic catching funny against the concrete floor. “I, never, in all my life have seen a glare that looks exactly like yours. But this kid when yelling at his sister had one of your meanest glares. I could see him in you still after he smiled. I am asking you to come with me and knock on a door to introduce ourselves to the neighbors and find out what the hell is going on.”

Simon hadn’t seen Johnny this riled up in a long time. He searched his husbands face, noting the heaving of his chest and the flex of his fingers as he fought them from curling into fists.

“Okay,” he said gently as if he were speaking to a spooked horse, “let’s go meet the neighbors.”

That is how the found themselves at your door. The waiting after the harsh knock sounded into the space beyond the frame rattled something loose in Simon. Could he have a kid? He had been no prude before settling down with Johnny but he couldn’t remember more than a few women he ever fucked raw. Everyone of them had been on birth control, at least they said they were.

Johnny crossed his arms, drawing Simon’s gaze. They were both freaked out, concerned.

When the door opens there is you. A little older, a little more solid than when you had fled England, a few new piercings, but it’s still you. Simon glances to the wall visible behind you catching sight of two children in photos who wouldn’t look out of place on the walls of his and Johnny’s home. His gaze snaps back to you as you blanch and slam the door shut.

The deadbolt slamming into place solidifies in him the answer that there is something going on here and it absolutely involves them.

Before Johnny can pound his fist into the door to demand answers Simon catches it. Placing a gentle kiss along his knuckles he coaxes him from the door.

“She won’t answer the door. You know she won’t. Let’s all take the evening and try and come back tomorrow while the kids are at school.”

“She owes us answers, Si,” Johnny’s eyes flashed as he snarled.

Simon pulled him down one more step. Once Johnny started moving they walked home, hand in hand.

“She does owe us answers, but we know where she is now and can see about getting them. Right now I suggest we recoup and see what we can find. One of the kids in the photos looked like you Johnny.”

Johnny vibrates with tension until he sees the wisdom in coming at this from another angle. His shoulders drop from his ears as tears prick at his eyes.

“Why wouldn’t she tell us Si?”

Mulling over the answer they complete the walk home.

“Why would she Johnny? You know how we are.”

That sobering statement colored the remainder of the evening. It is late when they decide to call their former captain.

Part 3

Secrets Masterlist | Masterlist

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[cutielando]

mad m4x | max verstappen

synopsis: in which he bags it in Vegas

a/n: based on this request! i know it's probably kind of shit, but i genuinely had no idea how to make it better than this :((

pairing: max verstappen x girlfriend!reader

my masterlist

Vegas.

The place where all of your dreams can come true.

At least, that's what it felt in those moments for both you and Max.

You hadn't had high hopes coming into the weekend, especially due to the fact that the car hasn't been performing well enough to fight for both championships.

"How are you feeling about today?" you had asked him as you watched him get ready in his driver's room.

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

"I don't even know what to say. I hope I can outscore Lando finally close this chapter, but I don't think I have the car under me to do it" he admitted, and you could hear the frustration in his voice.

You nodded, pursing your lips in sympathy.

"I know it's hard, but I believe in you. You're so much more than the car, babe, if anyone is able to do it, it's you" you said, rubbing soothing circles on his back and resting your chin against his shoulder.

He sighed and nodded, taking your hand into his.

"I'll fight for it until the last moment" he promised.

You nodded, kissing his cheek a couple of times.

You knew he had it in him, and that he was going to deliver.

He always did.

♡♡♡♡♡

He did it.

True to his word, he crossed the finish line, even if it was not in the position he had hoped for, but he still won the championship.

He brought it home.

The walk, or sprint rather, towards the end of the pitlane where he was getting out of the car allowed time for the tears that had build up in your eyes to freely flow down your cheeks, making you a walking mess.

"MAX!" you called out once you were within earshot of him, just as he took off his helmet and balaclava.

He smiled once he saw you coming and extended his arms, bracing for the impact of your body colliding with his.

"I did it, I did it" he chanted in your ear, his arms holding tightly onto your waist as he spun you around.

You laughed, nodding as you rested your head into the crook of his neck, your arms holding tightly onto his neck.

"I'm so fucking proud of you" you said.

He slowly set you down on the ground, but his arms didn't let up for a second. He buried his head into your shoulders, inhaling your sweet scent like he needed it to breathe.

Letting out a big sigh, his whole body slacked, every ounce of tension and stress gone from his muscles.

He had fought so hard, so hard to stay on the top even when his car and mechanics failed him, after everyone had turned against him, he was finally free of everything. Because he had proven, once again, why he was among the best.

You pulled away slightly, his arms still tightly holding onto your waist. You took his face into your hands and brought him down to your level, pressing your lips against his.

The kiss was fast-paced, rushed and maybe sloppy, but it was also filled with nothing but the immense love and pride you carried in your heart for him.

Hundreds of camera clicks went off all around you, but none of them mattered. It was just you and Max, in your own little bubble, away from everyone else.

"I love you" he whispered against your lips, making you erupt into a wide smile.

"I love you too. Now go, your team is waiting for you" you said, pecking his lips one more time before pulling away and shoving him towards his team.

He smiled at you one more time before he threw himself at them, laughing and smiling his heart out.

♡♡♡♡♡

It was several hours later, long after the Red Bull dinner Max had hosted finished, that the two of you found yourselves tangled in bed, naked together under the covers.

You had indulged yourselves in some celebratory sex after getting back, letting go of every worry and just enjoying each other.

You were laying with your head on Max's chest, tracing imaginary drawings with the tip of your index fingers across his abdomen.

His hands were tangled in your hair, his other hand resting next to his body.

"How are you feeling?" you asked, your voice soft and quiet as to not disturb the peaceful atmosphere around you.

He fell silent for a little while, trying to gather his thoughts and trying to put into words everything he was feeling in those moments.

"Strangely, I feel very at peace" he said, making your eyebrows shoot up.

That was, by far, the last thing that you had expected him to say.

"I wasn't expecting that answer, to be honest" you said, chuckling a little.

He chuckled as well, tightening the hold he had on you.

"I feel happy that the whole WDC debate is over and I don't have to worry about it anymore. I'm happy that I managed to achieve everything I've wanted. I'm happy that I'm here with you. What more could a man want?" he explained, making you hum.

He had a point, of course.

Max has always been focused on family above racing. Ever since the two of you started dating, he had made it his life's mission to prioritize you and your family above everything else.

Which is why his confession made you feel that much better about his win. The fact that, despite the grand meaning behind his achievement, he still valued just being with you.

"You've just won your 4th World Championship title and you're happy you're here with me? I'm always going to be here, you're not going to be winning championships forever, babe" you said, sitting up from his chest and resting your head on your hand.

He smiled, gazing up into your eyes lovingly.

"I don't care about the championships, the titles, the wins. The only thing I really care about is you and our family" he said, his hand coming to rest on your cheek.

"You're to sweet for your own good. I'm proud of you, do you know that?" you smiled, biting your lip as you stared at the man who had hung your moon and stars.

"I know, babe" he whispered, leaning up to peck your lips.

And so, tangled up in the comfort of your hotel room, you celebrated his title in the simplest of ways, just by spending time with each other.

Because that's what you loved the most.

Just being with each other.

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Widows rest

My take on a Black widow! Reader x Batman and Batfam but with a slight twist, reader doesn't know the Bats but they seem to know them...

Warning: contains avengers infinity war spoilers, black widow spoilers, mentions of death, poor writing, ooc writing,

Part 16: a shared web

🔹🔹🔹

The towers cold tonight, a cold New York breeze blows in through the open panels as you watch the streets far below, either FRIDAY doesn't wanna bother with you or starks slacking on paying the electric now. You wouldn't put either past the man.

The mission went bad today, the informant had bad Intel and what was supposed to be a simple bug plant turned into a fire fight. One that spread and went south when civilians got caught in the middle of things. Four casualties, nine more injured, all because you were incompetent.

A horn honks somewhere on the street below, you watch mutely as two people get into an arguement from their cars, screaming in an unidentifiable cacophony of road rage that honestly sounds inhuman from where you’re sitting. you don’t even turn your head when your door slides open behind you, you know she’s there.

“brooding isn't a good look on you.” she murmurs softly as she pads up behind you, the carpet crunching softly under her as she stands at your side, just behind you watching you stare stubbornly out the open window.

you can’t bring yourself to look back at her, you know she knows too. “…. How are they reacting down there.”

you’re straight to the point, arms crossing over your chest as if to close yourself off from her. Or maybe it's a comfort thing.

she turns her head slowly, heavy lidded green eyes studying your every expression, every twitch, every breath. “…they’re tired, no ones talking right now.”

“so they’re still pissed.”

“they’re tired. things were harder than expected, obviously everyone’s going to take some r&r.”

“i was there nat, no one could even look at me on the way back.” you're annoyed at the bitterness slipping into your voice.

she falls silent, when you look at her she’s staring right at you with that same calm look in her eyes that you’re frustratingly used to at this point, the silence is heavy, she’s waiting.

“It's…I failed, Natalia. I screwed up and now everyone's paying penance.” your eyes dart away again, if you closed your eyes right now you could almost pretend the cold breeze blowing in your window is the same as the cold mountain air from your childhood, the heaviness in your chest is already exactly the same as it was in that academy.

a hand drops on your shoulder roughly “You didn't fail, you didn't. we can't account for human error-” your head turns quickly and meets her stare with a frustrated expression. “I was to get inside and get out unnoticed. Those lives lost are on me.”

anxiety and frustration curls your lip, why doesn’t she get it?

“(name). Enough. This isn't worth it-” her voice is almost stern, something between a plead and a command while her hand squeezes your shoulder tighter. but you’re not having it right now. “isn't it though? How much blood will i get to spill before your friends decide I'm a liability, before they throw me in that floating Tartarus and wash their hands of me?”

you push her hand off as you turn away from her, she’s got barton, the captain, fury, hell she’s even got james. people that extend their trust to her, see the humanity in natalia. and you?….you’ve got her.

“…. Exactly as much as when they cut me off as well, and not a moment before that. You and I are a team now, a joint unit. We're stuck doing this together, (name). Fuck ups and all…” her voice softens again as she follows you across the room to the edge of your bed, when you sit she does too, her hand again finding your shoulder.

her expression is stubborn, when you look at her. but even the scowl on her lips and narrowed eyes can’t hide the hurt in her body language, again you feel guilt curling in your gut, squeezing around your lungs so much so that you crumble a little. you’re far too good at hurting people.

“…. I'm sorry, i feel useless here. I was shaped to kill, not…. All this. i don’t feel like a hero.” you slip into your mother tongue naturally, it feels more…private, that way. you shake your head as you look away from her morose expression, resting your elbows on your knees so you can curl away from her in shame, you’re the one who failed, and now you’re lashing out at nat?

the room falls silent, save for the sounds of the street below drifting through the open window. you barely even hear her breathing beside you as she squeezes your shoulder one last time, then lets her hand fall into her lap.

“….. Neither do I.”

her words are spoken thoughtfully, neither looking at the other as you both marinate on what happened earlier, what can you even say to her? tell her she shouldn’t feel that way? that she’s the one who deserves to feel like a hero after all she’s done to earn the title? remind her she was the best of the widows? you know her, she’d just turn your words on you and tell you the same, say you were trying and that’s what counts or something like that. you know her.

“….maybe someday we’ll get there, until then the two of us almost make a whole hero. better stick together until that day, yeah?”

you nudge her with your elbow, trying to make yourself sound lighter than you feel in the moment. when she looks up at you and smiles you know things are okay between you two, only a widow could understand another widow.

🔹🔹🔹

your heads pounding when you wake up, your skin sticky with sweat and you’re out of breath and shaking like you’re cold, even sitting up causes you pain not too dissimilar to when you first woke up in that hospital weeks ago…

god you need to get a grip, you wriggle out of the sweaty sheets and sit on the edge of the bed while your visions swimming, a shaking hand rubs at your eyes and you’re shocked when you realize you’re crying. you miss her so much….

your heart clenches painfully behind your ribs as you think about the dream, you died and left natalia alone. or rather now you’re alone. it was for the best of course, you couldn’t have went on if she’d jumped like she wanted, too many people needed her alive. they didn’t need you the same way, you should be happy you fulfilled a purpose in the end, you weren’t useless. but you must have hurt her.

you flop back in the bed with a big sigh, it’s what, four? five? there’s no way you’re falling back asleep after that. you should train or something…the ache behind your eyes and nausea welling up in your throat disagrees.

you also have zero desire to get up and leave the room and risk running into someone in your vulnerable state, so you roll over and paw around for your phone on the nightstand, nearly knocking it off in your blind search. you nearly throw up when the scorchingly bright light hits your eyes and makes your headache worse.

this so isn’t worth it….yet you power through it and pull up your current work in progress, your file on the terrorists and the possible affiliates you're compiling. You don't have anything new to add or go through though and you've read and reread your little folder multiple times now.

with nothing else to do you switch to the GCPD scanners for a little ambient environment enrichment, their online filing system isn’t great, but it’s a visual distraction while you listen to idle radio chatter. Reading through case notes and what little evidence they file on their database about random cold cases. They've got a lot in Gotham it seems.

you perk up when the scanners pop off, rushed chatter crackles through the room with multiple officers talking over each other at once. you pop an earbud in to silence the room and listen intently. words like ‘breakout’ ‘escape’ ‘organized’ stands out with all the chaos. sounds like the pyromaniacs are now bold enough to hit up the police station to free their comrades in holding.

Interesting, that's a little too organized for your liking….

something itches in the back of your mind and you glance at the door of your room, your intuition going wild.

your sock-covered feet pad near silent down the halls as you stalk through the dark manor, you know the cameras must be in use yet you don’t care at the moment. something uncomfortable pounds in the back of your head and it’s not just the migraine.

the first room you stop at is empty, the ballet flats hang off the edge of the vanity chair and the beds perfectly made and tucked, no sign of Cass anywhere. Your eyes narrow when you see her duffel bag still peeking out from under the edge of the bedframe, so much for ballet practice. You close the door and move on to the next room.

The one with the computers next, again there's no one inside and judging by the empty energy drinks littering the desk you don't think Tim's concerned about getting enough sleep for his job.

Damian’s room is the one that concerns you, despite your attempts to not get caught up with the kids. Where would a thirteen year old go at night? You hesitate in the doorway for a moment, what's that on the wall?…you start to step into the room.

“what are you doing?”

Alfred's coming closer, looking tired and noticeably disgruntled when he sees you standing in Damian's open doorway.

Damn him for always skulking around.

“I was looking for someone….I had a question about something.”

You turn towards him and step out of the room, forcing yourself to ignore the two swords hanging up that you hadn't noticed before. You silently note that he came from the opposite direction of his quarters, the man spends too much time in that library.

“And just what could be so important at this hour that you wanted to bother all the children?” His eyes narrow as he crosses his arms over his chest, he's tenser than you've ever seen him before and you don't like how he's looking at you like you're downright hostile. This is a man reacting to a threat.

All the children huh, so he was watching you. “I had….a dream.” You meet his eyes as you speak, forcing yourself to look as embarrassed as possible. “I…. Thought maybe it was…. Maybe a memory? I…wanted to ask someone if the details….I thought i was getting something back.”

You look away briefly, and when you look back his expression is softening considerably, you took a gamble on your excuse and it seems to have paid off. He slowly uncrosses his arms and gestures for you to follow him. You know you've got him distracted now.

“That's…. Why don't you tell me about it over a cup of tea, I'm sure I could help you sort this all out. Master Wayne….”

The kitchens quiet between the two of you, doubt still flickers across his face but he seems to relax even more as you go into detail about remembering Cass and Damian being with you when you were attacked. Maybe you should pay more mind to those strange dreams because he seems to actually let some of his guard down for once.

“That is indeed how it went, this is…. Very good news my dear. Very good…I think something in you is healing.” He smiles genuinely at you and leans forward to rest his elbows on the table, twirling his cup idly as he seems to get lost in thought.

You didn't get the answers you wanted, and now you've got more questions, Alfred must be monitoring you if he knows you went through multiple rooms, but why is he always up? Maybe you should start looking for where those cameras are being checked soon.

🔹🔹🔹

“Give me permission to go out.”

You're caught off guard by the sudden demand as soon as you walk into one of the living rooms, Damian approaches you with crossed arms and a serious expression on his young face, Titus follows after him and sniffs your thigh disinterestedly before turning away from you.

“I'm…excuse me?” your face must betray your confusion because he sighs and straightens up before replying.

“Father has forbidden me from going out without an adult right now and he's healing, Alfred is running errands or I would ask him to take me. I just need you to give me permission.”

You're still very much confused after that explanation, what's so important and when did Bruce establish this rule? Was it because of your talk with Alfred? “…what're you going out for? It's almost dark out.”

He looks away, shoulders lifting as he shifts, is he upset?

“…Drake trashed my school project and I'm... Feeling a bit fratricidal at the moment. I'm forbidden from retaliating so I'd like to get out of the manor before I commit a murder.”

“You could push him in front of a car, seems to be a family trait right now.”

He ducks his head but you don't miss the small twisting of his lips at your joke, at least he didn't look disturbed at the dark humor, you'll take the small win.

“I'm not sure I'd get away with it, but I'll consider your suggestion. I'll let you know if I need an alibi.” He looks up at you again as he speaks, he's so serious about it that for a moment you're unsure if he's actually joking or not.

“sounds like you've got a plan kiddo, let me know when you're hiding the body, I've got some airtight ideas.”

You snort at your own joke as you stroll past the kid, when he trails after you you're a bit surprised. When did you agree to babysit?

“You still didn't give me an answer, I need a parents permission to go out.”

The kids persistent about leaving at this hour, the dog trots after him as you both step out of the room into one of the big halls.

“I'm not sure I count as your authority figure right now, Damian. And I doubt you're allowed to just run off even if I were, are you just gonna walk up and down the road or something?”

You're not sure what the kid wants from you, does he think Bruce still sees you as an appropriate authority who can make decisions for underage people? You doubt it, the kid probably thinks he can take advantage of your confusion to get what he wants.

“No, I'd drive into the city.” he says seriously as he walks faster to keep up with your stride, eyes locked on you when he suddenly reaches up and grabs your arm to stop you in your tracks in the hall.

You purse your lips at the grab, kids his age want to be taken seriously right? You're not the best judge of normal childhood behaviors. “….. There's no way you have a license.”

He releases you once it's clear he's got your full attention, he again crosses his arms and tries to meet your eyes like he wants to be listened to.

“Richard has started teaching me, I'm perfectly capable of operating a vehicle.”

You don't believe that, he's too young right? Sure you were driving at that age but you were also leaning about killing people as an extracurricular activity.

“That doesn't equal a license, or even a learners permit. It's not legal Damian.” you give him an incredulous look as you cross your own arms over your chest, you both silently stare each other down for a while before the kid reluctantly gives up and looks away with an eye roll.

“nothing fun is legal here.”

He grumbles with pouting cheeks, looking much more his age than the scowling looks allow him to. You almost snort at the complaint and start to consider making your escape down the hall when the dog distracts him, but then…

“….. You could drive with me.” he again meets your eye as his tone shifts to something more hopeful, almost pleading, the kids good at manipulation you'll give him that.

Unfortunately for him you have too good of an excuse.

“I don't think I even have a license, amnesiac remember?” one eyebrow quirks up as you lean your shoulder against the wall, is he really that mad at Tim?

He rolls his eyes again like you said something dumb and continues to plead his case. “Obviously I don't mean literally, I am not a moron. you could come with and I'll teach you along the way.”

A long silence fills the hall as you stare at him incredulously, what's he playing at here?

“…you want to teach me how to drive while we what, go joy riding?” you don't even bother to hide the disbelief in your voice as you straighten up and step away from the wall, arms falling to rest your hands in your pockets.

“I wanted to get gelato actually.” he sounds perfectly serious as he matches your body language, eyes darting down the hall towards the front entrance before returning to you again.

You want to smack yourself in the head when you catch the look, already knowing it's an ‘I'll do this with or without you’ threat that he refuses to verbalize. The clever little-

“…. You know what? Sure. I wanna see more of Gotham.”

🔹🔹🔹

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Right where I belong \\ Beth Mead x reader

For context: Isla is Beth's 3 year old daughter

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today is the day.

You’re moving in with Beth and her daughter, Isla. Your stomach flutters with nerves and excitement as you pull the van into Beth’s driveway. Through the front window, you spot Isla’s little face lit up with a grin, hands pressed to the glass in anticipation. The front door swings open, and before Beth can even call out, Isla barrels outside and launches herself into your arms.

She’s only three, but she’s been glued to you since the moment you met. Beth never minded—in fact, she always said it made everything easier, that her daughter’s heart recognized yours long before you did.

“You go play with your toys for a bit, sweetheart,” you say gently as you set Isla down. “Mummy and I have boxes to bring in.”

Isla nods and skips inside, and finally, you and Beth are alone—well, as alone as two people moving house can be. Beth walks straight over, her hands settling naturally on your waist as she pulls you in for a kiss.

“You’re finally here,” she whispers.

“And I’m never leaving,” you reply, and her smile is the one you fell in love with.

A few hours later, after the van’s been returned and your things are mostly inside, you come back home with pizza in hand. Isla helped you unpack earlier—by covering your side of the drawers in stickers and ‘organising’ your socks with the seriousness of a CEO. It’s been a big day for her, and bedtime comes early.

Beth nudges you toward the stairs. “She wants you to do story time tonight.”

You find Isla tucked into her bed, the room a perfect mix of princesses, dinosaurs, and footballs. She’s already holding her favourite book, waiting patiently. You read it in silly voices, just the way she loves, and she giggles until her eyelids start to droop.

“Sweet dreams, my little love,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Downstairs, Beth is waiting with open arms. You melt into her embrace, exhaustion hitting all at once. She kisses the top of your head and holds you tighter, like she’s saying without words: You belong here.

The weeks pass, and a new rhythm settles in.

You take Isla to nursery on your off days. You make her lunches because, apparently, you “make them best.” Without fail, she wakes you up at 6am every day—you’re beginning to suspect Beth planted a tiny alarm clock in her room—but you’d never trade the morning snuggles and sleepy kisses for anything.

One afternoon, Beth comes through the front door quietly, Isla in tow. You’re in the kitchen, singing softly as you wash dishes, when tiny arms wrap around your leg. You jump, then laugh, scooping Isla up with ease.

“You scared me!”

“I sware chu!” she giggles.

“That you did, bub.” You glance at Beth, who just shrugs with a smile.

“I thought we could go on a little family walk. The park, maybe?” she suggests.

“That sounds perfect. Let me go change.”

You all head out a few minutes later, Isla walking between you and Beth. She naturally holds Beth’s hand, but then her small fingers wrap around yours too—like it’s the most normal thing in the world. You glance down, heart swelling so fast it almost knocks the air out of you.

You don’t say anything, but inside, you know: this is everything.

The next morning, Beth leaves early for a team meeting, which means nursery duty is yours. You braid Isla’s hair the best you can, cut her sandwich into a heart, and whip up pancakes while she sings along to Frozen and Dua Lipa at full volume. She chatters away about a new friend called Tyler the whole car ride.

When you park in front of the nursery, Isla grabs her bag and holds your hand as you walk her in. As soon as she spots the bright, welcoming classroom, she’s off—no hug, no goodbye.

You chuckle at her excitement and head back toward the door, only to feel something in your pocket: her little nap-time comfort toy. You turn around, pushing open the creaky door. Isla looks up from her table—and her eyes go wide.

She runs across the room and flings herself into your arms.

“Mama,” she sniffles, burying her face into your shoulder. “I f’got to say bye-bye… I wuv you… I miss you lots…”

Your heart stutters at the word. Mama.

“Oh, bub… I love you too. So, so much,” you murmur, brushing her hair gently. “You didn’t forget. I felt your love the whole time.”

You rock her slowly, holding her close.

“You’re so brave, and I’ll be back real soon with mummy, okay? Pinky promise.”

She lifts her pinky, still teary. “Pinky pwomise…”

“I love you, baby.”

“Wuv you, mama.”

That afternoon, after picking Isla up together, you tell Beth about the morning.

Her eyes shine with something deep and proud and soft. She pulls you into her arms, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“She knows who you are to her,” she whispers.

That night, Beth stands quietly in the doorway while you tuck Isla into bed. You read her chosen book, and just as you get up to leave, you hear it again—small, sleepy, and sure:

“Wuv you, mama.”

You crawl into bed beside Beth, heart still full.

You’re not just her mum’s girlfriend anymore.

You’re her other parent.

[nereidprinc3ss]

omg i'm obsessed with the idea of spencer and a university student and i looooved the one you wrote with reader struggling with finals (i relate so much </3) i'm not sure if you write requests or not (if not, then i'm sorry and please ignore this hahaha) but i would love to see more of their dynamic? maybe spencer for once arrives earlier from a case and goes to pick up reader from university as a surprise? i don't really know but i would love to see more 💗 thank you and i hope you have a good day!

AHHHH omg you have NO IDEA how excited I was to open my inbox and see a request!! i am absolutely obsessed w spencer x uni student too

i kind of took this and ran w it so its a little angsty and random LOLOL but here is (drumroll)

spencer picking up reader after you fail an exam (sorry lol) and you are NOT in a good mood but he loves you so its fine

Tears, partly from the bitter wind and partly from shame, blur your phone screen as you exit the lecture hall. Another missed call from Spencer. It’s the third one today—you've been ignoring them in an attempt to remain focused on the final that you just bombed. Part of you now wants to keep ignoring them out of sheer embarrassment. How can you admit to your super-genius boyfriend that you are a bona fide academic failure? Still, you don’t want him wondering about you while he should be working. Your numb fingers fumble with the phone as you try to call him back without running into anybody on your walk back to student housing. 

It doesn’t reach the second ring before he’s picking up. 

“Hey,” he sighs. “I was starting to worry.” 

“I’m sorry, I’ve been busy,” you exhale, cutting through some trees as you approach your building. “What’s up? How’s the case?” 

“Well... that’s actually what I’ve been calling about. We wrapped up this morning.” 

“What? But last night you said it would be at least three more days.” 

“Rare instance of me being wrong, I guess.” 

“So when are you flying back?” you ask, not wanting to get your hopes up. You know sometimes his team stays behind to help with processing a case. He doesn’t reply for a moment. “Spencer?” 

“I’m... thirteen minutes away from your school. Twelve.” 

Your brain short-circuits as you process his words, the cold metal of the door handle biting into your fingers as you stop dead in your tracks. 

“You--are you driving here right now?” 

“Yes,” he begins, sounding embarrassed, “I kept calling because I wanted to ask first, but I know you had your last final this morning and you were going to come over when I got back anyway so I thought you might want to come stay with me for a few extra days. You can say no, obviously—” 

Some of the icy despair melts in your chest. 

“Of course, I want to.” 

“Good,” he exhales a laugh. “It would have been awkward if you said no. Can you have a bag packed by the time I get there?” 

You’re speedwalking through the lobby now, hitting the up button for the elevator more times than is necessarily effective. 

“Drive faster.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

By the time you blindly shove enough clothing in a bag, text your roommate to let her know you’ll be gone for the rest of the week, and make it back outside, Spencer’s familiar vintage car is already pulling up to the curb. He doesn’t even bother cutting the engine—just puts it in park and gets out, rounding the vehicle as you close the distance between one another. His smile is brilliant, and though you don’t feel particularly deserving of it, it’s for you. 

“Hi,” you breathe shakily as he loops his arms around your waist. 

“Hi, pretty,” he says, already leaning down to kiss you. It’s soft and sweet over too quickly, but then he’s gently pulling you into him. You drop your bag and bury your face in his jacket, trying to right yourself before you go into an emotional tailspin. 

As usual, he smells like lavender, clove, resinous amber. It makes your head spin. Right away you feel yourself relaxing; feel your guard slipping, like it always does when he’s around. 

“I missed you.” The words are quiet to begin with, muffled further by the fabric of his coat, but you know he’ll hear you. 

“I missed you too,” he murmurs, stroking your hair. “Everything okay?” 

Why are you always surprised when a man who works for the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI accurately analyzes your behavior? 

“Just tired. Can we go home?” You pull back enough to look up at him, meeting his fond—and just a little concerned—gaze, averting your eyes before he has time to discern your... omission of truth. 

“Yeah, angel. Of course we can.” 

He opens the passenger side door for you, making sure you’re settled before tossing your bag in the back seat and circling around the back of the car. 

“Is that coffee?” You say as soon as he slides into the driver’s seat. His eyes dart down to the tumbler in the center cupholder as he buckles. 

“It’s from the jet. You won’t like it.” 

Despite his warning you reach over to grab it, taking a small sip as he puts the car into gear and pulls out of the parking lot. You make a sour face. Spencer glances over. 

“I told you it was bad.” 

You yawn, putting it back in the cupholder. “It was worth a shot.” 

Jazz music plays quietly from the speakers and the heat is blasting, but you’re too busy mentally rehashing question 37 to find it relaxing. 

“You didn’t get enough sleep last night,” he states. Not a question. Outside, the brick buildings of your campus roll by. You wonder if all the students rushing about on the sidewalks and side streets failed any of their finals.  

“Couldn’t,” you mumble flatly, picking at your nails.  

There’s a moment’s pause, and you’re imagining all the things you could have done differently. You’ve never failed a final before. If you’d just studied a little bit harder—if you’d stayed in instead of going out last weekend, if you weren’t so— 

“I’m going to ask you something, and I don’t think you’re going to like it,” Spencer says. 

“Mhm,” you hum, too afraid to speak because your eyes are already stinging again. Honestly, you’re surprised you made it this far without him getting the truth out of you. He offers his hand across the console as you slink down in your seat, and you take it, allowing him to run his thumb over yours in soothing lines. 

“How do you think your final went?” 

You bite the inside of your cheek, the bare branches of the trees outside blurring as you stare unseeingly. 

“Not good. Like, I definitely failed, not good. I'm an idiot.” 

“You absolutely are not an idiot.” 

“You didn’t see me taking the test, Spencer. I literally just sat there staring at it for ten minutes before I even answered one question. It was pathetic.” 

“Did you sleep at all last night?” 

The question takes you by surprise. Your frown deepens. 

“What? I don’t—that’s not—" 

“Just answer the question. Did you sleep at all last night?” 

“Yes!” 

“Don't lie to me.” 

“Fuck you! I slept for like two hours and had coffee this morning!”  

He squeezes your hand. 

“That’s why you failed.” 

The first tear traces its path down your cheek, composure overwhelmed by the confrontation. 

“I hate when you use your stupid interrogation tactics on me,” you say, voice wobbling. And then the crying begins in earnest. 

“I know, baby.” 

His hand moves to rub your back when you let go to cover your face. Torrential evidence of your frustration and utter exhaustion well over, slipping through your fingers despite your best efforts to stop them from coming at all. Having an emotional breakdown in the passenger seat of his car is far from how you’d wanted to greet Spencer’s surprise arrival, but you’re too worn out to mask your emotions—especially when he is so adept at drawing them to the surface. 

A moment passes like that before you take a shuddering breath, raising your head slightly and wiping your cheeks with your sleeves in vain. 

“I should have been able to do it. I just—it was like I was reading the questions and I knew that I should know the answers, but I couldn’t remember anything.” 

“You’re exhausted. Sleep deprivation has an immediate, devastating effect on cognitive functioning levels. My recall and processing speed start to fail when I’m tired, too. It has nothing to do with how smart you are.” 

It makes sense—but it doesn’t make you feel much better. You wanted to ace this exam. Of course, Spencer wouldn’t understand because school was as easy as breathing for him. He barely had to try to get three doctorates. It’s possible, you suppose, that dating a genius has put an academic chip on your shoulder—maybe you’ve set impossibly high standards for yourself.  

After a few minutes the crying finally ebbs, if only because you’re running into supply and demand problems with your tear ducts. You rub your weepy eyes on your shoulder, leaning against the cold window and watching DC go by. 

“You know, the final isn’t as important as you think it is. You’ll still pass the class.” 

“It’s symbolic,” you mumble, breath fogging up the glass. Spencer hums, still rubbing your back. 

“I know. I know it matters to you, but I don’t want you to think one bad grade is a reflection of who you are. Do you understand why it doesn’t make sense to measure something as abstract as intelligence by a metric as one dimensional as a standardized test?” 

“Yes.” 

“Good.” 

You shift in your seat, wiping your face with your sleeve and prompting Spencer to take your other hand once more. 

“Can your FBI friend hack the university database and give me an A?” you ask after a moment, sniffling. 

“Absolutely not.” 

“Pretty please?” 

“Nope.” 

“It’s like you don’t even love me,” you mutter, angling yourself away from him.  

He pulls your hand toward him and presses a kiss to the back of it. 

“I love you so much that I don’t want you to get expelled for academic dishonesty.” 

“It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ll probably just drop out.” 

You both know you’re just being overdramatic, but Spencer has a tendency to be sweet even when you don’t deserve it. 

“I’ll love you no matter what you do.” 

You blush, unable to come up with a sufficient reply. His eyes slide to you briefly and he smirks, clearly enjoying his ability to fluster you, and by extension, get you to shut up. 

“Eyes on the road, genius,” you grumble. But for the first time today you’re fighting a smile instead of tears. 

[81pastrys]

Grid Flirt

Part 4 / 13

Summary— The race weekend feels off and when her dad comes storming through shouting in the RedBull garage she knows why.

Warnings— Yelling (at Horner) ; slight panic attack ; Christian Horner being a dick.

A/N— It’s heating up.

Series List

A few races pass by quickly. This race has an eerie feel to it. We do interviews and get the cars ready, it’s a clear day to race. We’re in the paddocks getting ready when my dad walks in to our paddock in a rage.

“No you aren’t racing her in that death machine!” He yells. “I refuse!”

“Papi, papi what are you talking about?” I ask.

“The upgrades on this car failed in development and they still put them in the car!” He said.

“Papi, I saw the charts and statistics. They didn’t fail.” I say confused.

“They’re lying to you.” He said. “You aren’t racing today.” He says my full name catching my attention, he isn’t joking or messing around.

“Where is this coming from papi?” I ask. “Are you okay?”

“I am telling you, do not set foot in that death trap.” He said.

He walked away still upset. I look back at my team confused. “What is he talking about?” They all look at me like I’m stupid. Horner walks in and I pull him aside. “Are the new parts failed?”

“No, why do you ask?” He said.

“My father just stormed through saying they were, and that I shouldn’t race.”

“Well they failed last attempt but we put newer ones in, that passed. Media doesn’t know that.”

“Why do I feel like you’re lying to me?” I ask, now enraged myself. “Are the parts, in my car, the ones that failed in development?” I yell for the paddock media to hear.

“No, Díaz stop yelling or I will take you out.” He whispered, trying to clear the cameras.

“What’s going on?” Max asked, crossing his arms. “Why am I hearing we put failed developments into a car?”

“We-“ Horner hesitates and my jaw drops and my eyes go wide. He never lies to Max. “They weren’t horrible fails Diaz.”

“I can’t fucking believe this!” I yell. “This is complete bullshit!” My tantrum attracted other teams to become concerned. “All you talk about is trust, but how am I supposed to trust you when you put failed parts in my fucking car?!”

“Diaz, calm down.” Horner says.

“I most certainly will not, I’m not fucking racing. Take the constructor points and shove them where the light doesn’t shine.” I yell. “This is unbelievable. Fix my fucking car within the next hour or I’m ripping my contract to pieces and never coming back.” I continue. “I can guran- fucking- tee that.”

I’ve gained some of the other teams attention, McLaren boys were staring, my dad and Lance were also. I’ve gotten all of their attention.

“This is why women are scared to even join this sport Horner!” I say exhausted now. “Because they’re scared of having shitty parts in their car, this is dangerous. You’re basically trying to send me out to crash and die.” I say. “While my dad is on the same grid, I’m done with you.” I walk to the back of the paddock and calm myself down. Once I feel calm enough I walk back out and everyone is still in shock of my tantrum. I walk to my dad and hug him. I start crying.

“I’m sorry mi flor.” He said. “I saw it on the charts and freaked out immediately.” He looks at my charts that are publicized from the FIA, to make sure shit like this doesn’t happen.

“I can’t believe he’d do that to me.” I sniffle. “It’s like he wants me to get hurt!”

“As soon as another team wants you, take it.” He whispers to me. “I don’t care how bad, take it.”

“I am, I will.” I say. I walk back to my paddock and no one acknowledges me. I go to the mechanics and ask about the parts. They admit they didn’t even want to do it. Horner threatened their jobs if they didn’t. They assure me they took the parts out and put the previous ones in. Without Horner knowing.

I pull max aside and no one notices. “Are you okay?” He asked. “Don’t race unless you know for sure they took those parts out.”

“I just spoke with the mechanics, they put my old parts in without Horner knowing.” I say. “He threatened their jobs.”

“What the fuck?” He asked. “That’s got to be illegal.”

“Both were, failed parts in my car, threatening them?” I shake my head. “I’m going to win to fuck with his head.”

“From P2, I believe in you.” He said. He got P5 so if he’s on my side, he’ll let me.

We get ready to race, I get in my car. Praying the mechanics weren’t lying. We line up for grid. Lando in first, me second and so on. The lights come on and I take a final breath of trust in the mechanics words.

We start and I pass Lando with ease around the second turn. Pits went well and I stay P1 throughout. I know Horner is biting his tongue right now. I created a 10s gap with Norris with 5 laps to go. When I hear the familiar voice in my ear.

“Diaz, if you win this, you’re off my team.” Horner said. I hear the commentators comment on it and realize I have nothing to lose. I’m not in the wrong. I use the cars advantages and win the race, my first race, maiden win. The grand stands go wild, I scream on the radio.

“I FUCKING DID IT!!!” I say. “P1 IM SO HAPPY HAHAHAHA!!!” My engineer stays silent. I may have fucked my contract but I could not care any less. I pull to the first position, get out my car and the crowds were so loud. I take my helmet and everything else off and celebrate.

Max was P3 and Lando was P2. I jump up and down so excited. Once my dad pulls in P10 I run up to him and hug him. He picks me up and spins me around. “You did it mi flor!!”

“I did it!!” I say back. The adrenaline was pumping in my veins. My dad puts me down and I look at him, coming back to reality. “I fucked my contract.” I laugh. “He told me I was off the team if I won.”

“Not if I have a say, once everything comes out, he’ll be done for.” My dad smiles at me.

“What a win.” Lando says congratulating me. “Good job!”

“I’m so excited!” I say, hugging him. Max walks up to me smiling like crazy. He picks me up and spins me like my dad did. “I won!!!”

“You won!” He said. “That showed him.” Max laughed.

We do media for a bit then go to the cool down room. My pulse skyrocketed sitting there. “Oh fuck, I’m going to have a panic attack.” I mumble. “It’s all hitting me.” I say shaking my hands.

I walk out the cool down room. I find an alley with no media and crouch down. I cry and shake in disbelief. I’m going to lose my contract, lose his trust. I’m fucked. Max found me quickly.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He said. “What did they tell you?”

“Horner said-“ I start, still hyperventilating. “I’m off the team, if I win.” I finish. “I gunned it not caring, but now.. now what did I do?” I ask.

Fun right!

[meazalykov]

cry for help

jana fernandez x emotionalsupport!reader

summary: sometimes the strong one needs help too

warnings: angst, mentions of injury

it’s almost a daily routine now, early mornings and late nights. 

whenever your phone rings, it’s hardly ever a surprise—you already know it’s going to be someone from the team. you’re a solid foundation, the person everyone knows will pick up no matter what time it is.

your teammates joke about it, calling you the “rock of our team,” and they’re not wrong. 

you’re the one they lean on, whether it’s for a ride to training, advice, or just an ear to listen.

like today, you’ve been up since six am, your phone vibrating beside you as you lace up your sneakers. vicky is texting, asking for a ride to training because her car’s in the shop. 

without hesitation, you reply, “on my way,” grabbing your keys and heading out the door. you pull up in front of vicky’s place a little while later, watching her jog out of her building, bag slung over her shoulder and water bottle in hand. 

she slides into the passenger seat, already mid-sentence about some random topic that has her laughing, and you can’t help but laugh along too. these car rides have become tradition, a time to catch up on everything, from gossip to game plans, and while they’re usually light-hearted, 

you know she appreciates it more than she lets on. she’s been through some tough moments recently for a teenager, and if a ride can make her day easier, then you’re all in.

you’ve always been this way. giving, helping, always ready to step up. the team is like family, and you’d do anything for them. so when lucia calls later that week, her voice shaky over the phone, you drop everything and go. 

she’s curled up on her couch when you arrive, looking small and fragile in a way that’s so unlike her usual confident self. it doesn’t take long for her to break down, admitting that her relationship has fallen apart. it’s raw and real, and she’s hurting. 

she says something about feeling lost, like she’s somehow failed, and you’re there, holding her hand, listening without judgment. 

hours go by, the sky darkening outside, but you don’t move until she finally nods off, exhausted but calmer. you leave a note, reminding her that she’s strong, that this pain will pass, and that she’s not alone.

that’s always been your role—to be the steady one, the one people call when things get tough. and yet, you realize, it’s been a while since anyone’s asked you how you’re doing. they wouldn’t know that lately, it feels like the weight of everything is pressing down on you. 

maybe it’s because you’ve always handled things on your own, always managed to keep it together even when the pressure builds up. you don’t even go to your girlfriend of two years, jana, whenever you need help. maybe it’s because they’re so used to you being the strong one that they forget you might need a little support, too.

christmas rolls around, and you’re spending it with esmee and her girlfriend, danielle, who flew in from the netherlands. you can feel the holiday spirit in the air, the warmth and laughter filling esmee’s place as the three of you decorate, wrapping garlands around door frames and untangling strings of lights. danielle is vibrant, animated, bringing a bit of her dutch charm into the mix, and for a few hours, you find yourself relaxing. 

there’s no expectation here, no one needing anything from you but your company. as the night goes on, you end up chatting on the couch, talking about everything from football to travel plans, and esmee’s laughter is contagious, filling the room with a joy that feels so comforting. 

it’s one of those rare moments where you feel lighter, like maybe you don’t have to carry everything on your shoulders all the time.

as the season kicks back in, the demands on you only grow. it’s almost amusing how quickly your phone fills up with requests—from organizing things for alexia and olga’s event to helping ingrid after she got injured on the pitch. 

you’re coordinating outfits, setting up rides, and giving pep talks before games. nobody else seems to notice how exhausted you are, and maybe that’s partly your own fault. you don’t let on. you smile, you reassure, you show up—every time, every day.

during el claisco– you take a hard tackle before halftime. it’s bad, but you grit your teeth and force yourself to get back up, brushing it off as if it’s nothing. the last thing you want is anyone worrying about you; it’s easier that way, to be the one who doesn’t need anything. 

even as your leg throbs, a hot wave of pain radiating from your hamstrings, you push forward. you tell yourself you’re fine, that you can handle it. you’ve been through worse. and there’s a part of you that’s desperate to keep playing, to prove something, maybe to yourself, maybe to everyone else. 

you’d scored last game, but in your mind, it’s not enough. it’s never enough.

in the locker room at halftime, you pull on a fresh shirt, forcing yourself to act like the throbbing in your knee is nothing but a minor ache. the team talks tactics, voices buzzing around you, but it’s hard to focus as you keep adjusting your weight off your right leg, gritting your teeth every time you have to stand. 

you feel jana’s eyes on you from across the room, catching every wince, every small shift.

she doesn’t say anything at first, just watches. as you make your way toward the door to head back out, she steps in front of you, blocking your path. 

“you’re not fine,” she says quietly, her eyes sharp. 

“i can see it every time you put pressure on your leg.”

“i’m fine,” you say, voice firm but maybe too quick. she knows you too well, sees through every front you’ve ever put up, and today is no different.

jana shakes her head, not buying it for a second. 

“no. you’re hurt, and if you’re not going to tell the coach, then i will.”

a jolt of panic runs through you. 

“jana, please,” you say, your voice dropping. there’s a sadness there, a desperation. you don’t want to leave the game. you don’t want everyone thinking you’re weak.

her expression softens, but her tone stays resolute. 

“then tell the coach yourself that you can’t keep going. go to the medic. please, for once, let yourself be honest.”

the look in her eyes is all it takes. you nod slowly, and with a heavy heart, you walk to the coach, explaining that you can’t play the rest of the match. you can’t even look at your teammates on the way out, avoiding every concerned glance as you head toward the medic room. 

each step feels like an admission of defeat, and the sting of it burns even more than the pain in your knee.

sitting alone in the small room, it’s quiet, unbearably so. for the first time in a long time, you feel the weight of it all pressing down on you, every bit of responsibility and expectation you’ve been carrying. you’ve always been strong for everyone else, but now, when it’s your turn to be looked after, all you feel is a raw, aching sense of failure. 

the tears come before you can stop them, silent and steady, until you’re caught in a wave of emotions you’ve been holding back for far too long.

the sound of the door opening breaks through your thoughts, and you look up, surprised to see both alexia and jana standing there. they’ve been taken off the pitch, and somehow got permission to come see you. 

alexia steps forward first, her hand gentle on your shoulder. 

“do you want to talk about it?” she asks softly.

jana, ever perceptive, doesn’t leave it as a question. she moves closer, searching your face, her expression filled with understanding and a quiet determination. she knows you don’t open up easily, knows you’d rather hide behind that strength everyone admires. 

“tell us what’s really going on,” she says gently but firmly.

you take a shaky breath, looking between them. 

“it’s el clasico… i wanted to score so badly. i needed to.” your voice cracks, the weight of the words catching you off guard. 

“i don’t know why i’m pushing myself like this. i just… i feel like i have to prove that i belong here.”

alexia squeezes your shoulder, and you can tell she understands. she’s had her own battles, her own struggles with injuries and expectations. 

“you don’t need to prove anything. you just signed a renewal. the team believes in you.”

jana’s hand finds yours, her fingers threading through, grounding you. 

alexia gives your shoulder a final reassuring squeeze before stepping back. 

“i’ll go back to the bench, but… take your time. we’re here when you need us.” she leaves quietly.

you let out a shaky breath, the last of your tears finally slowing. jana’s hand is steady on your back, her presence warm and grounding, and for the first time in a long while, you feel a sliver of relief breaking through the weight.

she pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, her gaze soft but unwavering. 

“you don’t have to do this alone, you know,” she whispers. her hand reaches up, brushing a tear from your cheek with a tenderness that nearly undoes you all over again. 

“let me be strong for you, too.”

the words sink in, deeper than you could have ever expected. this strength you’ve always tried to carry for everyone else—it’s okay to let go of it sometimes. 

maybe you don’t have to be the rock every day. not when your girlfriend is here, right beside you, who’s ready to share the weight.

“okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. it’s a start. you let yourself lean into her embrace once more, feeling the warmth and security of her arms, and for once, you let yourself just be held.

she doesn’t let go, and neither do you.

masterlist

[v6quewrlds]

With the bengals winning against steelers, it's only right we get a blurb/imagine of after-game activities...

imagine post-game shenanigans with joe.

author's note⠀⁎⠀suggestive but no smut because i wasn't feeling it lmao

"Fuck you!" Taylor jeered at a fired-up Steelers fan who had recognized you as Joe's girlfriend, his words slurred and aggressive. You rolled your eyes, scoffing at his audacity. The two of you were attempting to join the crowd leaving the bustling stadium, your plain hoodies and baseball caps failing to allow you the privilege of blending in once the home fans began to realize their team had just been defeated by the quarterback whose girlfriend was now in their midst.

You tended to avoid attending road games due to Joe's insistence on keeping you safe. The risk of confrontation with die-hard fans was always high, especially when emotions were as raw as they are today.

When you had first told him that you had decided to go with Kia and Taylor, he had been hesitant, forcing the three of you to promise not to wear any Bengals' merchandise and to keep your heads down. No flashy game-day outfits, no screaming, and no arguing with fans. The tight game, however, had you all riled up, and you hadn't even made it through the first quarter before the excitement got the best of you.

As the crowd began to disperse, the hostility grew palpable. You noticed the glares and the muttered insults, but you ignored them. You were leaving victorious, and you weren't about to let a bunch of sour fans ruin the moment. The three of you made your way through the throng, Joe's instructions ringing in your ears: "Just get to the car and stay together."

The Uber ride back was a mix of elated chatter and nervous glances at your surroundings. Your heart raced with every honk and shout from the passing cars, but you made it without incident. Back in your hotel room, you gathered your bags and downed celebratory shots of tequila. You shuffled back to your ride to the airport, the adrenaline from the game still pumping through your veins.

The private jet was a welcome sight. A luxurious cabin in stark contrast to your economy flight into Pittsburgh last night, with its plush leather seats and the soothing hum of the engines. You felt your anxiety lift from your shoulders as you all climbed into your seats, leaving the tension of the city behind. You couldn't help but think of Joe, probably still in the locker room, dealing with the media circus that came with a victory of that magnitude.

Your phone buzzed with a FaceTime call from Joe just as you all settled into your seats, waiting for the pilot to step into the cabin to announce when you'd be taking off. Your heart skipped a beat as you saw his sweet, exhausted face fill the screen. "Hey, baby," he said, his voice hoarse from yelling throughout the game. "You guys get out okay?"

You grinned, your friends leaning in to say hello. "Yeah, we're all good. Just about to take off." You gestured to the plush interior. "Thanks for the upgrade," you teased, your eyes sparkling.

Joe chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Couldn't have my girl and her entourage flying coach in enemy territory," he quipped. His gaze lingered on your lips, the exhaustion giving way to something more heated. "You look good, babe, even through this screen."

Taylor and Kia giggled, making lewd gestures behind your head, egging Joe on. He rolled his eyes playfully and leaned closer to the screen, his voice dropping an octave. "You better be ready for me when I get home. We've got some celebrating to do," he murmured, his eyes darkening with desire.

You couldn't help but laugh as your friends gasped in faux shock at Joe's suggestive tone. "I saw that! You disgusting pervert!" Kia exclaimed dramatically, referencing the TikTok with a grin, and pointing at the screen. Joe's grin only widened, his shoulders shaking as he tried to keep his voice low.

"I'll be waiting," you said with a knowing smile, your voice thick with anticipation. You hung up as Joe was called for press duties and turned to your friends, who were speaking with the pilot.

By the time you touched down in Cincinnati and made it home, you had mentally decided on the perfect way to greet Joe. You changed into his favorite lingerie set, a black lace number that hugged your curves just right. The scent of vanilla and champagne filled the room as you popped the cork on the bottle and filled two flutes. The bubbles danced in the light as you set them on the kitchen island, waiting for the moment Joe walked through the door.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you heard the garage door open and the sound of Joe's footsteps echoing through the hallway. He looked exhausted, his jaw tight, but the sight of you dressed like that brought a lazy smile to his face. He dropped his bag and shrugged out of his coat protecting him from the falling snow. "Damn, you weren't kidding," he murmured, his eyes devouring you.

You walked over to him, placing a flute in his hand and whispering, "You told me to be ready, didn't you?" You balanced your flute in your other hand, lifting it to clink against his. The sound of your glasses meeting filled the room, a tiny promise of what the night would hold.

Joe took a sip, his eyes focused on yours. He could feel his body responding to you, the ache from the game's physicality forgotten. He took you in, his eyes tracing the curves of your lingerie-clad body, the way your skin seemed to glow against the black lace. "You're going to be the death of me," he muttered under his breath, a hint of a smirk playing on his lips. "Do a spin for me, pretty girl."

You rolled your eyes, but the playful challenge in Joe's voice made you smile. You twirled around, the lingerie hugging you in all the right places, the flimsy material leaving little to the imagination. You felt a rush of power and excitement as Joe's eyes widened and he took a sharp breath in. You knew he liked what he saw.

He threw back the rest of his drink, the liquid sliding down his throat as he stepped closer to you, setting his empty glass aside. "Come here," he said, his voice gruff and low. You felt your heart flutter as you stepped into his embrace. The warmth of his body was a stark contrast to the cold air outside, his arms wrapping around you tightly. He kissed you deeply, his hands exploring your curves. The taste of victory and the promise of a night of passion mingled in the air, electrifying your every touch.

"I'm glad you like it," you said, your voice teasing, as Joe's hands roamed your body. You felt the heat between you build, his touch setting your skin on fire. "But first," you whispered, pulling away slightly, "I need to check on that head of yours."

Joe's smile immediately faded, and he sighed. "Babe, I'm fine." But you were insistent.

You had seen the hit replayed over and over on the screens in the stadium. The way he had been pancaked, face first, to the ground had made your heart stop for a moment. You were paralyzed from your seat, silently praying as the trainers rushed onto the field. When he finally stood up and walked off the field, you felt a mix of relief and anger. Relief that he wasn't seriously injured, anger that he was still so woefully under-protected years into his time with the Bengals.

"Just let me take a look," you said, taking his face in your hands and turning him so the light from the kitchen illuminated his skin. His eyes searched yours with an annoyed look that you ignored. You knew he was trying to gauge whether you were just worried or if you were about to turn into Meredith Grey.

He grumbled but allowed you to inspect his head, his hands resting gently on your hips, thumbs tracing the lines of the lace pressed against your skin. You felt a slight bump on his forehead, but there was no bruising to be seen. "It's just a little swollen," you said, your voice tight with concern. "Are you sure you don't have a concussion?"

"I'm fine, babe," Joe said firmly, his patience waning. He knew you meant well, but the adrenaline from winning had his body humming with need, and your gentle fussing was only making it harder to focus on claiming his reward. "They checked me out already."

Your eyes squinted skeptically. "Sure, the 'unaffiliated' neurological consultant who's hired by the NFL and defers to the team doctor," you quipped, unable to let go of your concern.

Joe huffed again, rolling his eyes. "Look, if there was something serious, they wouldn't have cleared me to finish the game," he said, trying to soothe your fears. "And you know the Players Association pays them too."

You pursed your lips, "Fine," you conceded, letting your hands drop to his chest. "But if you start feeling weird, or you get a headache, or anything, promise me you'll tell me. I'm serious about that, Joe."

"I promise," he said, leaning in to kiss you again. His hand slid down your back, caressing the soft skin above the lace. You felt the tension in your body start to dissolve as his mouth moved to your neck, kissing and nibbling the sensitive flesh. His hands roamed lower, cupping your ass and pulling you closer to him.

"Someone's eager," you murmured, a hint of laughter in your voice as Joe's hands grew more insistent, obviously trying to ignore your fussing. You knew the game had taken a lot out of him, but you also knew the effect you had on him, and it was clear he wasn't going to let a little fear get in the way of celebrating. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, the brief tension forgotten as your bodies met.

"I'm trying to fuck, and you want to give me a medical exam?" Joe chuckled against your skin, his voice muffled in the crook of your neck. His hands grew bolder, slipping beneath the lace to cup your breasts. Your laugh turned into a moan as his thumbs brushed over your nipples. The sound sent a jolt of desire straight to Joe's core, his cock thickening as he felt you respond.

"I can't help it," you murmured, your eyes fluttering closed as your hands drifted from his chest to the back of his head. You sighed softly as he nibbled tentatively at the edge of your jaw.

"You're my baby, and I want you to stay my baby." Your voice was filled with a mix of concern and desire that made Joe's heart swell. He kissed you again, his tongue sliding into your mouth, tasting the sweetness of the champagne. He could feel the urgency building between you, the need to celebrate his victory in the most intimate way possible.